Tears

I've just finished my preliminary examination of the election ballot for the state of Arizona. I am very depressed. As I've looked over and studied the people who are running, there are not good choices in either party all the way down the ticket. The presidential race aside (I'm voting for Hillary Clinton because the other alternative is unthinkable unless we have a sudden wish for Armageddon.), the choices are not good. 

I feel like crying for our state and country. In fact, I think I will. Goodbye...sniff, sniff.

Listen

We've protested enough. We've shot at each other enough. It is time for us to sit down and listen to each other. It is natural for people to notices differences. Skin color, ethnicity, politics, religion, socio-economics and a host of other things divide us. We all have a tendency to want to associate with those who are like us. It's is the easy thing to do. But is it the right thing to do? I believe the time has come for each of us to step our of our comfortable cliques and engage with others who are not like us.

When we engage someone who disagrees with us, there is a natural tendency to become defensive. As a wise person said, "We don't listen, we reload." It is time for us to listen. It would be interesting to just listen to another's point of view without feeling we had to defend our own. We would learn. We would gain understanding. It would be a breath of fresh air. It would reliever us of the tendency to always have to be right. 

We could change the world... by listening.

One the Beach

When I was a freshman in high school, I saw the movie, "On the Beach." It was 1958 version of nuclear holocaust, but without the explosions. The movie scared me to death as we were, at the time, convinced the Russians could blow us us up at any time and the world would be destroyed. Years later, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, what had been portrayed on the screen came dangerously close to being reality.

As an impressionable young man, I left the theater after watching "On the Beach" very surprised to see life going on as normal, not able to shake off what I had just seen. Many years later, I sat in a park at the Kremlin in Moscow, Russia, seeing normal people doing normal things. I thought what a tragedy it would have been if we had destroyed this beautiful place and if they had destroyed our beautiful places.

Recently, I had the chance to watch "On the Beach" again. When the powerful movie finished, I had the same gut reaction, but intellectually knowing what I had watched was the product of someone's imagination. "On the Beach" held up reasonably well with parts, of course, being laughable. But the message is not laughable. Through environmental consequences, war or some other way, we still have the possibility of all but destroying ourselves. If we do, it will likely be the result of some a misplace ego or just plain ignorance. I like my life. I like my family. I like my neighborhood and friends. I hope it stays that way. Watching "On the Beach" again, I was reminded how fragile life can be. On that cheerful note, have a great day!

Why I Don't Write

Recently, I had a friend comment on this blog with the remark, "Why don't you write on your blog?" The question gave me pause. In the past few years, I have written to prison inmates. I now have four. Perhaps, letters to them each week fulfills my creative juices. Another friend questioned the wisdom of writing prisoners saying it probably does't accomplish much. As I seldom hear from any of them, it was a good question.

Some how I feel a connection with the prisoners I write. With one exception, I don't know what they look like or why they are in prison. Maybe the fact that teachers are considered by some to be the largest incarcerated group in the United States. I've visited a prison several times. They are glum places without any joy.  Viktor Frankl decided while in a German concentration camp that the Nazis could take everything away from him, but he still had the freedom to choose who he was and think what he wanted to think. I hope the letters I write will give the prisoners who receive them some of that, independent thinking. Perhaps the freedom to think and the knowledge someone on the outside cares will help a bit. If not, I've given it a shot.

Prone To Wander

I have changed the name of my blog which contains religious themes. You will find the newly renamed blog at http://prtowand.blogspot.com. I hope you enjoy it.

Death

It's always a hard-to-talk-about topic. We lost Brenda's Uncle Max a few days ago and, of course, we feel sad and know we will miss him. Brenda and I visited him at his home in San Marco, California last June. He was suffering gallantly and smiling as always. Two words come to mind when I think about Max: kind and classy. 

