Dollar's tumble

At the beginning of President Clinton's last year of office, the euro and the dollar were nearly at par, and the Australian, Canadian, and Swiss currencies were each worth about 2/3 of a dollar. Now, after eight years of misrule by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the euro is worth nearly $1.60, and the Australian, Canadian and Swiss currencies are nearly at par with the dollar. (The Japanese economy had its own problems during this time period.)

Change in value of dollar in terms of other currencies,

2000-2008

Currency	Jan. 2000	Jan. 2008
Australian $	US$0.66	US$0.94
Canadian $	0.69	0.99
U.K. £	1.62	1.99
Swiss franc	0.64	0.97
Euro €	1.03	1.56
Japanese ¥	0.0098	0.0096
Singapore $	0.60	1.36

Cynics may suspect that this worthless post has been merely a pretext for its author to experiment with using HTML to construct tables. They might be on to something.

Enemy Within

His face had been struggling to stay calm as he listened to me, but now he was crying but trying to control himself. "It was just some kind of blind impulse you had in the tree there, you didn't know what you were doing. Was that it?"

"Yes, yes, that was it. Oh that was it, but how can you believe that? How can you believe that? I can't even make myself pretend that you could believe that."

"I do. I think I can believe that. I've gotten awfully mad sometimes and almost forgotten what I was doing. I think I believe you, I think I can believe that. Then that was it. Something just seized you. It wasn't anything you really felt against me, it wasn't some kind of hate you've felt all along. It wasn't anything personal."

"No, I don't know how to show you, how can I show you, Finny? Tell me how to show it to you. It was just some ignorance inside me, some crazy thing inside me, something blind, that's all it was."

--John Knowles, A Separate Peace

Life imitates art. Friday morning, shortly after midnight, two 23-year-old friends were prowling around the edge of a Pennsylvania strip mine. One of them, Nathan Bowman, somehow fell some 500 feet into the pit. His buddy called 911. The boy had miraculously survived the fall, national news media reported, and had been rescued by fire department personnel, suffering only broken bones. He remembered nothing about the fall.

Today, his friend was under arrest, having broken down and admitted to shoving Bowman into the hole.

We don't know the details. Apparently there had been an argument. Probably something trivial, nothing that in a saner moment would have caused such a potentially homicidal act.

What causes such attacks? Alcohol? Temporary insanity? Poor impulse control? These are the easy, superficial answers. In his high school literature classic, Knowles reminds us that there is something not quite right about the best of us, something that leads to betrayals, to fights, to murders, and to wars. Something irrational, something that can result in horrific consequences completely out of proportion to any apparent provocation. Consequences that we regret with all our hearts the instant the deed's been done.

In A Separate Peace, Phineas's seeming perfection grated increasingly on the nerves of his best friend. In one fatal instant, without forethought, Gene wiggled a tree limb just enough to cause Finny to fall, to break his leg, eventually to die. Maybe something similar happened in the dark of night, high on the rim of a Pennsylvania strip mine. Maybe the push was the end product of a gradual, unconscious unraveling of friendship, a sudden eruption into action of previously unrecognized hostility. (Or maybe two idiots just got in a fight and one pushed the other over the edge.) We just don't know.

Finny was able to comprehend, accept and forgive Gene's secret frustrations with his own weaknesses, frustrations that he irrationally and violently directed outward, directed against his friend, against Finny, against the boy whom Gene did, in fact, consider his very best friend. From that episode, and from Finny's resulting death, Gene drew insights into the complexity of human relationships, and an understanding of the tiny coil of irrationality buried deep within each of us, a tiny coiled knot of ignorance that makes peace so difficult -- peace with ourselves, peace between friends, and peace among nations.

I never killed anybody [as a soldier in World War II] and I never developed an intense level of hatred for the enemy. Because my war ended before I ever put on a uniform. I was on active duty all my time at school; I killed my enemy there.

