Spell It

Have you noticed the prevalence of given names with unconventional spellings?  A waitress spells her name Cheyann.  Another pronounces her name, Sara, as "SAH-dah."  A man spells his name Byll.  They're like ants: they're everywhere.

Whenever a waiter or waitress comes to our table at a restaurant, my wife tries to shush me from asking.  Not only do I ask for the spelling, but also for the story behind it.  It's often an interesting tale.  One woman proudly explained that her mama was a hippie.  Another paid tribute to her redneck father.

Then there are the foreign names.  One East Asian's first name required two full lines of letters across her ID badge.  "Just call me Randy," she said.

Introductions sometimes catch me off guard, too.  If the person mumbles his or her name, I miss it.

Say again?

Jeff.

Jeff?  Spell it for me.  (Some shorten the British Geoffrey to Geoff.)

D-e-a-f.

Deaf?

Yeah.  Are you deaf??

Finding Fitz

We went straight to DefCon One.  Fitzgerald, Lord of Hessle House, was a fugitive.

We plastered Facebook with his picture and a BOLO, calling for "Eyes On!" and listing our personal cellphone numbers.  We didn't know what to expect.

Patty called soon after Fitz took off to say that she'd seen him 'way over on the west side of Bella Vista, not far from Lake Windsor.  She even photographed him.  We raced over there, thinking that someone had stolen him here and dumped him over there.  People sometimes do things like that in big cities like the Dallas area, where we are from.

Patty's photo sure looked like our cat, so we searched and searched, and called and called -- totally disrupting an otherwise peaceful Bella Vista neighborhood more than once.  Even at night we or our son and granddaughter were hiking through back yards, into brush and down ravines.  At length, we rented an animal trap from the shelter and parked it on their porch.  Days went by.  Nada.

Then we got a sighting report from here in the Lake Ann area.  Hopes raised again.  Scramble, search, call out to him, disturb more peaceful neighborhoods.  Our son caught sight of him, but not enough to confirm the cat's identity.  Nada.

Hopes up, hopes down.  It was awful.

Turns out that the west side cat belonged to a couple who own Bengals that run free.
The east side cat was a grey, ownership undetermined.  Things were looking grim.

I prayed.

Then Tena called with multiple recent sightings off Lake Ann.  Confidence was high, and neighbors concurred.  Fitz was living in the woods, up a hill in a pile of brush and fallen trees.  And probably hiding in a nearby drainage pipe when it rained.  Roger set his animal trap with a can of tuna, and the very next afternoon, the fugitive Fitzgerald, Lord of Hessle House, was in custody.

I delivered the good news to the multitude of Fitz followers on Facebook.  The response was stunning: nearly 600 likes and comments, if my lousy math is right.  That is entirely a testament to the wonderful people who live in this town with the beautiful view.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

A Republican Obama

Eight years ago, the U.S. economy was hemorrhaging.  The housing bubble had burst; millions of jobs were disappearing; the banking system neared collapse; certain Wall Streeters had defrauded and robbed Americans of trillions of dollars, and none of the perpetrators was going to prison.  The public was and still is really, really pissed.

In desperation, voters in 2008 sent to The White House Barrack Obama, a young, charismatic junior senator who had vowed to "change Washington" and unite Congress.  Despite staffing his cabinet with some well-qualified people, the new Democratic President was immediately overwhelmed.  The GOP swore to oppose Mr. Obama at every turn and make him a one-term President.

Today, another junior senator is vying for the job, and Republican voters are once again drawn to him.  But as we saw with Obama, experience counts -- more specifically, experience making hard decisions and answering for them.  That experience arises from owning, running and/or managing business(es), or from senior government experience and accountability.

The 2016 GOP candidates (as of this writing) who have such experience are John Kasich and Donald Trump.

No President can "change Washington" in ways that candidates promise.  Only voters can do that.  It starts with replacing both the President, and members of Congress.  And there is only one place to do that: in the voting booth.

So if you want another Obama, elect the right-wing version: elect Ted Cruz.

Politics and Monkeys

During a classroom discussion about bullying, an elementary school kid was quoted as saying that he doesn't like Donald Trump because he is a bully.  The child eventually explained that he doesn't like Trump because his parents don't like Trump.

This underscores the fact that children copy what we do, what we say, and how we behave.  Monkey see, monkey do.

