JOSEPH'S COAT ROSE

This was a climbing rose we had in our yard years ago. Honestly I don't remember If we planted it or if it was already in the yard. I've going through old files, cleaning out for the newer computer and ran across this. It's called Joseph's Coat. Finally died of old age and we coule never find another that looks like this one. Pops right out of the page doesn't it?

THE BEAT GOES ON

I'm certainly in the joyful mood this morning. Although there is one ray of sunshine. Michelle Bachmann isn't running again in 2014. But, we're still stuck with Mrs. Pray Away the Gay until the end of her term. Oh, joy. NOT.

I briefly crossed swords with somebody with the screen name 4given4ever in the comments section of a story on the upcoming Supreme Court decision on gay marriage. Typical fundie. “I’m right. God told me so and everyone who disagrees with me is going to hell.” More words were used buuuuuut, that’s the short version. And frankly, I’m not going to waste my time replying to his/her comments. There’s that old saying. Never wrestle with a pig. You just end up covered with mud and the pig enjoys it too much.

We wonder how we come up with kids who plan to bomb their high schools, shoot as many of their fellow classmates as possible and then kill themselves before the SWAT Team arrives. To be honest, I don’t believe we need to look any further than the twisted world of the religious fundamentalist. There’s something sinister about their willingness to consign those who disagree with them to eternal punishment. And the suspicion that they agree with the medieval church is that one of the joys of heaven is watching the torments of hell.

Heck hit the comics pages and read the Wizard of Id if it’s there. Almost every strip has a subtext of violence. The violence surrounds us. The violence is so pervasive that half the time we forget it’s there. Until the next kid shoots up a school. Until the next Marine kills his wife and goes on a rampage. Until the next young fundamentalists blow up bombs at the finish line of a race. Until the next kid plans to blow up his classmates. And the crazed dance of the fourteenth century skeletons goes merrily on. I’m a fairly bright member of the human race but even I didn’t realize how tight the tentacles are wrapped until I explored the roots of my Quaker ancestors’ beliefs.

But, I’m at the point where ever the Quakers aren’t enough. I think the final spiral off the reservation has come.

9. We believe that evil is not a matter of inheritance but of intent, therefore actions are not in themselves evil. Rather, it is through the intent behind actions that evil can manifest.

The ninth entry on the list of a druid group’s list of beliefs. I’m not sure I totally agree with this. Genocide is evil no matter what, however the intention to wipe out a whole people through hatred or greed is evil and how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. I’ll never make a philosopher that’s for sure. And volumes have been written to allow us to get around Thou Shalt not Kill.

GNOMES

I don't know if this mural is still there. Summer camp kids painted on the bridge support closest to the park. The rainbow is made of of handprints. Trouble is the picture has no protections from the elements. It's been a few years since I've been to the park. All I know some high water has taken it the way.

STARSHINE

Every once in awhile I remember the website NASA supports. Once picture every day for about twenty five years. Galaxy M31 in the constellation Andromeda. Some two million light years across and about 200,000 light years across. The light we see now left the edge of the stars closest to us two million years ago. Scientists believe that our galaxy and M31 will begin to "collide" in about a billion years. Stars are so far apart that collisions are highly unlikely. But it will be a heck of a light show for anyone with eyes to see as M31 answers the pull of gravity. Just a little tired of politics today.

A SENSE OF SOMETHING 2

I wrote this several years ago basically when I was first exploring alternate paths. At the moment I seem to be Quaker/ darned if I know. I still believe that we are letting fear rule our lives. I have learned more since then. If I had been a member of an earlier culture or a native population what happened to me might have been seen as the beginning of a Shamanic experience. And the word shaman has become an umbrella term for individuals from many cultures that become healers, diviners, seers. It takes years and all I'm describing are a few experiences. And some I had forgotten until I started rereading these journals. More later.

I suspect that some of the individuals we call “insane” may be tapping more deeply into this sense of what we’re doing to the earth and ourselves. And they just can’t take the pain. Is this attempt to communicate always there and we’re drowning it out with drugs and objects? Or think it’s the devil tempting us and run screaming to the nearest fundamentalist house of worship. Oh, there’s a devil all right. It’s called fear and we’re choking on it.

