Sunday, June 19, 2022

Military anthems, militarism, and our youth

 “From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli”

Most of us have known these lyrics to the “Marine Hymn” since childhood. Or I guess we have. It is entirely possible that, for a variety of reasons, the service anthems are no longer being taught in elementary schools, maybe not for decades, and kids are not learning them elsewhere. Of course, when we learned them (3rd grade? 4th?) we had no idea what those lyrics meant, what the ‘halls of Montezuma’ or the ‘shores of Tripoli’ were. Montezuma was dead for several hundred years when the Marines stormed Chapultepec Castle in Mexico City in 1847 during the Mexican War. There was great loss of life on the Marines’ side (and undoubtedly on the Mexican) and ostensibly the “blood stripe” on Marines’ trousers honors them. It was brave for these Marines on an individual and group basis, but it nonetheless true that they were part of an alien military force invading another country. Also, it was a while before I realized it was ‘Montezuma’ and not ‘Montezulema’, since the actual name is one syllable too short to scan and requires holding the “u” for two beats (“Mon-te-zu-u-ma”). It was even earlier, in 1805, that the Marines invaded Tripoli, on the ‘Barbary Coast’ of North Africa, to remove the Barbary pirates that had been attacking American shipping. And conquer the country.

OK, the rest of the song is comprehensible, if (unsurprisingly) exceedingly macho; that’s the nature of service anthems. But the other anthems had their issues also. The Army’s is called “The Caissons Go Rolling Along”, and we dutifully learned it, but never were told what ‘caissons’ were. None of us had any idea. Turns out that they were horse-drawn carriages that carried cannons and ammunition. Hadn’t been used in WWII. So an explanation would have been helpful. I understand that the lyrics have now changed to “the Army goes rolling along”. At least it scans.

The other word no one explained was “aweigh” as in “Anchors Aweigh”, the Navy song. I imagine we all thought it was “away”, and assumed that if the ships were going to sail they had to get rid of the anchors, so put them away. This makes at least as much sense as the actual archaic word, aweigh. The other thing about the Navy song, which I certainly didn’t recognize as a kid, is that it is obviously a college song from the US Naval Academy, apparently for the class of 1907, and thus a song for the officers rather than a song the Navy’s sailors. (“Farewell to college joys, we sail at break of day – ay – ay – ay” – another scanning problem.) It is also a drinking song, which I assume regular sailors can share with USNA students.

The Air Force song, “Off We Go Into the Wild Blue Yonder” was much more comprehensible, probably because it was 20th-century. Maybe we even knew what “yonder” meant. The original lyrics were changed from “Nothing can stop the Army Air Corps” to “US Air Force” when the independent service was established. Although my father was in the Army, he was actually in what was the Army Air Corps at the time.

The final service anthem, from the oldest service, the US Coast Guard (which is the only one not part of the Defense Department, having landed in Homeland Security after a few other locations), is also pretty easy to understand, once you get past the title which is the Coast Guard motto and in Latin, “Semper Paratus”, always ready. It, like the Air Force, has a reference to dying (“to fight and die”; the Air Force has “go down in flame”), which the others lack, despite the definite possibility thereof.

Back in the late 1950s there was no audible controversy about promoting militarism and a simplistic flag-waving version of patriotism in our public schools. Our dress code included ties for little boys, and on Assembly Days, blue pants, white shirt, and red tie! I definitely remember an Assembly program put on by our 3rd-grade (I’m sure of this; I remember the teacher) class, in which each of us participating stood up on stage and read from a short script that said “My father was in the Army (Navy, etc.). He served for X months.” Maybe there was another line. Anyway, obviously some kids couldn’t participate. Their fathers were not in the military. Maybe they were disabled and 4F, or were serving in a critical domestic role, or otherwise were ineligible for WWII. Given our age, born about 4 years after the war, none of them could have died in WWII, although it is not impossible that some could have been killed in Korea, a war begun when we were infants, or certainly later died from other causes; indeed I know this to have been the case for some kids.

So it was pretty unthinking, unfeeling, and inappropriate for our teacher (and by assent, the school) to make these kids feel left out and as if their fathers were “lesser”. But it was, and probably still is, part of an effort to encourage military service. It may have backfired for our generation, since in young adulthood many of us resisted and resented the current use of military force, in Vietnam, but it is a useful thing for a society that now depends upon an all-volunteer force that doesn’t think too much about where they are being sent or why.

