Byron Edgington's Blog, page 12

Good Career Move?

So they think they've found Richard III, the last Plantagenet King of Merry Olde England, dead in 1485 at age 33. "Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York." Perhaps the most famous line that Shakespeare ever scribbled after "To be, or not to be..." came from the mouth of Richard the Third. Archeologists believe they've unearthed the evil, twisted sovereign himself, buried under a car park no less. So return if you will to 1485 and the battle of Bosworth, where poor Richard, long before almanacs were passed about to mark such things succumbed to a halberd blow to his head. The mortal wounding came from a soldier loyal to one Henry Tudor who would be elevated to the throne as Henry the Seventh. A good career move for poor Richard? If history is any judge, and it does seem to be, Richard is about to be memorialized 528 years after the halberd landed on his skull, sending him off to the big dirt nap, or the big parking lot as it were. It should be noted that Mr. Shakespeare wrote not a word about Henry the Seventh. It should also be noted that poor Richard died with his boots on at age 33, just as many of our recent royalty among the music and entertainment industry have done. Heath Ledger, John Belushi, Chris Farley, Gilda Radner, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, James Dean, the list goes on and on. Most of us would just as soon drift off into obscurity and die of old age, but Richard and the rest did seem to capture a secret to longevity. Of course most of us unknowns will likely not wind up staring at the undercarriage of so many British vehicles either. There is that.

Of Ice Cream & Imagination

Next Tuesday Evening I will read from my recently published book, The Sky Behind Me, a Memoir of Flying and Life . One of the promotions for the event came about from a rather indirect route. I found myself in an ice cream shop in Clintonville, a suburb of Columbus Ohio. The young woman who manages the store was a classmate of mine at Ohio State where I finished my college studies last June. Jeni’s Splendid Ice Cream is something of an institution in Columbus. The owner/creator, Jeni Britton Bauer decided years ago that ice cream should be the one pleasure that among all others reflects the local and the artisanal nature of things. In other words, one of life’s ultimate pleasures.
In other words, like good writing. Toss in pure, locally grown and nurtured ingredients, flavor with just the right touch of fresh and wholesome sweet & sour, add a snippet of the unexpected and the result is magical. In other words, like good writing.
So when I got the opportunity to pose for a picture at Jeni’s, and my classmate added the shot to Jeni’s Splendid Ice Cream’s FaceBook page I was flattered and grateful. I suspect (I hope) that those who attend my splendid reading next week (see details) will come away satisfied and intrigued at the stories I tell. And I hope they all head for Jeni’s afterward. I recommend the Salty Caramel. I could write an entire story about that stuff.

Couples

There are a lot of people who see problems with this series of pictures. Here we have happy, caring, solicitous couples who, at least if the pictures are any indication, are content with each other, connected in a way everyone wants to be connected. This doesn’t look like ‘equal rights’ or ‘ideology’ or ‘an agenda.’
 These people are just happy to be together, and that’s all there is to see. But still, some folks look at two women enjoying each others’ company, possibly on their wedding day, two men physically close and sharing that same human connection, and they see a subversive, evil projection. They see the breakdown of morals, or an ethical statement of some kind that portends social chaos. Is it possible that the pictures represent people being happy with who they are? Could it be that the fears and disparagement some cast on that happiness is simply a reflection of their own fear and inadequacy at finding this kind of contentment?