I’m still a little overwhelmed by what happened this morning and frankly it scares the hell out me. I’m getting an overwhelming sense that the scales are tipping and it’s not in our favor. I’m also convinced that the answers we need won’t be found in the organizations that run the churches, mosques, synagogues, ashrams or political parties. 

Too many groups are too invested in defining who belongs and who doesn’t. Too worried about what might be happening the bedrooms and not enough about what is happening in the boardrooms. Too tied up in the power games. Too busy screaming that they have all the answers that they can’t even hear the questions. So damned scared that if someone else gets a little “more” of something we’ll end up with “less.” Somehow we have to tap into the individuals that realize that the balance needs to be righted. That if we stick to what really matters, there is enough to go around.

We matter simply because we are. Each of us is unique. Each of the over six billion people on this planet is unique. No one is expendable. And I think that’s what scares us. The refugee in Darfur is just as unique in the universe as President Bush. And just as special. What we can’t seem to admit is that the whole universe matters simply because it exists. Too many are chasing things that they believe will make them better somehow. And so many have so little that just surviving takes everything they have.. One group can’t make the time to look up and the other group can’t find the extra strength.

I know that getting everybody to join hands and sing Kumbayah isn't going to solve the problem.But, I'm not going to give up, I've got too much riding on the outcome of this little thing we call life and so do the rest of us.

There it is. More later. I hope. Comments would be appreciated.  You go looking for the universe and I guess sometimes it comes looking for you.

A SENSE OF SOMETHING 1

This is an older entry slightly edited to reflect the fact. 

Something totally freaking weird happened one morning several years ago. And folks that’s the mild description. I was thinking about the journal entry I had written last night. The phrase “the whole planet is alive” popped through my mind. That fits, that was the theme of the entry. Then the sentence completed itself. I was not expecting this, I really was not. I will still swear on a stack of holy books, rocks, trees rivers, whatever. "The whole planet is alive; and it'sscreaming'.  And just for an instant, maybe half an instant, there was this mind-bending sense of “wrongness." A jumble of sounds and images. Continental plates grinding, whole forests falling, winds howling and a feeling of bottomless, endless grief. Sorry, that’s the best I can do with the sledgehammer we call language. I had to get out of the office for a few minutes. I was almost in tears for crying out loud.

That’s the best I can do. I don’t think there are words for what I felt in that microsecond. And I hadn't had anything mind altering this morning. Last time I checked oatmeal, applesauce and lemon ginger tea aren’t on any list of controlled substances. I suspect it was the entry itself. If words are mind altering, then I’m altered. While my brain is still doing little (and not so little) summersaults this had to happen for a reason. What the reason is I’m not sure….yet. I tapped into........what or who?

There is a part two.

THE UNIVERSE CAME CALLING

The prayer that ended up in the entry in I Offer This started out as a more traditional litany. I wanted to use it at work, but I couldn't use a real candle so I decided to try to imagine one. I had a Christmas card that I had scanned in to use for my own cards. Just wanted one little ol' candle. I ended up with a whole room full. Without asking for them by the way.

OK I've got candles. Lots and lots of candles. Blazing candles. And this is where the universe got just a little bit wierd. This was back in the AOL Journals world when there was more interaction between bloggers. Anyway one of the guys who was following was having a hard time. If I remember it right I was commenting along the lines of "gee I wish I could help" when the universe did its thing. The candles popped up and one of those little beggers took off. A sort of US map was in the back ground and I swear that little flash of light headed in the right direction.Without any help from me. OK.

A few days a later a good friend was having some problems. And gee I'm sorry I'm down at the bottom of the valley and you are up north. Repeat performance. Only the candle headed north and it didn't go quite as far as the first one. The first one looked like it ended up around Kansas. The second one ended up just west of Portland.

I believe that's enough about the universe attempting to get my attention, at least for now. And frankly I've never really been sure about how I feel about this. Call me a Work in Progress.

