Archive for July, 2015

DIGITAL DISTRACTIONS  AND THE KID WITH A SNOW COASTER

July 25, 2015

Thirty years ago, my wife and I camped out under the stars in Sonoita, Arizona, far from Tucson, Sierra Vista, and Nogales, when the nights were incredibly dark.  At 10 p.m., a large cloud appeared in the east.  At least, that is what it looked like, until we realized it was a different type of cloud, one of stars.  We were watching the Milky Way rise, and I never forgot that sight or the rest of that special night, wakening a few times, seeing the Milky Way further across the sky.

Just the other day, I received an email from a friend asking me to check out a picture she had posted on Instagram.  I usually don’t like these requests, believing that going into nature as I do gives me far better appreciation of the world.  The picture from a National Geographic photographer showed the southern Milky Way, from the Southern Hemisphere, with a time lapsed wind turbine in the foreground.

There were many of comments praising the picture.  I wrote, before erasing, “The wind turbine ruined it.” It did, by greatly detracting from the beauty of the Milky Way.  No picture can show the Milky Way as well as I have seen it, from the high grasslands of Arizona, deep in the Grand Canyon, or from the wilderness of the the borderland canoe country.  I didn’t have Instagram then, only a working occipital lobe and hippocampus, so those sights became part of me in a way that a picture cannot.  The beauty of The Great Rift, Vega, Altair, and Sagittarius is sufficient, not enhanced by a wind turbine in the foreground.

While I don’t look at many videos on social media, one about how different generations viewed free time was enlightening.  A man my age said he once used a stop sign for a toboggan.  I can relate to that.  Using a snow coaster as a sail, I once blasted alone on skates down the middle of frozen Honeoye Lake in upstate New York, doing 25.  That’s being a kid.  Parents nearby?  Nah.

Today?  A 6 year-old says she doesn’t know what she would do without her iPad.  Another kid bragged about watching 23 episodes of a TV show in 4 days. I wasn’t surprised.  One wouldn’t eat wild blueberries, because they weren’t wrapped in plastic.  Amazing. I love blueberries, and it reminds me some summer I’ve got to go back to Minnesota just to pick them.

I once posted a picture from northern California’s Redwood National Park,

I didn't lift this from the Internet. Redwood National Park, June 2012

I didn’t lift this from the Internet. Redwood National Park, June 2012

and saw a comment, “Where did you find that on the Internet?”  It never occurred to the writer that there are average folks like me who actually go to these places, where we can point a lens at a tree 120 meters tall and take a picture of its dwarfing a car.  The canopy of a redwood contains an ecosystem with plants and animals found nowhere else. I read it in The New Yorker; nobody sent me a link to “educate” me.  Sahalie Falls, Oregon, got a “Wow, who took that photo?” I replied, “I DID.”

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Sahalie Falls, Oregon, near Santiam Junction.

In the days of posting and sharing, I post rarely, usually views of special places in nature that I have seen, often having had to work hard to get there, an essential part of the picture. It is disheartening to me that so many see nature from a screen, rather than immersing themselves in it.  While I have had good fortune to see these lovely places, I made it happen, too.

I changed the picture on my profile today to show a 2005 view of Kawnipi Lake in Canada’s Quetico Provincial Park,

"Bowling Alley," Kawnipi Lake, 2005.

“Bowling Alley,” Kawnipi Lake, 2005.

my last trip there.  Some like these pictures, amazed that such places not only exist but can only be reached by canoe, not by car, sailboat, or even hiking.  I was originally going to do that trip with a good friend from Ottawa, who introduced me to Sig Olson’s “Pays d’en haut,” in the Far North, 30 years ago.  We hiked the Chilkoot Trail (Klondike fame) together twice, and paddled the Nahanni, Liard, and Yukon Rivers.  We’ve portaged around Virginia Falls, twice as high as Niagara, and canoe sailed on Lake Laberge.

We had planned to see Kawnipi one last time.  Unfortunately, he had an animal emergency and had to cancel.  He was apologetic but knew I would understand. I did, deciding to do the trip solo.  It was difficult, even though I was a lot younger then, 56. I wanted to go further than 10 miles the first day, but my arms were dead.  The next day, I paddled to the north end of huge Agnes Lake, which was like glass.

Agnes Lake, Quetico Provincial Park, 2005.

