girl named moe

Monday, May 29, 2006

The Great War and me

As it is Memorial Day, I thought I would write about the "Great War" that is the First World War. We don't hear about it much in America because our involvement was relatively short, compared to the European nations. Of course, now it's 90 years ago, and I think the last I read there are only 30 surviving US veterans of the Great War still alive. So, you don't hear about them much, Tom Hanks hasn't played a Great War hero in a movie, and its rarely on the History Channel.

I've kind of made a study of the Great War. I was almost always interested in history. My first interests were of World War 2- I wanted to know why it happened and if you do a deeper study you will always end up at the Great War. Thus began my fascination.

Anyway, I'm reading a book about it now called "The Unknown Solider"- the book profiles three soliders of the Great War, one British, one German and one American. I have already read about the German solider, Paul Hub, in another book about the war, that's how much of a goober I am- I read arcane history books so much I run into the same historical sources. Anyway, It was good to encounter Paul again. The reason he is such a good souce is that he was such a good descriptive writer and a total bad-ass and was in Ypres, The Somme, and Verdun and survived...this is an incredible feat. I'm not far enough in the book to have met the American, but I met Alec Reader the British solider who joins up at barely 18 to "do his bit" in the war. We get to know Alec and Paul through their letters home. Both were very good writers. You feel as if you know them. Paul is a little older and a lot more mature and very solid. Alec is what you would expect an 18 year old to be- excited, flighty, funny and ultimately scarred by the horrific trench warfare he experiences. Rather sweetly, noticing his mother is beginning to worry, he tries to write more cheerful missives and downplay the horror he is experiencing. I came to really like Alec. He is hoping for a transfer, but while he is waiting his unit is called up for battle at the Somme. The British are debuting their new war weapon- the tank. Alec and his unit drill endlessly how they will march across no man's land in formation following the tanks. Meanwhile, Paul with the German army on the other side of the battle are enduring constant bombardment by the British to "soften them up" for the attack. Paul writes of men crying and drooling and going completely insane from the constant bombardment. The Germans burrow in deeper.

There are four tanks that attack ahead of Alec's unit. Four tanks. Three of the four either stall out on the terrain or experience mechanical failure. Alec and his unit proceed across no man's land. Many to be mowed down by German machine gun fire- Alec dies that day. He was 19. Many thousands of his comrades do also for a few extra yards of French territory.

Paul is "lucky" he survives the Somme. He writes to his fiance a depressing letter about sitting on a mound of corpses to be out of the mud.

So much of the Great War stories are like that- men were cannon fodder- the strategy seemed to be throw more men in, and when that didn't work throw more in- from a strategy/tactics standpoint I always feel that it was a complete cluster-fuck. Yet, no one seemed to be able to stop the meat grinder.

Anyway, I was reading the part in the book where Alec dies on Saturday and I thought I have to put this down, and go to the grocery store. I'm at the Safeway just thinking about how horrible the battle was and how sad for Alec. It occurs to me as I put the cream cheese in my shopping cart, after all these years of study, I will probably never know "why"- I may cling to a theory about it, a political explanation or some such thing. Maybe just getting to know Alec and Paul is the point and remembering them that maybe at least in part the historian's job.

I keep searching history for some sembelence of progress to a better humanity and feel like I come up short. It occurs to me as I'm reading about Alec on Saturday, there is some 19 year old young man in a Humvee in Iraq and he is blindsided by some roadside bomb and dies. He is the 21st century Alec Reader. His name will appear in the "crawl" at the bottom of the CNN news. They used to show the pictures and the names of the guys who have died. They don't do that anymore- at least not as much as they used to. Iraq is now our "white noise" we know 6 or 7 soliders die every week there, its been going on like this for three years now.

I suppose if you gain anything from history it is the constantcy of human nature. There have always been wars. There have always been soliders like Alec and Paul. The Great War is perhaps one of the more obscene examples of a type of warfare that was new for it's time and no one seemed ready for it. I believe the Great War did not end in 1918, there was a 21 year truce and the war finally came to an end in 1945.