CANDLES

And this is not the first time I ended up with more than I thought I asked for. Or didn't exactly ask for. I was just imagining candles for Creation's sake. More about that later. 

Something curious happened with the words from that last entry. I had the words but hadn’t organized the candles. So, I changed it a little to “we would light this candle” and used it for our home Sabbath celebration last night. I tried visualizing candles being lit, and it worked. Which is neat, but umm, it didn’t stop at four. Right now, if I stop and think about it. I have a whole table full of lit candles in the background just behind my eyes. If I really concentrate I can visualize one of those old candlesnuffers descending on a candle, but when it moves to another light, the candle stays lit. The blessed thing absolutely refuses to go out. If I try to imagine an unlit candle, it promptly lights. This will probably fade in time. But, it’s sure gonna be nice while it lasts.

I’m not crazy enough to believe that I can personally change things all by myself. But, I can try to keep the candles lit. Oh my, while I was writing this, they started to get so bright I can’t even see the candles just the lights. And I'm feeling unusually centered right now. There's "rightness" to it that's very hard to put into words.

Words. Trying to capture something beyond words. I do not claim to be a mystic. At least I haven't really been. Too much trouble keeping my mind from popping from idea to idea. To keep it still. 

I OFFER THIS

Several years ago the reading I was doing sort of prompted me to try writing some of my own prayers. I played around with some other folks had written. I did a litany using candles and I put it in the form of a traditional litany. Perhaps a little more later about how that little experiment turned out. Then I played around with that for awhile. And the words with the first candle are not mine, but at this point I don't remember who wrote it. If that person happens to stumble on this poor attempt I'll be happy to give you credit. 

The Dominican monk known as Meister Eckhart wrote that faith was like a river with many wells. I've been reading from several sources and while I've tried to remain true to the lessons I've been blessed with, I make no claim to be anything but the typist.

We light this first candle in honor of the Creator of Creation. We are grateful for the plenty that blesses us. In a world where many walk hand in hand with hunger we have abundance. In a world where too many walk in fear we can show our faith freely. In a world where too many are alone, even in a crowd, we are rich in family and friends.

We light this second candle in honor of the earth and the star that warms it. We light this candle in gratitude for the changing seasons, for the coolness of rain, for the shifting mists and warmth of sun. We light this candle to ask healing for our battered world. May we learn .to use only what we need and to respect what we use. Help us to show gratitude for the plants and animals that sustain us. Their infinite variety is wondrous.

We light this third candle in honor of all who share this little world with us. We light this candle in gratitude for our fellow travelers. We light this candle in gratitude for birdsong, the glory of infinite colors of flowers and trees, and the infinite variety of our fellow humans. We light this candle to ask for healing for those who lash out in fear. We light this candle to ask for healing for those who lash out in anger. We light this candle to ask healing for those who lash out in ignorance. We light this candle in honor of the river of faith. Help us to remember that the river that sustains our spirits has many wells.

We light this fourth candle in honor of our family and friends. We light this candle in gratitude for their love and support. We light this candle to ask for healing for any sickness or injury. We light this candle to ask that they may find the love and support to live the lives they were meant to. We light this candle in faith that we can return the love and support that has been so freely given to us.

This will be a two parter. My next entry is about what happened next. I kind of lost track of things over the past three or four years. Bad health. Having to move. Trying to get my groove back. 

PUT UP YOUR HANDS

Just blocked an entry on my FB page. From an African American FORMER sheriff. Hint. It's the guy who used to parade with a chest full of medals he never earned and an outsize stetson. All about how Americans are a mouthy, phone camera wielding bunch of ingrates. The last might be a little harsh but, put up your hands, obey no matter what. And all about the sacrifices members of law enforcement make.

 OK I'm being a little harsh. Last time I checked it was more dangerous to be a logger or ride a crab boat to Alaska than it is to be a cop. And cops aren't the only ones who work holidays and night shifts.

