The Military Family

The Military Family

War, and the military family are topics that have come to the fore in my mind lately. These are such huge subjects they are like standing in front of massive mountains wondering how to climb them. I think I prefer to deal with the human aspect first, the military family.

Who and what is a soldier?
A soldier is a combatant who is on the front line between freedom to live life according to the philosophy of a particular country, and those who would seek to take away those freedoms.

The foregoing description includes both men and women who place themselves in harm’s way, and they are routinely injured, sometimes for life, and they are killed in ever growing numbers. Sometimes harm comes through accidents while not on the arena of battle, but in training or maintenance. The end result is the same, another life lost and another family greatly affected.

War is becoming ever more sophisticated with some fighting being done by soldiers in one country sending over drones to another country to kill. The casualties will be one sided, so if you are on the side with the drones this is good news. The important point is that a soldier’s life is no less valuable than that of a civilian, but that life is subject to far greater peril.

I have been close to a mother whose son was at war in Afghanistan, and every time the telephone rang she would jump. The toll that takes on the folks back home is terrible, and it really is unfair that the general public go about our business getting only soundbites as to what is really going on along the front line. After all, it is being done for our benefit.

One part of that whole terrible drama that receives practically no coverage at all is the family that waits back home. Why a woman would agree to marry a soldier about to be shipped overseas is hard to fathom. I’m very glad that they do because it offers the combatant a scintilla of a real life, but it is always done in the full knowledge that he may not return alive.

The couple frequently will try for pregnancy so that a part of him will live on should he lose his life. We also have mothers going into active war zones and they lose their lives as well, and that for the children they leave behind must be even more difficult to accept.

The military family is a very special unit that outsiders simply cannot understand. Their contribution to the freedom of their nation is as great as that of the combat member who serves in war.

I once was close to a Navy family consisting of a young wife and two children. Her husband, my very good friend asked me to be her best friend while he was away. She treated me as her confidant and she told me bluntly of her pain of not knowing; of expecting any minute of a visit from the Navy with bad news; of her loneliness. She would cry for long periods of time after the children were put to bed and I would just hold her. She would tell me that she wanted sex with her husband so badly it ached, but I couldn’t touch her.

Throughout all those times the thought of she and I having sex never even entered either her mind, nor mine. When he asked me to be her best friend I think that he had such trust in me, or at least in her, that it never even entered his mind that we would betray him. It was a matter of such great moral importance, and the unspoken rule was expected to be upheld; that no spouse with an iota of decency and honour would betray a serving soldier while life was at stake for one’s own sexual gratification. To do so would be considered as treason. On the other hand, if the combatant had an opportunity for sex they would not be blamed for taking it as it might be the last in their life.

When he came home for rest and relaxation she would be so happy to see him, but then her happiness would give way to depression because the end of his leave was in sight and she had to prepare to go through the same thing all over again. Such a rollercoaster experience is really too much for humans to endure. This is all part of the “war is hell” aspect.

Life for the military family is one of service in support of the country, and they deserve the respect and admiration of the nation. Unfortunately the families do not receive medals for enduring, but they should.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Michael Jackson Autopsy Report

The Michael Jackson Autopsy Report

The United States is a country that believes in the freedom of information, when it suits it, but sometimes I think that freedom is carried way too far. If you are interested in The Michael Jackson Autopsy Report, all that you have to do is Google it, and you will get all twenty-three pages in detail.

What possible need do we, members of the general public have to this information? We will learn that he died as a partial result of propofol, a powerful drug that is usually used in producing general anaesthesia under very controlled circumstances. It is not for use in the case of simple insomnia. We will learn that anyway when the trial of the attending doctor is held. We already know that something went horribly wrong that led to his death. We also learn that Michael was practically bald, but we kind of guessed that he was wearing a wig for some reason.

We also learn that he was uncircumcised, presumably something that most people will find earth shattering. Or will they? Most importantly, we learn that Michael Jackson was suffering from the disease of Vitiligo that leads to the loss of skin pigmentation. He told us that himself but we didn’t want to believe it. Instead we wanted to believe that he hated being black, and so he took steps to bleach himself.

Few of the media reporting on this fact gave it any prominence, nor did they give him any redemption.

It seems to me that releasing this record is all about pandering to the public’s idle curiosity. We learn the above noted facts, and we shrug our shoulders and go about our business. It means nothing to us, except that the man’s privacy is further violated when he is in no condition to do anything about it. This seems all wrong to me. I feel that the autopsy report is none of the public’s damn business.

What does mean something to me is the whole process of an autopsy. I understand that no one can sit through one of these procedures for the first time as a witness without feeling very sick, throwing up or fainting, or all of the above. I suppose for the people who perform the procedures it must become routine, but the steps are very graphic.

The professionals who prepare our meat undertake similar processes in cutting through skin and bone and sorting the parts of what was once a living creature, but we are talking about a person who was once an energetic and talented individual. However, for the purposes of the autopsy all that must be set aside and the subject is treated as simply a body that is there to be examined in depth.

It is disturbing for me to picture in my mind’s eye any dead person having the top of his skull taken off and his brain lifted out and placed in a bowl. Then we see a Y cut being made on the chest area extending all the way down to the genitals. One by one all our working parts are disassembled and taken out of our body to be thoroughly examined and weighed. Perhaps they will be placed back in the body cavity to be buried, or they may simply be taken off to be burned in the furnace. I know that the autopsy can be a very necessary step, but dignified it is not.

After we have lived our lives to the full, and the end comes the least we can hope for is death with dignity. That also pertains to the “after death” part as well.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The American Mid-term Elections

The American Mid-term Elections- Time for more change.

The American voters have spoken, and the message they have sent to Washington is not pleasing to President Obama. They have said that the government needs to do a far better job in their interests, in particular the issue to be focused on is jobs, jobs, and jobs.

Like many people I sat fascinated by the President’s commencement speech, and I was equally fascinated by former President Bush’s demeanour as he too listened to Mr. Obama slam him for his failures. It occurred to me at the time that the expression on his face was one of “Mr. Obama, be careful what you wish for.” I also thought that the task that President Obama was letting himself in for was impossible.

The American system of capitalism was broken. It had been an experiment in the same sense that Communism was an experiment, and that failed. I believe that what we have seen is the failure of the capitalist system as we know it. No one, apparently other than me, is saying so, but what else shall we say about it. The system collapsed under its own weight, and the way out that is being tried, is to do more of the same.

Let me say right now that I don’t have a better idea.

The Republican Party of the United States are suggesting that they have the answers, but we have to remember that they were in power when much of the slow descent into the hell that the system is in now, took place. There are the usual talking heads that give their opinions of what needs to be done, but they are far short on details.

Nobody knows anything! What worked before will probably not work now.

The system has broken down before, of course. There have been stock market crashes and bank failures and large scale unemployment, but the country has always bounced back, and it will bounce back from this calamity, but I think the return to a more normal economy will take longer, because the problem is so much more ingrained.

This is the stuff that is better dealt with in book form, a very large book, but as succinctly as I can put it, we seem to have over-produced goods far in excess of what the market can absorb, and as a consequence companies have come to realise that it was no longer making sense to continue with production of things that people did not want, or could not afford at this time.

Car manufacturers need to have three shifts only if demand requires it. The era of building big ships is a thing of the past; construction as an employer has less need for employees, and modern technology makes building homes and offices a process that is too quick. When buildings were constructed by hand the process took longer, and consequently people were employed for longer periods.

