Kevan the Tool

Fall                                                Waxing Autumn Moon

We qualify for a special mortgage deal proposed by my favorite institution in America, Wells Fargo Bank.  We went in today to see Kevan, a home mortgage specialist.  Kevan had a computer screen we could see and he happily punched in numbers explaining the joys of this wonderful deal.

Until.  “Can I see the type of contract you’re proposing we sign?  You know, the terms?”  “It’s all right here,” Kevan said, pointing to the computer screen.  Oh, well.  Since it’s on a computer screen, that’s good enough, right?  Wrong.

“I’d like to see the language we’d be expected to agree to, Kevan.”  “The terms are right here.” Kevan pointed to the swing out computer screen.  Again.

They weren’t.  What the screen showed was the advantage to us of taking the deal.  That’s all.  No other contractual information.

Kevan and I did not get along.  We did, because I had my much smarter partner with me, go ahead and sign up because the deal could lower our monthly payments by a significant amount.  In the process of signing up however they collected information about our income and several pieces of what I consider proprietary information.  And we get nothing in return.

We can still say no, but this was the only way (ONLY WAY) I could get to see the terms of the contract.  Kevan said it was a national program.  I pointed to the phone.  He could call the national program surely and get us the information.  He got exasperated then because signing up was the only way.  ONLY WAY.  Kevan is a corporate tool.

Afterward, I toured a group of tall, elegant Somali teenagers through the MIA’s ancient art collection.  They were attentive and interactive.

At 1:00 PM I went over to the Eye Institute where I had my semi-annual glaucoma check up.  This was the first time in over 20 years that I have not seen Jane West.  I now see Dr. Brown.  My eye-drops have dropped my pressures into the safe levels and my optic nerve is stable.  Between the holes punched through my iris in 2004 by laser and the eyedrops, we’re keeping that nerve as healthy as possible.

I started out with a central hole in my optic nerve bigger than normal, so I have less room to accommodate change.

 

A Changeable Month

Fall                                                Waxing Autumn Moon

A warm fall night, a clear sky, a half moon high above it all.  The moon roof open on the Celica.  October in Minnesota.  A changeable month.

The Sierra Club set its legislative priorities tonight, though with this particular legislature a good deal, most, of our work will be defensive in nature.

Today saw final touches on my tour of ancient art for a group of Somali teens.  I did not know that Somalia was, most likely, the ancient land of Punt.  It covers the Horn of Africa like a cap, hugging the coastline north and south while extending in toward the interior.  Piracy is not a new activity here in this country positioned close to major shipping lanes for centuries.

Did some editing on Spiritual Resources for Humanists, or With No God, and found it could use some rewriting. I’ll get to that Friday or Saturday.

 

Untamed and Primal

Fall                                                Waxing Autumn Moon

Warning:  weak stomachs should not read further.

Kate yelled, but I didn’t hear.  Rigel, let inside after breakfast and a morning’s romp in the woods, came in, lay down on our small oriental rug, and, as dogs sometimes do, threw up.  Gross, I know, but after a while with dogs, many dogs as we have had, this becomes part of the experience.

In this particular case however, it was not eaten grass or clumps of cloth (some dogs love to shred and eat cloth), but most of a recently ingested rabbit:  the head, a hind quarter and much of the softer parts.  Since none of breakfast came up with it, this was a post-breakfast hunt, likely followed by bolting because three other dogs Vega, Kona and Gertie wanted some, too.

Since we have about an acre and a half of woods with many brush piles, which we create intentionally for the purpose of harboring wildlife, our dogs always have hunting options, but we’ve not seem many offerings brought up on the deck in recent times.

Since our dogs are all sight hounds, or at least half sight hound coupled with half coon hound, they come equipped at birth with the instinct to hunt and kill on their own.  We’ve had various levels of skill among our dogs, but some have been exceptional.

Rigel is one.  Sortia, our Russian witch, a female Irish Wolfhound who weighed around 180 and was never fat, was and remains the champ.  She took down a deer by herself during an interlude at the breeders.  She brought us raccoon, ground hog, many rabbits and, to our chagrin, the occasional neighborhood cat who strayed foolishly over our fence.

The whippets are no slouches either.  Kona has killed many a rabbit, one time bringing a very fresh head and dropping it at the kitchen door.

Long ago I slipped over to the Farmer McGregor attitude toward rabbits so I have no problem with our dogs keeping the rabbit supply on the thin side.  They’re protecting our vegetable garden.  I imagine their presence also keeps out deer.

It’s not why we keep dogs, but it is a good side benefit.

All this hunting reminds us, too, that beneath the cheerful, loving persona our beloved dogs show to us, there is still within them an untamed and primal beast, a carnivore not really so far removed from the wolf.

Back to the 50’s

Fall                                          Waxing Autumn Moon

Kate and I had dinner tonight at Jax.  Instant 1950’s.  Even the crowd seemed largely–though not exclusively–from that era.  Including us of course.