But you know what fries this daughter of the British Isles? What if those kids sitting in at lunch counters had just obeyed orders. What if the Freedom Riders had stayed home? What if the kids who came south to work to get people registered to vote had stayed home? When most of the adults were in jail in Birmingham the school kids stepped up. They faced police dogs and fired hoses and it was all on the evening news.

News flash bro. Americans have always been pretty mouthy. Especially the ones from New England and what became sections of New York and New Jersey. New England may have emphasied public order over individual liberties but only to a pont. If the Minute Men at Lexington and Concord had just said OK and gone home we might be carrying different passports. I didn't bother with the FB entry. Not enough room. And to be honest this journal sometimes serves as a great place to vent.

And imagine. If we'd had some kind of quick way to take pictures and make them public there just might have been fewer lynchings, massacres and other acts of violence against African Amreicans and other minorities.

SALESMANSHIP?

I have been reposting early journal entries. Why? Well they still make a lot of sense with a little editing. And because you look back and it's holy fuck. Some of us did sort of see the current mess coming. And now we kind of look like the Little Dutch Boy only there are too many holes in the dike. 

I’m a logger’s daughter. That might have something to do with a lot of my basic attitudes. If my dad had been a farmer, a miner, a trucker, or a sailor the result would probably be the same. They’re all people whose jobs depend just as much on environment as skill. You can plan all you want but you can’t beat the weather. Fire, flood, storm, lightning, or hail. You can’t beat ‘em. You can only try to work around them.  People who work in nice safe offices can afford to hang on to the illusion that they can control their destiny for a little longer than some of the rest of us. At least they could until their jobs started getting outsourced or mechanized too. Or the stock market tanks and takes some if not all of their retirement savings with it. And this was written before The Great Recession of 2008. Among other events Enron employees who had put their retirement savings in Enron stock watched those savings melt like an ice cube in the Sahara in July when the company put a black out on their ability to sell their stock while it was still worth somthing.

I had a pretty happy childhood but we never had three good years in a row. It’s kind of like the joke about the farmer who wins the lottery. When somebody asks him what he’s going to do with the money it’s “farm until it’s gone." Heck, dad never worked a full year in all the years I can remember. If it the woods weren’t closed down because the winter weather made it impossible to get the timber out, they got closed down for a stretch in the summer when it was too dry to run the equipment. And when the forest ranger came by and said “closer ‘er down.” You turned off the machinery and headed for the landing. 

There was a story about a cat (short for caterpiller, I think it was a bulldozer) driver who ignored the order to shut down and leave it. He brought it down to the landing. Didn't remember how well sound carries in woods. Ranger didn't even come back. Just went down to the office and gave them a choice. Fire the driver or shut down for two weeks. You do not fiddle around with anything that can cause a spark when the temps were high and the woods were dry as a bone. 

Yeah, if things were closed down too long, the guys qualified for unemployment, but it was nowhere near what they brought home from working. And every three or four years there was chunk of wood with dad’s name on it. In a lot of ways it’s a miracle that he managed to last almost twenty five years working in the logging industry. Last time I checked logging is still one of the most dangerous jobs in the country. Behind crab fishing in Alasakan waters and ahead of being a cop. More dangerous than being a cop. Chew on that for a minute. At least he walked away, even if he was limping pretty badly.

Until dad was disabled, mom was a stay at home mom. And she was a busy stay at home mom. Three kids, canning in the summer, sewing all year round, three meals a day, laundry. There were times in the winter when they had to hang dad’s wet weather gear and pants on the clothes line and hose them down before they could be brought in the house. Oh, and we didn’t get a dryer until after kid number two was out of diapers. Heck, I think I was in senior high when we finally swung an automatic washer. But, there was always time to go to the park in the summer. There was time to make cookies for Christmas. I Don't remember how old I was when I was actually asked what I wanted for Christmas or for my December birthday.

I’m not telling this story to make anybody feel sorry for us. It’s just the way it was. Since Oakridge was pretty much a timber town, that’s how it was for most folks. We had a roof over our heads, food on the table, warm coats when we needed them, warm beds, a car, you get the picture. We took two newspapers, subscribed to magazines. Oakridge had a good school system; the city library seemed to have everything I wanted. Oh, and we only had two TV stations. Imagine that. And when you look at most of the world you realize now that we were rich beyond the dreams of a lot of people. When I look back, we were about as happy as anybody else in town.