A former fighter pilot, Max always liked to drive. I asked his wife, Virginia, why Max wouldn't fly, but how he liked to drive wherever he went. Before I could answer, I said, "I'll bet if Max can't fly it himself, he doesn't want anyone to fly it." She smiled and said that was exactly right. I'm kind of that way myself. If I'm driving with someone else, I just look out the window and hope for the best. There is one good way to drive and that's my way. Anyone who doesn't drive exactly like me is just not a good driver. Although having reached 70, I'm slower and more cautious than I want to be.

When a friend or relative dies, I reflect on everyone I have known who is gone. I do anticipate in the next life we will have a grand reunion. I look forward to seeing my great grandparents, grandparents and parents. I have enjoyed many aunts, uncles and cousins. Also many friends have shaped my life. I'd like to see some of my teachers and see what they think of my life. I tell my children and grandchildren that I have more relatives who have passed on than those still living. So while I posses certain strong beliefs about the afterlife, whatever it holds, I look forward to experiencing what my loved ones have gone through already. I don't believe in a burning hell, but if I am wrong and we're all burning forever, at least we'll be burning together, I don't anticipate that happening, however. I am fortunate to be related to great people and to have great friends. I don't think a loving God would deny any of them. They can orient me when I go on that ultimate journey. And I'll get to see Max again!

Christmas Eve

Not reacting well to some events of the season and having a martyr complex, I wanted to feel better and partially relieve myself of a variety of disappointments. On the afternoon of December 24, 2013, I visited two friends in the hospital.

One was a 93 year old woman we know from church who broke her hip a few days ago. She recognized me when I came in. Her gown was off her shoulder and I accused her of trying to be sexy. I asked her when she expected to go home and she said, “Never.” Although the visit lasted just a few minutes, it changed me.

The next visit was to a friend who was ten days out of heart transplant surgery. He is having some complications, but feels his surgery is a blessing of life particularly since his health insurance is not being renewed as of January 1. This man and his wife were in good spirits and he was full of humor and gratitude. Of course, they were grateful beyond words for the unknown person who lost life, but was able to extend the life of another.

As I left, I pondered on how difficult life is at times. We get so wrapped up (no pun intended) watching presents open. Then we can have things we don’t need or probably won’t used in a week or two. I am always sadly amused at those who advertise high ticket items for Christmas with the realization that nine out of ten viewing the ads can’t afford what they see. Equally amusing are the TV news stations which carry as their top news story how many people are shopping in a given year. That’s news? It happens every year.

This year I have two friends suffering in the hospital. Next year there may not be any or there may be more. It could be me. It could be you. It would be a positive gesture to spend an hour out of our Christmas orgy to stop, drop by the hospital or nursing home and brighten the day of a few lonely individuals we don’t know. Especially those who think they’ll never come home. That would be a gift!

November 22, 1963

In a few day, the country will be remembering the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. There are books, television and radio shows about that fateful day. I frankly am not interested in reading, watching or listening to any of them. That day is etched in my memory as one of the worst days in my life and I don't care to re-live it. It would be like saying, "I want to go back to the day I had my first major surgery." No thank you.

I was privileged to see then candidate Kennedy in the fall of 1960 when he was running for president. He appeared at the Modesto train terminal during a whistle stop tour of the Central Valley of California. I had a close friend who invited me to go down to see Kennedy. I was a Nixon supporter, but went out of curiosity and have never regretted it. Kennedy waded into the crowd and shook a number of hands. I suppose I could have pressed in to shake his hand but just wasn't interested.

Three years later, I was saddened by the tragedy. Kennedy was young and had great charisma. I wouldn't wish what happened to him on any one. I have often wondered what our country would have been like had the assassination never taken place.

I happend to see Robert Kennedy at a Brigham Young University assembly just a few days before he was assassinated. It was another tragic, sorrowful event.

I never had the opportunity to see Martin Luther King in person, but when he was assassinated I kept thinking our country might actually be ruled by assassinations. Fortunately, that has not been the case.