We live in a world of cutting edge technology that allows for things to be done quicker and cheaper, that also need much less staff. Some industries that were once mega-employers of men can now produce their product using a mere fraction from their all-time payroll highs. Jobs! The country needs to produce jobs.

How astute is President Obama? Did he know on Commencement Day that putting people back to work would be Job Number One? I’m convinced that he did. Did he know that he would not be able to put people to work in the professions to which they were accustomed in only two years? Yes, I’m sure he did. So, why did he spend his political capital when he barely had the votes to focus on health care? Because, everything else is so touch and go that he took the bull by its horns and did something that no other president could have, and has given the American society a reasonably decent chance at dignified care, especially where there was nothing before. That will be his legacy.

Does President Obama see himself as a one-term president? Probably not, because he really is doing his best, and he does have the respect of most people, but it could happen.

So, now that the Republican Party have control of The House of Representatives, what will happen? President Obama will propose and they will say no! They will say, be reasonable, do it our way. On the other hand, the Republican House will have to find cooperation with the Democratic Senate.

There are many people that say that Mr. Obama is finished, and might just as well put his feet up for the next two years because he will not be able to get anything done. They are also saying that come the presidential elections in 2012 he will be voted out, but that is a very long time from now.

The thing about President Obama is that when people say No! He can’t; he has a way of answering “Oh Yes We Can!

Stay tuned.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Mr. Bee and Me.

Bee Nice

The world is in the worst mess of all time. There are wars and rumours of war. The U.S. dollar is weak, and countries around the world are competing to see who can artificially make their currency even weaker to stimulate their own exports, and in the midst of all that I found something very small to bring me delight.

During the Summer we have taken our meals outside on the terrace, and that is a joy in itself. Of course, every day I found that I had uninvited guests in the form of flies and ants. That just means that it is Summer. But, one day two bees joined in the picnic. I have to say right now that the sudden and mysterious deaths of bees in many countries served to heighten my awareness of the importance of these creatures to our ecological system, so I took great care not to harm them while trying to shoo them away.

They were buzzing me like F-16 war planes trying to get at my food. Eventually I began to get the upper hand, and one of the bees went away and never returned. The other one remained dogged and determined, so I learned to relax and to share my meals with it.

The ritual went something like this: I would prepare a place and then bring my food, and within a few minutes Mr. Bee would come in to buzz the landing zone. He would buzz my head, which I learned was not a threat, but was simply his way of saying hello, and to ask what was on the menu. Then I would sit back and not move so that he had a clear visual of what we were having. He would first check out the meat selection. He always went for the edge of the meat, and he particularly liked it if there was gravy. He also liked mashed potatoes, and before leaving he would take a little sip of my juice.

He came for breakfast when I was having cereal, a muffin and coffee. He loved my Frosties, and at one time he got a little too deep in the milk, so I spooned him out and placed him on my napkin to dry off. He preened himself, and he tried out his wings without taking flight. Then he went back into my bowl for more. I had cut bananas with it and he perched on top of a piece and I thought he would never leave.

He then tried the muffin and seemed to enjoy it. He did not like my coffee at all. It was hot and the smell seemed to turn him off.

Now the weather is turning colder and that probably signals the end of dining alfresco. That is always a sad time, but this year it will be all that sadder because of the end of my association with Mr. Bee.

The lesson for me is that the most wonderful experiences may lie in the simplest of things, if we only take the time to focus and let them develop.

Meanwhile, Goodbye Mr. Bee. It was lovely to know you!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Too Ridiculous to be False

Ridiculously Funny

Sometimes, if you are looking for comedy, you need look no further than the pages of your local newspaper. The news from the courts is a good source. There was one case that involved a man who was arrested for being in charge of a vehicle while under the influence of alcohol. However, he was riding a horse at the time, and much court time was taken up in argument over whether a horse is a vehicle.

Finally it was decided that as the horse was a means of transport it was deemed to be included under the heading of a vehicle. The magistrate then informed the defendant that he was satisfied with the charges, and asked whether the man had anything to say before he was sentenced. The court anticipated that he might come up with something entertaining. “Well, your honour, if you are finding me guilty then you’re gonna have to find the horse guilty too, because he was even more pissed than I was.”

Brilliant!

I read in a paper recently that on one balmy evening Tom was out walking in the neighbourhood when he saw a light from a bedroom window. He approached and on tiptoes he saw a completely naked woman watching television. The curtains were open and that allowed for a fairly good view, although a little more elevation was required to help his line of sight. So, Tom found a bucket in the yard and stepped on that, but it made a little noise so he ran for cover.

What is a woman doing lying around her house with the curtains open, and in the nude?

She heard the noise, put some clothes on and went to investigate. She found the bucket but nothing else. She decided that she should remain dressed while in her home. Days later, in spite of no apparent further problems she noticed that a concrete building block had been placed under her window, and a ladder had been moved closer to her bedroom.

She then came home shortly afterwards to find a note pinned to her front door that said: “Hi! I’m your secret admirer. I like what I see and would like to get to know you. I’m single and new to this area and I am looking for friendship.” Signed Tom, with telephone number. (I’m not making this up!)

Of course she went straight to the police who first found out what they needed to know about him, and then they called him. Duh!

In asking the magistrate for leniency Tom said that he knows that what he did was wrong and it has hurt his family, especially his wife.

Uh oh!

Talk about being dumb and dopey. Some mothers do have ‘em.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Girl Next Door

The girl next door needs lots of help.

This could be a title of a story by Steven King. Certainly the circumstances are something right out of his genre of storytelling. I have written about her before, so this is an update. First, the basis of the story:

The Girl next Door is a real person, aged 34 years old. She suffers from development impairment, and as a consequence has the mental capability of a seven year old. Her mother died a few years ago, and the rest of her family, including aunts, brother and sisters, have all concluded that she must live in the family home on her own with her father.

Her father is a man of about 60 years of age with the mental capability of an eight year old.

The Girl is her own worst enemy. I’m sure that she suffers with some medical problems, and one of those problems that she labours with is that she tends to start crying frequently in a very passionate and loud manner that causes her to vomit and make retching sounds. These bouts of crying go on for hours at a time, sometimes lasting throughout a full day until she is exhausted. Quite naturally, this is very stressful on those around her. While her mother was alive she was the girl’s principal support. Her father would leave home and go to the local bar. Now he is directly responsible for her.

Now, when she starts crying he starts yelling. This reminds me of when I as a very young child and I would start up crying over something that had displeased me, my father would ask: “what you crying for boy? You want me to give you something to cry for?” At that point he would take off his belt and give me a few licks around my legs. The vocal pitch of my cries would rise dramatically so that I was then crying for real.

No surprise, she does the same and his yelling also gets more violent. He is possessed of an army drill sergeant’s voice that terrifies the girl, plus he does strike her, as can be heard clearly.

I called the police, and I directly reported the matter to the town council. I should not be getting involved in this Spanish family’s affairs, especially as her extended family all know about the abuse. No-one in her family will take her as she is simply too much for them to handle, however, everyone agrees that she should not be living with her father on her own. In fact, she really needs to be institutionalised, but under the Spanish system that would require her family having to pay for her upkeep. There is simply not any money available to do this.

We understood that an Order of Nuns have agreed to take her under their roof but they are awaiting the paperwork to be completed to allow this to happen. It has now been more than one year since that story started to circulate. Meanwhile the awful situation that exists in their house did continue to get worse.

The father drinks heavily and practically loses his mind in the face of the aggravation. I’m not so sure I would do any better. It seems that neither he nor his daughter eat healthily. The housekeeping appears to be non-existent, although I have not seen the inside of the home. If you placed a bag with a million euros in the far back room and said it was mine if I cared to go and get it, I think I would pass on the opportunity. It’s just something about all that vomiting that I hear going on in the house that would put me off.

