Cruel Kindness, For Example

An oxymoron is defined as any type of utterance whether spoken or written which produces a seemingly self-contradictory effect. Apparently the word oxymoron originated in the 1650s. If something happens with sufficient frequency to require a name, we must assume that self contradiction is an integral part of human communication. By the way, the plural of oxymoron is 'oxymora'. That last bit of trivia allows me to make this next statement with confidence. I love oxymora.
This morning I came across quite a startling oxymoron. In the checkout line of some store or other, I reached into the cooler case to impulsively buy a bottle of water lest dehydration claim me as its own before I got home. Instead of the water bottle, I grabbed the bottle next to it. I had been distracted by a variety of headlines on the magazine rack above the cooler. Apparently Brad is at his wit's end. Michelle Obama is angry at Oprah. Angelina is not a favorite person of Jen's. So engrossed was I by the intensity of the tabloid drama I didn't even notice that I was not buying water until the bottle was in the hand of the check out person and about to be scanned.
I shrieked, "Oh, no!" and grabbed the bottle away from the startled clerk.
Completely transfixed, I held the bottle in front of me, appalled and intrigued by my almost purchase.
Diet Coke Plus.
Plus what besides chemicals sufficient to instantly eat corrosion off of an automobile battery? I held up the check out line to more closely peruse the label. It claimed that, in addition to corrosive chemicals, the drink contained vitamins and minerals. I wanted to know more. The people behind me in the check out line had begun to clear their throats and shuffle their feet. A baby had begun to scream. Even though I doubted the baby screamed at me, I did the polite thing. I bought the Coke.
I'm glad I bought it because I now have time to share the ingredients directly from the label: carbonated water, magnesium sulfate, caramel color, phosphoric acid, potassium sorbate and potassium benzoate (to protect taste), aspartame, natural flavors, acesulfame potassium, caffeine, zinc gluconate, niacinamide (vitamin B3), pyridoxine hydrochloriide (vitamin B6), cyanocobalamin (vitamin B12) and phenylketonurics.
Aside from possibly the carbonated water, none of that stuff sounds good. If it were on the menu of even an awful restaurant, I wouldn't order it.
It does appear that the product contains, as claimed, vitamins and possibly even some minerals. Doubtless so does dirt.
I've had a grease spot on my garage floor for some time. Just for fun, I poured my drink on that spot. The result was even more astonishing that the drink's indirect claim to be healthy. What scrubbing and cat litter and wire brushes couldn't do, my Coke could. The grease spot is gone apparently vaporized by the harmless chemicals in the drink.
My only remaining question is, "What keeps the stuff from eating through its plastic bottle?"

What We Take

A hundred homes.  The Montecito fire continues to claim and threaten anything in its way including a small college in the middle of beautiful but highly flammable eucalyptus trees.  A thousand more families pack up what they are able to fit in their cars and wait out the devastation in the safe homes of family, friends and hotel rooms.  Which way the fire moves, dependent only on the often unpredictable direction of the wind.  Some homes are miraculously spared while others (sometimes next door)  are reduced to a charred shell of rubble.  

This is where I live too.  The risk of getting in the way of a California wildfire a constant threat when it is dry or conditions are prime for one careless or troubled soul.  

Five years ago while driving home one evening from Pasadena it looked as though our house was on fire.  As we drove into the community, we saw neighbors packing up and fire marshals banging on doors ordering families to get in their cars and leave the area.  Walking into my house I looked around.  What should I take?  What couldn't I replace? What couldn't I live without?  I gave each boy a small suitcase and told them to quickly pack some things.  Tom backed the truck up as close as he could to the front door and I grabbed whatever I could and threw it in. Photos, laptops, art and the cat. I drove the truck and the boys to the safe haven of grandma's house and didn't look back.  

Tom (it turned out) never left the house.  In between hosing the roof he documented all he could witness with a video camera in one hand, his cell phone in the other (constantly telling me he was fine) and a wet towel on his head.  