Politicians and public figures come and go. I am grateful that they are protected from the whims of those who might wish to take their lives. I honor those who serve in the public eye. Whether I agree with them or not, I like to see our system in action and not perverted by assassins.

Dad's Stories

My Dad was a great story teller. he didn't invent any, embellished maybe, but had a knack for finding interest and humor in the events of his life. He lead an interesting and varied life.

One of his favorites, Dad invited an athletic young lady to his high school football game. As the game progressed, it was quite dull. Dad and his date were eating oranges. It was a different era. She said to Dad, "See that cop down on the field? I'll be I can hit him with this orange." True to her word, she plastered the officer right in the back of the head. Today, the officer would be in the stands and the offending young lady, and likely her date, would be off to jail. But in the 1930's, nothing happened. Like I said, it was a different era.

Like me, Dad struggled in chemistry. His teacher was Miss Pickett, granddaughter of General Pickett of Gettysburg fame. Miss Pickett had a wooden leg so it was difficult for her to get around. Dad offered to drive her to school every morning. He finished chemistry with a C-. My chemistry teacher was in great shape and had his own car. I would have loved a C-.

More sensitive readers may want to skip this one. Dad graduated from Inglewood High School in 1937. He immediately secured a job as a reporter with the Los Angeles Examiner. One night, he was sent out to report on a suicide. Dad arrived at the scene, showed his credential to officer guarding the door and started in. The officer stopped Dad and said, "Kid you don't want to go in there. The guy used a shotgun."

One night, Dad was manning the night desk. A call came in about a huge fire in Culver City. Dad called the Culver City Fire Department. The fireman who answered said, "Yeah, we know. They are burning Atlanta over at MGM." The filming of Gone With the Wind had just started.

About the time Dad graduated from high school, he had a girlfriend named Evelyn. Evelyn was convinced that the two of them were destined to spend their lives together. Dad was more hesitant. Grandpa Ross was at the grocery store one day and visited with Evelyn. When Dad came home that day, Grandpa looked at him and said, "I hear you're getting married. Anything you want to tell me?" My Mom's name is Joyce.

One of the most dreaded words in the English language...

COLONOSCOPY!

I had mine yesterday and survived once again. Thanks to Lynne, here's Dave Berry's take on it:

ABOUT THE WRITER: Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning humor columnist for the Miami Herald.

 

Colonoscopy Journal:
I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy.

A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis .

 

Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner.

I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'

I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription for a product called 'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America 's enemies..

I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous.

Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavor.

Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons). Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.

The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you drink it, 'a loose, watery bowel movement may result.'

This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.

MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here, but, have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch?This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.

The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I spurt on Andy?' How do you apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked..

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep..
At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.

When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point..

Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand.

There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was 'Dancing Queen' by ABBA. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, 'Dancing Queen' had to be the least appropriate.

'You want me to turn it up?' said Andy, from somewhere behind me..

'Ha ha,' I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.

I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, ABBA was yelling 'Dancing Queen, feel the beat of the tambourine,' and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood.

Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that It was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.

New Blog

You may find my new blog, The World's Worst Housewife, at wwhousewife@blogspot.com. Enter at your own risk.

Mike

When my Dad was a young boy, he was swimming in the Stanislaus River were it crosses Highway 99. He waded in too deep and started to drown. His dog, a German Shepherd, grabbed his arm and pulled him to safety. That began a run of many German Shepherd dogs that graced our homes.

Mike came to us as a puppy. I remember Dad laying newspapers out on the kitchen floor and when we woke up in the morning, Dad rubbed Mike's nose in the inevitable poop and swatted him with a rolled up newspaper. About three days of that and Mike was trained to go outside to do his duty.

From the beginning, Mike had an engaging personality. He loved to romp all over our 40 acres. I roughhoused with him many times. He would hold his own by biting my arm, but would never break the skin. We both enjoyed fighting to a draw.