We like to think that this event will lead to similar insights for the two young Pennsylvanians. But although life may imitate art, life isn't art. Life provides no wise narrator to explain to the two young men the moral of that shove into the strip mine. The two friends receive only the cold gaze of the media, and the cold logic of the police.

In today's world, Gene would not have been allowed his philosophical ruminations undisturbed. He would have been held in lieu of bail, and charged with aggravated assault. Such indeed will be the fate of Nathan Bowman's friend and assailant. Philosophical insights and a deeper friendship between the two are also possible, of course. But significantly less likely. Like the schoolyard fight that ends in eternal friendship between the protagonists -- those are outcomes most apt to be found in books.

Materia scura italiana

Scientists hunting an invisible form of matter that pervades the universe and holds galaxies together claim to have found it underneath a mountain in Italy.

--The Guardian (U.K.) (April 24, 2008) (opening paragraph)

Wouldn't you know it? Not only have those Eye-talians got the Pope, the Colosseum, Florence, lasagna, Chianti, the Mafia, half the world's cool operas, and Neapolitan ice cream -- we now learn that they've been hiding the Universe's "dark matter" under one of their mountains.

Dark matter is one of those hypothetical constructs that physicists like to imagine exist, because otherwise their calculations don't work out. Something's keeping the universe from expanding as fast as they think it should be. If it's gravity that's slowing the expansion, as seems likely, all the mass of the universe would have to weigh ten times as much to be holding back the expansion as much as it does . Therefore -- there must be something invisible that makes up 90 percent of the universe by weight. Something that doesn't give off light. Something that doesn't even reflect light. Dark matter.

A century ago, everyone "knew" that the entire universe was filled with a material called "ether" that couldn't be seen or felt. That's what science books said. It had to be there, because light was a wave, and you can't have a wave without something for the wave to move through. Ether. That theory quietly died with Einstein's special relativity theory, and the development of the idea that light (and everything else) had a dual wave-particle nature.

But who knows? Maybe dark matter really has been discovered deep in the Italian mountains. (The article did eventually clarify that scientists believe they've detected dark matter passing through the earth (like neutrinos), by use of underground detectors in Italy -- not that they've run across a large subterranean Italian lake of the stuff.) But maybe dark matter, like ether, is just another misguided solution to a problem that doesn't really exist.

Oh well. The Italians would still have the Vatican.

Maya

(Above) Choc Mul. (Below left) Top two tiers of El Templo del Tequila altarpiece, surmounted by holy ikon of Choc Mul.

The road to the Mayan ruins and shrine winds tediously along the Bay for some distance, before suddenly swinging inland. Beyond this point, what is now virtually a trail (El Camino de Arnold) narrows, and extreme care should be taken. Eventually, those intrepid enough to have continued with the journey will find themselves breaking through the monotonous underbrush into a delightful valley, El Valle de la Luna (q.v.), in the middle of which one finds the quaint pueblo of Sonoma (45.3 mi. NE of San Francisco). The village itself has little to recommend it physically -- the usual faded Spanish architecture and a few efforts at contemporary commercial construction -- but once arriving at the central plaza ("the Plaza") (Spain, early 19th C), the traveler has attained the real objective of his arduous travels.

On the southeast corner of the Plaza appears a small non-descript brick building (const. 1909), apparently built over much older construction that assuredly housed the sacred relics for centuries before that date. Feeling just the tiniest bit disappointed with the unprepossessing exterior, perhaps, the explorer will enter from the NW corner of the building, passing through an early 20th century gate or puerta. As his eyes adapt to the dark interior, he may well be overwhelmed by the richness of vivid primary colors, and by the beauty of the unusual murals and other artwork gracing the interior of the shrine. However delightful, however, these examples of local folk art alone would not justify the torturous journey he has just endured.