Agnes Lake, Quetico Provincial Park, 2005.

On the portage out of it, where I hadn’t been for several years, I met two men, telling them I remembered the carry as a mess, with water and blowdowns. Good memory; there were fallen trees everywhere. It’s canoe tripping.

I spent the night on Kawnipi, content sitting on the ledge rock called the Canadian Shield, then the next morning, under threatening skies, headed south, taking the picture I posted today.  As I left Kawnipi, I turned around one last time and looked. In the back of my mind I thought maybe I could return, but I knew realistically I wouldn’t.  I don’t have to.  I’ve been there six times.  I’ve been on all the major bays of the lake. I’ve caught fish, found trails that cut through narrow peninsulas, had a cow moose charge into the water to protect her calf from me, and camped in lovely places.  That’s not on Instagram.  But wow, it’s in my brain.

I was lucky to have calm water back on Agnes.  I’ve paddled tandem on it in pouring rain and a headwind.  I soloed Agnes to Kawnipi in early ’92, when it snowed, and dealt with headwinds alone.  Nobody was out there.  It was great.  I’ve got print pictures somewhere, but no matter.  The memories are in my brain, where it matters, not on Instagram, where somebody might ask what Web site I found them.

There are many special places in wild country.  Getting there only by pack or paddle is a key ingredient.  I seldom give advice, because people neither want mine nor follow it.  I will simply state that for me the physical effort to go to these beautiful places beats looking on Instagram any day of the week.

Then again, it helped to have been raised a kid, free to rocket down the middle of a lake in mid-winter, using a snow coaster as a sail.  Or to be out in the middle of Agnes, on a beautiful day, looking at the huge sweep to the north.  Or doing the work needed to get to Kawnipi, blowdowns and all.

Because it was Kawnipi.

Heading to the campsite, Kawnipi Lake

Heading to the campsite, Kawnipi Lake

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Kawnipi Lake on the map. It is big enough to be seen on road maps, although there is no road within 40 miles of it.

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One of the last pictures I took of Kawnipi, 2005.

SAYING NO IN THE WOODS

July 23, 2015

I remember the date well: it was September 15, 2001, and we were among the few who had no idea what had happened to the country, 4 days earlier.  After portaging our gear around Wheelbarrow Falls, on the Canadian side of Basswood River, we saw two young men, early 20s, getting ready to shoot the rapids, without packs in an aluminum canoe.  They also had wore no helmets, PFDs, hiking boots, and were sitting upright.  This violates five rules of safety.

No, I said, unsuccessfully to these two, you should not do this, because portages up here exist for a reason.  People die in the Quetico-Superior shooting rapids.  Within 10 yards of launch, the canoe shipped water, then swamped, the two fortunately floated down the rapids and survived.  The canoe broached on a log and filled with water, and I later learned it took six hours to right it.  The two were lucky, something one doesn’t want to have to depend upon in the woods, lucky one didn’t get a foot caught under water and drowned.

I got a call the other day from another Obsidian hike leader, wanting to run some things by me.  The Obsidians feature hikes, climbs, bus and bike trips, and last year, after being a member for all of 2 months, I led my first hike.  I’ve now led 18.  I’ve gone on the caller’s hikes; she has gone on mine.  Leading hikes is work.  One has to organize the hike time, meet up place, describe the hike, deal with those who call wanting to know about the hike, but not wanting to register to read about it online, know how to get to the trailhead, know the trail itself, and decide whether a person is capable of doing it.  The online description should be sufficient to tell someone whether this is suitable.  If one wants short walks, a 12 miler of mine with 2500 feet of elevation gain is not suitable.  Don’t laugh, I’ve had people say, “I’m on my feet 10 hours a day,”  as if that helps climb Mt. Hardesty, 3400 feet vertical.  On hiking day, I arrive 30 minutes early, hoping everybody who signed up shows, but invariably, some don’t. We leave no later than 5 minutes past the start time, carpool to the trailhead, and hike.  No shows without cancellation delay departure.  Me generation.  Lots of technology to communicate, yet communication has worsened.