This is a place where they print your name on matchbook covers when you make a reservation and where the signature dishes are steaks, more steaks, and lobster.  It has a wood paneled dining room, a garden area with lit-up trees and a huge stone fireplace.  Linen napkins and too heavy cutlery.  Waitresses and busboys in black and white.

The service is cordial, the drinks look generous and the dining room has a quiet, clinking atmosphere conducive to intimate conversation.  Rowdiness, back slapping, football on TV, foosball and air hockey just don’t belong here.

We parked in Lobster Lane and walked across the street to this brick covered building.

Our meal celebrated our time with my brother Mark and what we hope is a successful conclusion in Saudi Arabia.

 

Trail’s End

Fall                                                          Waxing Autumn Moon

Just put into place the last plans.  A visit to Sugarloaf Mountain in Rio and Corcovado.  Sugar Loaf is the mountain illuminated in this photograph.  It was familiar to me from other shots I’d seen of Rio.  To reach its top requires two different cable car rides.  That we’ll do the day we leave.

Corcovado, which we will do the day we arrive in Rio, has the famous statue of Christ the Redeemer.  It is, so far, the only well known tourist site we have on our entire cruise.  The rest are places more known for their geography and culture than for their tourist appeal.

On our second night in Rio we will attend the Plataforma, a show that features the costumes and dances of Carnival.  Since we will probably not get to Rio for Carnival (and wouldn’t want to even if we could), this should be an interesting evening. I should say night since in typical Latin style the show starts at 10pm.  These events are at the very end of our cruise and represent a farewell to the journey and South America.

All Ha’il

Fall                                              Waxing Harvest Moon

First communication back from Mark in Saudi Arabia.  He says he hasn’t set up his computer yet and that the school seems to have a good connection.  He mentions the school is in Ha’il*.  Guess that’s where he is now.  So far that’s all I know.

Met with the Woolly’s last night at our once and forever location:  the Black Forest.  Tom Crane, Mark Odegard, Frank Broderick, Scott Simpson and Warren Wolfe showed up.  We went around the table, catching each other up on this and that.  Mark’s leaving.  Our cruise.  Tom and Roxann’s trip to Florida.  Mark O’s knee.  Warren’s upcoming article on Medicare.

Scott and I talked about something called latency trading.  Here’s an article that explains some of it.  The part it doesn’t explain is the drive, now well established, to position large supercomputer networks as close as physically possible to stock exchanges around the world.  Why?  To capture the millisecond advantage in data transmission that results from close proximity to the data feed itself.  Each millisecond can mean tens of millions of dollars in trading advantage.  According to Scott, physical proximity can yield as much as a 3 millisecond advantage.  Do the math.

On the drive home, the half Autumn moon hung in the night sky.  The moon roof was open and stars shone down through it.  The air was mild, with just that hint of fall.  Perfect.

*Ha’il (Arabic: حائل‎ Ḥā’il), also spelled Hail, Ha’yel, or Hayil, is an oasis city in Nejd in northwestern Saudi Arabia. It is the capital of the Ha’il Province. The city has a population of 356,876 according to Ha’il Province.

Ha’il is largely agricultural, with significant grain, date, and fruit production. A large percentage of the kingdom’s wheat production comes from Ha’il Province, where the area to the northeast, 60 km to 100 km away, consists of irrigated gardens. Traditionally Ha’il derived its wealth from being on the camel caravan route of the Hajj. Ha’il is well known by the generosity of its people in Saudi Arabia and the Arab world as it is the place where Hatim al-Tai lived.

 

At Sea

Fall                                            Waxing Autumn Moon

The zone.  Kate and I have reached the under 2 week zone for a cruise we booked in March.  We each have particular tasks to get done.   Things to do.  Tomorrow we’re going to go through our clothes and clean out closets and, oh by the way, set out what we want to pack.

(the type of cabin we’ve booked)

Today I checked my meds to be sure I had a supply that would reach all the way to Thanksgiving.  Scheduled my physical for December.  Made arrangements for an appointment to make my medicare decision.  A mix of cruise related and future related tasks.

There’s a light-headedness I get before a trip, an almost out of body feeling, as if part of me wants to travel on ahead, get going.  I love to go.  Seeing new places, experiencing new foods, meeting new people.  All great.

In this particular instance though I’m looking for real relaxation.  And will get it.  I’ve never done anything travel-wise more relaxing than a cruise.  Something about the limits the ship itself sets, the (mostly) gentle rocking of the ship, the throb of the engines, someone else cooking and cleaning.  No expectations.  No responsibility.

 

Humanism

Fall                                                      Waxing Autumn Moon

Spiritual Resources for Humanists.  Been thinking about this from an odd perspective.  Humanism is often characterized as anti- or post-Christian.  It is, of course, easy to see why this should be so in such Christian marinated cultures as those of the United States and Europe.  Easy, yes.  But accurate?