We had another dog, a mongrel named Scottie. Scottie was smaller than Mike, but he could hold his own too. I had to be about 12 when Dad let me drive the tractor down the street a little way. Dad was walking along side and Scottie and Mike were playing and tussling with each other. Then a second before it happened, I knew we were in trouble. Mike made a wrong move and was run over by the front tire and the huge back tire before I could stop the tractor. Mike took off and ran yelping like a banshee. We all thought he was a dead dog. I was surprised he could run. He finally came limping back and Dad took him to the vet. "He'll be sore for a few days, but should be just fine," came the diagnosis. I felt responsible and was afraid Dad would take a rolled up newspaper to me, but he understood. It was an unavoidable accident. Relief and celebration were the order of the rest of the day. 

Several years later, our neighbor across the street, Mr. Banks, a grey haired, gentlemanly, old farmer, informed us that two of his prized sheep had been killed in the night. Their throats had been chewed through. Although there was no blood on the muzzles of Scottie or Mike, Mr. Banks was certain our dogs had done the deed. Banks was very reasonable, but as there were no other dogs in the immediate vicinity, the conclusion was that we had to get rid of Mike. I assume Dad paid for the sheep. We had to take Mike to the dog pound and we knew what usually happened to dogs there. The next Saturday, Dad dutifully took our German Shepherd to the pound and Mike was gone from our lives forever, or so we thought.

Some months later, Mike came happily bounding into our backyard. He had escaped from whoever had picked him up from the dog pound and returned to us! Mike was the prodigal dog and we were overjoyed to see him. Even Scottie was happy. After a week, however, Mike disappeared. He was gone for about ten days, then suddenly returned. This episode evolved to where Mike would spend a week on and a week off. We were overjoyed when he came and sad when he left. We realize that whoever had picked him up from the pound had taken good care of Mike and that he had an attachment with his other family.

After more weeks, Mike began to spend ten days with us and a week with his other family. Then it became two weeks with us and three days away. Finally, Mike just stayed. He had chosen us! We felt privileged. I don't know that Mr. Banks ever saw Mike after his return, but no further complaint was lodged.

I was 16 when we moved from our 40 acre farm to more acreage across town. Old Scottie was taken to the pound. He was arthritic and in pain and we decided this was a good time to let him go. It would be better for Scottie too. I drove him the 15 miles to the pound. It was hard as part of my youth left with Scottie.

Mike was as happy as ever with our new place. Dad put in a swimming pool in the backyard and now it was fun to even swim with Mike. In the late fall, I remember wrestling with Mike. I had a thick coat on, but again, Mike would not break my skin. As lonely as life can get sometimes, my best friend was Mike. I went for walks and Mike would come with me. He was always there and never complained.

At Christmas, my Uncle Jim dressed as Santa Claus and was coming through the backdoor to surprise my young cousins who had come to our home for the holiday. Mike had seen Jim a number of times, but the Santa costume was new to him and Uncle Jim had to make his way onto the roof to save himself. Dad controlled Mike, who was in a rage and Jim came in through the front door startled, but no worse for the dog attack.

A couple of months later, late on a Sunday night, there was an ominous knock on our door. A neighbor said, "You're the house with the German Shepherd?" Dad answered affirmatively and we were told that a German Shepherd had been hit on the main highway about 400 yards from our house. Dad and I somberly took flashlights and drove to the highway. After a brief search, we found Mike's lifeless body in weeds by the side of the road. Dad and I didn't speak to each other, but lifted Mike's body into the back of our station wagon.

There was weeping throughout the house when we brought Mike home. We all agreed that there would never be another dog like Mike. There never has been. Finally, Dad drove the station wagon around the side of our barn and began to dig a hole to bury Mike. Dad was fighting hard to control his emotions. I had never seen him cry, but his chest was heaving in grief.

"I'll take care of this. You go inside." I figured that Dad wanted to be alone so he could let go of his emotions alone. I turned to walk back to our house. I didn't look back.

Utah

I'm on my way to Utah today. My batteries always recharge there. Beautiful mountains that take your breath away, wonderful relatives, great friends. I wish I could see them all.