A recent Facebook post making the rounds professes to be from a teen, and asks for good parenting because their brain is not yet fully developed however “smart” they appear to be. This is, in fact, true; the last part of the cerebral cortex to develop, in the mid 20s, is the frontal lobe, where making connections, coming to good judgements, and exercising “executive function” resides. This is why a young people, however smart they are or how much they know, still often make incomprehensibly bad decisions. (“When you drove into that intersection, what were you thinking?” “Thinking?”) It is also why they can be brave, violent, reckless with their own lives, and very obedient to authority, thus making good soldiers.

However, don’t ask me why adults, well past their mid-20s, make incomprehensibly bad decisions. That is a whole other story.



Thursday, March 17, 2022

Red, yellow, cherry, lemon and cars in primary colors

I seem to like red now. Not red as in “communist” (although maybe that as well) or certainly red as in Republican (which I abhor), but just the color. My car is red, and if I get another one, red is certainly a preference. Hard to find; all cars these days seem to be various shades of beige and gray. Except in Tucson where they are mostly white, to reflect the sun. It is a beige world, but I like primary colors. I wouldn’t mind a royal blue car, and I thought that the FJ Cruiser in yellow looked cool, much better than the baby poop green that is also popular now, especially in Priuses, but probably red.

I’m wearing red, all layers on my upper body today. My old red windbreaker, with the many pockets and hood and elastic strings with plastic pressure clips on the end hanging down. Very good jacket, old and still the best. My fleece is red, thin, says KU Family Medicine. In red. A little stretched out at the wrists, and Pat doesn’t like it, but it is comfortable and not too heavy. Good for inside. And today a red t-shirt, once my father’s, ironically in fact with the logo “Sure, I’m a Marxist”, with pictures of Marxes: Chico, Harpo, Groucho, and...Karl.

When I was a kid red was definitely not my favorite color. Red was everyone else’s favorite color. Perhaps that was why it was not mine; mine was yellow. I think, however, in addition to iconoclasm, it had to do with the flavor of candies. My favorite flavor in candies – Life Savers, Jujyfruits, Chuckles, Tootsie Roll pops (or any lollipops), popsicles, anything with flavor (of course there were candies like Necco Wafers which had different colors but essentially undistinguishable tastes, mostly dust-flavored) was lemon, and lemon candies were yellow. Red candies were cherry, and I didn’t like those that much, and it was pretty convenient because people were always willing to trade me their yellows for my reds. Of course, there were sometimes when you’d get fooled and a yellow one would be pineapple, or a red one would be strawberry or raspberry. Although I remember learning that blue popsicles – which we called “blue” as if it were a flavor – were raspberry. That tasted a lot better (to me) than cherry. This bled (ooh! blood is red!) over into colors in general; I liked yellow, everyone else liked red.

Later in life, maybe as a teen or young adult, I realized that I loved the flavor of actual cherries, ripe bing cherries, and also realized that that flavor was virtually nothing at all like the imitation cherry flavor in candies and popsicles. Maybe that is where I became more accepting of red as a color, and started buying red cars. They’re much more common than yellow anyway!

And now, to be honest, my favorite color is probably purple, deep purple, and likely always was. It is also my grandson’s favorite color, so we share that in common. And apparently royalty back in the day. Poor conches.

Thursday, January 27, 2022

Poems for a Rainy Day, or Verses in Educational Philosophy

[Written -- actually typed on a typewriter! -- decades ago]



Heuristics lend a helping hand

For things hard to understand.

I wonder who invents these cues

That I so often have to use?

Would I be too strict a purist

If I called him (or her) a heurist?



Epistemology – ways of knowing,

How we can tell the grass is growing.

Observation, intuition,

Then there’s always



Some folks like things they can measure,

Others insight really treasure;

Me, I always opt for leisure.



Naturalistic inquiry

Looks at how folks think and see

In the context of their place and time.

Hermeneutics doesn’t have rhyme.

But I still would be a little leery

Of distinguishing it from grounded theory.

Sunday, January 9, 2022

Why do so many people find fun in loud, aggressive, intrusive behavior?

An easy (and, I guess, common) thing to do on a blog is to rant about the things that the author does not like in the world or about people. There is usually a long, sometimes seemingly endless, list. I have such as list, and I will be carrying on about many of the things on it, so it is a good time to bail if you wish. The thing that I would like to emphasize, though, is that I will really be complaining about one thing, in its many manifestations. This is behavior, mostly but not exclusively by males, that is seen as characteristically, stereotypically, and likely accurately, male.