 There were good days, there were not so good days, and there were a few down right crappy days. The only clothes that came with labels on the outside were Levi’s jeans. We hadn’t gotten to the stage where you’re sold the idea that you should pay for the privilege of being a walking, talking billboard for some designer or store. We hadn’t bought into the idea that wearing clothes with no writing on them made you less of a person.

In the last couple of years my company has been heavily involved with one of these motivational gurus. You know the kind, visualize it happening, believe it’s going to happen and it will types. Secular versions of the prosperity gospel. Folks like these always seem to have specials during the PBS begathons. To say nothing of Dr. Phil and his clonesAnd the clones of the clones.. Since it’s up to you to believe hard enough to make it happen if it doesn’t it’s your fault. You didn’t try hard enough. Never mind that the deck favors the house and what makes you happy may be totally unique to you. What you recognize as success may not work for any of the other six billion people on the planet. Over seven billion now. With more and more of them striking back at the trade agreements that favor the policies favor export crops over local food production.

 I’m starting to wonder if that’s part of the problem with this administration and some of its policies. Especially the war in Iraq. It’s certainly the tenor of the president’s statements. Just keep believing it will work and you’ll reach your goal. Maybe it’s no accident that a lot of these guru’s started out as salesmen. And no accident that the president’s degree is in business not the law or political science. Only now they’re trying to sell “happiness,” “teamwork,” or “democracy” as if these things came in little tins with labels. Happiness by the ounce. Democracy by the pound. Only now the elected hired help doesn't give a damn about democracy for this country or anyone other. 

If you’ll recall the opening statement of the Declaration of Independence, while we have the right to “pursue” happiness, there is no guaranty that we’ll actually achieve it. Or that we’ll have the wisdom to recognize it when we do find it. Harder and harder with the country split six ways from Sunday.

TATTERED THREADS 2

Updated, edited versionof the second part of Tattered Threads. I thought it was bad when I originally wrote this. But what the Current Occupant has done with the aid of a dangerously (traitorously?) complicit Republican party has taken the slashing of community to a whole new level.

I appear to be blessed (cursed?) with a mind that’s like a terrier with a bone. A jack russel? They hang on pretty hard sometimes. Community, like so many things human confronts us as Janus-the double-faced Roman god of doors and (it does make a weird kind of sense) of beginnings and endings.

I read William Shirer’s the Rise and Fall of the Third Reich when I was a freshman-a high school freshman. I was fourteen for crying out loud. I'd seen Judgement at Nuremberg on the movie of the week. The book finished what the film started. Once I was done I don’t think I’ve ever looked at my fellow human beings the same way. Dune finished the job. And more and more I'm convinced that their are warped souled creatures among us with human shapes and inhuman actions.

What the Nazi’s did in their rise to power. What was done during that war. The Final Solution, not only for the six million or so European Jews but also for so many others. The Slavs, the Poles, the Gypsies, gays, the other five million who died on the alter of a diabolical definition of community. I believe I began to realize the kind of actions warped human beings could commit when they know they are “right.”

For too many of the years after the war too many of us-me included bought the line that what the Nazis did was something unique to the Nazi philosophy. Heaven knows there was enough evidence before the war of what human beings can do to each other because the ones we’re attacking don’t fit some definition “us.” Since the forties we’ve seen all to much evidence of what we can do those we see as “other.” We can all recite the litany that just keeps getting longer. From Cambodia to Darfur with the Balkans, Central America, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Rwanda in between.

I used to believe we are too civilized here in America to go in for wholesale extermination these days. We use words instead of guns and act surprised when the words cut more deeply than a knife ever could. For communities of color it isn't only words. It's the over and over from police departments that "I was afraid for my life so..." Even when it's a child with a toy gun. Even when it's a teen with a bag of candy. Even when it's an unarmed unstable mental patient. And now it's militarized individuals with no ID cut loose on the streets of Portland, Oregon. That's my state damn it. Is this pay back in because we're part of the Left Coast? Try LA and even the new Gestapo might get their asses kicked.