Green. Where I live in Arizona is brown. Utah is green, at least in comparison.  There will be a conference I am attending, so my time with others is limited. I will be connecting with my college roommate, Craig Lewis, and an old college friend I haven't seen in 10 years. I'm also hoping to see some triplets.

Just 1 1/2 hours on the plane! To paraphrase the state song, Utah, I love thee (but I don't want to live there!).

Is There Hope in Arizona?

Over my protests, I have lived in Arizona since 1971. Actually, from October until the second week in June, it's a great place to live. As an observer of Arizona weather for 42 years now, I have made some observations that should make anyone who lives here feel a little better, especially in the middle of May. 

August-no temperatures over 120.

September-no temperatures over 115.

October-no temperatures over 110.

November-no temperatures over 100.

December-no temperatures over 90.

January-no temperatures over 85.

February-you're on your own.

NOTE: All of the above are generalities and could change due to global warming.

Despicable Me 2 revisited

or

Despicable Me 2 two

Some years ago, I worked with a young Hispanic woman. She was brilliant, talented and passionate about her ethnicity. I had worked on a film documenting the positives of our school. When the film came out, my co-worker was upset that no Hispanic teachers on the staff were represented, especially one who was very popular with all students. Justifiably so. I told her I was responsible for the content and that I had to agree with her. Our Hispanic students felt marginalized to a large extent and given the preponderance of them, I should have been more sensitive. As is usually the case, Anglo students didn't have a problem with making the school their own. 

I thought of my friend and co-worker this last week when I saw Despicable Me 2 a second time. The villain, El Macho, in the film is an Hispanic full of stereotypes and a heavy accent. Grue, the hero of Despicable Me, did not want his adopted daughter hanging around with the villain's son. It was all played for laughs, but I am surprised the Hispanic community has not raised a stink about the negative portrayal of Hispanic characters. The presence of an Hispanic character, of course, should be encouraged, even if the individual is on the wrong side of legality. But in Despicable Me 2, the Hispanic character is so full of stereotypes that it made me a bit uncomfortable. That is thanks to my wonderful co-worker and others who have helped me be more aware.

I am a Mormon. In the last three years or so, my religion has had its fair share of stereotyping, poking and prodding with the results being far from positive. Like Hispanics, blacks, women and other minority groups which are frequently demonized, I have become more sensitive yet to the plight of others who are are more frequently victims of thoughtless jokes, bias and bigotry. We still live in a tough society and any one in the minority still seems to be fair game.

How much damage will there be from this one film. Will those who watch it put El Macho into the cartoon category or will there be fallout in schools and neighborhoods across our country from further stereotyping. I fear the latter and if one Hispanic kid is demonized as a result. it will be one too many.

The villain in the first Despicable Me was a small fellow with glasses and a pot belly. He was obnoxious, but not stereotypical (unless geeks of the world unite). Some one has to be a villain, but I hope the next time movie makers are a bit more sensitive to the difficulties they might cause. While I am not an advocate of taking life too seriously, this stereotyping dimmed what was other wise a funny, enjoyable film.

Maybe they can pick on fat, bald, old men next.

The Zimmerman Verdict

I was going to write something brilliant and insightful about the Zimmerman verdict, but the Wall Street Journal did it instead:

An American criminal defendant is presumed to be innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, and that's the standard to keep in mind when considering the jury's not guilty verdict Saturday for George Zimmerman in the murder of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin.

The case has been fraught with racial politics from the start, but inside the Sanford, Florida courtroom, the jurors had to wrestle with the standard that is a hallmark of American justice. No one but Mr. Zimmerman knows what happened that early evening in 2012 when he followed Martin, an unfamiliar young, African-American male visiting the neighborhood. A scuffle ensued, Zimmerman shot Martin in what he says was self-defense, and prosecutors never produced an eyewitness or even much evidence to disprove Mr. Zimmerman.