Packing to leave

Wednesday morning I meet with my doc to discuss my PSA score. Again. This is about prostates, and cancer, and ED, and incontinence and all the unpleasant aspects of what can and/or may happen to me and a lot of other men simply because, by virtue of having been born male, we own a prostate. And, as we age, we prostate owners become a lot more, ahem, intimate with that part of our anatomy than we’d otherwise choose to be. My PSA is likely to be higher than last time. There are other less-socially-appropriate-to-discuss in a blog symptoms that this is so. Suffice to say that lately, as in the past three or four years, an all nighter for me has come to mean that I don’t have to get up at least once to pee.
Kidding aside, depending on what the doc tells me Wednesday, the next part of my life could well be about packing. As in packing to leave on a very long trip. This trip is one we all must pack for eventually, at least those of us who managed to be born. This trip defines a major portion of our lives, describes what we leave behind, and what we’ll take with us. So what to pack? This is metaphor, of course, but a useful exercise, I think. What it comes down to is this: we should all live, every day, as if a doctor has provided us a time frame that’s rather shorter than we’d hoped.
My PSA is probably fine, perhaps elevated a tiny bit above what it was a year ago. If it’s a lot higher I’ll deal with it. If it means packing to leave, there are simple and necessary considerations. My wife, of course needs a valid will. She needs access to my financial, legal and military retirement records. I need to make that process as simple and straightforward for her as possible. But I should do that in any case. I will list the Social Security information. Make a will. Lead her to a good source for military information.
Alarmist? Nah, I’m not that kind of guy. It’s been a great gig. If I have to pack I hope to take very little. Toothbrush, copy of Moby Dick, a writing pad and two or three pencils. Insurance card? Don’t need it.

I was a Scout once

When I was eight years old or so I was a Cub Scout. Wearing that blue and yellow necktie/sash arrangement, complete with its distinguished wolf-imprint sliding clasp identified me as a special kid, a standout among my peers, a member of an elite group that represented certain values and beliefs. I recited the Scout code at every Cub meeting I attended with my fellow Scouts. I promised to “obey the law of the pack.” That law was simple: The Cub Scout follows ‘Akela.’ The Cub Scout helps the pack go. The pack helps the Cub Scout grow. The Cub Scout gives goodwill. Having no earthly idea what ‘Akela’ meant, but agreeing that it sounded pretty cool in any case I chanted the oath with gusto, my hand over my heart like a young crusader. It felt good. Either the altruistic impulse, or the acceptance by other members, it just felt good to be there and participate.
Lately the Boy Scouts of America organization has come under fire for discriminating against LGBT young people. Though the BSA has lifted a long-time ban against gays participating in Scouting activities, which is a step in the right direction, the BSA has created an even more onerous policy. They allow individual troops to discern the policy at the local level. Each troop can choose to admit gay kids–or not. This is equivalent to every KFC or McDonald’s choosing whether or not to serve certain people, in other words, an awful corporate policy. Organizations like the Human Rights Campaign, HRC, have brought attention to this hurtful policy, demanding that it be changed to eliminate discrimination in all Scouting. (Send your own letter to the BSA here) Ending discrimination is much more in keeping with Scout values of giving goodwill. Maybe that’s what ‘Akela’ is?

Why I write

Welcome to February and Heart Month. I chose this shot because, in an odd way, it shows why I write. When people ask why I’m so committed to a writing life I joke that I write because, as second of ten kids, I could never get a word in edgewise at the dinner table. Besides, at that particular table I was smart enough to know that I had to eat quickly to survive, so in a way I do in fact live to write.
Back to the picture–I spent a lot of my life in the sky. My career in commercial aviation spanned forty years. I never worked a day of it. I loved every takeoff, every opportunity to soar among the clouds, every chance to stay aloft a little longer. Every landing came much too soon. For much of my life my heart was quite literally in the sky. So combining my two needs–to soar, and to be heard–I turned to writing. It occupies much of my day now, just as flying did for forty years. When the writing goes well it’s hard to tell the difference between the work of crafting words into sentences and flying. For those who wish to soar, who want to experience a marvelous life lived among the clouds and wind and weather, writing can provide that almost as well as taking off and playing among the clouds. Almost.

The Heart of the Matter

Ah, the heart--what a source of communal focus in February, for everything from timeworn adages--cross my heart, break my heart, heart healthy, the key to a woman's heart--this time of year we turn to hearts. It's more than a tribute to an obscure saint named Valentine who may or may not have existed in the third century. Much more than our collective disdain for the continuing chill of winter and its demand to curl by the hearth, which term originated, where else, from the name for our most vital organ. It's either because everyone has one, a heart that is if not a hearth, that we reflect on the body's critical plumbing, or because of the myths attached to the heart as a source of our emotional responses that we celebrate heart month in February. It may have something to do with the flowers and greeting card business being in the doldrums after a long post-X-mas winter's nap as well, but that's a bit cynical. Let me propose another reason we humans gravitate toward all things cardiac this time of year: like bears, long about November we've turned inward, a hibernational attitude if not actual practice, steering clear of contact with others of our species. Come February we sense a need to reconnect again. Heart month would seem silly coming along in July, or October. We humans can stay unattached and heartless only so long, then we must stir from our personal dens, rouse ourselves and reach out again. That, I believe, is the heart of the matter.