The two of us talked about recent hikes, where I finally added a statement to future hike descriptions stating that “training” was not allowed; I would not allow an individual to carry extra weight on the hike to get into shape.  This rule occurred because of two incidents: on one hike, a lady carried barbells in her pack, holding everybody up for 30 minutes, because the hike had a steep climb at the outset that she could barely manage. I let that go until the next hike, when a man lagged far behind the whole time and fell because of exhaustion.  We divvied up his pack between us.  We hike where cell phone reception is poor, and while we were lucky, depending upon luck in the wilderness is a bad idea.  Perhaps I’ve lost friends by my attitude, but I can’t lead a 12 miler with 2500 feet elevation gain and a 2 hour drive each way, and still return at a decent hour if people photograph everything in sight or need frequent rest stops.

Eventually, the caller asked me about a person on her upcoming weeklong backpack trip who had dislocated his artificial hip on a recent hike but got it back in the socket himself.  Luck.  She told him he couldn’t go; he was very upset with her.  I agreed with her decision.  He has no business hiking until given the green light by an orthopedist.  Maybe nothing will happen.  Those four words are often said before a cascade of bad things concatenate in the Cascades.  Things go wrong on backpacking trips.  We plan for many emergencies.  Hip dislocations are rare, but once somebody has dislocated one, he is at high risk for a second; it doesn’t make sense taking him.

Sometimes, one just has to say no, no to going backpacking with a hip that may cause trouble and no to “training hikes,” where others are inconvenienced.   Most of these “no’s” can be stated quietly: “I’m sorry, but as leader, I can’t take the risk of your hip’s dislocating, which will disrupt the entire trip should you not be able to reduce it.  I am responsible, and in my judgment you should not go.”  “No, please don’t carry extra weight.  This is a difficult enough hike with a day pack.”

No, I said on a November hike last year, we aren’t going to take a detour to see a place where nobody is exactly certain how to get to, because it’s going to snow later today, we will lose valuable time, and if we get into trouble, we are in the high country where early darkness and cold are life threatening concerns.

I wish I had been present to say “No” to a 15 year-old’s leader at the other end of Basswood River, when they decided the portage was too long and they would shoot the rapids.  Six hours later, most of which the leader was holding the 15 year-old’s head above water, because his ankle was wedged on an underwater rock, a helicopter, a Beaver float plane, and a lot of brave men put their lives at risk to rescue him.

I wish I could have said “No” to the 78 year-old who shot Upper Basswood Falls in high water shortly after ice out in 2013.  The river had changed, and he wasn’t wearing a PFD when they found his body well downstream.  His wife barely survived.

No, I told my wife on Lake One in a pouring rain, I do NOT want to camp after only two miles, but we ARE STOPPING ANYWAY to camp here, because we aren’t yet too wet, and we aren’t cold, but if we continue, we will be.  We stayed dry and safe that night.

I say a lot of “Yes” to life.  I say, yes, I am going to hike solo, because I want to see that country this year.  Yes, I said in 2005, I am going to solo into Kawnipi Lake because I know the route and have several backup choices if the winds are high on big water.  Yes, I am going to solo winter camp at 63, because I know the trail, and I just want to get into the woods.  My route and time of exit in all instances was known by my wife.  I don’t ever deviate from it.

Canada’s Kawnipi one last time and my snow camp on the Angleworm Trail, were smart, wonderful trips.

I likely will never see this again, but I saw it many, many times, and loved camping on the lake.

I likely will never see this again, but I saw it many, many times, and loved camping on the lake.

Kawnipi Lake, 2005. Many, including me, say this is the most beautiful lake in Canada’s Quetico. I have been on it six different times and consider myself blessed.

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I call this “bowling alley,” Kawnipi Lake, 2005. I’ve soloed to it twice, and it is 3 days’ paddle from town.

Author on the Angleworm Bridge, late April 2013, BWCA Wilderness

Author on the Angleworm Bridge, late April 2013, BWCA Wilderness

CONCATENTATION AND EXPECTED VALUES

July 18, 2015

A bloody picture of a cyclist adorned my Facebook page.  The writer was succinct:

How I joined the walking dead:

1. Rented a bike with defective brakes.

2. Started riding through a long dark RR tunnel.

3. Encountered a multi-family group with very small children in tow coming the other way.

4. Wiped out trying to avoid scattering kids like bowling pins.

This is a classic description of a fortunately not tragic accident.  Each one of those incidents alone might not have been sufficient, but together they caused a bloody rider. There was a concatenation of events.  Sometimes, we have a concatenation of errors.