Enlarge Image

Getty Images

George Zimmerman listens as the verdict is announced that the jury finds him not guilty, on the 25th day of his trial at the Seminole County Criminal Justice Center July 13, 2013 in Sanford, Florida.

The verdict compounds the tragedy for the Martin family, but no one can claim that their son was not represented in court. The state threw everything it had at Mr. Zimmerman. Gov. Rick Scott replaced local prosecutors with a special team from Jacksonville, the judge often ruled favorably for the prosecution, including the addition of the lesser manslaughter charge (in addition to second-degree murder) at the end of the trial.

Still the state could not prove its case to the satisfaction of the six jurors, all women, for whom the easiest decision in terms of public approval would have been to convict. No less than President Obama had commented on the local case after Mr. Zimmerman was not originally charged by local authorities.

"If I had a son, he'd look like Trayvon," Mr. Obama said. He was echoed by hundreds of politicians and commentators who wanted to put racial profiling on trial as much as they did Mr. Zimmerman. But a criminal trial is not a legislature, or a venue to debate social policy.

Benjamin Jealous of the NAACP is already lobbying Attorney General Eric Holder to indict Mr. Zimmerman on federal civil-rights charges. To do so and win a conviction would require proof that Mr. Zimmerman was motivated by racial animus when the record shows little more than a reference by Mr. Zimmerman to "punks" in a comment to a police dispatcher.

Millions of Americans would see such federal charges as an example of double jeopardy, and a politicized prosecution to boot. In this context, it was good to see Mr. Obama's statement Sunday that "we are a nation of laws, and a jury has spoken."

The larger issue of how American society, and especially the police, treat young black males deserves attention and often receives it. There is no doubt that many law-abiding black men are eyed suspiciously in some quarters because they are black. The motivation may sometimes be racial. But such a discussion also cannot exclude that the main victims of crimes committed by young black men are other blacks. A policy like New York City's "stop and frisk" rule prevents more crime in minority neighborhoods against minorities than it does in white areas of Manhattan.

Mr. Zimmerman made many mistakes that February evening, not least failing to heed police advice not to pursue Martin. Despite his acquittal, he will pay for those mistakes for years as he defends against a possible civil suit and must wear a bullet-proof vest to protect himself from threats of violent revenge that he has to take seriously.

If there is any satisfaction in his acquittal, it is that the jurors followed the law's requirements that every defendant deserves a fair trial, even one who becomes a symbol of our polarized racial politics.

Movie Review

Despicable Me 2

I have three grandchildren, the only three with last name of Ross, who's birthdays all fall within one week of each other. What's more, their mom also has a birthday that week. We try to do things to make each birthday unique for them, but this last week I threw in the towel and just took them all to see Despicable Me 2. The first version of this two parter was one of my favorite movies three years ago. It was funny and original. The characters were well developed... oops, let me rephrase that. The characters were... delightful. The writers of Despicable Me created new creatures call minions. They have instantly, if you can call three years instantly, become beloved figures. What is a minion? Who knows, but they are funny and often have the best lines.

The main character in DM 3 is Grue. A former bad guy, Grue has adopted three wonderful little girls who make him want to be good. If Grue is an id, the girls are his super ego. They've brought him up a notch. Grue is captured  by a secret organization for the purpose of spying on bad guys. His partner is a woman he hates. The girls think since they live with Grue that he should get married. You can figure out the rest.

Some adults may feel they are too sophisticated for a cartoon, but this is one of the funniest movies in many years. Fans of raunchy humor will be bored, but my tastes are for clean fun and that's what DM 3 provides. The minions take center stage and are a combination of the Marx Brothers and milder Three Stooges. The minions rarely speak English, but have their own language. When they do speak English, the results are side splitting.

As we were driving away from the theater, the youngest of my three grandchildren said enthusiastically, "I can't wait for Despicable Me 3!" I told him it might be another three years, but as hinted during the closing credits, the next movie will be "The Minion Movie." Now I can't wait.