The police have attended when some of the out of control abuse has taken place, and they have threatened the father with jail. That only serves to agitate her even more as he is all that she has. From his viewpoint he is disciplining his childish daughter and anyone who doesn’t approve of his methods is free to take her.

She is well possessed of a sense of theatre as sometimes when we have friends over for lunch on the terrace she will launch into a crying episode, complete with retching, and cries of “Mama! Mama!” I play the radio to try and drown out the sound but she raises the level of her voice, apparently happy to know that she is spoiling our lunch.

How will all this end? It will certainly end in tears. If the authorities come to take her away the separation from her father will be traumatic for her, but that will be her best chance for the future. If they don’t come soon he will probably kill her in a drunken rage. That will set off a wave of denials of responsibility, if indeed anything at all can be done for this unfortunate girl and her hapless father.

I try to imagine the angst of the father being stuck with his daughter, considering that he is entirely incapable of caring for her, and the terror of the girl when he is yelling at her. The irony of this tale is that there are times when they have weeks of peace and harmony marked by delightful laughter on her part. Her laugh is a very joyous and infectious sound. We are presently going through one of those periods. I must say that the peace does make me nervous.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Miracle at the Mine

The Miracle at the Mine

The rebirth of 33 men

At a time when the world is going to hell in a handbasket, Chile is providing both light and hope in the textbook rescue of 33 of its miners(in a handbasket) who were underground when the mine collapsed. The men were all given up for dead and their families were in the midst of grieving when the news came that they were all, in fact alive.

Here I have to pause and try and put myself in the shoes of the families. How incredible must that news have been? What a rush of sheer ecstasy and joy when the message sunk in! Alive! But then, the men were trapped 700 metres underground. In the past they would have had to have been left to die, because the facilities just did not exist to rescue them, perhaps at all, or at least not in a timely fashion.

Plans were quickly drawn up to do something that was without precedent. To bring men up from three quarters of a kilometre from underground had not been done before, and because there was so much hope, no-one could be left behind. Every technical mind was bought into play, including NASA, and the effort was begun to keep the men alive, sane and healthy, and to retrieve them within a reasonable period of time.

It appears that everyone on the globe was interested and knows the story as well as I do, so I will not go into unnecessary detail. I simply want to add my congratulations to every person involved in any way to bring about a solid story of such wonderful hope, perseverance, determination, sheer doggedness, and just plain careful and precise work that the entire world can take pride and pleasure in just being alive.

What we have seen is 33 men being born again. Thirty-three men who were given a second chance at life in an atmosphere of such love and goodwill that the air was thick with it. I wonder how they will spend the remainder of their lives? I certainly wish them and their families well, as I’m sure you do.

This all comes in the midst of conflict around the world and flies in the face of those people who are so determined to kill as many strangers as possible. It is the most rare thing of all to have something that the entire world can justifiably take pride and joy in.

Thank you Chile!
Thank you Rescuers! The under-stated heroes of all time.
All who have a Supreme Being in whom they believe, say Amen!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

A Perfect Storm …Indeed!

A Perfect Storm is a Killer!

I wrote about what it is like to live in a hurricane path, and before I was able to publish the piece, my island of Bermuda found itself being lashed by Hurricane Igor. I followed that up with the end result, but now I am taking a more in-depth look at what happened because it was so out of the ordinary.

Hurricane Igor, or Ogre was, in the experience of Bermuda (I borrow the name) “The Perfect Storm” from a number of points of view. A Perfect Storm is one where several elements that are dangerous in themselves all come together to make a killer event.

Firstly we start with the fact that Bermuda is a land mass only 35 kilometres long, and three kilometres wide. On the world map it only warrants a dot to show where it is, but the mass is so small that no outline is given.

Hurricane Igor made up off the coast of Africa and came across the Atlantic, and in its journey through the West Indies it left two persons dead in its wake. Then it got its act together as it moved due north and straight for Bermuda. It travelled as a Category Three hurricane, with sustained winds at its centre of in excess of 200 kilometres per hour. It moved in an achingly slow speed, meaning that it would spend lots of time over land to do the maximum damage. No matter how strong you build your house, if a storm of this magnitude sits on top of you for as much as a week, it will bring the building down.

Such a storm often spawns tornados within it that act as chain saws that cut down anything still standing. It would also create storm surges that would put all low lying areas under water, and it would dump even more water from the skies to add to the flooding. The final element was its size. It was 800 kilometres wide so that even a shift in its direction would not mean escape. Bermuda was facing an end of world scenario.

Many people simply locked up their homes and got off the island. Private estimates were that property damage would likely be total, with homes valued at upwards of 50 million dollars being wrecked and drawn into the sea. Casualties could have been in the thousands. News media became excited by the prospect and committed suicidal teams to go to collect what pictures they could of a country that is as elegant and manicured as Bermuda as it went to its death.

My wife and I had been in Bermuda barely a month before where we joined in a family reunion that saw 600 of my daughters and grandchildren; my brothers and sisters; cousins and friends gathered together in joyful comradeship, but now they were in harm’s way. Hurricane Igor was making Hurricane Katrina look like a tropical breeze.

I presume that the people of New Orleans must have anticipated the arrival of Katrina a few years ago with equal dread, and with good reason. We so seldom take a direct hit because our land mass is so small, but this time Hurricane Igor came ashore scoring a bulls-eye with its 80 kilometre centre.

No one credited “The Bermuda High” with the power to affect a Category Three storm in any meaningful way, but, the facts are that once the storm collided with the High it lost two-thirds of its strength, and it picked up speed. It did not include tornados, and was only felt for three days instead of one week. At the end there was no loss of life, nor even injuries, and property damage was minimal.

However, the stress levels of which I wrote in my first piece will be felt even more intensely as storms seem to be growing stronger and bigger. If there were a real Bermuda Triangle it would be nice if it would just swallow up the hurricanes.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Our Dog Winter

Our Dog Winter - A very special friend.

I have written about Winter before, most notably “When Winter met Summer”, a love story. The sad news is that Our Dog Winter died on July 27th, 2010, and he now occupies a very special place in Dog Heaven.

Family pets have a way of becoming central to all the family and their needs affect everyone, and their loss has the same weight on each individual member.

Winter was a Golden Retriever, the poster dog for most advertisements. This type of animal generally has a wonderful temperament and attracts attention wherever they go. However, the very first time that I saw Winter I thought he was the worst animal I had ever seen. His previous master brought him into his grandmother’s beachside apartment, whereupon Winter promptly pissed on the carpet. That resulted in the grandmother going berserk and ordering him out. So his master took him down onto the beach at which point Winter crapped in the sand. The child master didn’t seem to think that it would matter when someone came along and stepped in it barefoot.

What an animal! I was glad he was not mine.

Within the year the boy’s parents had separated and the boy and his mother, had moved into an apartment in the city. Winter, who was quite young and full of energy tore up the apartment. The mother came to us to ask whether we could take him, because if we couldn’t she would have no other choice than to have him put to sleep. Oh no!

My wife and my son could not stand the chance of that happening so they overruled me and he was brought home, and until his death I found I was the one to spend most time with him.

We had another dog, named Chester who we had brought with us from Bermuda. Chester, a much older dog, was not about to share his space with Winter. We had to tie them to different trees out of one another’s sight, but my wife decided that was ridiculous and so she brought them together and made Chester understand that he would have to accept the younger Winter.