This often is violent or overtly aggressive toward other people (see: January 6, 2021 + much violent crime) but also is often sublimated into going fast, often in cars but also in / on other vehicles, for no apparent reason. If asked to explain why they do it, it is usually described as fun or exciting. This is very common and in fact admired; note the popularity of both NASCAR and the “Fast and Furious” movie franchise. I guess it is actually fine as long as it doesn’t hurt, or have significant potential to hurt, other people. One example I always think of are the fisherman on the lake on which I had a house in Kansas. It was a small lake, and it didn’t take more than a minute or two for fishermen to get from the public dock at one end to the shallow inlets where they fished down by our end. Especially with the 200HP motors on them. Really fast, but really short trips. Other boats on our lake, and on other bigger lakes also do this all the time, towing water-skiers or running jet skis around and around in circles. What struck me about the fishermen in particular was that, when they got to the end of the lake in just a couple of minutes, they cut their gasoline engines, started their electric trolling motors, and quietly moved around in the shallows fishing for the next couple of hours. But they must have saved at least two minutes compared to going more slowly, two minutes more time for quiet fishing.  And, of course, they added on another two minutes on the other end. But harmless, I suppose, although loud, and creating huge wakes making the lake difficult to swim or canoe or kayak on.

I suppose jet skis are the same; their only function is enjoyment for the riders, but they really mess up the water. At least power boats towing water skiers are helping someone do something that actually requires skill and physical effort; I admit to a prejudice in favor of activities that actually require or help build some muscle and fitness and effort (canoeing, kayak, biking, hiking). The activities that are “just fun” for the people doing them regardless of how they affect others are often done on purpose to harass others – think of jet skiers “buzzing the beach”. Or, for that matter, folks who play their car radios really loud with the windows open (the rest of us mostly just hear the booming bass line) or have their motorcycle mufflers adjusted to make really loud noise. Sometimes this is all a reflection of immaturity, and this immaturity is to a degree “natural”; human brains are not fully developed into the mid-20s, and the last part to develop completely is the fontal lobe, controlling “executive function” and what we might generally call judgement. This is different from being smart, or even knowing a lot – it is being able to integrate the information you have and make a wise decision based on it.

Why did you drive into that busy intersection where you then had a crash? What were you thinking?


So that can be dangerous, despite the fact that it can also be normal for young people (mostly male) because of their incomplete brain development. But the problem is that for many, such behavior persists, long past the mid-20s, into middle and even old age. How do we explain this? Arrested development? The counter influence of a culture that glorifies violence and war (mostly, it must be said, for the profit)? The counter influence of substances, particularly alcohol? Does it matter?

It matters little if kids are just acting out and testing limits and don’t really cause difficulty for others, just sometimes irritation. It matters a little if people acting out do intrude on the life and activities of others, and a lot if it creates danger to them. And worse if it actually harms others.

I first thought that the question was why we accept such behavior as ok. Now I realize that this question doesn’t mean anything. I just wish the norm for acceptable behavior (at least for males) was  not aggressive, violent, mean, and stupid.

Sunday, December 19, 2021

A Brooklyn boy moves to the Upper West Side: Now long ago

In 1966, shortly after I started college, my family moved from Brooklyn to the Upper West Side of Manhattan, to a then-new building. It was built under the states’s Mitchell-Lama urban renewal law that encouraged clearing of tenements and replacement with new buildings. These were not classically “rent-controlled” (like the controls instituted in older buildings post-WWII) but has restrictions on the rent, limiting the profit of the landlords and requiring justification of any rent increase.

I have very good nostalgic memories of my growing up in Brooklyn, in an era far very different from its current status as the hip center of the universe, mostly post-Dodgers and very much pre-Nets (at least in their Brooklyn incarnation). But I never regretted my family’s move to “The City”. As a college student and young adult when I came home for vacations or visits Manhattan, and especially the Upper West Side, was diverse and cultured and exciting in ways that were so different from where I had lived in Brooklyn. I loved coming there, loved walking the streets, day or night (a lot of night as a young man), reveling in the variety of small stores on Broadway, and the fact that the subway was only two short blocks away. And that coming from the subway you could stop for food for dinner from the butcher, baker, fish store, fruit and vegetable store; there were also family-run stores of everything from shoes to jewelry to laundries to delicatessens. And, within a few years of living there, my mother, a kindergarten teacher in the local school, knew most of the families whose children had passed through her class. That was not different from back in Brooklyn, where the same was true for my mother and her “kids” and their families, though there was probably more economic and ethnic diversity in Manhattan. There were (mostly) the same sorts of stores on the shopping streets of Brooklyn, but Broadway had a different feel; it was so intense!