I had my own sixteen years ago this month:

  1. Took part in a long distance bicycle tour only a few months after starting to ride a road bike.
  2. Ended up on a rainy day wet, tired after crossing 3 Colorado passes, and eager to get to the school where we were going to be camping.
  3. Saw a car in the turn lane headed towards me.  I had limited experience riding a bicycle in traffic.
  4. Assumed the driver saw me.
  5. The car suddenly turned in front of me.
  6. Too late, with wet brakes, I skidded and landed on my right hip, trying to avoid him.  I wasn’t the walking dead, but I didn’t walk normally for several months, and I’m lucky I can walk today.

It’s worth discussing the concept of the expected value of an event, like the lottery.  People see 2 winners in the last lottery and buy tickets, because after all, they could win.  It has to be somebody.  This is usually true.  If not, eventually the probability becomes so high that when the lottery has an unusually large payoff somebody (or several people) almost certainly will win.

If the probability of an occurrence is extremely small, invariable, and not zero, and the number of times the occurrence may happen is very large, the expected value is their product.  A probability of 1 in 110 million of winning x 440 million lottery tickets sold has an expected value of 4 winners.  It’s that easy.  Low probability events, like automobile fatalities, occur every day, because so many people drive. Expected values are just that.  They are expected, but they are not necessarily going to occur.

Aviation, perhaps more than any other endeavor, has taken safety to heart, because aviation is so unforgiving of errors.  Additionally, aviation has a large number of events, called flights, where there is a low but non-zero probability of a crash.  Aviation has tried to improve the probabilities and in commercial aviation, there have been multiple years, often consecutive, without a fatality.

Non-commercial aviation isn’t as safe.  Nearly two decades ago, a 7 year-old was trying to be the youngest person to ever fly across the country.  Being the youngest, oldest, first, most disabled, fastest, —st is often the first cause in a cascade of events that leads to tragedy.

A 7 year-old had no business being at the controls of an aircraft.  Period.  One of the last things to mature is judgment.

  • They took off to try to beat a thunderstorm, poor judgment, because wind shear is unpredictable in thunderstorms.  One must wait.
  • They were overloaded.
  • The runway was at a higher altitude where there is less lift for aircraft.
  • Rainwater on the wings diminished lift.  Airfoils are delicate; distortions of shape diminish performance.
  • They turned to avoid part of the thunderstorm.  Turning decreases lift.  The overloaded, slow moving, distorted airfoil plane stalled and crashed, killing all aboard.

Remarkable finding of evidence and piecing it together led to understanding why Air France 447 crashed in the mid-Atlantic in 2009.  Here’s a root cause analysis:

  • Why did the plane crash?  It stalled.
  • Why did the plane stall?  It was in the nose up position for the last part of the flight, reducing lift.
  • Why was the plane in the nose up position?  Because the co-pilots had taken control and saw that the altitude was low.
  • Why did the co-pilots take control? Because the autopilot had shut off.
  • Why did the autopilot shut off?  Because it wasn’t getting useful information from the pitot tubes, like altitude and speed; the altitude reading was faulty.
  • Why didn’t the co-pilots keep on the same course as the autopilot? Because they trusted the instruments.
  • Why weren’t the pitot tubes sending useful information?  Because they were faulty and needed to be replaced, but the airline was phasing them in.
  • Why was the airline allowed to phase them in?  That ends the questions.  That’s where action needed to occur.  Additional causes included the pilot’s napping (not wrong) so he was not in the cockpit when called.  There were other crew miscommunications.
  • What could have been done?  As soon as the “stall” alarm came on, the crew needed only to push the nose of the aircraft down.  Planes stall when they climb too rapidly.

**********

This root cause approach to errors is what medicine needs.  When a surgeon operated on the wrong side of the head, he got a letter telling him not to do it again.  Nothing changed.  Here’s what happened.

  • Patient in ED had a subdural hematoma and needed emergency surgery.  There are emergencies where one must act in a matter of seconds, and there are emergencies where one needs to act quickly, but can take a few minutes to think about the necessary approach.  A lot of people in and out of the medical field don’t understand that there is a huge difference between the two.  Unnecessary hurry is one of three bad things in medicine (others are lack of sleep and interruption).  A subdural hematoma needs to be evacuated, but unlike its cousin an epidural, it doesn’t need to be done in the emergency department, and there is time to plan the procedure.
  • CT Scans were relatively new and had changed the left-right orientation opposite to traditional X-Rays.  I practiced when CT scans showed this orientation, and it was extremely confusing.
  • Many people have trouble distinguishing left from right.  It isn’t a personality flaw, it is a biological issue, akin to being shy.  Approximately 15% of women and 2% of men have this problem.
  • Nobody spoke up to tell the surgeon they were concerned upon which side he was operating.