The Seasons of Central Arizona

Fall-October 31-December 20

This place is heavenly! It's is amazing. Why isn't the entire world here? A little air pollution is no big deal.

Holiday Season December 21-January 1

Oh, it does get cool here, but it is better than shoveling snow. Who are all those people from Iowa and why can't they drive?

Winter January 2-January 28

I knew it would get cool this winter, but I didn't know it could get cold. Trees finally dropped their leaves. Would you mind looking up the definition of inversion and EPA pollution alert?

Early Spring January 29-March 10

That was a short winter. The trees are leafing out again. I think I'll plant a garden. This is perfect. Drove to Flagstaff for the first time. Didn't take a jacket, it's Arizona. It snowed. Missed 9 days work with pneumonia.

Middle Spring March 11-April 5

I didn't know it could get hot in March! I wonder how much a swimming pool costs. At least the lousy drivers have all gone back to Iowa.

Late Spring April 6-May 22

I'm glad I have air conditioning. If it's this hot now, what's it going to be like? Well, the mornings and the nights are cool. Dang, my air conditioning bill is over $150 already.

Early Summer-May 23-June 14

They said it was a dry heat, but 114 is ridiculous. At least I can go for a walk by 10:30 PM. I don't think I was so smart to move here. Maybe I can walk in the mall if I don't have heat stroking walking in from the parking lot. How can I get a handicapped plate?

Summer June 15-20

I don't think I was so smart to move here. My doctor is testing me for something called "Valley Fever." Missed three weeks of work. He said I could get a handicapped plate if the lung damage is bad enough, but I'd die by the time I'm 43.

HELL June 21-Forever (August 23) The monsoon storms will cool things down? It's 89% humid in my bedroom, 110 outside and raining! I'll bet San Diego is nice this time of year. I WANT TO MOVE!!!! At least in the winter you can put a coat on, or was winter just a figment of my imagination?

Late Summer or who left the oven on? August 23-September 15

San Diego just passed a law that they won't allow any more Arizonans to move there. Shoveling snow isn't as bad as I remembered. I wonder if my company has offices in Winnipeg. They just advertised $12 golf after three PM. Is that someone's attempt at humor? $375 for air conditioning last month.

Endless Summer September 15-October ?

This heat never ends. Rented a moving van just to see if it is possible. They play football in this? These people are nuts. The leaves have already turned at Notre Dame. My air conditioning went out. I paid extra for express service meaning they can come at the end of November.

The Big Break  Some Time in Late October

This doesn't last forever. It was only 96 today. Fall is in the air! Maybe I'll stay.

Butterflies!

A new exhibit, the Butterfly Wonderland has just opened in Scottsdale (101 and Via De Ventura). It is supposed to be the largest butterfly pavilion in the United States. It starts by offering a 3-D film on Monarch Butterflies. The film is very educational, but a bit dark. That didn't seem to bother some of the very young set who, at times, reached their hands out to touch the 3-D butterflies. The migrations of the Monarchs are impressive. They are tough little creatures.

After the film, one is escorted into a small room where butterflies in various stages of metamorphosis can be seen. This is the real deal and is quite impressive. Everyone wanted a close up view, so it was hard to see as much as desired. A little patience corrected that problem.

The pavilion itself is spectacular. There was one estimate of  3,600 butterflies in the pavilion when I walked in. They were all sizes, shapes and colors. I was impressed with the variety which came from all over the world. Parents and grandparents in the pavilion were all as excited as their young counterparts. We were warned not to touch the butterflies, but is was alright if they landed on us. Some two and three year olds couldn't resist. I had a hard time resisting myself. The pavilion was more humid than the surrounding desert air, but it was cool enough that the moisture was not a problem.

The ant exhibit is not impressive, but should attract those who have never had an ant farm. The honey bee exhibit was much more fascinating as glass cases enclosed a working hive and the various roles of honey bees could be viewed. Most interesting was the area where one could watch the bees "dance" as the communicated location for nectar for the other bees. I had seen that on film, but never in person until visiting the exhibit.