Think about it this way.  If there were no monotheism, no polytheism, no reaching out beyond the natural world to a supernatural (anti-natural?) realm, then raising a Christian theology would be seen as anti-Humanist or, maybe, post-Humanist.

If you, like me, find the idea of a God out there, beyond us and our world, no longer viable, then we have to consider that there has not been a God out there right along.  That means, further, that Christianity, Islam and Judaism, among many others, have never had their metaphysics right.  In other worlds there was no God in Israel, Ephesus, Corinth or Rome.

In that case, humanism is counterpoised not to a deity, but to a story, rather stories, about deities; narratives that, like kudzu in the south, overgrew everything, changing their shapes and appearance until all that could be seen was a green, viny realm.

These are narratives with a great deal of power, narratives that inspire devotion, sacrifice, even war, yet, for all that, narratives not substantially different from the very best fiction.  The difficult part to keep in focus here is the difference between the narrative as fiction and the history of the narrative’s power.

In other words, even though the Biblical material, from this perspective, has the same metaphysical punch as Hesiod and Ovid, compilations of Greek myth and legend, the historical actions of those who imbibed this narrative from their birth and acted on it in complete confidence of its veracity is nonetheless real, just as are the actions of Periclean Athens, Sparta and Corinth.

The historical depth and reach of Christians cannot be dismissed as fiction and reveals, in it all its vitality, the true force of myth and legend.  A story like the passion of Jesus, because it includes compassion, sacrifice, redemption and the defeat of death, resonates energetically with daily life, in particular the daily life of those on the wrong side of history.

Nietzsche recognized this and called Christian morality slave morality, a morality meant to bring down the strong and the good, a morality meant to turn on its head the way to power. ***

We do not have to give up the mythic power of the Christian story as humanists.  No, we can reach into the Biblical material and read these narratives with the same keen eye and open heart that Christians do.  We don’t have to buy the notion of Olympus to be inspired by the story of Hercules, saddened by the story of Orpheus and add depth to our understanding of  fall and spring through the story of Persephone.

Terminal

Fall                                            Waxing Autumn Moon

Dropped Mark off at the Delta terminal at 9:10 this morning.  It was a difficult leave taking, conflicted on both our parts.

He’s worried about the flight to Riyadh from New York–too long–whether anyone will meet him there at the airport–they will–and remembering not to shake hands with women, as a last minute communication from English Gate Academy advised.

Leaving him there, with so many worries, left me in a place I imagine parents of troubled kids must inhabit when they launch their child, perhaps again and again, into the world.  I felt uncertain of his footing and have my fingers crossed.

Kate and I feel we did the best we could do over the time he was here to get him ready for today and I feel good about that.  There is, though, that lingering concern, countered by hope.

Of course, my analyst, John Desteian, used to say, “Don’t get me started on hope.”

Anyhow, here’s to Mark, bravely venturing into a troubled region.  He got a good paying job when hundreds of thousands of Americans can’t find work.  He’ll be able to save money, work toward a Master’s degree and put together a good recommendation for future employment.

A Day of License

Fall                                          Waxing Autumn Moon

Got up at 7:10.  Left the house at 7:30 for Anoka County Driver’s License center to see if we could get Mark a spot for his driving test.  When we reached the site at 7:45, there was already a line of waiters:  teen-agers, Somalis, a couple of older, hard used men whom I imagined were back for a license test after a suspension for one reason or another, a housewife or two.

Mark got in line and I went down two doors to the small diner that capitalizes on the License Department traffic.  It has a large cookie jar collection.  By large I mean a row the length of one wall and another and rows of them two deep over the counter area.  We’re talking lots of cookie jars.  None of them, I’m sorry to say, especially interesting to my eye, but you have to admire the determination.

It also had a sign that only fishermen could love:  Have a crappie day.

While I ate eggs and bacon, a shortstack of pancakes,  a young boy, maybe eleven, blond and the oldest of two others who looked much like him, spun a pancake his hands, flipped it in the air to his brothers’ obvious enjoyment.  Mom didn’t blink an eye.

I’d only just got started on breakfast when Mark came in to say that he hadn’t gotten a slot.

Let’s back up  a minute.  In June Mark went in and tried to get a driver’s license with just a knowledge test.  He could have done so if California didn’t purge its rolls every four years.  He had no record of having had a driver’s license so he had to get a learner’s permit.  At the end of the three month period, he could take a driving test.

September 29th was the end of the three months, so, basically, he had yesterday and today.

Not able to get a slot at Anoka we next went to Arden Hills, much larger facility off Highway 35 and very the exit for 610 we use to get home from downtown.

Long story short.  We sat from about 9 am until 1:30 p.m.  Finally got a test.  Mark failed.  The examiner told him to come back in a week and he’d probably pass.  No joy there.

He got his flight information and he leaves tomorrow morning at 11:30 a.m bound for Riyadh.  Maybe next year.