Want to hear something really weird? When I started this entry this was not the direction I thought it was going to go. Once I started to type this is where the words led me. They seemed to flow on their own. They do that sometimes. And then the really unexpected reaction kicks in. I never realized what kind of emotions an entry like this would dredge up. I usually keep them firmly leashed and I think there may be two people on the planet who’ve seen or heard me royally po’d. The smile I used  to wear at work and with most of the members of my family feels more and more forced. Keeping it there is getting harder and harder. Family now And their are some subjects that just don't come up. Thank you cyber space for someplace to express just a little of what I’m feeling.

There are threads, connections, whatever you want to call them that tie us to each other, the earth and to the other creatures that ride this world with us They are trapped with us and dependent on our actions to preserve this fragile ball of earth, air and water. Somehow we have to get beyond a definition of community that is so narrow that almost all of us are “other.”

Well this really rewrote itself. There's more hanging out in the old brain box but it needs some more organizing.

TATTERED THREADS

This is another one of my old posts that makes even more sense now than it did when I wrote it. With a few minor changes.

It was one of those days when my cranky genes were rearing their heads big time. This had been simmering just below the surface and it finally had to come out.

William Raspberry was an excellent columnist and he had  a column in the local paper one Monday discussing the changes in our community life since the end of WWII. Actually wrote this a couple of months before he retired. I believe I understand where he’s coming from. I’m not sure I want to give up ease of travel that the car gives us or the fingertip access to entertainment and information that television and computers give us but the loss of community that has crept into our lives over the past forty or fifty years frankly scares the bejesus out of me.

When my folks got married they moved into a little place on D Street in Springfield. Basically the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker were within a dozen blocks of the house. Folks walked a lot more and the meat cutter knew just how you liked your pot roast trimmed. They used an ice box for the basic needs, the milkman still made deliveries, the house still had a wood stove, there was a garden in the back, they used a wrinter washer, clothes hung on the line, mom canned anything that wasn’t nailed down or failed to salute and if you needed to store frozen food you rented a locker at the market on main street.

We moved to Oakridge right after I was born and came back to Springfield eighteen years later. Richer by two sisters and poorer by a disabled stove-up logger. Dad wore himself out working in the logging industry. When his legs gave out he ended up on the scrap heap. Thank you FDR for Social Security Disability. 

When we moved again we ended up all of ten blocks from where it all started. All the basic shops are gone from Main Street except for a large fabric store , and a shop that sells supplies for muzzle loaders. They’ve been replaced by second hand stores, small offices and vacant storefronts. 

The closest grocery store is a Fred Meyer. It’s about a mile and half away on the other side of several very busy streets. Nobody walks there if they can help it, nobody really knows you and everything comes wrapped in plastic. You drive there in your individual tinted window vehicle and you drive home behind your tinted windows and nobody looks you in the eye if they can help it.

We’ve been sold self-service in the name of convenience but all it really does is cut down the number of people they need to hire and pay employee taxes on. The trick is to tell us we're getting it our way, when what they're selling is their way. Orwells’ Newspeak is alive and well. Marketing managers are fluent in it

Instead they use the money they save on people to try to convince me to buy stuff I probably don’t need, didn’t even know existed until I saw the commercial and isn’t worth half what they want for it in the first place, if that. When mom talks about what she and dad had when they got married it wasn't much but they seemed think it was enough. Oakridge had two TV channels and the only clothes with labels were Levis jeans and Izod polo shirts.