One of the first, and most amazing things, we noted was how many movie theaters were within a few blocks of our house. There were also no multiplexes then, but the Riviera and the Riverside were on the same block of Broadway between 96th and 97th streets. The Symphony (now the Symphony Space, but then a movie theater) was on Broadway at 95th, and in its basement, with an entrance on 95th, was the Thalia. The Midtown was on Broadway between 99th and 100th and the Olympia up at 106th. The New Yorker was at Broadway and 88th, and the Loew’s 84th St was at – 84th St! There were even more theaters further south on Broadway. So I went to the movies a lot. This was a big change from the Avenue U, 25 cents + 5 cents candy Saturday double features in Brooklyn!

One night in the first summer we were there and I was home from college, 1967, my father and I were walking on Broadway, alive and vibrant at night as Avenue U or even Kings Highway never was. There was a lot of action and people as we approached a Stark’s Coffee Shop, on the corner of 92nd (or maybe it was 91st) St. We realized that they were filming a scene from a movie in the coffee shop, and we stopped for a while. I later saw that scene, many times, in the film The Odd Couple, with Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau. Indeed, most often at the Thalia, which had an enormous collection of films and played a different double feature every day! You needed to have the printed schedule (no computers!) to keep track of what was coming so you could catch what you wanted to see. Most often, the Odd Couple (1968) was paired with another great film set on the Upper West Side, A Thousand Clowns (1965) with Jason Robards and Martin Balsam. I am sure I saw that double feature multiple times. I recently saw a posting of the Greatest 100 Films of All Time, and neither was on it. I don’t suggest that I am an expert or fit to judge this, but I have my opinions, and if I were compiling the list of the 100 Greatest Films I Have Ever Seen (which, in full disclosure, would not include the majority of the films on that other list), those two would certainly be on it!

The two most-grounded-in-the-neighborhood members of my family were my mother, based both on her role as an early-childhood teacher in one of the local schools and her incredibly warm and engaging personality that made, really, everyone love her, and my youngest sister, who attended public schools through high school on the UWS. Actually, she went to the school right next to our building, while my mother taught at the one 3 blocks away, which was itself closer than my own elementary school in Brooklyn had been to where we lived, demonstrating the density of Manhattan. I mentioned diversity; in terms of race and ethnicity, and even income, it was. I am sure that Sesame Street, beginning about that time, was based on the Upper West Side of the late 1960s. Not only were many ethnic groups represented in the neighborhood and in our building, but unlike in Brooklyn there were many mixed families – not only Italian AND Jewish (the big ethnicities of my old neighborhood) but Irish and Puerto Rican, Black and Polish, and on and on.

Things change in 50+ years. My father, who lived in that building from 1966, died a couple of years ago; it was a rental, not a condo, so we couldn’t buy and keep it. This means lots of people – family (not just immediate but very extended), friends, friends of family and family of friends, no longer have his apartment to stay in while visiting New York. Just as Brooklyn has changed so much I cannot recognize it, so has the Upper West Side. The family-owned stores are mostly gone, and walking on Broadway it seems like most of the stores are the same chains you would see in a suburban shopping mall. But not completely; there are still places to get NY pizza (the BEST!!! No question or comparison!!), if not for 20 cents a slice, and a few delis to get knishes, and a lot of fruit-and-flower stands. But a lot fewer movie theaters. The Thalia (now the Leonard Nimoy Thalia) no longer shows movies; its day as a repository for thousands of films was doomed by DVDs and streaming services. It, and the old Symphony are now Symphony Space, still a cultural center. The Loew’s 84th St is a multiplex fit for any suburban shopping mall. But there are still a few theaters that regularly play both old and new “art” films (an old term generally equated with “foreign”).

My mother has been gone for decades; even the “new” playground at the school she taught in that had a plaque in dedication to her has been replaced by a newer playground, with no plaque. The Upper West Side is both mallified and gentrified, and also become a destination for young Orthodox Jews, especially Lubavitcher. And, yet, despite the fact that no one with a regular job can afford an apartment, there are still lots of poor people living there, so it remains a diverse community.