Without going into more detail, I reiterate the comments I made to the head of the operating room, who assured me that 99.9% of the time they did it right.

“No,” I replied.  “You get it right 99.99% of the time, and that isn’t good enough.  Counts matter, and wrong side surgery cases must be zero.”

We need better system design to decrease the probability of the wrong thing’s happening.  The stronger our systems, the more events will have to occur for something to go wrong, and that means people will be safer.

We will never know if a better system saved a life.  But probabilistically, it will increase the expected value of success, and I trust expected values.

LEGACY BY THE NUMBERS

July 16, 2015

I recently had an op-ed appear in the paper, unedited, about the need for Oregon pharmacies to submit root cause analysis of errors, even if they reported only one annually.  This voluntary, confidential program, with 721 pharmacies state-wide, would lead to 721 reports and improve patient safety.  There were 3 tweets and 4 shares, so I doubt much will happen.  Still, I tried.

Before the op-ed was published, I sent it to a friend of mine here and got a long reply.  She reminds me of my brother: sends a letter, I reply, and never hear again. I’ve gotten used to it.  People are busy. She said the following: “I was, indeed, surprised that it (my offering to help people) is a volunteer endeavour (sic) in the first place. That is the first thing that could be changed for the better.”

In other words, if it is for free, which my offering help to organizations throughout the state was, it can’t be worth much.  Don’t volunteer, do it for pay.  Get dollars for what you do.  Dollars matter.  Money matters.  It measures our worth in society.  Don’t laugh: a woman wrote an article about the richest people in the world, and a few sent her their bank statements to show they deserved to be in the article.  Why did “ARod” ask for $252 million?  It was twice the previous high for a contract.  Many define themselves by their net worth in money, not by their worth to society.

I have a different philosophy:  not every error can or should be counted, and not every dollar potentially able to be earned can or should be earned.  I can do online tutoring and make a few hundred dollars a month, or I can do it for free.  I choose the latter.  Crazy?  Nope.  I love it.

I hope I have a lot of time left in my life.  Probabilistically, I have a little north of 17 years left.  Seventeen years ago, I was 49, which seems like yesterday.  Time passes, and people are busy.  I was there once, too, although I woke up in 1989 and discovered I had choices in life, and I was going to make a few, recognizing that some doors lock permanently when closed.

I’ve long been concerned about my legacy; that’s why I volunteer.  What am I leaving behind? Did I do something good for the world? Did I matter? I desire to help animals and people, mostly in that order, since animals didn’t choose to be here and need more help.  Yes, none of us chose to be born, but birth control still is available here, and life is a lot easier with fewer children and better for them, too.

What surprised me is that I actually offered to do something for free in medicine, since 5 years ago, after my last failed initiative, counting obesity in schoolchildren, I swore I would never do anything for medicine again.  I’ve got to quit swearing.  I changed my mind, but whether I am too old, too out of date, or too fixed in my ways remains to be seen.  The first two are possible; the last exceedingly improbable.  I am more open to new directions in life than anybody else I know.  “I will change my mind in the face of compelling evidence,” is one of my favorite sayings.

I came to Oregon to begin probably the last phase of my life.  I wanted to integrate myself into the community, and volunteering is a good way.  It’s easy to get around, and I am 30-90 minutes from trailheads that lead far from civilization. I can help others or to find solitude.  I knew some of my attempts with organizations would be good fits and others would not.  I wasn’t surprised that some of the things I expected I might do, like substitute teaching, didn’t work out.  Not much surprises me these days, except Dan Savage’s “Savage Love” in the Eugene Weekly.  His column teaches me every Thursday something new about human sexuality, and having spent two years as a doctor on a Navy ship, that’s a stunning admission.

