Dad and my “heavy foot”

Dad said on more than one occasion that I had a heavy foot. But I came by it honestly: inheritance. Once, just after Dad had purchased a used car (which had a faulty speedometer) he was on the freeway, timing himself by the mile markers in order to determine his speed, as opposed to what the speedometer said. State trooper pulled him over, told him he was doing 60 mph (speed limit was 55). Dad said, “Yah, that’s probably about right.” He then explained what he was trying to do, and he got let off with a warning. (And he normally went a lot faster than that.) Contrast that with my mom’s experience. I got to witness this one, as I was with her. State highway, state trooper—happened to be someone we knew, as he lived in our town and went to our church. She was doing over 70 (again, 55-mph limit). She was polite as she tried to explain the hurry; he was polite. She got a ticket. We didn’t let her forget it for a good long time. On the day of my high school graduation, I had to be on the U. of Minn. campus in the Twin Cities for a rehearsal. As a state winner in the annual piano competition, I got to play a piece with 19 other pianists—really big piano duet, huh?—and couldn’t miss the rehearsal. Supposedly there was enough time after the rehearsal to collect my sister and get back home well before graduation. Yeah, well. Traffic was heavy on the way to get my sister. We were way late when we finally left the Twin Cities. I was afraid my father wouldn’t drive fast enough, so I insisted on driving. (n8daogg, if you’re reading, stop right now! You really don’t know to know your mother’s delinquencies of decades ago!) The drive at 55 mph (then the state-wide limit) would take two and a half hours, but we had barely two hours before I was to march in. So I went 85–90 mph most of the way. Note, not once did Dad tell me to slow down, though I think I recall him saying, “You’re going kind of fast there, then.” I have no idea what my sister was thinking. Got home to find Mom ready and waiting (anxiously, need I say?). I ran upstairs, changed my clothes. My shoelace broke, so I had to pull on some old clunkers. We hopped in the car, Dad driving this time; they let me out at the main door. I pulled on my cap and gown just in time to get in line and go on in. Luckily, I had arranged for someone to take care of my music for choir and band (and my trumpet) so all I had to do was slip into my places at the appointed times (I was also the choir accompanist…)

I, Sir (Lady), am no lady!

Nor am I ordained. But (thanks to St. Casserole) I discovered that maybe I don’t fully know me.

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Reverend Lady Bag Lady the Antique of Menzies on the Minges Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

Whoops! Just realized I am at least a Bag “Lady”—so I guess Lady Fortune the Absurd of Greater Internetshire knew more than I did… and I’m kinda approaching “antique” here. When I tried the long form of my name, I became:

Her Grace Lady Bag Ladee the Dissolute of Waldenshire under Throcket Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

Dissolute, yes. “Grace?” Okay, I can lay claim to quick reflexes. So of course I had to “do” my cat:

Baroness Maggie the Defenestrated of Frome Valley Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

I think she outranks me—duh!

How Lutheran are You?

Thanks to Brother Dwight, I had to check this out. I did grow up Lutheran, though I “faded” during college and never really went back. Having been Episcopalian now for roughly the same amount of time I was Lutheran, I thought I might just see: if you take the girl out of the Lutheran church, can you take the Lutheran church out of the girl?

You are 78% Lutheran! This is most certainly true.

Not a perfect score. What does this mean? You have room for growth in understanding Lutheran terminology and culture. Good thing Salvation is by Grace and not by merit. We can add nothing to what God has done for us in Christ Jesus. But it never hurts to learn a little more about the church on earth. Thanks for taking the quiz!

How Lutheran Are You?
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Well, as I did the quiz, I realized that a number of the answers I had to guess at, I never knew way back when, so it’s safe to say nothing has been “taken out.” And I didn’t keep up with all the mix-and-match of mergers, new hymnals/servicebooks. Again, nothing has been taken out. Still—78%? Kind of an amazing score for an Episcopalian, don’tcha think?

My American Accent

Thanks to Lutheran Chik, I had to check this out (mostly because for more than 20 years I've heard numerous remarks about my "accent"). My results:

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Inland North You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
The Midland
North Central
The West
The Northeast
Philadelphia
Boston
The South
http://www.gotoquiz.com/what_american_accent_do_you_have">What American accent do you have? http://www.gotoquiz.com/">Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

And, well, it's accurate. I grew up not drinking pop (not because of what it was called but because my parents wouldn't permit it). I was born and grew up in Minnesota. But, unlike a commenter (Anonymous) on LC's blog, I think most of the accents in "Fargo" were exaggerated (for comic effect, obviously). Still, I got the point and I love the movie. Having lived in Chicago for more than half my life (while spending a couple of years in Texas), I know my accent has been moderated considerably, though I can relapse notably, sometimes when least expected.

