Runners Take Your Mark

To provide context for the 2008 Olympic Games in Beijing, Naomi's summer camp through Family Services held a Summer Olympics field-day. The event was complete with a mock-torch run and competitive events such as the egg toss, water-balloon shot-put, and a nail-biting photo finish for the three-legged-race.

Not to say she's a competitor, but Naomi slept in her gym shorts the night before. She wanted to wake up ready for the race.

Piracy

Somebody broke into my Prius the other night. They rummaged through the contents of my glove-box and console. My wallet and personal information inside the house, my car was slim pick-ins. The thief walked off with our digital camera and a Lincoln Safari bag. The losses weren't all that high in dollar value though it was sad to see the photos stored in our camera go. The Safari guidebook and map were left among the rubble.

On the one hand I am mad at myself for not locking the door. Carting grocery bags inside the night before I didn't have a free hand to lock the car door behind me. I should be more diligent about locking my car doors. I shouldn't take for granted the constant traffic and the high-profile nature of our street as countermeasures which might deter theft.

But if we're casting blame around I think its only fair to say other people shouldn't break into my vehicle and steal my stuff.

My Climate Change Kvetch

…that global warming is unequivocal, that there is "compelling and robust" evidence that the emissions endanger public welfare and that the EPA administrator is "required by law" to act to protect Americans from future harm.
— Environmental Protection Agency
Advance Notice of Proposed Rulemaking
December 5^th, 2007

For both personal and professional motives I have read my fair share of Environmental regulations, proposed rules, legislation and court findings. Let's just say that while sitting down to read the latest update on the road to carbon dioxide regulation, this wasn't my first time at the rodeo. Until today, however, I have never used the word unconscionable in reference to a regulator. Today was also the first time I have been brought to tears by the implications of a single action, or in this instance, an in-action.

The Environmental Protection Agency announced today that it will not regulate carbon dioxide emissions. Its a complete reversal of the finding the same Agency made in December. By EPA declining to regulate CO2 the EPA turns a deaf ear to several states and the Supreme Court. As an industry hack I will say many of the CO2 reduction measures brainstormed in the public arena are not at all in-step with technologies available. Many carbon control technologies, while promising, are not ready nor even available for prime time.

However there is no shortage of perfectly appropriate measures the EPA could implement which would reduce CO2 emissions:
**Revisiting Building and Electrical Codes which were established to avoid fires but could be modified to maximize energy efficiency.
**Requiring industries to incrementally up renewable energy resources.
**Increasing fuel efficiency standards.
**Modifying agricultural practices.
**Reducing the speed limit.
**Proliferate the use of algae to consume CO2 emissions.
**Carbon trading systems with a "safety cap" or maximum cost to preserve the economy.

Instead the Agency throws up its hands, decides to do nothing, and walks away. And not for a lack of scientific data, judicial pressure, nor the moral imperative to act. EPA's inaction on the issue of carbon dioxide occurs here because the political will doesn't make an appearance within the agency. Excuse me as I devlove with an adolescent insult, but, that I find that un-f-ing-believable.

Rub It In, Why Don't Ya?

Naomi: What is that? What are you chewing?

Me: Gum.

Naomi: Bubble-gum?

Me: Yep.

Naomi: How come?

Me: I like it.

Naomi: No fair! I like gum. How come you get gum and I don’t?

Me: Because *sigh* you're a kid, Naomi. And my life, as a grown-up, is better than you can possibly imagine.

Not-An-Astronaut

I dwell in possibility
-- Emily Dickenson

Ask me to log the hours I spent in my twenties smoking cigarettes and engaging in philosophical conversation. Ask away. I wouldn’t know where to begin. What's more many of the thoughts, the revelations about myself, literature, nature, politics are lost in murky waters of my brain. I can sometimes remember small moments, bits of a conversation, with blurry edges.

One such clear moment came to me recently. It was with my friend, Hubbard. Subtract at least ten years from my life, plop me somewhere in Colorado, insert a coffee mug (Hubbard was a non-smoker and I didn't want to be rude) in my hand and that's as near as I can approximate the edges of the scene. Here's the part my memory doesn't blur: Hubbard talked about his late-night revelation that he wouldn’t be an astronaut.

Space exploration was one of those romantic dreams lots of kids hatched in the seventies. It’s a simple equation: take the age cohort that was 5-11 years old in the late seventies, have them watch Star Wars, introduce Tang the powdered orange drink to the pallet, and (presto) you have a lot of kids who dreamed of being astronauts.

This coffee scene between twenty-somethings wasn’t Hubbard’s announcement that he planned to drop out of the Kennedy Space Center program. He just marked a moment where he recognized that his life, his studies, his choices lead down a divergent path.

The conversation named similar feelings of my own. Every now and then I look at my life and realize what it isn’t. The Not-An-Astronaut-episodes aren’t generally marked sadness or melancholy. Its more like time spent watching the door. Like I'm waiting for another rendition of myself to walk in and take over.

I spent this weekend watching the door. I can't even name what version of myself I waited for, what possibilities she might have seized. I looked past my familiars and never managed to name what wasn't there. The Not-An-Astronaut episode fades, generally without note, like some strange case of the brain-flu. Sometimes, however, I recognize what I want(ed). The clarity can give rise to small habits that fold along the edges of this life. I find myself dropping a card with my name into the travel sweepstakes bin, sign up for a landscaping class, check out foreign language tapes from the library, buy a Powerball ticket, plant atypical bulbs in the flower bed for next Spring...

In large part the new habit is fueled by nostalgia. But a small piece of me keeps my toes wet in other lives I might lead. I like to think just because those visions don't define me right now is no reason to fully believe they won't ever.

___________________________
Currently Reading: The Other by David Guterson.

The Other occupies the unenviable position of following the dizzy, sad, carried away feeling that consumed me as I read Snow Falling on Cedars by the same author. While The Other has Guterson's steady tone, his measured introspection it hasn't struck the same deep chord with me Snow Falling on Cedars did. I'm not at all unhappy to be reading the Other but uncertain whether I would recommend it. Pardon the pun, but, I'll keep ya posted.

Consent Of The Governed

...to secure these rights governments are instituted among men
deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed...
-- Thomas Jefferson

Each year, on July 4th, National Public Radio's Morning Edition reads the Declaration of Independence aloud. The moment makes the morning stand out from every other. I'm struck by the tall order placed by the Declaration of Independence as it conjures a vision of a nation and its people.

I'm a sucker for lofty ambitions however the particular aspirations expressed by the Declaration strike a deep chord with me. I don't consider the country to have lived up to its creed but I admire and adopt its goals. I consider myself a patriot essentially. I always have.

Putting my sense of patriotism into words runs the risk of sounding anemic and offensive in certain circles, and like soft-minded sappiness in others. But here goes... I do not withhold my love for something, in this case a country, just because its renderings are or have been imperfect. At the same time loving a thing does not preclude me from speaking of its failed policies or practices.

I like the trimmings of the holiday well enough. I like parades, cookouts, and three-day weekends. I'm even a good enough sport on game days to attempt that part in the national-anthem where we all squeak about the red glare of rockets. But its the Declaration itself, the moment I hear it read aloud on the radio, serves as the point my day plumbs from.

Whatever the holiday brings you, and wherever you are this Friday: Happy Fourth!