I thought I would take German courses, and I didn’t.  I thought I might hike a little; I have now taken 110 major hikes, seventeen of them as hike leader for the Obsidians, a local hiking group.  That’s been great.  People know my hikes aren’t easy.  I tell them that upfront.  I have an exceedingly good sense of time, how we are doing on the trail.  That matters.  Hike with somebody who doesn’t have that sense, and you find yourself back home a lot later than you planned, 3 hours in one memorable instance.  Go on a hike with me, and you know exactly the departure time, the planned pace, what is going to be seen, the lunch spot and estimated time of return.  I never dreamed I’d lead hikes.  I’m giving back.  I’ve found places and routes to some that native Oregonians didn’t know.

Teaching?  I found a home at Lane CC, tutoring students.  I’ve had an ex-con, 76, who was taking basic arithmetic.  Good for him.  I’ve been pushed to learn things I hadn’t known and relearn things I once knew.  They like having me there.  It’s a great fit.  They need somebody for free.

I thought I would be a resource in advising people about end of life issues, but that hasn’t worked out.  It’s not out of the question, but there isn’t a fit right now.  I’m a little disappointed, but I’m at peace with it. The SMART program, reading to young children, is important, but it wasn’t a good fit. I love to read, but I can’t translate that to helping people like I can math.

The planetarium shows I do twice weekly at The Science Factory are interesting.  Children aren’t usually my forte, but few things are more fun than a curious 5 year-old asking better questions than most adults.  I like that.  I’m going to build an analemmatic sundial, one of those where you stand on the month-line and your shadow reads the time.  I’ve made a few, and this might be useful.  Is this place a fit?  Not yet certain.

My op-ed was my eighth publication in the newspaper since I’ve been here.  A few notice them. Maybe they help, maybe not, but I’m on the record, putting my money where my mouth is.  One Tucson friend told me I should send the article to the Arizona Daily STAR.  Nice but nope. My time there has past.

I don’t know where my life is heading, and that suits me just fine.  I’ve long pushed for national mandatory service to the country.  I believe every retiree who can should serve a little.  I don’t tell them that.  It isn’t polite.  I’m not leading by example.  I’m focused on my legacy.

I’m not counting dollars amassed.  I’m counting hours served.  Some numbers matter more than others.

TWO FLAGS

July 7, 2015

My wife noted a magazine from The Hermitage, an Arizona organization that rescues cats, animals near and dear to me.  The Hermitage had adopted 61 “unadoptable” cats from Animal Control in southern Arizona, finding homes for 42….so far.  My wife supports The Hermitage, which unfortunately had bad press several years ago from conflicts from within.

For once, I said the right phrase:  “Sounds like two groups, equally passionate about animals, couldn’t find agreement.”

I am not sure what the issue was, but it hurt the organization, which I doubt either side wanted.  Indeed, I am certain both sides had feline welfare as a priority.  It is possible for people to love something and have strongly differing views on how to best help it.  Not only is it possible, it is likely.  The irony is that squabbling hurts both sides and the issue they support.

This statement applies to the country at large.  I know people whom I call “friend,” in the true meaning of the word, with whom I have significant disagreements about what ought to be done by America.  Somehow, we usually manage to sort a lot of it out, usually with humor, sometimes by finding common ground where we do agree.  Too often I remain silent, because I could hurt them verbally.

Americans disagree, which should be expected, given that there are a third of a billion of us.  What bothers me a great deal is the idea that one side “owns” patriotism and love of country.  My detractors don’t own patriotism, nor do I.  Waving the flag everywhere is like two people in love who insist upon smooching in public.  It gets a bit tiring.  You love something or somebody far more by your behavior than by public showing of affection.

I don’t like stock phrases like “land grab,” when a national monument is created.  Yes, there are rules that now apply to that land that once didn’t apply, but much land has been taken over privately, and it is no longer able to be used at all by people who once could use it.  I think Mr. Bundy had a land grab of his own.  Had I decided to use the land on which his cattle were grazing, I reckon he might have been upset.  I don’t like “useless bureaucracy.” If a person suddenly wants the FDA to check on the origin of meat that comes from abroad, the FDA is suddenly not useless.  Nor is the CDC, when it tries to deal with a new viral infection.  Nor are the police and other first responders, paid by the public to protect the public. Nor was FEMA, when Governor Christie needed help after Hurricane Sandy.  A wise psychologist told me long ago that “all” or “nothing” statements are an entry into depression.  Are ALL governmental workers bad?  Are ALL politicians bad?  Is NO Democrat good?  Really?  NONE at all?

