Conspiracy Theorists

On the morning commute today I saw a car with three, large, homemade bumper stickers. They stated that WTC 1,2 & 7 fell on their footprint at terminal velocity which is impossible without explosives . . . then went on to invite the reader to a web site.

The September 11 conspiracy theorists infuriate me because they've latched onto this tragedy not as a way to honor and bring justice to the day's victims but rather to besmirch a president they revile and also to show what a wretched country we all occupy. The motivators behind the latter are mysterious to me, while the former is typical of the left's vitriol -- which never fails to astound in its rage and depth. It's not enough to dislike the president anymore, the opposition must now vilify and accuse him of a monstrous act of murder.

I am also amazed at the lack of coherent logic in the argument that the Bush Administration perpetrated this act. After all, as I'm sure the liberal conspiracy theorist would tell you, Bush is the stupidest president we've ever had. He heads the most incompetent and corrupt administration in the history of this country. Yet, he managed to pull off an amazingly destructive, murderous attack involving 19 Saudi nationals, four hijacked planes and a black-ops demolition team to execute a plan that involved flying three planes into three of the most famous buildings in this country, and crashing the fourth into a field (it was shot down, actually, don't you know that?)and then detonating the charges to ensure that the Twin Towers collapsed. In fact, this plan was so secretive that in the six ensuing years no one involved in the plot has breathed a word of it.

Writing out the theory -- as I imagine it must play because I've not visited the site and will not lend credence to the theory by linking to it or visiting -- makes me afraid to actually share the road with such deluded people. To think that this was a US government hit job defies imagination. To think that this guy probably has a job also mystifies. I wonder what his co-workers must think as they walk by his vehicle in the company lot. I also wonder how he misses the irony of the fact that these stickers grace the back bumper of a BMW, rather than the side of a stolen shopping cart filled with someone's possessions. We live in an amazing country, except for the people who think it's not.

Ahmadinejad Review

One of my pet peeves with MSM is its lack of follow-up -- stories are published with a distinct POV and then after the event occurs nothing is ever written again to amend or review the original article in light of following events. While I'm certainly not a reporter, nor a news outlet, I'll follow-up Monday's post about Ahmadinejad 's visit to Columbia University and backtrack a bit on my commentary on Lee Bollinger. I have to hand it Bollinger, he showed some spine by berating Iran's lunatic president. I have no issue with rudeness on this front, and bad form etc. -- as some observers mentioned on Tuesday. That's picayune nonsense.

Bollinger created a tough spot for himself (showing poor judgment with the invitation in the first place). By coming out swinging he showed himself to not be a total intellectual-wimp. He didn't do the diplomatic thing and heap praise on his unworthy speaker. For that, I applaud him. One of the unintended consequences of the event was that Ahmadinejad showed himself to be completely disconnected from reality -- something that should wake up Americans about the nature of our enemies.

How can a supposed world leader stand on a stage, in front of thousands of people, and the world media, and say that his country doesn't have homosexuals? How can we take seriously someone who claims that the Holocaust requires more scientific study to ascertain the veracity of its occurrence? This man is obviously not in touch with rational thought and yet people in certain quarters want us to negotiate with him. What do we think will come of this negotiation? The Iranians will not deal with us in good faith, in fact their definition of good faith probably bears no resemblance to ours so therefore no negotiation is possible.

Bret Stephens had a great piece, Columbia's Conceit, in yesterday's WSJ that said our ideas may be better than those of our enemies, but that won't prevent us from having to defend ourselves from them as they try to kill us. Ahmadinejad's visit proved, as if we needed more proof, what a nutter he is. Based on his performance we need to be prepared to deal with him in a way that may not appeal to rational, Western, liberal, open-minded types. That, however, is reality.

Morningside Heights Low

Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is slated to speak today at Columbia University. Many within the student body and Lee Bollinger, the courageous leader of that fine institution, are wrapping themselves in the First Amendment and the "openness" of the American university system to defend their execrable decision to give this maniacal, anti-Semitic hate-monger a pulpit. Will conservative protesters be allowed to contribute their view point to the debate? Because of Columbia's membership in the Ivy League they are now conferring some sort of validity on his views and giving him cover that he does not deserve.