But as one faces the interior, his back to the puerta through which he has just passed, the explorer confronts the sanctum sanctorum itself, looming some 20 ft. before him, El Templo del Tequila, translated roughly as "the Temple of Tequila." An altar piece, perhaps 15 feet in height, this skillfully finished wooden tower ("torre de madera") is festooned with tier after tier of priceless "jewels" of the most exquisite tequila (see glossary: "liquor," "agave," "Mexico"), brought to this village at what must have been unimaginable effort and expense. Many of the frascos or botellas ("urns") containing the sacred licor are finely crafted, and quite beautiful in their own right, fitting containers, surely, for their holy contents.

Mounted atop the altar piece one finds one's true raison du voyage -- the holy image or ikon of Choc Mul (sometimes "Chac Mool" -- the spelling is phonetic) himself, a local god inspired by Mayan mythology and worshiped devoutly by the Sonoma populace. Scholars generally consider "chac mool" to be a descriptive rather than proper noun, suggesting a human figure in a characteristic reclining position, head elevated and turned to one side. (Augustus Le Plongeon (mid 19th C) allegedly coined the term from the Mayan words for "thundering paw" or "Jaguar paw.") Never mind. In Sonoma, local custom and piety over the years have transmuted the generic "chac mool" into the divine "Choc Mul," (or "San Choc Mul" within certain local churches), a deity who has taken on all the attributes of a Mayan Dionysos, having evolved locally into a numinous being whose gifts include tequila, conviviality, enthusiasm, open-heartedness, brotherhood, and joie de vivre.

Choc Mul is a happy deity, therefore, despite his dour, and somewhat supercilious, countenance. He is worshiped as such by the merry natives of this most curious pueblo.

As one bows in reverance before the small but sincerely fashioned image of Choc Mul, one is likely to sense the self-assured approach of one of the two high priests attending his altar: Denny (oddly, Dionysos in Greek) or Manny. No need for concern. The cult over which these wise sacerdotes preside is a most welcoming rite, and welcomes strangers from beyond the pueblo with warmth, if perhaps some curiosity. The adventurer, now no doubt dusty and dry after his exhausting pilgrimage, will find himself easily persuaded to join in communion with the local worshipers, as the sacred vessels are brought forward. The tequila is only mildly hallucinogenic and intoxicating when received in small doses -- but small doses seem rarely the custom in Sonoma. The perceptive partaker will thus exercise some caution. This guidebook strongly recommends accepting the hospitality of a local posada or locanda, rather than attempting a return out of the valley the same evening.

Local conveyances ("taxis") are available for hire. Fr. Denny and Fr. Manny will be eager to secure their services on your behalf; they may even be perceived as somewhat aggressive in their insistence. The sensitive traveler will recognize the economic interdependence of the professions in this small town, and cheerfully acquiesce.

US dollars are commonly accepted throughout the Valle de la Luna.

***** (five stars, out of five). Highly recommended.

Primary Campaign Montage

Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton confirmed Monday that as president she would be willing to use nuclear weapons against Iran if it were to launch a nuclear attack on Israel.

--MSNBC (April 21, 2008)

Now I am become Death,
the destroyer of worlds.

--Bhagavad Gita

Mission to Mars

Illustration: NASA/JPL-Caltech/UA/Lockheed Martin

Next month, on May 25, NASA's Phoenix Lander will enter the atmosphere of Mars at about 12,750 mph. Once the spacecraft finds itself approaching a distance of 3,000 feet above the Martian surface, the Lander will begin firing its rockets to slow its velocity, until -- assuming all goes well -- its three legs touch down gently on Martian soil at about 5 mph. The landing will complete a voyage of over nine months in length, beginning with the blast-off from Cape Canaveral on August 4, 2007.

The 722-pound Phoenix Lander is scheduled to land in a flat area dubbed "Green Valley," just 20 degrees below the planet's North Pole. NASA believes a sort of "permafrost" exists just below the surface of the valley floor. The Lander has an 8 foot arm that will scoop up samples of frozen water and soil for analysis on-board. The Lander is equipped with a wet chemical laboratory, ovens and microscopes. Phoenix Lander will also serve as a meteorological station, monitoring the arctic atmosphere and local weather conditions.