It is normal to contradict one’s own beliefs.  We all do at times.  It is also normal not to like laws or government except when it suits us.  I do, however, have a different take from those who think the Confederate Flag honors a “rebel” heritage while simultaneously spread the American flag out over an entire football stadium to show their patriotism.  Secession was treason, and rebel is a poor euphemism.  The Confederate Flag flew for four years over eleven states which seceded from the Union.  Had it not been for nearly three million Union soldiers, one-third of whom would become casualties, one-eighth of whom would die, we would have remained a fractured country.  That is the truth. The states have many rights, a problem for those of us who travel from one to another, be it with local taxes, customs, speed limits, medical care, or odd laws.  There are many things in the country that need standardization, and 50 states each doing it differently is not wise.  As for that flag, it can sit in a museum.  I don’t wish to see it.

Ironically, many who want States’ Rights have no use for “socialist” Europe, which to me is a classic example of States’ Rights taken to the extreme.  I’ve been to Europe eleven times.  We could learn a great deal from Europeans about health care, transportation, education, fluency in languages, and efficient energy use.  Europeans could learn from us about unity.  Are any of the 8 federated entities from the former Yugoslavia a player on the world stage today?  No way.  I can count 40—yes, forty—different countries west of the Black Sea and north of Turkey.  The European Union has had trouble with one currency.  The cultural differences alone should have negated Greece’s ever joining the EU, although the Greek statistician who was honest about the country’s finances was jailed.  I don’t find multiple languages, cultures, defense, and currencies a strength, but rather a weakness.  Make America 50 different countries, and our influence would be profoundly degraded.

We need mandatory national service by the young, to relearn that “civil servant” is an honorable career, the way it once was, denoting respect for one whose life was public service and whose service did not make him as rich as one who worked for a privately owned company. We don’t pick and choose which laws to obey.  There is a Constitution, and the states have many rights, all that are not specifically granted to the Federal government.

Many squabbles are ultimately arbitrated by the Supreme Court.  The Justices are appointed for life by the President.  Many who don’t vote for president, “because there is no difference,” might be chastened to realize what can happen to the Supreme Court for the next fifty years by a presidential election.  The law can be changed if the Court changes.  That may or may not be good.  Given the Citizens United decision, 5-4, where money was allowed to flood politics, I am worried about this Court.

But the law is the law.  If I don’t like it, I must work to change it, through words, active protests, economic boycotts, but always through legal means.  If I don’t like staying here, I have the choice to leave.  I don’t have the choice here to do what I want without regard to the law.  Nor does anybody who has the “Stars and Bars” on his pickup.

I was disturbed at the outcry about the Supreme Court’s ruling in Obergefell vs. Hodges.  I fail to see how love of another person who has the same variant of human sexuality is wrong.  Citizens United and Burwell vs. Hobby Lobby were both horrible decisions, far more reaching than gay marriage, which doesn’t affect me a bit.  In the final analysis, of the two decisions that momentous week, the Affordable Care Act was by far the most important, while Obergefell vs. Hodges was part of civil rights.  It was a week where two flags will soon be relegated to history for very different reasons: one because it was a sign of treason and failure, the other because it symbolized a wish that came true.

LIVING IN THE PUBLIC EYE

July 4, 2015

When I graduated from high school, 49 years ago, I got compliments from people whom I respected a great deal, my parents, and my homeroom teacher when I was a junior.  The latter wrote in my yearbook, “having grown up in the public eye, I know how difficult it can be.  You have emerged as your own person. I’m proud of you.”  My father was superintendent of public schools, sending me to one of the high schools in his district, for going to a private school, while perhaps offering a better education, would have been hypocrisy.  It didn’t hurt that his son was valedictorian.  He told me that my not getting into trouble made his job immensely easier.

Too many live in the public eye and refuse to deal with the big downside of such: everything you do is scrutinized.  I wasted three minutes of my life listening to “The Sarah Palin Channel,” as she opined about the California drought.  She advised them to build more dams, but in fairness, she did offer a water source, the ocean.  “There’s all that water around ya’.”  I don’t like “ya” in this context.  I know it sounds folksy, and she appeals to many, especially men, but she is now in her 50s and long since should have left the airwaves.