I plan to finish the book. I already know that Paul dies in 1918 a few months before the war is over. I don't know the American. I'm looking forward to reading his story. It's amazing to think that Alec and Paul were in the same battle at the Somme and 90 years later their story is told in the same book. I'm sure they could not have dreamed that their letters- carefully preserved by Rose, Alec's mother, and Maria, Paul's fiance would become a historical record- and that people would know so much about them.

Perhaps that's why I'm so interested in history- its all stories about people and their place in huge events that change the trajectory of humanity. If I never can answer the "why" at least I can understand the events from the human stories wrapped within them.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Happy Birthday Grandma

My Dad's Mom, Grandma H. will be having her 90th birthday party this weekend. Wow! I can't imagine 90 years of living. It will be fun. My sisters are coming into town, so Allie will be able to see her cousins, and it will be fun to see an assortment of family.

Though 90, Grandma still has a twinkle in the eye and a really great laugh. My present for her is this picture. I spent about 4 hours Monday night digging through storage because I knew I had this photo somewhere in the piles of pictures. It was really great to look through some old stuff. I found lots of great pictures, yearbooks, momentos. My daughter was with me and felt compelled to tell me how geeky I looked in my Jr. High yearbook!

This pic is Grandma, Grandpa and the cute little guy in the short pants is my Dad!

Monday, May 22, 2006

Jack or Nacho Guapo, whichever you prefer

We have had kitty for 9 days now. We decided on the name of Jack, which seemed fun and outgoing, much like kitty himself. Allie and I liked it and kitty even responded to it (which isn't much he would respond to anything, including "thing" and "beast")

J. after lobbying long and hard for Stalin, claiming that no one has a cat named Stalin- I agreed, yes, not many people name their adorable, fluffy cat companions after homicidal communist dictators...just felt that Jack was too pedestrian for kitty.

J. came up with a Mexican Pro Wrestling persona for kitty and we should call him "Nacho Guapo!" using the loud inflection of pro wrestling promotors. Of course, kitty responds to Nacho Guapo as readily as Jack or even Stalin.

The irony of the whole cat thing is that Allie and I were desperate for a cat, and J. was totally resistant, but now kitty loves J. most of all (Just as my friend Gail predicted)

Here is J. and Jack (aka Nacho Guapo) taking a nap.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Sloth Fury- Ruler of Naps!



Here he is! What a handsome kitty. We picked him up Saturday morning from the cat rescue place. He was a little nervous at first, but quickly adapted. He loves to be pet and he is very curious- any time I opened a cupboard, he had to scurry over and take a peek at what was inside. He's pretty playful, but loves being pet above all- I don't know if I've ever met a cat that liked to be pet sooo much. He also likes his belly rubbed before drifting off to one of his frequent naps.

J. I think, was hoping for a dynamic sort of super-hero kitty was suggesting as a name Scratch Fury Destroyer of Worlds. After meeting kitty, and kitty taking his inagural nap on J.'s legs, he has revised the name to Sloth Fury Ruler of Naps. Of course, Allie and I will not permit him to be called Sloth Fury, so kitty is still nameless! We've kicked around so many names but nothing seems to fit. His other main characteristic is his proud bearing- he is very handsome and he knows it! I tend to call him Pretty Boy, which J. says is terrible for him and will turn him into a sissy cat. Allie calls him Kitty and Baby. He appears to come to almost any name as long as it holds out the hope of pets and a belly rub and a place to stretch out for a nap.

Feel free to leave a suggestion for a name here for the handsome, affection fiend, and napping kitty.



Friday, May 12, 2006

Scratch Fury Destroyer of Worlds

Good news. Tomorrow is kitty day! Indeed, we have found our kitty! We visited a woman who does cat and dog rescue and met our kitty cat. There were two kitties we were interested in, both insanely adorable. The fellow we settled on is an adorable guy with stripes and big golden eyes.