Scientists hope to determine whether microbes or other forms of life could have existed at one time in the area. Green Valley is considered one of the more promising areas in the Martian arctic zone for finding evidence for the existence of some form of life.

The Phoenix Lander fired its thrusters for 36 seconds a week ago, correcting its trajectory as it approaches its destination. NASA plans two more corrections before the May 25 landing date. The landing will be monitored by three separate satellites already in orbit around Mars: Mars Odyssey and Mars Reconnaisance Orbiter, both launched by NASA, and the Mars Express, launched by Europe. NASA has been repositioning Odyssey to give it the best possible opportunity for observation of the landing.

Pretty exciting stuff, eh? Science fiction coming to life before our very eyes.

------------------------------------

Data compiled from articles by www.space.com

Vive la différence?

The first real political argument between Obama and Hillary -- the first to really catch fire -- is the tussle over who's less elitist than the other. Barack goes bowling. Hillary hoists a beer. Barack brags that his mother used food stamps. Hillary says she's been out shooting in the forest since she was a tiny hunter. She calls him an elitist. He wonders if Hillary might not be a bit racist.

Tomorrow we'll read that that Bud Lite is sponsoring the two candidates in a belching contest on ESPN.

Meanwhile, in France, President Nicolas Sarkozy is quickly losing popularity because of his image as being crude, uncultured, enamored with curvaceous pop celebs, and in general a tasteless boor. "President Bling-Bling," they call him. The taunt "Sarko l'Américain" is even more devastating. What insult could be more degrading to a civilized European than "he acts like an American"?

French politics is different from ours. The French public doesn't want political leaders who act just like themselves. The voters assume that anyone worthy of high political office should set a cultural example to the entire French nation -- not just exercise political leadership. As noted by Michael Kimmelman in today's New York Times, President François Mitterand loved to read Dostoevsky while in office. Georges Pompidou published an anthology of French poetry. Jacques Chirac let it be known that he had translated Pushkin from the Russian during his years as a teenager. Each of these French presidents oversaw the building of amazing landmarks --museums, libraries, opera houses -- that last on as architectural and cultural monuments to their years in office.

Nations differ, of course. We aren't France, and we needn't act like the French. On the other hand, we're not doomed to act like Kazakhstanis, either. Take President Kennedy, for example. Admittedly, JFK had his moments of moral and esthetic grubbiness. But the public image that he and his wife projected while in office was that of an attractive young couple of impressive educational and cultural attainments. Never before had the United States seen a president whose inauguration was celebrated with readings by a poet of Robert Frost's stature, with music played by a cellist of Pablo Casals's fame and accomplishment.

No one called Kennedy an elitist. Even as Americans drank their nightly beer as they watched him on TV, they were proud to have such a president. Maybe they themselves would never attend an opera, but -- they may have hoped -- someday their children might. Americans -- even those who disagreed with his political leadership -- felt like a more civilized people because Kennedy was their president.

Certainly, Kennedy never felt he had to bowl a gutter ball or brag about his love of guns, either during his campaigns or while in the White House. And American voters never asked him to.

President Sarkozy's political and economic policies are reasonably popular in France. President Sarkozy, as a person, is not. His personal ratings in the polls are low, and his political advisers are worried. "President Bling-Bling." "Sarko l'Américain." Meanwhile, back here at home, political pundits worry that Obama seems too thoughtful, too cosmopolitan, too intelligent. He doesn't have the so-called common touch. They discuss whether he's ruined his political hopes by suggesting that workers in economically depressed states are bitter and may focus more strongly on issues like gun control and social issues because their hopes for economic progress are so dim. As one commentator remarks, Hillary condescends to her base more skillfully. After Hillary and Bill finish paying taxes on their 2007 combined income of $20.4 million, and after she responds to Obama's "gaffe" by calling him an "elitist," she yuks it up in a tavern, a schooner of brewski in hand. "Hey fellas, who's got the guts to arm wrestle me?" I can almost picture her bellowing.

The voters eat it up, apparently.