Would Columbia give President Bush a bully-pulpit from which to defend his decisions as the leader of this country? Do I even need to answer that question? The very same people rabidly defending Ahmadinejad's "right" to speak at their institution of higher learning would be the same people laying in front of Bush's motorcade and calling him a fascist murderer for defending this country. If the "logic" on display at Columbia in inviting Ahmadenijad to their campus and then defending his "right" to speak is any indicator of the type of critical reasoning skills being imparted at that school I think I'll stay away from hiring Columbia alumni should our paths ever cross out here in the world. Finally, Ahmadenijad has no rights under our constitution, he's not a citizen of this country. For shame, Columbia, for shame.

Constitution Day

The Constitution of the United States is 220 years old today. Long may it persist!

"We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America. ... Done...the seventeenth day of September, in the year of our LORD one thousand seven hundred and eighty seven."

—George Washington and the delegates

Alive Day

Last night I watched Alive Day Memories: Home From Iraq on HBO. Hosted and produced by James Gandolfini it was an inspiring, moving, horrifying and ultimately even-handed and unapologetic account of wounded Iraq War Veterans. These soldiers suffered egregious injuries, most as a result of IEDs, and their wounds are horrific. They very bluntly show their stumps, their surgery scars, prosthetic eyes and limbs. While I sometimes wanted to look away I forced myself to watch. These soldiers are fighting in a war that I support and it would have been hypocritical of me to look away.

Like anyone wounded as badly as these people were, the subjects of the show were serious and contemplative. Each is still grappling with their newly defined lives and what their injuries mean for their futures. It was an amazing television experience and Gandolfini was an unobtrusive presence -- asking questions, shaking their hands and hugging the soldiers after the interviews. Many times he was hidden by a cameraman and you rarely saw his face. Their stories were permitted to stand as testimonies to their strength, courage, luck and pluck. I don't think that they were politicized in any way. This lack of politicization, in and of itself, deserves mention in a media landscape where the soldier is a pawn in each side's never ending political chess match.

Many of these soldiers have undergone multiple surgeries -- one, 46 in 16 months -- and the care-level is a testament to the doctors and the medical professionals of this country. Many of these soldiers should, by rights, be dead. The interviewees and all the wounded and fallen soldiers, airmen and sailors deserve our respect, admiration, love and support. They certainly have mine. Everybody, war supporters and non-supporters alike should watch this show. It's important. Also, and finally, make a donation to some of the many charities that support the wounded and their families:

This is a good compendium of charities serving the military and military families. I donate to Fisher House and Operation Homefront each year around Christmas. I'm also going to donate to this organization that I learned about through this program: The Wounded Warrior Project.

God bless the troops -- the ones still in harm's way, and the ones recovering from their injuries.

Six Years On

Six years ago today . . .

The Twin Towers, two jets, and the souls trapped on the upper floors vanished in a cloud of dust, death and destruction . . .

A sizable portion of The Pentagon, and the people who worked within were destroyed . . .

Forty people were murdered in a field in Shanksville, PA.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of the events of September 11, 2001. Mrs. Agricola and I were on a roof in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn within moments of AA11 hitting the North Tower. We witnessed UA175 hit the South Tower.

In the aftermath of the collapse ash and paper rained down on our neighborhood and coated the streets and stoops of our neighborhood. How do I forget that? How can I? I don't. I can't. I won't. It strikes me as profane to say that we should forget this event, and let it recede into history -- yet this is absolutely what the NY Times proposed last week . . .

We should never forget what happened in lower Manhattan. The events of that day destroyed thousands of people -- 2,966 to be exact -- and impacted countless others by turning them into widows, widowers and orphans. This day, six years ago today set us on a course that sees our armed forces engaged all over the world fighting an enemy who despises us. The politicos seem to forget that we were essentially minding our business on the morning of September 11, 2001. While some try and say that we asked for it, a sentiment that makes me cringe, I'll not slip into their vile relativism. No one who went to work that day asked for what they got. No country deserves what was delivered on the US on that day.

I fly my flag at half-staff today . I went for a run today to honor the victims (I ran down the Brooklyn Promenade not 20 minutes before the first plane hit the North Tower). I will do these things as long as I can because I will not forget this day as long as I live.

Never forget.
Never retreat.
Never surrender.