I’m getting to know a pit bull

It wasn’t on my to-do list, but there it is, anyway. New neighbors in the basement apartment have one. Her name is Secret, and she appears to be a puppy still. She’s very friendly—I’ve seen her several times, and tonight she insisted on greeting me, jumping up on me and licking my hands (even as I hoped she wouldn’t decide to have a bite). Well-trained dogs aren’t supposed to jump up on people, even if they wish to be friendly.

Animals can sense fear, so maybe I’m better at hiding it than I thought. I do know a thing or two about posture around animals and how to send positive signals, but I’m also hoping that a) her owners aren’t interested in stoking a pit bull’s aggressive tendencies and b) she might come from a lineage that is sufficiently removed from fighting.

Around Chicago, there have been rather unforgettable stories of maulings, most often by pit bulls. In one haunting case, the dog even attacked its owner. After every such attack, the hue and cry arises to ban the breed. Responsible owners, breeders and trainers leap to the breed’s defense. An attacking dog’s behavior, so the argument goes, usually reflects its owners’ disposition, and if people would quit exploiting the violent traits, the breed wouldn’t have such a bad name. But in this set of circumstances, the dog had displayed behavioral red flags that its owners apparently ignored.

In my case, while I will lend some benefit of the doubt, a huge measure of caution is in order. Can I trust my neighbors to recognize and take appropriate action should there be warning signs? For me, right now, all I can do is program myself—if the dog is growling, get the hell away!

A strategy my dad often promoted, should one be faced with a rabid dog (a fairly common concern back in my childhood), was to grab the dog’s jaws and hold its head back, thus disabling it. I’m pretty sure he never had to test this theory. Given the strength of a pit bull’s jaws, I rather doubt my ability to sustain this maneuver, even if it initially should work.

I’ve been planning to move when my lease is up in May, if not sooner. This certainly provides additional motivation.

What will history say?

I’ve been pondering 20/20 hindsight. The two triggers: the death of Gerald Ford and the execution of Saddam Hussein.

Since Gerald Ford’s death, he’s been lauded for his role in stabilizing the nation following Richard Nixon’s resignation in disgrace. Back then, Ford was vilified from all sides for his pardon of Nixon, and many sources have noted that it likely cost him the Presidential election of 1976 (in combination with economic factors). My parents, staunch Republicans 1) were sure that Nixon’s downfall was engineered by a conspiracy determined to punish him for flouting their wishes; 2) believed that Ford was installed as a puppet of the conspirators (my parents were utterly dismayed, as were so many, that we had a President who had been elected to neither the Vice-Presidency nor the Presidency, and were subsequently disgusted by Nelson Rockefeller becoming Vice President); and 3) were shocked by Ford’s pardon of Nixon (for several reasons, none of which matter in this discussion). However: when Ford ran for election, my parents lined up with the party to work for Ford. Something I may address in the future.

Three decades after those events, we appreciate that Ford sacrificed his political career in that act of pardon, though I wonder that if he knew then what he surely knew two years later, would he have done the same thing? Guts. A public servant, doing right by the public. Would that we’d see it more often. It’s so easy to play it safe, adapting one’s public statements so as to garner poll approval.

With all the cry for blood—make Nixon pay for what he did—Ford perhaps sensed that extending the process wouldn’t in the long run have been in the nation’s best interest. In most cases, that isn’t so—due process must take into account both victim and alleged perpetrator with, ideally, a fair airing of the facts, in order to put the issue to rest. In Nixon’s case, facts never were tried in a court of law, but the public’s verdict ensured that he lived the rest of his life in disgrace (sort of like O.J. Simpson?).

Now for Saddam Hussein. I was taken aback by the fast track to execution, as were many. In this country, death sentence appeals last for years. His was dispensed with in weeks. It doesn’t seem that his guilt was in question, except among those who benefited from his actions. Is due process the issue here? Yes and no.

It certainly doesn’t help that a record of the execution taken from an observer’s cell phone revealed revenge on the part of the official executioners. To his followers, Hussein looks like a defiant martyr to the brave but bitter end. But to all who have been so horrendously impacted by his deeds, the lesson of true justice may have been preempted. It’s still the (currently) powerful holding sway over those without power, though in this round the formerly powerless have triumphed over their oppressor.

Transition from rule by control of the powerful to a fair shake for all regardless of their status depends on the rule of law, namely due process. How does a people learn that process? No fairy godmother can bestow it with a tap of the wand. The ability to vote doesn’t automatically confer wisdom in choice of leaders or enacting of law.

But for a system in crisis, duration of a serious issue is always a concern. How do you weigh the feared impact of potential danger from a known oppressor against what the system may need in order to progress?

Decades from now, will Iraq’s elected leadership be seen as self-sacrificing for the public interest on the path to stability in the currently (international) suspect decision to execute Hussein? Or will Hussein’s execution be the death knell for any aspiration of rising above the subtly shaded deathly deadlock in which Iraq finds itself?