Go with your gut

I hate promoting myself. Putting myself, my product, my opinion out there is the toughest thing for me, even though I've been told I do it quite well. Partly it's my catholic kid background. "Pride goeth before a fall," my Irish catholic mother always said. I took her message to heart, never going first in class, never voicing an opinion unless asked, and even then... So I'm finding that the business part of the book writing business is dreadful for me. I can't stand peddling things even if they're my own output. To think I tried my hand at real estate once. What was that about?
But we gotta get out there, promote, push, jump in and go with our gut when we sense an opportunity because they don't come along often. Today I wandered into Jeni's Splendid Ice Cream store in Clintonville, a near north 'burb of Columbus. A young woman works there who was in a college class of mine last year. I gave her a copy of The Sky Behind Me, my recently published book, because I'd taken a class with her, and she wanted a copy, and she's a poor college student so... In any case, she took my picture with a copy of the book--her copy--and said she was going to help promote it. This week the picture will be on the Jeni's Ice Cream Clintonville FaceBook page for all to see.
Oh, and speaking of going with my gut, Jeni's Splendid IC is hands down THE most delicious Ice Cream in the entire universe. The Salty Caramel is to die for. My gut shows the result, but I don't care. Tell them I sent you.

Current Events

The current controversy of so called same-sex marriage is in the news a lot, and for good reason. As a writer, I pay attention to current events, news and commentary, social proceedings, political contests and the like. As an American, and a veteran with more than thirty years service in the military, I have strong opinions about various issues, particularly those American ideals I wore a uniform defending all those years. The ability to marry the person of one’s choosing is one of those issues. To me, America is not a country; America is an idea. It’s the idea that we are indeed, ‘created equal.’ It’s an idea that we all have equal rights: life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness. It’s an idea that relies on the concept of ALL. In America we don’t make exceptions. We don’t say “…liberty and justice for some.” We say “…liberty and justice for all.” There’s no wiggle room in ALL. Human rights groups such as HRC, ACLU, Family Equality Council, Freedom to Marry and many others work for these rights.
Just so, I swore to defend that idea. In uniform, I defended a country, an idea, where ALL means ALL, no exceptions. Those words mean America to me. In keeping with that idea, we in America must understand that equal protection extends to us all. And that means for civil marriage equality as well. Join me on May 9th for S.A.M.E. Day, national Straight Allies for Marriage Equality Day. It’s time our LGBT friends, family and neighbors have the right to marry the person they love.

straightalliesformarriageequality.com

Challenger-- "...a major malfunction."

Twenty-seven years ago today the space shuttle Challenger lifted off from Kennedy Space Center into the cold, Florida morning and into aviation disaster history. The Rogers report following the breakup and loss of Challenger uncovered a number of deficiencies in design and construction of the solid boosters used to launch the vehicle. But perhaps the true cause of the accident, and the loss of seven space-faring Americans, was the acceptance by NASA of normal deviance* from safety strictures that had made shuttle launches appear routine, thus a recipe for disaster. It’s much too easy to look around at near misses–or near hits more to the point–and acquire a casual attitude about real dangers. In my aviation career I saw this time and again, where something worked, even worked well though a design limit had been reached, or a TBO (time between overhaul) had been exceeded. The standard aviation phrase heard around such incidents was, “…well, it flew in.” The assumption being that it would fly out again. Putting fresh eyes on any problem or routine may be the best medicine ever devised for continued safe operation of any human designed mechanism.
*for more on this insidious danger read Mike Mullane's excellent book Riding Rockets .