Cancelling The Times

I canceled The New York Times this morning. I only took the paper on Sundays, and had suspended it for the summer. After receiving yesterday's edition I realized that I had not missed it at all. For a long time I've had no desire to support the paper's editorial mission -- seeing the physical paper back on my property reminded me to drop it. I'm embarrassed to say that I didn't do this earlier, but feel unburdened to have finally pulled the plug.

When the customer service representative asked me why I was canceling I told him that I could no longer overlook the paper's rabid anti-American sentiments, nor its support for defeat in Iraq nor its hatred of the president that has infected every section of the paper. He offered me 16 weeks at 50% off, free online subscription etc. etc.. It was a values call. While the writing and editing of the paper is far tighter, and the basic qualities of its articles superior to any that appear in the local Boston papers, I can no longer provide a monthly stipend to support the publication of information with which I fundamentally disagree and which I think is detrimental to this country.

Rhythm Change

Summer is over -- though we'll still be hitting the road frequently this fall for various outings -- but the summer idyll is over. Child One started back to school yesterday and our morning execution was not up to the change. Things were hectic and excited in a way that we've not experienced since last spring. The fall is upon us and our lives have reverted very quickly to the frenetic pace that we normally maintain 9 out of every 12 months of the year.

Hawk vs. Crows

We were heading out tonight for a little family dinner to kick off the holiday weekend. As I was putting Child One into her seat I noticed three crows in the large tree in our neighbor's front yard. I said "look at the crows" and she didn't say anything. I asked if she saw them and she said "yeah." She was really engrossed by what she was seeing. Another crow flew into the tree, and then another pair. She asked me what the last bird on the wire was, and I said "probably another crow." "No," she said. "Come see."

Now, I bailed early from work today and came home and started to get the Quarter Acre in shape -- the lawn and beds are a disaster. Our cars were parked in the street and I had backed them into the drive way. Child One's booster is on the passenger side, and when we pull into the driveway head first her seat is usually on the opposite of where it was tonight. If we had not been backed in we might have missed this entire series of events.

Anyway . . . some branches in the tree in which the six Corvi now sat blocked my view of their original perch -- which was the utility wires that run up the street. So, at child one's request I changed my vantage point to see the bird she was asking me about. It was, what I believe to be, a good sized Harris Hawk. It had been sitting amongst the crows. I called Mrs. Agricola over to see and she grabbed Child Two. The hawk sat on the wire for a moment and then flew into the tree, a little distance from the crows. The crows were agitated, and giving off occasional warning calls -- a throaty, very clattering "cawwwwwwww cawwwwww."

The hawk went into action and chased one of the crows out of the tree. It was a cool sight because the hawk seemed to be about the same size as the crows (these crows are huge and the Harris is not as large as a Red Tail -- one of which we saw just before dinner, this one also spotted by Child One, the little hawk-finder). It flapped powerfully after the crow -- which was taking evasive action -- and took a swipe at its back. They flew away and I thought it was over. My neighbor had come out to watch because her dog was going crazy, and a neighbor down the street was out with binoculars because her dog must have been reacting to the events too.

As the hawk chased the first crow the other crows flew out of the tree in the direction of their chased comrade. A handful of the crows and the hawk returned to the tree very quickly (upon the return of the birds I ran in and grabbed my camera).


The hawk is just about in the center of this shot, diagonally down, and to the right of the lowest, right-most crow. Click to see the full size shot.

They sat there for a bit and then the hawk chased the crows down the street, again strafing one of the black birds along the back. I don't think the hawk actually made contact, but it must have scared the crow -- it was exciting to watch. I've seen crows and jays chase hawks, often in tandem, but I've never seen a hawk chase a crow. Nor have I ever seen them sitting so close to one another. This Harris Hawk is most likely the same one that I've seen around the Quarter Acre -- though I've only heard it this summer and not seen it since the spring.



I've had some other cool raptor sightings this summer, about which I'll blog after Labor Day. This encounter, however, was, by far, the coolest, and most interesting.