Different nations, different values. Vive la différence!

Or maybe not.

His Holiness brings Compassion to Seattle

The Dalai Lama has come to Seattle, which is perhaps, in temperament, the most Asian of American cities. He has brought a simple message -- compassion.

A little too simple for the news media, I'm afraid. What the hell can you write about compassion? First of all, you realize, of course, that Tibetan autonomy is a huge international issue at present, especially with its potential effect on the Beijing Olympics? The Dalai Lama is the exiled ruler of Tibet. He must have plenty to say about that, right? But no. He comes all the way to Seattle and talks about compassion.

The Dalai Lama spoke at length on the subject to an audience of over 50,000 at Qwest Field. The Sunday Seattle Times devoted nearly 2 1/2 pages of coverage to the event, much of it to the reaction of individuals who had heard him talk. (They were moved by the speech, and discussed their ideas for showing more compassion in their own lives.) So what exactly did the Dalai Lama say?

He urged people to use nonviolent dialogue to resolve problems — whether at the family, community, national or global level, saying the 21st century should be the "century of dialogue."

Nonviolence is not just the absence of violence, he said, but facing problems with determination, vision and a wider perspective, while "deliberately resisting using force."

To do that, "external disarmament" is needed, he said, advocating elimination of all nuclear weapons.

But people also need "inner disarmament" — to not let emotions like suspicion and fear take control. To achieve that, simply praying or meditating isn't enough, he said. Compassion has to be promoted.

The Dalai Lama reiterated some of the points he made during public appearances Friday, including his belief that compassion has a biological component, and his call for compassion to extend to not just one's friends but also one's enemies.

"Everyone has right to overcome suffering."

The Dalai Lama is a man of great holiness. Everyone who meets him is impressed. And yet, the above was the best synopsis our local press could give of his talk, a talk that obviously had made a profound impression on many members of his audience.

The Seattle Times is a good newspaper. I think journalists in general just find it extraordinarily difficult to present and interpret spiritual ideas and the individuals who teach them. Next week, Pope Benedict XVI comes to America. Papal visits are more familiar ground for journalists. The liturgy makes for good color photos, and the Holy See is a political as well as religious entity. And the media already is full of questions, the kind you ask politicians: What's the pope going to make of the independent-minded American laity? Abortion, gays, birth control? Is he going to crack down on the church in America? Or will he treat Americans with kid gloves? How does his visit fit into President Bush's political ideology?

But, the New York Times predicts that the pope will avoid all these "hot topics," and prefer instead to present a "plea for compassion." That "compassion" word again?

What a let down that would be!

Roman Catholicism and Tibetan Buddhism seem to exist at opposite theological poles in many respects. Each no doubt appears philosophically bizarre to the other. But if, independently, the leaders of these two religions should visit America within a week of each other, preaching the overriding need for "compassion," that can only be good news -- even if not journalistically fascinating news.

Compassion for the weak, for the voiceless, for sinners, for the lonely, for the old, for the suffering. Compassion for the poor and for the immigrant. Compassion for the victims of globalization. Compassion for the earth itself, the victim of global warming.

A famous Catholic writer, a Trappist monk, spent the last years of his life studying Buddhist spirituality and its focus on compassion. Thomas Merton wrote these words, words with which any Buddhist could easily agree:

The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another.”

Easterner and Westerner. Christian, Buddhist, Muslim and Hindu. Secular humanist. Whatever our continuing differences in theology and philosophy, we should all be able to agree on a common striving for mutual compassion. Whatever else our respective religious beliefs teach us, they should lead us to a compassion for others that is not simply sentimentality, but a burning desire to alleviate the suffering of others and increase their happiness -- in whatever way each of us is capable.

Thanks to the Dalai Lama for visiting. He is worth hearing. Let's listen.

Foot in his mouth?

You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing's replaced them. And they fell through the Clinton Administration, and the Bush Administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.