He is the perfect compromise. Allie wanted a new kitten, but J. and I wanted an older cat, which is what we looked at last weekend. Allie wasn't excited, and since it is to be her pet, we kept looking and found this kitty rescue and our kitty is 9 months old and is neutered and box trained (yay!) but still with the playfulness of a kitten.

There has been much discussion of names. Allie was tossing around cute names like "Gatsby" and "Duffy"

J. strongly objected, since kitty is male, he needs a strong name--after offering we should name kitty "Fidel" "Stalin" or "Krushchev" after communist dicators, I mentioned that kitty probably didn't have a strong political persuasion, nor did he give off a dictator "vibe," J. suggested that we call kitty "Scratch Fury Destroyer of Worlds."

Allie is not excited about this name. At all. But, J. is lobbying hard for Scratch Fury. I am remaining neutral.

We will pick up kitty and bring him home tomorrow morning. Then the name debate will begin in earnest. I will post kitty's picture and you all can feel free to suggest a name.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Started looking for a kitty, but found a car....

This weekend we let Allie know we are going to get a kitty. We started looking to adopt, but not a lot available but adult cats that Allie didn't really connect to, as she has her heart set on a kitten. So, we didn't end up with a kitty this weekend as we had hoped. Allison was quite crabby then sad, then resigned, then hopeful. (the stages of not having instant gratification of kitty desire?)

J. has finally relented about the cat after saying no for many years. He made it clear said kitty will belong to me and Allison. Of course, we are very excited about this! Can't wait until we find the perfect kitty.

However, we didn't plan on going car shopping, but we did. J's previous car, known as "Wagon of Doom" was a 1992 Ford wagon, which he bought for 4k about 4 years ago....let's just say, it's been a real piece of crap. It has had numerous alignment and electrical problems in the last 2 years. In the last few weeks its been crapping out again. The estimates were about $1,200 to fix- considering that, J. decided it was time to find something else.

In typical J. fashion, he went to one dealership, found the car that he wanted, told the sales guys what he wanted to pay and proceeded to eat a cheeseburger in their lounge as they did that back and forth to the sales manager thing with papers. This type of transaction makes me extremely uptight and worried. Not J. - no big deal....While J. and the sales guy were doing the wrangling and writing out numbers and such, I felt myself get really tense. I used Allie as the convienient cop-out. Since she is always hungry, I said, "Gee, I'm sure Allie is hungry, we might just run over to the Burgerville...."

That's when J. asked for his burger and I said, "Where will you eat it?"

"Here"

"Honey, your in someone's office, negotiating a car deal..."

"So, what are they going to do? Throw me out when I'm trying buy one of their cars?"

Mercifully released from the car sales office, Allie and I took our own sweet time at the Burgerville. J. was almost done with his deal when we showed up. Of course, J. wanted something in trade for Wagon of Doom. Looking at the car from the outside the sales guy was saying about $600 (yes, it did look that crappy) but before the contract was signed the sales guy wanted to start it up, to which, J. cheeseburger in hand muttered under his breath "shit..."

The sales guy tried to start it but there was only a wheezing, chugging sound then a few snaps and a burning smell. Wagon of Doom's death rattle. Wagon of Doom, sensing its days of service to us were finally at an end died right there at the dealership. J. ended up getting $200 for Wagon of Doom's carcass.

The deal done, cheeseburger consumed, J. hopped into his sweet new ride. '98 Subaru Legacy wagon, all wheel drive, leather interiors, and electric everything- and get this, including seat warmers!

Today I drove by the same dealership on the way to work, and waved to Wagon of Doom as I drove past, still in repose in the same parking spot.

Monday, May 01, 2006

I'm from here

I was walking around Mt. Tabor park today and getting some pictures of the views of Portland. I'm from Oregon, but still appreciate my hometown's natural beauty. I belong to a pretty social professional organization and go to their mixers and events and sometimes people ask me, "Where are you from?"