The next day the fire was contained.  Our neighborhood had been protected but others close by weren't as fortunate. I opened the boy's suitcases when we returned home and who they were came pouring out.  The 13 year old had packed only two things; his retainer and a pair of athletic shorts.  The 8 year old had neatly organized three sets of clothes.  When I asked him why three of everything,  he simply said, "I thought it would take that long to get my laundry done."

Blessings go out to all those fighting the flames  and displaced by this tragedy.

Brenden Foster's Wish

As the number of homeless and hungry increases on a daily basis, a dying boy knows that one person can make a difference.

Taking Turns With Fate

There they were chatting on the corner. Two men waiting for the 'walk' icon to appear so they could cross the street. Each seemed to be enjoying the company of the other.
One man wore a business suit and held a worn briefcase in his right hand.
The other man wore patched, dirty clothes. His hair was long and uncombed and matted. He held on tightly to the handles of his shopping cart which was full of black plastic bags and newspapers and unidentifiable scraps of metal. Eight small American flags on wooden pieces of doweling -- held to the metal frame of the cart by duct tape -- waved in the breeze.
The 'walk' icon appeared and the men quickly finished their conversation.
The man wearing the business suit crossed to the other side with the light and continued on his way.
The man wearing for all intents and purposes rags, pushed his shopping cart off of the curb and walked into the opposing traffic. Going against the light, he challenged fate. Cars braked quickly. Tires squealed on the asphalt.
Neither man gave the other a second glance as though this, their morning ritual, always played itself out in predictable patterns.
Perhaps the man dressed for business had once pushed his own shopping cart wearing rags and a smile. And perhaps the man crossing the street against the light had once worn a business suit and carried his own brief case.
And perhaps -- just perhaps -- neither man had forgotten how quickly roles can reverse.

Beyond The Resume

I just read my son's resume.  It's well crafted in a bold font on a single page.  It contained all the appropriate information of graduations, awards and skills along with a note, "portfolio and references provided upon request."  He duly noted every job and internship he had before and during culinary school and dinner parties (mostly for my friends) that he catered.  The only real suggestion I had was that he print it on nice paper.

Although he is a new graduate filled with promise, the brick wall of a contracting economy is a reality he and his contemporaries ultimately face.  While he knows the restaurant business is down and that there are many talented chefs out there vying for the same unpaid internships, he believes in the dream.  The idealism of youth and the story of our new president may just work wonders.  His excitement is unwavering and contagious. He believes that if you work hard enough and wear your passion someone will notice and give you a chance.  

Brenden Foster Day

Brenden is an 11 year old diagnosed with leukemia and was given two weeks to live. That was approximately two weeks ago and he's still hanging on. During a news program he was watching on television, the cameras scanned a homeless tent city somewhere in Los Angeles. Brenden was so touched he told his mom that he, Brenden, needed desperately to help them. His story reached the media and people from all over were bringing food to the homeless. Union Rescue Mission has stepped in and will serve 2,500 meals on Friday, Novemer 14, 2008 designating this as "Brenden Foster Day". This has put a big smile on his face and has made a dying boy's last wish come true. What a brave boy and a true hero!

No Man's Land

Composer Eric Bogle has this to say about his song "No Man's Land":

"I wrote this song after a short and very sobering tour round one of the vast military cemeteries in Northern France. There were a lot of Willie McBrides buried there... "

November 11th was originally called Armistice Day, and celebrated the end of World War I. It only became Veterans' Day in the United States, honoring the veterans of all wars, after World War II. This song sums up the horrors and repercussions of all wars, but it is written about World War I. On this Veterans/Armistice Day, let's hope that the world someday learns the lessons it comes to teach. The lyrics follow:

Well, how'd you do, Private Willie McBride,
D'you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
I'll rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
Been walking all day, Lord, and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
I hope you died quick and I hope you died "clean,"
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

CHORUS:
Did they beat the drum slowly, did they sound the fife lowly?
Did the rifles fire o'er ye as they lowered ye down?
Did the bugles sing "The Last Post" in chorus?
Did the pipes play the "Flowers O' The Forest"?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you ever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger, without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

Well, the sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard it's still No Man's Land;
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder now, Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you "the cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame,
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it's all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.