Children's Hospital Boston

Yesterday, we took Child One into Children's Hospital for an open challenge to determine whether or not she is still allergic to peanuts. She had a reaction a couple of years ago, and since then has blood tests and skin tests that were inconclusive, hence the challenge. What happens is this: we sat in a room and she ate 1/4 cup of peanuts starting with half a peanut, then a full peanut and ending with basically the full quarter cup -- all within a couple of hours. There was a slight chance that she could have gone into anaphylactic shock but there was a greater chance -- given the blood and skin tests -- that nothing would happen. Nothing did happen, thankfully, and the trip into the hospital was very perspective changing for me.

We got good news -- a potentially serious allergy seems to be in abatement. Our child is healthy (knock wood). There were many kids, that I saw, in the lobby, who are not so lucky. They and their parents didn't get good news, at some point in their visit to this place, or someplace like it. While not all were in a horrible way there were many who were visibly not well and suffering with serious ailments. The extraordinary folks at Children's were working to cure them, so they were in the right place. My problems are minor compared to what those kids and their families are going through. I'm damned fortunate. I've had a few miserable days at work -- today is another -- but thinking back to my stroll through the lobby helps keep everything in perspective. I've got a gig, I've got healthy kids (more wood knocking). I count my blessings and say a prayer for the kids and their families that I bumped into in the lobby.

In A Hardwood Forest

This past weekend we took our children into the Green Mountain National Forest Moosalamoo Wilderness Area for one night of camping. It was our maiden camping voyage with the kids and it was a tremendous success. Back in our pre-child years Mrs. Agricola and I used to camp out on occasion and we're not unfamiliar with the joys of sleeping in a tent, and living en plein aire.

We purchased a roomy tent at a summer clearance sale, bought each kid a sleeping bag, that Child Two calls his "hammock," and a nice little camp stove. We met another couple and heir daughter at the campsite and after setting up camp and getting stowed we went to the Robert Frost Interpretive Trail on VT-125 for an easy hike through the woods and the blueberry fields. It was a scorching day and we waded in a river to cool down. We found a snake skeleton, saw a huge caterpillar and ate wild blueberries, blackberries and raspberries that we found along the trail.

Child One is a little nature lover -- much more so than her parents -- and she really seems to be in her elements while walking along a forested path. She'll touch bugs, flowers, sticks and rocks that she spies along the way -- she's very observant with a great eye for detail. Child Two rode in a child backpack, hanging out from under the sun shield like a little train conductor, commenting on the passing spectacle. We got back to our car just as a giant mountain thunderstorm came crashing down us in a fierce, lightening-filled deluge.

Things cleared up quickly, though all night distant heat lightening flashed across the sky and small bursts of rain continued to patter down us -- though I'm not sure if it was drops from trees or actual showers. Before dinner we found a red eft -- which is a newt in the terrestrial phase of its life. We ate a delicious meal and the kids darted around the campsite, playing pirate, jumping off a log and watching the fire we had roaring in the site's pit. Bed was easy, and the kids drifted off into a good sleep as if they'd slept in a bag in a tent their whole lives.

After a huge breakfast on Sunday morning we packed up, walked across the Goshen Dam, threw rocks into the Sugar Hill Reservoir and then spent some time in Middlebury before returning to the Quarter Acre. It was an amazing experience and we had a blast. It was so wonderful to see my kids just reveling in their surroundings, getting dirty, playing imaginative games with nothing but sticks and some chalk and crayons that were brought to the site. With no TV, no electricity, none of the comforts of a house, they were completely at ease and enjoying themselves.

It was moving -- almost to the point of being beyond words. I saw my children in a new and different light and love them even more than I did before we left (as if that were even possible). They amaze me, all the time, in so many ways that each day is a wonder. But with every little moment of wonderment comes a tinge of melancholy that each new experience marks a first and a last. Time is fleeing and my babies are growing up before my eyes. I think that my children have helped to make me more aware of my own humanity -- and with that deeper awareness has come a greater sense of my own mortality. In my children, and in the accretion of events that comprise our life together comes the sense that there isn't enough time and that there never will be.

It's beautiful. It's sad. It's wonderful. It's life in the best sense of that expression. We sucked the marrow out of our time in a hardwood forest, away from the distractions of the modern-American-suburban-life. We emerged a more tightly knit, happier family.