Since it seems most everyone in Portland these days is from somewhere else, I'm regarded as somewhat of an oddity. Most everyone is from California. Last week I was at a wine tasting mixer and ended up with two people reminiscing about the bay area in California.

Yes, I was born here, lived here most of my life. My parents were born here. Three out of my four grandparents were born here.

I'm realizing that it means something to be from here. It means you don't pump your own gas, you recycle bottles and cans and can't fathom a time when people didn't. You never have to figure out the sales tax on what you buy. If you're my age, Ramblin' Rod, Bumpity were the crappy locally produced TV shows. You probably can remember at least one member of the 1977 World Champion Portland Trailblazers. You might have had milk from the drive thru Senn's Dairy. If you grew up in the era of Tom McCall, the coming of Californians to Oregon was something akin to an invasion by Visigoths. A worse fate could have hardly been imagined.

If you grew up in Oregon sometime during grade school you did the requiste section on the pioneers- with a shoe box diarama of a covered wagon. I did mine in 5th grade. We studied pioneers all year. Miss McCord, our teacher told us this story: "When pioneers came on the Oregon trail, they had to make a decision whether to head to Oregon or to California. All the hardworking families chose Oregon. All the gamblers and prostitutes chose California."

I'm sure she regretted those words as soon as they left her mouth, not because she smeared Californians in such a broad fashion, but she had to explain the word "prostitute" to a classroom of 10 year olds. (Our knowledge of vice was such that we knew what a gambler was) It was a very enlightening day for me.

Anyway, I've found the transplanted Californians quite pleasant- perhaps its because of the circles I travel in I haven't encountered many California prostitutes or gamblers. I wonder how Miss McCord would feel about that...

As one of the few natives I kind of feel duty bound to share little tidbits of Oregon history. Mt. Tabor park provides an opportunity. If you climb to the top of the park there is a big statue there of Mr. Harvey Scott, a portly city patriarch. I'm sure many people stop to admire the statue and presume Mr. Scott was a fine founder of the city...and indeed he was...sort of.

My problem with Harvey Scott has to do with his sister Abigail Scott Duniway. Abigail was the leader in Oregon of the women's sufferage movement, trying to get women the vote. Her brother Harvey, one of the publishers of the Oregonian consistently ran editorials against women getting the vote.

I quite admire Abigail, not only because she is part of the reason I can vote today, but she has an incredible story. She and her brother Harvey and the rest of the Scott clan were pioneers coming over in covered wagons from Illinois. Abigail married and had 6 children and wrote a book about pioneer history. Her husband became disabled in a horse accident and Abigail had to support her family. She had several business ventures including a hat business. As a woman she realized how hard it was for a woman- not being able to enter into contracts without her husband, having no say in how businesses are regulated and run. Having all your assets legally belong to your husband and nothing legally belonging to you, simply because you are a woman. Having to cope with this convinced Abigail that women needed to vote and needed have rights and a public say...so, rather heroically and for many decades she crusaded for the women's vote in Oregon and Idaho. While her own brother used his not inconsequential influence as the publisher of the state's largest newspaper to thwart her. Luckily, Abigail at age 80 got to see women gain the right to vote in Oregon in 1912. She died in 1915 before women gained the national vote.

So, Harvey gets the big bronze statue in probably the nicest park in the city, plus Mt. Scott is also named for Harvey. Abigail has a demure little park in Southwest Portland and no statue.

I was at the park with Allie several years ago looking at the statue. I told her this story. She picked up a pinecone and threw it at Harvey's statue. Its become a tradition. J., Allie and I often picnic at Mt. Tabor during the summer. Allie says, "Hey, lets go throw pinecones at Harvey Scott."

Anytime I find myself getting irritated at Harvey's cool statue, I realize Abigail ultimately has the greater legacy, but still there is a measure of gratification of watching my daughter, future female voter give Harvey the pinecone pelting he no doubt deserves.

Oh pioneers!