Let’s discuss desalinization.  It works.  I drank ocean water that went through the boilers on my ship, that took salt water, heated it to steam, and then let the steam power the ship.  Some of that steam was allowed to condense, and that was our drinking water and cleaning water, but not our toilet water. Desalinization requires converting water to steam, an energy-intensive process, because one needs to make steam and let the fresh water condense out.  I’m surprised Ms. Palin, important and tellin’ the truth, didn’t discuss the number of calories it takes to turn water into steam.  Heating water from freezing to boiling is not difficult.  It takes 100 calories/gram.  From boiling to steam is called vaporization, and it requires 540 calories/gm, nearly five and a half times the heat needed to get to boiling.  That, incidentally, is why sweat cools us, because body heat is used to convert water to water vapor, cooling us.  Evaporation cools, condensation warms. That is why when there is dew, the temperature stops falling, because condensation releases heat, limiting radiational cooling. In the sky, when clouds form, heat is given off, and if the atmosphere is unstable, the water tends to rise into cooler air, condensing and releasing more heat.  This is why we get convective thunderstorms.

Ms. Palin didn’t like the idea that the government should tell people what to do, although she would have had no problem as vice president telling people what to do.  I heard that in the first week of October 2008, when she debated then Senator Joe Biden, who schooled her in exactly what power the Vice President had.  Why, she said, government would dictate how long showers might last.  She didn’t mention that most of the water use in California is for growing heavy water consumers, like almonds, pistachios, alfalfa for cattle feed, and pasture.  Nor did she discuss the 250 different water companies and patchwork regulations, which is what happens when there isn’t a strong state government.  Nor did she discuss that voluntary measures had failed to help California save water.  Or the “blob” in the Gulf of Alaska, that may be changing climate on the West Coast.

She didn’t mention that many municipalities do not meter water, using far more than such desert cities as Phoenix, Tucson, and Santa Fé.   Government is bad, she said, taking her own advice and resigning governorship of Alaska after thirty-one months in office.  She has two children with out-of-wedlock pregnancies, which normally I could care less about, but had this been from a Democrat, people would have been screaming moral decay.  Even Mike Huckabee gave her daughter a pass on her out-of-wedlock baby, the couple later never marrying.  Lot of adults have out-of-wedlock pregnancies, but to tout abstinence only as the form of birth control we should use as a nation, as Ms. Palin once did, might first have begun in her home.

The problem with being in the public eye is that one has to behave to a different standard than the rest of us.  I knew that, and I am a nobody. I also don’t get into fights at parties where my children (not that I have any) rip off their shirt, flip people off, throw punches, while I yell at (other) jerks, “Do you know who I am?” That’s a shame, because another guy at the party yelled, “This isn’t some reality TV hillbilly show.”  Damn, I would have loved to have said that. I wouldn’t have been the first, however, as her family was referred to during 2008 as “Wasilla Hillbillies.” Ms. Palin denied having been at the party, but there were eyewitnesses.  She could have apologized for her behavior and that of her family, and slunk away quietly.

Palin didn’t read books, couldn’t name one major Supreme Court case (other than Roe vs. Wade), apparently forgetting Brown vs. Board of Education, along with Marbury vs. Madison or even Dred Scott.  She drew targets on the pictures of Democrats whom she wanted removed from office.  When Gabby Giffords, one of those targeted, was shot 4 miles from where I lived, the comment came back to haunt Ms. Palin, who replied that she didn’t mean gun.  I believed her.  “It wasn’t in good taste, and I apologize,” would have shown class.

Too many don’t like smart men and women; they don’t trust them.  They figure that if somebody is smart, they probably can’t ride a horse, camp outdoors, in a tent, or read the weather, things that real men and women can do.  Well, Ms. Palin, I can ride, camp, and read the weather, the latter two really, really well.  I also understand heat of vaporization and fusion.  I thought school was a good place, and I learned a lot.  What I learned much later was that people want an attractive somebody who will tell them what they want to hear.

Sarah Palin is one of those people. Most assuredly, I am not. I tell people what I think is right.  Then I prove it or open myself up to compelling evidence that will change my mind.  Ms. Palin would do well to follow my example. I’m not as pretty or as young, but I’m a lot wiser and more open to change.

I’ve hiked places in her state she can’t even pronounce.

Far more importantly, for the few times in my life I was in the public eye, I didn’t become a jerk.  And I was a teenager at the time, not a former governor and nearly Vice President.