Madison Avenue was just getting into the game of convincing us that no matter how much we have it isn't enough. That somehow if we buy just the right combinations of stuff we’ll  somehow be smarter or sexier or some darn thing. We keep shoveling things into the black hole at the center of our spirits and wonder why all we keep hearing is the sucking sound as little pieces of our selves follow them in

I don't want to make those early days of mom's marriage sound better than they were. People spent a most of their time just making sure the basics got done. A lot of time was spent doing the wash in that wringer washer, hanging the clothes to dry and then ironing the blessed things. And man, you did not want to let my grandmother get near the laundry. Dad used to say she could shrink a house if she put her mind to it and no button was safe. There were just as many gossips per square mile as there are now. They just had to be nosy closer to home and most of the local nosiness stayed local

I really don’t know how the repair the tatters of the threads that tie us all to each other but I think we’d better start mending………real fast. 

There is a second section to this. And in the years since I wrote this the threads are stretched long past the limits.

BEING PREPARED

I wrote this after Katrina and how being prepared isn't something that you can prepare for overnight. Still true. but even worse now since  elected and appointed hired help are not only incompetant, but deliberately or otherwise either just don't give a damn,  or have their heads so far up their asses they can see daylight. 

Back in 1988 the county where Sioux City, Iowa is located organized a “Disaster Preparedness Program,” hired a guy named Gary Brown to run it and proceeded to poke fun at the drills they ran. The drills ran a little better, personalities got meshed a little better and the program got a little more respect.

On July 19, 1989 the crap hit the fan. Their emergency response team had less than thirty  minutes to prepare for a DC-10 with the tail engine gone. Trouble is when the rear engine went it took the hydraulics with it. The plane was flying in great spiraling circles. The pilots were powering the other two engines up or down to try to get some directional control. Sioux City was the closest airport. And didn't usually handle wide-bodied aircraft-so called "heavies." There were units from three states and the Air Guard lined up when that plane hit the ground, did a flip and broke up. The rescue teams moved more than a hundred injured people off the runways, into choppers and ambulances to local hospitals in less than an hour. 185 of the passengers and all the cockpit crew survived because people were trained and no one was willing to quit.

These events were the background for a made for TV film currently called A Thousand Heroes. It was made in 1992 and is barely available on video. You can find resonable version on YouTube. Personally I think it should be required viewing for every emergency team in the country.

So, why did I tell this story?

I’ve been following the finger pointing in New Orleans with as much interest and dismay as every other American. The truth is that very few cities, counties or states are prepared to deal with an event like Katrina.

The biggest problem is you can’t spitball solutions to a crisis like Katrina two days before it happens. You have to imagine it months or better still, years before.  You hope you’ve come up with possible solutions and then practice, practice, practice to work out the bugs.

Folks have asked “why weren’t the residents with no transport gotten out instead of being sent to the Superdome?” Good question. Answer, how? School busses? City busses? Tell the airlines “since you’re moving your planes out anyway, how about taking some people with you? How are you going to get refugees to the airport? Where are they going to go? How much fuel does a school bus carry in its tank. How far can an overloaded bus get on a tank of fuel? Where is this convoy going to get fuel? Send a tanker along with it? Where are they going to go? Will there be shelter when they get there? What about food, water, sanitation, dirty diapers? See where this train is heading? It’s too late to start asking these questions when you realize you needed those answers six months ago.

Carloads of volunteers are on the roads heading south hoping to help clean things up. I agree that they’d be better off sending money and staying home. The people handling this emergency don’t need more people on the scene who will need food, fuel, housing and sanitation.

We’re yelling at FEMA, but FEMA is basically a shadow of what it was. It’s been rolled into the Homeland Security fiefdom. Homeland Security, there’s a joke. I’m not the only one who noticed that in the months before last year’s election, Tom Ridge issued security alerts every time things got bad for Bush.

The current administration rolled everything into a new inexperienced federal agency, diverted resources from levee repair and upgrades to deal with a war we didn’t need to fight, ran up the deficit and issued tax cuts to those who already have more than any of the rest of us could hope to have, need or truthfully want. There’s plenty of blame to be shared. But I’m putting the lion’s share at doorstep of this administration and the neocon theorists who seem to be the only advisors who have the president’s ear.

A lot of things look good on paper and sound great in speeches. Reminds me of the old game of scissors, rock, or paper. You can’t cut water, rocks sink and paper gets soaked. You can’t cut the wind, rocks get blown around and the paper gets blown back in your face.