Before we knew it old man Chester was actually playing with Winter, or we think he was playing. He would drag Winter by the neck across the yard, we would yell at him and he would let Winter go, and then Winter would egg him on to do it again.

Both Chester and Winter loved their freedom and it was a real challenge to keep them inside the property. On one of their escapes, after a short while Chester came back but Winter was gone for quite some time, until we received a call to say that he was at the place where he was born, that being a breeding address that bred Golden Retrievers. How he found his way there, that included crossing a river, is anybody’s guess.

On another escape they were gone for seven weeks. During that time I was certain that I would never see them again, but one night while driving along a very dark road they popped out of the brush. Evidently they recognised the sound of the car.

In 2007 Chester died in the height of the Summer heat as he could no longer breathe. In 2008 Winter developed the same problem and the Vet said that he had an enlarged heart that was pressing against his lungs. She treated him and we barely got through the Summer of 2009, but the toll upon him was great. I was certain that he would not survive the heat of 2010, although he sensibly would find a cool spot and remain there out of the sun. His decline was steep and rapid, although he tried to maintain his regular routine.

I was leaving for Bermuda on the 25th July. I was certain that he would not survive until I came back, but my son was here so he was in charge. The thought did occur to me that before I left I should take Winter to the Vet to have him put to sleep, but I could not accept the thought that because I was going on holiday I killed my dog. It was better to let nature take its course.

Two days after I left Winter went for a walk and he simply sat down, positioned himself in a graceful pose, and died.

On his tombstone I wrote that he was “Hale, Hearty and Hairy. No dog ever gave more love, or was a better recipient for love. He occupies a very special place in Dog Heaven.
1999 – 2010”

Both he and Chester are buried in our garden so they are still near to us, but our home cannot be the same without them. They Rest in Peace.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Hurricane Igor’s Clash with Bermuda

Hurricane Igor’s Clash with Bermuda
Water, water everywhere
Last week Sunday, the 19th of September, I wrote that Bermuda was being trashed by the most monstrous threat we have ever seen, so now that the storm has passed I can report that there was no loss of life, and very little major loss to property. This is the most amazing outcome, and sometimes I have to pinch myself to be sure I didn’t just dream the whole thing up.

For that proof I refer to news reports and pictures of what happened, and even then it seems that Bermuda’s guardian angels were working overtime to protect the most lucky of all islands in the world.

Hurricane Igor was a Category Three storm with sustained winds near the eye of 130 miles per hour. The storm measured some five hundred miles across, and it was travelling slowly. Island residents took this one very seriously and buttoned down everything they could. A hurricane of this magnitude travelling so slow suggested that maximum damage would be done, but in the event when the storm entered The Bermuda High it lost most of its strength, going from Cat Three to Cat One. It was so large that it was feared nothing would have any calming effect upon it at all, but not only did it calm considerably, it speeded up its forward motion.

The island was directly in its grip for twelve hours, and the eye passed right over making for a direct hit, but at the end of the day most homes didn’t even lose their roofs. Generally we would not be afraid of the winds in a Cat One, but sometimes tornados are spawned and that is what causes all the trouble.

So, a good outcome, no doubt much to the regret of the foreign press who I believe get so excited by a major disaster. Something else that was very good came out of this storm as well in that generally there is a lack of information about what is going on, but this time the social media of Facebook, Youtube, and others, as well as The Royal Gazette, the island’s daily newspaper created a live feed that streamed out constant updates; and an online Blog/news outlet called Bernews.com did a fantastic job of keeping locals and those of us around the world in the loop.

Hurricanes in Bermuda will be seen in a different light in the future, for what you know may be horrible, but what you don’t know, in your imagination can even be more so.

This Thanksgiving Day, an American observance, should be doubly celebrated in Bermuda, truly the luckiest place on earth.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Hurricanes

Bermuda: Such a small target for Hurricanes

It is ironic that I wrote this piece shortly after my return from Bermuda of the 17th August, 2010. Now, as I post this, Bermuda is embroiled in one of the largest and most destructive hurricanes in many years. Hurricane Igor is trashing my country as we speak, and I am stressed, particularly as I am not there and unable to do anything to prepare or clean up. My Bermuda family are all there and I am worried for them.

Unless you are a person who lives in the path of hurricanes I don’t expect that you can have any sense of what it is like to live through one, unless you are a person who lives in the path of tornados. These things can also be a feature of a hurricane, but to live in the Midwestern United States where they spring up at a moments notice and are the cause of such total destruction is something that I cannot comprehend.

While visiting Bermuda recently a hurricane was predicted to make a very close pass at Bermuda, and possibly even a direct hit. There is something that all people experience as a group, even if we don’t realise it, but it starts with the commencement of the hurricane season. Stress! That’s what it is, and when they predict a busy season of 14 or 15 storms our stress level kicks in. The actual season might not have begun but the worry lines start to show.

Hurricanes usually create themselves off the coast of Africa and they move across the Atlantic. They are completely unpredictable, although storm trackers do a remarkable job of best guessing. A storm can change course at the last minute and fool everyone. It used to be that once a storm crossed the Atlantic and clashed with a high system coming off the great mass of the United States the storm would turn and run north, but climate change is turning out ever more powerful storms that crash right through the high and cross into the Gulf of Mexico or run right inland the U.S with devastating consequences.

As a child I lived throughout a period when we had practically no warnings at all. The U.S: Coast Guard stationed in Bermuda flew hurricane reconnaissance flights but getting the information to the public was quite difficult, since a lot of homes, ours included did not have electricity for the radio. So we would sit out a hurricane in the dark and it would cause us sheer terror.

As I grew older and became a man with direct responsibility for my family, the house, and later a boat, the coming of Summer was a time to worry. My house is situated along the water’s edge that provides a front row seat. In fact, for many years waterfront property was cheapest as people worried about being swamped during hurricanes.

From the time it was announced that a tropical depression was forming off the coast of Africa all eyes became focused on what it did next. If it came across and slammed through Florida and into the Gulf of Mexico, we in Bermuda would heave a sigh of relief. It was not our turn. However, many storms start in mid-Atlantic and run northwards. In these cases we are the only landmass to be standing in harm’s way. That includes those storms that have made up right over Bermuda. When that happens we are almost sure to lose lives that went to sea in good weather.

When a storm is a thousand miles away Bermuda starts to feel its effect by the change of the sea activity. We begin to get long pounding surf, and each thunderous crash of waves drives our stress level further because it is constantly on our minds. The closer its approach the higher our stress level until it becomes necessary to make actual preparations.

One of the most damaging storms to hit Bermuda was Hurricane Emily. It was tracking from Africa as a mere tropical depression. We knew it was headed our way when we went to bed, but overnight it powered up into a Category One Hurricane, barely enough to cause a disturbance. I awoke to the sound of the radio at 7:15am. The announcer read a few commercials and then he told us what had happened overnight and that the storm was due to make landfall at 7:15am. Like, RIGHT NOW!

I was up and out of bed and making sure that all outdoor furniture was brought into the garage, and that the storm shutters were locked. The truth is that we are not normally too spooked by a Category One, but this one was carrying tornadoes. Everywhere the tornadoes went the damage was the equivalent to nothing we had ever seen before. There were people who waited out this storm, that was a direct hit, in their cars, or in bus shelters because they had not heard the warnings.

The hurricane that was predicted when I was in Bermuda on my last visit was a classic. It was steering directly for us, then it went to the West, which means high winds on the island; but then it turned east and eventually passed far enough as to leave no effect upon the island at all. Meanwhile, all manner of life is being disrupted, but we do have to take the warnings seriously.