Is there a serious observer, anywhere, of American life, or of American politics, or of human behavior, domestic or foreign, who doubts the truth of these comments? And yet, when Barack Obama says them, Hillary Clinton and John McCain fall all over themselves denouncing him for his contempt of the fine working class people of Pennsylvania. McCain's spokesman gasped with horror: "an elitism and condescension towards hardworking Americans that is nothing short of breathtaking. It is hard to imagine someone running for president who is more out of touch with average Americans."

Yeah, right. What's breathtaking is McCain's condescension in trusting that voters don't know politics when they hear it.

Note that Obama never asserted that Pennsylvanians were wrong in their beliefs about religion, or guns, or immigration, or trade. What he did point out, in his full statement, was that for most workers in industrial states, the number one issue is the economy, and how economic trends have lowered their standard of living over the past two decades. But these workers have given up any hope that politicians can or will do anything about the economy. As a result, they focus their political attention on other issues, ones they believe they can still influence.

Is this insulting? Is this condescening? Is this even controversial?

But, ladies and gentlemen, this is 2008. It's all about spin, isn't it? If Pennsylvania voters -- or people anywhere -- are told often enough that they have been insulted, eventually they begin to believe it. You don't have to convince them entirely of the insult, just make them feel vaguely uneasy that where there's smoke, there may also be fire.

Obama's comments were right on target. His mistake -- and what makes him refreshing and frustrating at the same time -- is his political naïveté. He forgets that he's waging a political campaign. He's not offering a university lecture on political science and sociology. The voters don't mind facing some hard truths, if presented to them clearly and tactfully. But, to some extent, they have to be stroked. They need to feel respected. They don't want to feel that some Harvard boy is looking down on them.

On the other hand, I worked with millworkers during several summer vacations. I listened to them talk during breaks. Industrial jobs that got workers dirty and greasy certainly did not prevent them from being politically aware and sophisticated. Clinton and McCain are kidding themselves -- and are themselves being condescending -- if they believe that laborers take their attacks on Obama at face value, that workers don't understand the motivations of his opponents.
But someone also needs to vet Obama's speeches, and even his casual comments. He has to avoid opening himself to political attacks of this sort, even though his campaign will be less open, less exciting, and less thought-provoking as a result.

If elected, Obama will have a "bully pulpit," providing him many opportunities to show us new ways to think about old problems. A close campaign for the presidency, however, may not always be the smartest place to speak from the heart and to sound creative.

Sometimes a little bunkum and malarkey are called for, as Clinton and McCain are all too well aware.

Briefly, briefly, briefly

WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote

The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in swich

licour,

Of which vertu engendred is the flour; ...

Yeah, yeah. If old Geoffrey cares to see "rootes" being "perced" with "Aprille shoures," he should drop by Seattle this month. Anyway, it's been quite a while since I gave my readers a summary wrap up of life in the Northwest, so here goes.

• It's been hella cold and wet this year. Where's our global warming when we need it? According to Yahoo! Weather, the forecast for the next five days? Today, Showers. Tomorrow, Showers. Tuesday, Showers. Wednesday, Showers. Thursday, Few Showers! "Few"? Excellent! Things are looking up. The highest temperature through Thursday is expected to be 51 degrees.
  
• The corollary to the above: My back yard is turning into a green field of hay. We never get enough dry weather for me to mow it. One year I had to borrow a weed-eater from a friend just to whack it down low enough to give it its first mow of the season.
  
• The Mariners have already dropped to 2-3. As I write this, they are tied with the Orioles in the bottom of the ninth. You'll have to check the outcome yourself. The Northwest Corner does not update sports scores.
  
• I'm writing a chapter for a legal publication. My first draft is overdue. I have a lot of work to do. Instead, I'm procrastinating [see an earlier post on the subject of my procrastination!] by writing this post for my blog.
  