The teacher was bemoaning children's lack of respect for teachers, and lack of respect for adults in general.  She said it's worse than ever.  Social media have a lot to do with that.  Kids can be mean, especially online.  We've all heard stories about bullied kids committing suicide.

There are lots of reasons why so many adults are drawn to Trump's fiery politics, not the least of which is Americans' frustration over their lot in life and anger at how their government is run.  They blame the President, Congress and all things government.  That flows to children, who conclude that dissing authority is accepted.

These next few months leading to the nominating conventions -- and especially the months afterward -- promise bitter, scorched-earth politicking.  Civility and respect will be the first casualties.

How you and I conduct ourselves directly affects what kind of people our children become.

Monkey see, monkey do.

What You Didn't See on 9/11

Not everyone in this country was glued to their TVs on 9/11.  Some foreigners ignored it.  I saw this in person.

I was vacationing in Las Vegas that morning.  My son called and woke me up.  "Dad, turn on the TV."  I left my hotel room and went downstairs to the casino to gauge reaction.  I expected to find everyone crowded around the bars, watching the coverage.

Many -- all from other countries -- ignored it, playing their slot machines.

I asked one player why she wasn't watching the news.  In broken English, she said something like, "Now you Americans know what it's like."  She was from Indonesia.  I sensed no compassion in her.  I asked another player.  "Al Qaeda kills people everywhere," he said.  He said he was from Lebanon.  He shrugged, and again, no compassion.

The next day, in an empty employee parking lot, I spotted an old car right in the middle, parked sideways.  It had been hastily painted red, white, and blue.  Spray painted along the side in big block letters was the sentiment all Americans felt: "Bomb the Fuckers."

I was executive producer at WBT in Charlotte at the time, and missing the biggest story since Pearl Harbor.  In those first hours, I was certain that the terrorists also would strike Sin City.  I filed reports from Las Vegas until commercial air traffic resumed days later and we could leave.  I had a great crew in Charlotte, and they performed masterfully under uniquely trying conditions.

Two images I remember vividly about that weekend are the disinterested foreigners, and that painted car out back of the hotel.

USA, pal.  USA.

Younger and Better Looking

Remember back in school finding out that someone in your class of thirty or so kids had the same birthday?  Even less likely was discovering another kid anywhere in your school with the same name as yours.

The first time it happened to me was in 6th grade, and it was a shock: There were two of me!  The other kid, however, was younger and better looking.  As an adult, I found a guy in my city with the same name.  He was younger, better looking, and made more money.  Years later in another city there was a black guy with my name.  He was younger, better looking, and made more money.

All of these fellows had different middle initials, different middle names.

Today, I live in a small town.  What are the odds?  One hundred percent, apparently.  There's a guy here with the same first name, same middle initial, AND the same last name.  He's younger, better looking and probably makes more money.

Our surname goes 'way back to at least the Middle Ages, mostly in what is now the U.K.  Over the centuries, we've had our share of lawyers, artists, horse thieves and rascals.

All of whom, no doubt, were younger and better looking.

Flight School Part Two

Awhile back I wrote of the bird flight school in our back yard.  We have since opened a restaurant for the young pilots and their families.  A bird feeder hangs off the main deck at the rear of our house.  It's about 25-30 feet above grade, which allows for a perfect view of the birds' approach patterns through the trees.

Proper procedure seems to be thus: a bird will fly to a particular tree on the edge of the property, then to another that's a little closer, and so forth.  When the tower (wherever that is) has cleared him to land, here he comes, dead centerline right up to the gate, and it's chow time!

Naturally, there are jet jockeys who butt in line.  One that I call Loudmouth flies straight in, regardless of who's lined up ahead of him.  He announces himself good and loud at the outer marker, then rushes in.  He aims for some occupied gate, frightening away the smaller bird already feeding there.  I watched a big male cardinal swoop in once and run him off.  Maybe the cardinal was with the Avian FAA. 

I have no idea what species these little birds are.  A Peterson's Field Guide suggests that they are wrens, nuthatches, and I forget what all.  There are little bitty blue birds, and dusky reds.  Some are bright yellow, and some have black wing stripes that bring to mind a '68 Camaro.

I have no intention of becoming an expert in such matters -- only to enjoy this part of retirem... Oh, look! There's a hummingbird!