So I still have warm memories of both Brooklyn and the Upper West Side  from different parts of my youth. Being a child in Brooklyn was good, and being a young adult in Manhattan was great. It was a much cooler place to bring people I was dating to see; long walks actually took you places – Central Park and Riverside Park and the river and the Boat Basin at 79th St., and Columbia and Grant’s Tomb and Riverside Church. All those things are still there even if Broadway is full of chain stores.

For my father’s 90th birthday, we hired a car and driver and went to Brooklyn, starting in Coney Island and heading up to the Bedford-Stuyvesant and Williamsburg where he grew up. We saw my old neighborhood farther south, my high school and Brooklyn College, and the Ebbetts Field apartments. It was nostalgic, but it was good to get back to Manhattan.

But I actually have no plans to go back to either in the near future; I’ll work off of my memories and don’t need them replaced.

Tuesday, November 23, 2021

Physician specialists: What's in a name?

 Most of my medical posts are in Medicine and Social Justice (, but this one, although about medicine, is not about social justice and seemed more a musing appropriate to this blog...


I had a recent conversation with someone who said that they were looking for a gerontologist for their parents. Since they were talking about a physician, I noted that the correct term is “geriatrician”, one who practices geriatrics; a gerontologist is someone who studies aging but is not a physician. Geriatrician is parallel to pediatrics/pediatrician or obstetrics/obstetrician.

But it is not at all obvious. Indeed, most medical specialties and their physician practitioners follow the “ology/ologist” model: anesthesiology, radiology, neurology, cardiology, and so on. Therefore, it made sense to think a physician caring for older adults might be a gerontologist. But it isn’t.

There are other terms for physicians in other specialties, and I guess you have to know each one. Sort of parallel to geriatrics/gerontology might be psychiatry/psychology, but the physicians who practices psychiatry is a psychiatrist, and psychologists can also be clinical practitioners, if not physicians. Following this psychiatry/psychiatrist model, the specialty that used to be called physical medicine is now called physiatry, and physicians practicing it are physiatrists. The parallel to psychology might be physiology, but physiologists, though they can have MD degrees, are researchers in physical function, not clinicians.

And the physicians who practice orthopedics, which seems similar to geriatrics/pediatrics and obstetrics are called orthopedists, not orthopedicians. The same ending is used for genetics and ethics, geneticist and ethicist, and these can be either physicians or other professionals! The general physician for adults is called an internist, but practices internal medicine, not internics. Internal medicine subspecialists are almost all “ologists” (cardiologists, gastroenterologists, nephrologists, rheumatologists, etc.). And now some internists have become “hospitalists”, based on taking care of only hospitalized patients, and we are also hearing not only the opposite, “ambulists”, but subtypes of hospitalists based on when they work – “nocturnists” and even “weekendists”!

The specialty of family medicine is practiced by family physicians or family doctors; the old terms family practice and family practitioner are no longer used. Of course, there are family nurse practitioners, generalists in the field, compared with pediatric, psychiatric, and adult (not internal medicine) nurse practitioners. Those who do solely women’s reproductive health may be called women’s health or OB-Gyn nurse practitioners, but the nurses trained to deliver babies are nurse-midwives. 

A lot of these names are from Greek and Latin, and sometimes both are used in ways that can be confusing: pediatrics comes from the Greek for child, while podiatrist (a foot doctor, a DPM, not an MD) comes from the same root as pedal, the Latin for foot. Indeed, in anatomy, while the larger bone in the lower leg, the tibia, has a tibial artery, tibial vein, and tibial nerve, the smaller, the fibula (from Latin) has a peroneal artery, vein, and nerve, from the Greek for the same bone! 

I have observed that, while to a health professional, the difference between orthopedics (bones) and orthodontics (straightening teeth) is clear, it is also obvious why these names might be confusing to a regular person. Knowing this stuff as a health professional makes you part of the in-group; knowing it as anyone else means you spend too much time at the doctor's!

You really can’t tell the players without a scorecard!