Finally, to give yourself stress overload you need to have a nice house and a really nice boat. Bearing in mind that you can only be in one place at a time, which one will you concentrate on saving when the hurricane comes?

There is no fury like that of Mother Nature; none whatsoever. It’s just the thing to remind man of our insignificance in the whole order of things on earth.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Thank God for Clothes!

Thank God for Clothes!

The thing that brings this subject to mind is all the security processing that we have to undergo when travelling. We almost are made to get completely naked , and indeed one scanner does see you without your clothes. I asked one security officer if it would make his job any easier if we all travelled naked. He said there would still be people who would try to pass contraband.

Then I started people watching and I noted that in Bermuda and The United States there are a lot of people who are very dangerously obese to the extent of being gross. This trend started in the U.S. and has made its way to Bermuda. I’m talking about men and women whose asses are so huge that they require two chairs. Their stomachs hang so low as to nearly reach their knees thereby covering their sexual organs. Their legs are like very large tree trunks so that when they walk they have to walk both sideways and forward at the same time.

Such people have no neck and their heads are great round puffy globes, and their arms are short limbs with hanging flesh especially from the upper ends, and stubbly little hands. The most disgusting sight to see is such people seated at the dinner table just stuffing their bloated faces. At least they drink Big Gulps of diet drinks. How the hell does one allow one’s self to get to that stage?

Many years ago I stumbled into a nudist camp late at night while riding in the country of France. My girlfriend and I were young people and we were desperate for accommodation at the time. We went to bed all excited that we were in such a place, and we got into the swing of things by coming down to breakfast without our clothes.

The reality was that we were the only ones with bodies worthy of showing. Everybody else was suffering from the ravages of time and gravity, so the whole experience was a reality check to us.
I would therefore certainly not like to have to cast my eyes upon the nakedness of someone who resembles one of the blobs that I have been describing. To be clear, I am not talking about people who are simply fat. I’m talking about people who have ballooned well beyond what is normal.

I realise that it is in the natural chromosomes of some people to be overweight, no matter what they do to try to combat it. I also acknowledge that weight, whether a bit too much, or dangerously obese does not necessarily dictate personality and character. What is really disturbing me is that this is a rising trend, and that has to put these people’s lives in danger, and that is an unnecessary strain upon the health care system that I will have to share the cost of.

It seems to me that in the Middle East and Africa they have the most sensible idea to wear very loose fitting robes that hide such disgusting excesses very well. To repeat, “Thank God for Clothes!”

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Family Reunion

The Super Family Reunion

We attended our family reunion on my mother's side over four days at the end of July and the beginning of August, 2010 during which about 600 family members passed through our camp. We expected a large number because when we held one in 1994 more than 1000 came to meet and greet each other; to welcome the new ones into the fold; to tell our stories so that our legends live on; to honour the most senior of our clan who are still alive; to remember those who have gone on before; and perhaps most important of all, to discover to whom we are related and to make a new book.

These are the very best reasons of all for families to gather. Normally families come together when there is a death. No-one had to die to make this happen. It was an entirely joyful occasion. The weather was not as cooperative as we would have liked, but the camp was on the waterside so that helped the ambience.

A church service was included in the program, and that was especially appropriate, as the land upon which the church sits was given by our patriarch.

The premise for the reunion was based on the origin of one man, Prechard Sanfrancisco Bascome. We believe that he, or his father is the first person on my mother’s side to have come to Bermuda in the early to middle 1800’s.

A short history of Bermuda includes the information that the island was originally discovered by the Spanish explorer Juan de Bermudez about 1509, but the Spanish Crown had no interest in this little rock that was so remote that if your navigation was only off by the smallest degree you would sail right past it. The island was re-discovered in 1609 by Sir George Somers who was slammed ashore and claimed the island for King and country.

Population by blacks was done mainly through slavery. Prechard was born of John Newbold Bascome, Sr, and Miss Vickers. He was brought up by his father. We have started with him and drawn a family tree that is still expanding as new names become known to us as being part of the family, and of course, all those new family members freshly born.

Prechard married Eva Battersbee and there are now six generations of great grandchildren. The family branches have now spread throughout the world. The places where people reside that we know about are Switzerland, Britain, Nebraska, California, Florida, New Jersey, Virginia, Carolina, New York, New Mexico, Canada, Spain, France, Jamaica, and of course Bermuda. If we had a complete list it might include every country on earth. Our family is also a rainbow in that we count black and white and all the colours in between.

In following this exercise concerning my roots, I have been totally immersed and a little surprised at how important it has been to me. It has sparked a thought that is really a little strange, and it is this: if it has been so important to me how will it be for the children of gay and lesbian couples whose birth certificate reads for father-unknown, and for mother-unknown. Especially in the case of an unknown mother, that has to be so strange. Everybody knows who their mother is.

This is not criticizing gay and lesbian couples for wanting their own family too. They are people with the same rights and privileges, and I am not trying to enter into or start a debate. I am simply wondering what effect not knowing who one’s father or mother is could have on the individual.

Anyway, a really good time was had by all at our event, and the plan is to meet up at a cruise in two year’s time. I just hope to be around to have the option of attending.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Vacation’s End

Vacation’s End

A Columnist and Blogger is never completely on vacation. In fact, when such people travel away from home we are in reality collecting more experiences and ideas to write about. I have completed a trip to my native Bermuda and the United States, and that has resulted in a head full of future titles.

One of the first things to occur to me is that I have become a reluctant traveller, especially by airplane. I admit that air travel is still the fastest and safest, but what a complete pain in the ass it is. Even before you get to the aircraft itself there is all that hullabaloo over security. We have to practically get naked before they let you into the secure zone. There is a long list of things that you must abandon at the checkpoint, only to be able to buy them at the duty-free.

Then there are the delays and lost luggage and grossly overpriced items in the airport, and the long waits between flights.

On the flight back to Spain I awoke at 6am in The United States, and we made up six hours as we flew through six time zones, and we landed at Valencia at 7:30 am the following day. Throughout that time I didn’t actually sleep, although I closed my eyes for a few hours. I got off the plane, went directly home and straight into bed. My internal system has been totally screwed up ever since.

However, these are the challenges one must endure to make personal contact with family and friends, and from that point of view it was definitely worth it. Part of the reason for going to Bermuda when I did was to be a part of my family reunion. Perhaps as many as five or six hundred members of my direct and extended family made contact under the very best of circumstances. No-one had to die to bring us together, we just got together to celebrate our being-ness over four days, and that is the best reason of all.

Now I am home and back to the reality of one day at a time. It was a wonderful experience and also one that was a little horrifying at times as the whole included discovery, joy, warmth, work, hurricane, murder and multiple shootings that were too close for comfort.

As I have said, I now have a head full of stories to share, so perhaps you might like to stay tuned.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

How Times have Changed

How Times have Changed for today's Grandfathers

I am a Great Grandfather to Cherrae, the daughter of my Grandson, Ramon. He didn’t warn me that something was coming that was going to knock me off my feet, and by definition would change my status in the world forever, so when it happened it knocked me off my feet. I have not yet met my Great Granddaughter because she lives between Bermuda and America, and I live in Spain, but I will some day.

I recall how mysterious my grandparents were to me. I only got to meet two of them, my grandmother, (my father’s mother) and my mother’s father. They seemed so ancient to me, and I was so totally awed by them that absolute respect was all that I could possibly accord them.