Unexpected Sights

I opened my front door this morning to retrieve the papers and saw a humming bird, hovering above eye level, just in front of the front stoop. I think it was a female Ruby Throated Hummingbird, but I'm not a great identifier of birds, and the view was so brief that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to positively identify it. I called to Child One to some see the hovering, gracefully-beaked bird but it flew off just before she got to the door. It was very cool because I've never seen a hummingbird on Quarter Acre, so this was a welcome site.

(Speaking of rare, about two weeks ago I saw a Baltimore Oriole. They are rare visitors to the Quarter Acre, though I typically see about one each year.)

Another cool thing that I observed, also this morning, was a red dragonfly that shot straight up in the air from its spot in the lawn to grab a fat, slow-flying bug. Mrs. Agricola and I both saw it and it was an impressive bit of wild kingdom with our morning coffee.

The Understanding

I picked up this video via Little Green Footballs. This Marine says what the elite in this country need to hear with more eloquence, understanding and passion than any member of the elite could ever muster. Semper Fi, and thank God for people like SSG Lawrence E. Dean II.

August

August is a wonderful, but bittersweet month. It is the month in which the summer really seems to be at it fullest with scorching hot days, lots of native, fresh fruit and vegetables, warm ocean water and gentle nights. August is also a transition month between high-summer and the onset of fall. The light is changing visibly as Earth begins to shift on her axis to bring about the change of seasons, later, chilly dawns and earlier sunsets.

Summer is clearly ending, but it's time. Summer is fun, and wonderful but it's exhausting and we live like gypsies -- hitting the road for this and that, and returning to the Quarter Acre to sleep before heading off to work for five days before setting off again. I find myself ruminating more in August than I do in the other summer months. While trying to suck the marrow out of what remains of summer I begin the mental cataloging of another summer of memories -- children's birthday parties; beach days on Cape Cod; the annual trek to Champlain; cigars on the porch; family cookouts . . . It's amazing that Labor Day is upon us, that another summer is winding down and the seasons will change once again.

Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile tempus -- Virgil

Grass on Sprinkler

Cambridge

756*

Barrels of ink are being spilled on this, and have been spilled ever since it became apparent that Barry Bonds would break Hank Aaron's Home Run Record. I don't have much to contribute to it except to state my uninterest in the achievement of Bonds. He played longer than Aaron; he used performance enhancers; he is a miserable human being.

Hank Aaron still holds the record in my book, even after his classy, videotaped concession speech. Will Bonds be as classy when A-Rod breaks his record in six or seven years? Bonds is a truly, and supremely gifted ball player. His involvement in the madness of steroids basically destroyed his name and forever cast a shadow over his accomplishments and the game. The real tragedy of the 756, however, is not that the record was broken -- records are meant to fall. The real tragedy is that one of the truly great records in all of sports was broken in a way that doesn't jibe with most people's notions of fair play. As a result, something that should be celebrated has bred further cynicism in the public. We're all a little worse off today, now that Hank Aaron is number two on the all time home run list than we were on 7 August, 2007 at 8:50 PM PDT.

Crickets

I was beginning to wonder, as summer has rolled along, where the crickets were. Nights spent porch-sitting were oddly quiet as the Quarter Acre's insect population seemed to be entirely absent -- with the exception of mosquitoes.

I'm not sure what it is about memory and knowledge but I always remember, and associate summer and crickets. This is the first year I've been conscious that crickets emerge later in the summer. Or, perhaps, there was something different about this summer -- it has not gotten truly hot until recently. I am certainly no entomologist but I now believe that perhaps cricket activity is linked to temperature -- because with the hotter days and nights has come a cacophony of nocturnal insect noises. Over the past week or so, the chirping and trilling of crickets have been deafening. It's a welcome addition to the summer porch lifestyle -- increasing the sense that we are somewhere other than our backyard and lending a more exotic flair to the mellow proceedings.

Who Needs A Summer House?

All summer long I've been asking the question, "who needs a summer house?" We've essentially been living on our porch for the better part the summer -- we eat breakfast out there, the kids eat lunch out there, we take dinner out there in the evenings and then hang out on the porch after the kids are in bed. We've spent a large part of our time this summer in the fresh air, in a relaxed setting, largely bug free (thanks to a new screen door). Spending as much time on the porch as we have this season we've come to feel like we're away when we're not. Score another one for the suburban casa.

Catch the sun

Winding Down