The hands on tank for petting sting rays is still a work in progress. I've seen these in other places (San Diego, Monterey), but Scottsdale's has a ways to go. There were only three to four very small sting rays in a large tank. More will be added soon. Surrounding the tank is the Amazon fish tanks. Of course, I was hoping to see piranhas, but there were a variety of other interesting fish. No piranhas.

The last stop was the gift shop. Butterfly items were all over. Butterfly hats, blown glass and coloring book were everywhere. This was a great place for a memento of the visit. I was disappointed that the gift shop did not have more books and videos on butterflies, but if one wants something for the kids or a glass butterfly for the desk, this is a great place to find it.

The Phoenix area has a great new attraction which, mercifully, can be viewed during summer months. The Butterfly Wonderland is open seven days a week and information can be found at http://www.butterflywonderland.com/. I confess to buying a year long grandparents pass. Butterfly Wonderland demands more than one visit!

Arizona Secrets #1

This will likely be a series of posts. In 1972, the first spring Brenda and I lived in Arizona, we jumped in our little red Mustang and made our way to the Grand Canyon and back in one day. Since that time we have explored every corner of the state, even some places the public can't go to now There is such variety here that we have found many surprises and have been amazed with what we have experienced. We've found alpine mountains with a Canadian climate, swamps, hidden canyons, a mini-Yosemite, lush arroyos, unique history and, of course, fascinating desert. Even if you are an Arizona native, I'm confident you will find something here you didn't know about.

Terrenate
In the 1770's, a small group of Spaniards tried to settle the SanPedro River Valley. Between the towns of Benson and Sierra Vista, west of the river from Tombstone is the remains of that settlement, Terrenate. To reach Terrenate, one must travel a few dirt roads which are easily accessible in a car. Then there is a hike of about a mile to reach the ruins. In 1776, the Apaches drove the Spaniards out and the settlement fell into ruins which remain today.

I've read varying stories about the settlement. The one I like the best is that the Apaches knew if the Spaniards could build a wall over five feet tall to protect the settlement that they would not be able to keep the Spanish from settling their homeland. In a series of attacks, the Spaniards were driven out and abandoned all plans to settle the San Pedro River Valley.

Terrenate is a best Arizona secret.

Ramsay Canyon
The Nature Conservancy owns Ramsay Canyon and it is protected as a nature preserve. In southern Arizona, the desert is dotted with what are called sky islands. Sky islands are mountains which rise from the desert floor to an elevation of 8,000 to 12,000 feet. Obviously, the ecology changes the further one goes up a sky island. The most famous of these is Mt. Lemon north of Tucson. There is a road to the top with the country's southernmost ski resort at the top.

Ramsay Canyon is located just southwest of Sierra Vista in the Huachuca (wa-chew-ka) Mountians. Ramsay has a limited number of people who can go in each day, but there are cabins available to rent. One advantage being that one can hike in the morning and evening when the canon is closed to other visitors. In the spring, it is a birders paradise as migrating humming birds travel through. Ramsay is a mecca for bird watchers and draws people from around the world. A short hike through Ramsay Canyon is like you being on display for the animals to view: a reverse zoo. We've seen numerous deer, a cheerful coati and, of course, countless birds.

Snakes and bears have been seen, so one must exercise a bit of caution at Ramsay.

Sandhill Cranes
Just east of Tombstone and south of Wilcox is a large playa or dry lake bed. Every winter this area plays hose to thousands of Sandhill Cranes who wisely winter in Arizona. They are noisy and interesting large birds. The town of Wilcox celebrates the arrival of these cranes and is a great place to obtain information about where to go for a look. Bring binoculars as it is not possible to get too close. There is also a rare beetle that lives on the playa, but I didn't try to find them!

If you enjoyed reading about these "Arizona secrets," there is more to come.