I remember when my Grandmother died. She was lain in repose in her house, a very sombre and dark place, and she was carried off to be buried in a horse-drawn hearse that was black and high off the ground with giant feathers. I was terrified that death was a thing of punishment.

Now, I am the second oldest ranking member of our family and I am the Great Grandfather. When I do get to share some quality time with Cherrae I can only imagine that she will see me as someone who is as old as time itself, although I am the 2010 version of a 71 year old. The story I have to tell her will go something like this:

“Cherrae, how old are you? I’m five years old Great Grandpa. Well, that’s very good because you are just beginning your life. I am 71 years of age, so that means I have lived 66 more years than you. During that time a lot of things have happened that have changed my life, not always for the better, but the one thing that has been constant is change itself.

I know that you are a little young to understand fully what I am telling you, but you will come to understand better as you grow older. When I was your age I lived in a house that had no electricity, no running water, no television, no telephone, no toy computers or real ones either. We children didn’t have game boys or x-boxes to play with, nor could we send sms messages or talk on our mobiles. We didn’t even have Facebook!

The form of family transport that we had was one bicycle. That was for my father to get to and from his work. Everybody else used shank’s pony, which meant that we walked. In our case we had to walk to school along a road that was made with very hard rocks that had been broken by prisoners. During those days if you went to prison once you never went back again when your time was served because you had to work very hard every day. Now the guys, and girls seem to think that going to prison is some kind of paid vacation. In the olden days they didn’t even lock up women.

When I walked to school it was without shoes. No-one, except the rich had shoes. Can you imagine that?

Those were absolutely wonderful days in my life because we lived near the water, and we had tons of open space in which to roam and use our imagination, unlike today when everything is so crowded, and people live in apartments. Even so, people don’t know who their neighbours are.

Eventually things changed and we had better facilities. We moved to another house, and we got electricity, running water and an inside toilet. We got a telephone, but it didn’t do anything unless we called somebody. The big change was when one of the neighbours got a small black and white television. They allowed us, their neighbours to come round to watch it if we sat on the terrace and looked at it through the window. At midnight the station ceased broadcasting by playing the British national anthem, God Save the Queen.

Do any of the tv stations stop broadcasting during the day in the United States where you live?

With our telephone we got a shock one day when we called our Aunt Muriel. She said guess where I am at the moment! We guessed she was in the house answering the phone, but she said that she was answering the phone, but she was outside hanging up clothes at the same time. How could that be? She had installed an extra long wire to her phone. Wow! Now, of course we have mobile phones that allow us to talk to one another while driving our cars. That is not such a good idea, but it can be done.

Perhaps the biggest change to affect the world was when a company called International Business Machines (IBM) introduced a machine for business called a computer. I was encouraged to buy some of the company’s shares when they were very cheap, but I didn’t understand what was going on, so I didn’t buy any. That’s a shame because if I had done so, I most probably would be a trillionaire today, and I could give you a big box full of money.

The computer changed everything about how we lived our lives, and continues to do so today. There are very few things that we do in our lives that are not impacted by the computer. Your own life will have changed so often by the time you become my age. For one thing, when I was born my life expectancy was 47, but I’m now 71, and there is the possibility that I may live to be one hundred. Your life expectancy is 78, but you will probably live to be 130.

I have seen the world change from cars that went very slow to Formula One super fast racing cars. Now we have world racing yachts that zip across the Atlantic, and airplanes that got so big that they are a place unto themselves, and they fly by jets that propel them at fantastic speeds. We live in a world where you never really have to touch money, and information is within a few seconds grasp. In our choice of telephones we have the Blackberry, and something called an iPhone. I won't even go there!

All these things have happened within my life. Hardly anything took place within my parent’s life, so only Heaven can have any idea of what to expect within your life as change keeps coming ever faster.

One of the negative things that have occurred is that technology exists in which a person can always be contactable, whether it’s during meal times, or when you sleep, or are travelling, or worse, when you are on vacation. Mankind was not designed to absorb so much stress. However, if you choose you can unplug everything and feel the stress slip away.

And so, Dear Reader, that’s what I’m going to do for the next month: no internet, no mobile phone, no radio, and no weekly columns. I’m hanging out my “Gone Fishing” sign, and I wish you all a good Summer break.

To be continued in September……..

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Fabulously Beautiful Woman

The Fabulously Beautiful Woman is Beautiful Inside!

There are two types of women who can de described accurately under this category. Both will probably be young-ish, but that might be the only thing they have in reality to share.

Most people, upon reading this title will think of a woman who is letter perfect. She will have stature, glorious hair, a sculpted face with doe-like eyes, a nose of perfect proportions, and lips to die for. Her colour, whatever it is will suit her perfectly and be without blemish. Her teeth will be straight and white. She will reflect such beauty in her face as to dazzle and to draw attention to herself just by being in our space.

Our eyes travel downwards, and we see that she has straight shoulders and a neck that is invitingly kissable. Her breasts need not be large, just so long as they are proportional to her frame and that they have cleavage. A trim waist would set off all of her above, and that should then flare out into hips that have form, upon which should be attached a derriere that would be accented like a Monet painting, especially if outlined in a thong.

A smooth and trim tummy would be wonderful, while it lasts, and her legs, sometimes called her pins would be like ladders to heaven, especially if they are nice and long and shapely. Such a person usually comes to mind when we mention a Fantastically, Beautiful Woman.

What are the chances of a man finding true happiness with such a woman? She’s lovely to look at and her place on the calendar in the garage is most appreciated. But as my wife or your wife, she perhaps should not be our first or even our last choice. this type of woman is known as a High Maintenance person.

In the public domain, one such woman who I consider worthy of the title of Fabulously Beautiful is really a big woman, at least five feet ten inches tall, and a really beefy person. Her face is divine, her personality is truly engaging, and added on top of all that, she has tremendous talent. I'm talking about Dana Owens, known professionaly as Queen Latifah.

I am writing about this today because I heard a couple of guys laughing about big women. They were making The Big Woman the butt of their jokes, but really, I think that if you want a wife who is most likely to love you beyond comprehension; a wife who will dedicate her life to you, and to her family; and a wife who will concentrate on her man to the extent of making him feel as though he really is something special, then I believe there is nobody more likely to be more of a wife like that than a big woman.

There are some men I know who have always drifted towards the big woman. You and I have seen big women at dances and we have been amazed at how graceful they are as dancers. They do seem to appreciate the company of other women as they gather with family in tow to chat, but first and foremost the thing they seem to care about and value is their home.

Logically, the beauty queen has herself to be concerned about. She has to spend a lot of time on making sure that all is just right before going out into the public. Little things like wrinkles and grey hairs and a little inevitable weight gain are not to be tolerated, and her man has to accept that he is second place in her life. Her beauty is first, and it is superficial and fleeting.

The beauty of the family woman gains in strength over time, so although she may weigh 100 plus kilos, she is all woman and worth her weight in gold ingots. She can also cradle her bosom in her arms and say to a man: “If these aren’t big enough for you, then I don’t know what the hell you want!”

The Big Woman is no laughing matter!

Copyright (c) 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Spain. Champions of the World!

¡Celebration Time!

Although it had been predicted over and over several times that Spain would win the World Cup, there were a number of hurdles that could have made the outcome different. Holland has not lost a game for about two years, so that team are not to be toyed with. They were tough and determined. They had been to the finals twice before and consequently were under tremendous pressure to emerge victorious. Would it have been fair had they done so? I think yes. A victory for them after two failed attempts would have been super sweet indeed.