Wednesday, August 25, 2021

Traffic, views, noise and crowding: it's all about what you're used to

We all get used to what we get used to, and while a change can make things get better – or worse – for a while, we then get used to the “new normal”. No, I am not particularly talking about the COVID pandemic here, despite what we have become used to the phrase “the new normal” referring to (although anyone is always free to read into what I write whatever grabs them). I have long thought about this in regard to traffic; “too long” is relative to what you expect, not to some abstract standard. I have lived in a number of places, including New York City and Chicago and San Antonio and Kansas City and Tucson. It is a given that the traffic is much worse and slower in those first two, and thus commutes to work could be considered longer. Although, in fairness, I lived much closer to work in the other cities, and, in addition, rarely drove to work or anywhere else in NYC where there is extensive public transit. Plus NYC, having developed (at least until the 1980s) as the US city most like European social democracies had 8-hour days that included a lunch hour, thus the idea of “9 to 5”, where everywhere else I lived (more reactionary, anti-worker, even Chicago) it was 8-5 – 8 hours with an unpaid lunch. This meant I could, when I was young, awaken at 8:15, dress, take the subway, pick up a bagel and coffee downstairs, and be at work by 9. It helped when I was young, and my bedtime was, um, later.

Nonetheless, it was a 45-60 minute drive to work in Chicago from a near-in suburb, as opposed to 15-20 for what was likely the same distance in San Antonio. And yet, to get to my point, it was still possible to be frustrated with traffic. If you think a trip will take you up to an hour and you do it in 50 minutes, that is great, but if you expect it will take 15 minutes and it takes 20 you get frustrated. I always wondered, though, how come Kansas City could not do economically better relative to, say, Chicago, when the people who worked there had about an extra hour and a half less time spent in traffic. One reason, of course, is that people moved farther out (bigger houses for less money), and the other is that they left for work later.

But, as usual, I digress. The point is that you get used to what you get used to, and that includes noise. I spent a good part of my youth on the Upper West Side of NYC where my father lived for over 50 years. It’s noisy there. It’s New York, which is dense and noisy. It is Manhattan, which is denser and noisier. And it was on Amsterdam Avenue, the major northbound truck route in upper Manhattan (since trucks can’t go on the highways on the east or west side). Plus fire engines. You get used to it. You sleep right through it. Even the car alarms which, when they go off, go off for a long time since it is not like the car is in the person’s driveway; their apartment could be blocks away. And the people (often inebriated) screaming in the street. Although it did get better when they replaced the glass with double panes; amazing what a difference it made.

So New York is noisy, and Amsterdam Avenue is noisier, and compared to them Chicago was quieter and so were San Antonio and Kansas City and Tucson. In SA and KC one could hear, and even listen for, the horns of the freight trains coming through at night. But even quieter is the land we have a small cabin on outside Santa Fe. The lots are 15-25 acres of mostly scrub pinyon pine and juniper and overgrazed former ranch land, the views, especially of sunrises and sunsets are spectacular, and for a long time none of the nearby lots (and there aren’t that many) were built on.  The recession of 2008-09 had two big impacts. The first was that people didn’t build for a long time, and we got used to roaming the whole area, wherever we wanted, with our dogs. The second was that the rules for houses got relaxed as the non-profit that originally developed it was desperate to get anyone to buy and build, so the houses are WAY bigger than would have been permitted under the original rules. Someone is building on the lot next door and we thought it was not all that much bigger than our house – until we discovered that was the garage! The house is going up and one can see the cranes and walls from our house.  The lot in the other direction has had a house with a tower for a few years. It is a characteristic that people build on top of rises to get the best views, but of course that makes their houses visible from far away, and they can begin to spoil the landscape. Even if they are architecturally attractive, which most are not. Our house is not in a depression, but just at road height and one story. There are still amazing views of mountains in the distance in almost every direction. And views of the trees, and plants, and birds right here.

But the building makes noise. There are a LOT of pieces of heavy equipment that are needed to build a house, and they come down this unimproved road destroying it, and making a lot of noise. And, of course, the people who are the owners are not here to have their quiet ruined, we are. It is still silent (except for owls and the occasionally coyote) at night, and pretty darn quiet most of the day, when construction isn’t happening. But, you know, you get used to it. To the quiet. So the uncommon car or truck going by kicking up dust makes noise, and the construction equipment even more, and you start to resent it.

And don’t get me started on the small planes making noise overhead…

It is really a pretty quiet, good, and restful life.

Let me add a sunset and sunrise pic:


Military anthems, militarism, and our youth

  “From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli” Most of us have known these lyrics to the “Marine Hymn” since childhood. Or I gue...