• I tried a lawsuit in 2004. The jury gave me an excellent verdict. The judge ordered a new trial. I tried the lawsuit again in 2005. A new jury gave me an even more excellent verdict. The loser appealed to the Court of Appeals. The Court of Appeals ruled in my favor. The loser filed a motion for reconsideration. The Court of Appeals denied the motion. The loser petitioned the Washington Supreme Court to take the case up on review. Ta-da! This past week, after a nine month wait, word arrives from Olympia -- petition denied. The loser has run out of options. Yay, me!
  
• The squirrels have emerged from wherever they choose to sleep away their winters. My cat Loki gazes out the front window. He sees a plump squirrel. He dashes to the back of the house, out the cat door, and around to the front yard. By the time he slithers up from behind a bush, the squirrel's vanished, of course, but I'm left to marvel. How clever of Loki to realize that he can access the squirrel by dashing off in the opposite direction and using his cat door.
  
• I watched Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg play Bruch's Violin Concerto at the symphony last night. A woman, about 30, with heavy but immaculately applied makeup, sat next to me and began chatting. She said she never missed a chance to see Nadja play. She couldn't believe this was my first time. She'd seen her in person in the lobby the night before, during intermission. She thought that if she could only meet Nadja, they probably would become very close friends. I asked her, nervously, if she actually stalked Nadja from city to city. Our conversation seemed to die out at that point. (Nadja, by the way, played beautifully and with great emotion.)
  
• After a period of tendinitis in my ankle, I'm back to running again regularly. Yesterday, I ran one of my usual routes, four miles around the UW campus. It feels SO good to be back on track. It's even a pleasure to run in the rain. (Fortunately!)

And that's the way it is in the Northwest Corner, April, 2008.

"Remember, honey, transfer to the "F" train at 34th street"

Izzy and mom (MSNBC)

I was born and raised in a smallish town of about 20,000 souls. From the time I started kindergarten at age 5, I walked to school, a distance of about 3/4 mile. I crossed one street busy enough to have a traffic light.
Were my folks guilty of child abuse? Lenore Skenazy is a columnist for the New York Sun. The other day, she found herself shopping with her 9-year-old son Izzy in a midtown Manhattan department store. Like any sensible boy, Izzy wanted to go home. So she gave him a subway map and twenty dollars (plus two quarters in case he needed to use a pay phone), and told him she'd see him later at home. He took the Lexington Avenue line downtown, and transferred to a crosstown bus. Yes, of course he made it home. He was quite pleased by his mother's display of confidence: "I was like, 'Finally!'" MSNBC quoted him as exclaiming. His mom wrote a column in the Sun about Izzy's new independence. “Half the people I've told this episode to now want to turn me in for child abuse," she mused ruefully. MSNBC's own on-line reader's poll showed 52 percent of respondents saying they would never have allowed their own child to duplicate Izzy's excellent adventure. Thirty-five percent said yes, a guy's got to face the world on his own, sometime. The others just didn't know. Skenazy used her son's experience to make a point.

I just think about all the college kids who are still sending their essays home to be edited by their parents. I talked to one lady whose daughter sends her pictures when she’s trying on clothes: ‘Mom, what do you think of this? What do you think of that?’ At some point you have to let go and let them live their life.

A generation ago, parents had to beg their kids for a monthly call home from college. Now the generations seem to live together in a perpetual mind meld. Somewhere, of course, there's a happy medium, and you don't necessarily have to agree with Lenore Skenazy's actions to feel that more independence by some of today's kids would be a good deal.

I've spent time in New York. I've also known nine-year-olds. A few kids that age can't be trusted to tie their own shoelaces without falling on their face, but many or most can negotiate a subway ride on their own. I, for one, agree with Izzy's mother. And yes, I do know there are weirdos out there, but, as Skenazy suggests, Izzy could also be struck by lightning -- or by a refrigerator falling from a five story roof -- as he walks down the street. Prudence is reasonable, but mother birds know enough to push their fledglings out of the nest just as soon as their wings will support them.

The human race escaped the jungle through a sense of adventure. We shouldn't try to keep our kids on a leash, simply because we fear the world's dangers, real or imagined.

So, here's to you Lenore Skenazy. You're my kind of parent.