It was not to be in spite of a hard fought battle. I could not avoid sharing their pain at the loss of The Cup. In games of sport, someone wins and someone loses, except in cricket, of course, that can be played over the course of a week and end in a draw. In other games the losers get short shrift. They have to deal with their own pain of loss in their own way.

Many people have said that football is more than just a game. I think I agree, and I think that applies more to football than any other game. The effect of the Spain team’s win on national pride and sheer happiness is inestimable. This is a country in the throes of deep financial troubles, but if you didn’t watch the game you didn’t have a television, or were one of those poor essential workers who were forcefully kept at their post.

In Spain, football is sport, and it is politics. Any doubt about that can be dispelled every night by twenty minutes of news and thirty minutes of football sports. Also, only a winning footballer could hug the Queen and be hugged by the King. It is only football that can bring an entire country to a complete stop. As I write this no-one is focused on joblessness. Crime is taking a holiday as the criminals are too busy involved in the spirit.

In the old days one country entered another to rape and pillage and kill and annex the land. Did they really need the land and the women? Well, they probably didn’t really need the land, but thankfully we have advanced from that to this modern form of challenge and conquer. It is definitely tribal, and the support is intense. The tears in the eyes of men are very real. These are men who are super macho, and who simply don’t cry, except when they win or lose.

The day after July 11th, we were asking each other if it is really true that Spain has the most powerful football team in the world; and the most successful tennis player; and the most successful basketball team, and occasionally a very successful Formula One driver. I think it particularly fitting that the watchword of the campaign of the World Cup for the Spanish team was:” ¡Podemos! Translated liberally, it means “Yes! We Can!”

Well Done España!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

World Cup Finals

World Cup Finals -This is The One!

As I write this, it is the morning of Sunday, July 11, 2010. Today is the finals of the Football World Cup. Holland has been here before, twice, as a bridesmaid, but never the bride. Spain has never come this far before. Paul, the octopus predicts that Spain will win. Holland has played all of its games like the champions they are, having won them all. Spain lost their very first game against Switzerland who played that one like clockwork precision. Spain has awakened and pulled their act together.

I am writing this as a person who had absolutely no interest at all in the beautiful game, with the exception of the current situation. I live in Spain. There are no persons in Spain who are not interested in how this match will end.

July is one of the months during which many fiestas take place across the country. I would like to see Spain win, if for no other reason but to experience the sheer joy and celebrations that would move the usual fiestas filled with fun, up several levels to total ecstasy. Should Spain lose, then we’ll just have to be content with ordinary fun in July.

The preparation for today has been that lots of people have bought their Spanish football shirts and bandanas, and their vuevuezelas. The expectation is that during the game the streets will be absolutely deserted; all schedules have already been realigned. Medical operations have been re-scheduled, for the benefit of both medical staff and patients; the prisons have setup large screen tv’s, as have most city centres. Movie theatres are showing the game, and the air is thick with anticipation.

There is no financial crisis that is being worried about. People who are out of work are not worrying about how they will pay their bills, or even from where their next meal will come. Thieves will take a holiday during the game, but they may have stolen your television. This will be an exercise in a whole country sucking in its breath and holding it until Spain has won the match. The exhale could be of gale force proportion.

Those of us in Spain love Holland, so it will not be a personal thing that our team is determined to win. I think we shall remain friends, but I believe Holland could live with that better than being beaten by their close neighbour.

Today, a new champion will be declared. Let it be Spain!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Michael Jackson --One Year On!

Michael Jackson --A Growing Legend!

Hum a few bars of the first Michael Jackson song that comes into your mind without thinking about it. What was that song? For me the challenge would be easy because the song that is always on my mind is “The Earth Song”, a homage to Mother Earth, and a call to arms to protect and conserve nature. I regard this as the crowning glory of all MJ’s works.

I am starting to write this on June 25th, the first anniversary of the very premature death of a very special person. In his own words, “Gone, too Soon!”

The paradoxical thing is that MJ would not have wanted to have lived a long time to have grown old. He said that the process of growing old is ugly, and I cannot imagine MJ as an old man.(I’m also convinced he did nothing deliberately and intentionally to shorten his life.)

He left us on the top of his game. I have watched the rehearsal video for that gigantic round of planned London concerts. That would have been quite an undertaking, and it’s a shame that the concerts never did take place. What an EVENT that would have been! Those people attending would have left dizzy from the heights they would have travelled to. We can only but imagine. In the time-honoured tradition of show business, always leave your audience gasping for more. That was vintage Michael Jackson.

The year has flown by in the twinkling of an eye. Apparently, even in the eyes of his family time has simply vanished. The saying goes, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Time has been very kind to MJ, to the point that romanticism has taken over. We only remember the good parts, which is just as well because the so-called bad parts were probably in large measure simply misunderstandings. In that case he would not be the first famous artist who was so ahead of his time that the public at large simply could not understand him. Just ask Brando, Miles Davis, Jimi Hendricks, The Beatles, Charlie Chaplin, Janis Joplin, Bette Davis, and a thousand more pioneers who the world thought were a little weird. Of course they are weird, because they are ahead of the crowd and what we don’t understand we label as being weird.

He has left the world a huge legacy in his songs, but in particular his vision of Neverland, where children never have to grow old. By all accounts it was a fantasyland
in the style of Peter Pan, who Michael believed himself to be. In my view he should be applauded for having taken an 11 kilometre tract of land and turned it into a zone of lakes with swans and fountains, and rollercoaster rides, and castles and steam railroads, and a zoo, among a lot of other things too hard to imagine, thereby celebrating earth and children in general. Was he a danger to children? Probably not, as he was a child himself. No criminal charge ever stuck, nor did we hear any child actually say that Michael molested him. So, we can now let all that unpleasant business slide into obscurity and simply remember the music.

He left something else as part of his legacy: he left three children who are growing up, but I can’t help hearing in the background a quiet drumroll. His children will have inherited his genes, and possibly his talent. Will they begin where he left off?

Stay tuned!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Thoughts of Paul Harvey

Old Time Wisdom

I have no idea who Paul Harvey is. However, he seems to have authored one of those viral e-mail things that are making its way around the cyberworld. He wants me to pass it on to ten of my friends. However, I´m not sure I have ten friends, so I thought I would share his thoughts with you in this media. Fundamentally, as you will see he expresses his philosophy on life. I am moved by his suggestions because I have been there on so many occasions.

Paul Harvey writes:

“We tried so hard to make life better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I’d like better. I’d really like for them to know about hand-me-down clothes and homemade ice cream, and leftover meatloaf sandwiches. I really would.
I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated.
I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car.
I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.
It will be good if at least one time you can see puppies born and your old dog put to sleep.
I hope you get a black eye fighting for something that you believe in.
I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother/sister. It’s alright if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he/she wants to crawl under the covers with you because they’re scared, I hope you will let them.
When you want to see a movie and your little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope you’ll let them.
I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do that safely.
On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don’t ask your driver to drop you off two blocks away so you won’t be seen riding with someone as un-cool as your Mom.
If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one.
I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and to read books.
When you learn to use computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.
I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush on a boy/girl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what ivory soap tastes like.
May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.
I don’t care if you try a beer once, but I hope you don’t like it…..and if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend.
I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your Grandma/Grandpa and go fishing with your Uncle.
May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.
I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through your neighbour’s window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Christmas time when you give her a plaster mould of your hand.
These things I wish for you--tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it’s the only way to appreciate life.
Written with a pen…..sealed with a kiss. I’m here for you. And if I die before you do, I’ll go to Heaven and wait for you.”

Then he asks that you pass this along to at least ten of your friends and he included a riddle that I haven’t worked out yet.

I loved this piece because it’s as though he has drawn a broad brush over my own life. I have a real zest for life today, probably because I have had to mix the good times with the hard times. My first eight years were lived without electricity or shoes. I only received one gift at Christmas, and even that was something modest that I really loved. I walked to school and took the black eye, and I was ever so proud of my parents in the company of my peers. I saw my first movie, “Johnny Belinda” in the company of my older sister. I have never forgotten the experience and am still grateful to her.

The point with which I could not agree more is: never give your sixteen year-old a brand new car. Let him or her buy their own new car. That new car smell will be sweeter, deeper, and it will lasts forever.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Advice to Newlyweds

What drives a marriage forward, and what drives it into the ground.

Being a Senior Citizen, or as they say here in Spain, un Anciano, you are expected to have learned something from life along the way. I have learned that the police are not always to be trusted; that we are responsible for the decisions that we make; and ultimately we are responsible for ourselves. It is true that life is not always fair, but it is still better to treat others as we would have them treat us. Truthfulness is usually the best policy, although sometimes you have to use your common sense to decide whether it might be better to leave the truth till later.

Entering into marriage in these modern times seems like a more massive undertaking than it ever was. To begin with, the cost of getting married usually means someone goes to the poorhouse. The mountain of debt and challenge that faces a young couple today is so extraordinary as to be daunting. However, as human beings we still feel the pull of love, and the need to partner with our special someone. What have we of the older generation learned that we could pass along to help young couples to survive in their marriage?

I think that as a general rule violence and unkind behaviour in the home is a sure prescription for disaster. This is a difficult one because in some marriages the role of the man as head of household is supported in their church, and if he has to use violence to enforce his position, the church supports that too. I strongly disagree with forms of violence between any of the members, just as I condemn provocation.

My philosophy is “Don’t hit, and Don’t Provoke!” That applies equally to all members of the family.

Some advice I wish I had given to President Clinton and Tiger Woods is that no man can expect to have an extra-marital affair without his wife knowing that something is going on. Even if it’s a one-night stand that took place in a far away land, the moment you walk in the door the message crosses your forehead like the tickertape of the New York Stock Exchange. The message reads: “I have been unfaithful.”

It’s true that most wives, or husbands (if the wife is the guilty one) ignore the message as being too much information to process.

Another clear message to your wife will be to arrive home smelling of another woman. If you have showered before coming home, then why?

You are only one person (until the science of cloning is perfected), so if you are not where you are supposed to be, then where are you, and with whom are you, and what were you doing?

Finally, your wife will get to know more information than she might want because the woman with whom you have been having this secret affair will tell her all about it, just as soon as you disappoint her.

Many wives say that they had no idea that anything was going on. Yes they did, they just didn’t want to face up to it.

Life is complicated and difficult without actually making problems that are best avoided. The use of common sense needs to be re-appreciated and used every day of our lives.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Old Fashion Romanticismo

Old Fashion Romanticismo - Young love so Grand!

In May of 2010 I was fortunate to spend some quality time with a young, very much in love couple who were travelling around Europe. They were from my country of Bermuda, and so it was that I got to show them a little of Valencia. As a person of 71 years of age, and an incurable romantic myself, I really appreciated this couple’s story that was shared with me.

He is a handsome lad, and she is almost too beautiful and composed to be believed. They had been courting for a period of time when he went to her father in secret and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Both parents considered that he was a very desirable suitor for their daughter, so they consented while at the same time being especially impressed that their opinions were sought even before he had brought up the subject with his love.

Nothing was said to his princess by either parents or himself; instead he planned an European trip that included several stops, including Paris in Springtime. It was there in a crowded five-star restaurant over candlelight dinner that he completely surprised his lady love by laying a handkerchief on the floor, an act that brought a hush over the entire room, and on bended knee he proposed to the love of his life. Even the violin music stopped briefly, and as all the witnesses held their breath he promised that they would have a long and happy life together if only she would say yes.

Tears were not in short supply at that moment. There was hardly a dry eye in the room. Even without the cameras from the film studios that moment is forever etched in history. She said “Yes, I want to be your wife, your lover, your children’s mother, and your very best friend.” It was only then that the room exhaled, and champagne corks popped and the music played.

She said that she considers herself to be very lucky to have a man so romantic, and so special to be thought of so highly as to be given such royal treatment. I agreed, but also, someone who could have the imagination to plan such an impressive beginning is someone that she can trust.

I wish them a life so full of love and happiness together that they will have plenty to share with the world around them. As long as they remember to respect each other as individuals, and to consider each other’s feelings and needs I think they have a very strong chance of celebrating their 50th anniversary. I would really like to be around for that!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Blockade of The Gaza Strip

The Blockade of The Gaza Strip - A very Sad Story Indeed!

You will seldom find me poking my “two cents” into the dialogue between the Israelis and Hamas in The Gaza Strip. The way I see things there will never be an end to the conflict between the Palestinian people and the Israelis – ever! The news coming out of that region is usually depressing, but even for them the news this week was extraordinary.

Israel has in place a maritime blockade that disallows most cargo from being offloaded at any port in Gaza, with the exception of humanitarian supplies. The problem here is with the definition of what constitutes such supplies. Fundamentally, Israel fears that if they allow Gaza to have certain materials, such items may be reworked into armaments and thrown back into Israel, killing Israelis.

This week, beginning the first day of June, 2010 a convoy of six ships left Turkey to try and run the blockade, while the Israelis warned that they would hold fast. In the process the Israelis confronted the ships and boarded them, but in the case of one of the ships violence broke out that resulted in several people being injured and worse still, nine people were killed.

The outcome was that Israel has been roundly castigated, but no-one has called the action by the blockade runners foolhardy; but that, in my opinion is what it was. True, it was not all for nothing in that it has heightened world awareness to the fact that there exists a blockade, and to the effects of it upon Gaza. So, now that we know, what will change? Most likely nothing.

I took the opportunity to look at what life is like living without a great many of the basics that we in the free world take for granted, and it makes grim reading. Firstly, there is no definitive list of what is allowed and what is not. Sometimes certain everyday items may be allowed, and at other times they might be refused. Items such as candles, matches, books, musical instruments, certain foods, shoes, mattresses with sheets and blankets, writing materials and light bulbs have fallen under the entry denied grouping.

Cars, refrigerators, and building materials are almost always denied entry. I take no position as to the justification or not of the Israeli position regarding the items that they blockade, I simply have difficulty in getting my head around how it is possible for a modern day people to live without such fundamental materials.

Indeed, what can it be like for any ethnic group of people to live under such control of another power? We who are free to choose our own lifestyles and to buy whatever we can afford find this concept to be so strange in this modern world as to be outlandish.

This may explain the rash moves on the part of the blockade-runners. It seems futile from the start, not to mention dangerous to try and break the blockade set by such a determined country as Israel. At the least these are desperate actions in response to what appears to be a very desperate standard of living.

The part that particularly upsets me is that people sail their ships with their restricted cargoes into the Israeli hands, whereupon all is confiscated and the personnel are promptly deported leaving their cargoes to the Israelis. The Israelis say that they will deliver the goods, but if the items are embargoed they won’t be delivered to the Palestinians, but presumably they will be used as a gift by Israel.

Having seen what happened to the first ships, that has been followed up by another ship, with more ships promised. Stop the madness! This is a going-nowhere strategy at great cost and no gains to be had. I do feel great compassion for the Palestinian disadvantaged people, in isolation without considering past history and I can only hope for a better solution between the two groups.

First, there has to be a Will.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael