Lucy

Julian Lennon has gotten back in touch with his childhood friend Lucy Vodden, whom he once depicted in a drawing as "Lucy in the sky with diamonds". Alas, Lucy, now 46, is suffering from lupus.

Alas, indeed, but people do get sick, become crippled and die, often at a heartbreakingly early age.

Lennon has his associations with the song. I have my own Lucy.

I'm not sure why I associated my stepdaughter Rebecca with Lucy, but by now the connection is too strong to ever be broken: Becca is my Lucy. I miss her so much since she died of cancer.

Kathe misses her more, of course. And she has her own associations for Becca, her own ways of remembering her.

And in the end, of course, she is neither my Becca nor Kathe's. Her life and her death were her own business, and we should not fetishize her memory.

But the people who loved her, and love her, and always will, can still remember her, each in our own way.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "We can hardly avoid it."\\

Happy Birthday, Maurice Sendak

Thank you for everything.

But especially for Where the Wild Things Are.

Because every child (but perhaps especially a boy who has strange thoughts and passions) needs to know that it is okay to be wild once in awhile, and your mother will still love you.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "And it was still hot."\\

Bleeding

Donating blood, I must be due to donate again, mustn't I?

What, it's been nine months? For shame!

Well, get on down to St. Mary's and make a donation.

Kind of a long delay. Really should have made an appointment. Never have, though.

Ouch. Sometimes the needle slides right in, and sometimes it flippin' hurts.

Ouch. Pain subsiding some, but still hurts something awful. Ouch.

Oh, well. Still needed to do that. People need the blood.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Sometimes doing the right thing is painful."\\

Neon Gypsies at the Vibe

Kathe and I went down to the Vibe coffee shop last night to hear the Neon Gypsies play. We liked their music and we thought they looked awfully good playing, too -- and that was even before we found out that the drummer who looked like she was enjoying herself so much was Rose Cheyne, the daughter of an old friend of ours.

Go, Rosie -- try not to explode.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "People just explode, you know. It happens."\\

Life Among the Organelles

The other day, Kathe and I entered the long-shuttered Whiteside Theater and joined a small group who were learning (on the job) how to rerstore the Wurlitzer pipe organ that one day will again delight patrons of the Whiteside with its music.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Yo, play the Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor!"\\

The Genocide Appropriation Project

As members of the Genocide Appropriation Project, our goal is to appropriate images of the Nazi Holocaust and other historic crimes and use them to dress up our political or cultural cause du jour.

We find it easy and convenient to exploit the suffering of other people in order to persuade the ignorant, and to shock those who oppose us into silence.

The Genocide Appropriation Project is not a membership organization. We count as members of the GAP any person who has ever used a specious analogy to promote their own agenda. For instance. we are very proud to associate ourselves with former President Ronald Reagan, for his famous declaration (in front of an African American group, no less) that marijuana smoking was "Twentieth Century slavery".

So, if you are having a hard time getting people to listen to your eleventy-twelfth repetition of your opinion on some subject, just call muster on the unquiet dead of the long and bloody history of our species, preferably invoking a crime committed against a group which does not include your own ancestors (or even committed by a group who are your ancestors). You're sure to win lots of friends, even if it's only among your fellow Appropriationists.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Patience, like genius and unlike stupidity, has its limits."\\

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's day to all mothers.

To mothers who have raised their children.
To mothers who are raising their children.
To mothers who have children who are far away in a war zone.
To mothers who are far from their children on account of being themselves in a war zone.
To mothers who have to put their children to bed every night in a war zone.
To loving mothers.
To mothers who find they don't love their children, but do their best by them anyway.
To mothers who suffer from postpartum depression.
To mothers who are too sick to look after their children.
To adoptive mothers.
To birth mothers.
To stepmothers.
To divorced mothers.
To non-custodial mothers.
To mothers who hate the fathers of their children, but never criticize them in front of the children.
To single mothers.
To lesbian mothers.
To men who do the Mommy work, not just once in awhile but day after day as their children grow up.
To mothers who are forced to work all day and see their children only in glimpses as they grow up.
But perhaps most of all, to mothers who have lost a child.
Or two.
Or three.
It may seem inappropriate to wish them joy on this day, and yet I can only hope that it finds them, today, or someday.
Happy Mother's Day.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "God bless you all."\\

Westphalolgy

My cousin Raymond Westphal has created Westphalogy a really nifty site for posting family pictures.

I recommend it to all Westphals and Burts, as well as selected Botteros and so on.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Everybody is related to everybody else, eventually."\\

Car Names

We usually have more than one car, so we usually give them names, although they are often as basic as "the Mazda", "the yellow Bug", &c. Still, names.

One of my favorites (as a vehicle and as a named object) was the blue and white VW bus that I called "the Scarabaeus". I drove the kids around in it, back when we had kids, and often referred to it by that name. Can't recall whether anyone else ever used that name, but I did.

Right now we have a Dodge minivan ("the Dodge") and a Ford van ("the Ford" or "the big van"). My uncle Wesley's Isuzu ("the Isuzu") has just died, so we're buying a 1991 Ford Escort.

We have been starting to refer to it as "the little Ford", but considering how fond it is of beeping every time you open the doors, it occurred to me today to start calling it "Sputnik".

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Treat inanimate objects as though they had feelings and you will treat them with more care, and they will perform better. Besides, perhaps they do."\\

Pirates Who Talk Like Somalis

Somali pirates seized yet another cargo ship in the Indian Ocean, but this time the crew successfully fought back.

The difference being that the crew of this ship were merchant seamen.

Proving, once again, that if you want a job done right, hire union labor.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Acta non verba"\\

Goo-Goo vs. Boo-Goo

By tradition, though not by any known rules of grammar, "Goo-Goo" is short for "good government", referring to legislation which is hoped to have the effect of making the government do a better job of serving the people, and more importantly, showing the public that the legislators are busy making the government be good.

It occurs to me today that there is also such a thing as "bad government" legislation, which is intended to show the public that the legislators are aware that the government is bad and must be punished.

"Boo-Goo" laws are produced from both left and right. Conservatives' favorite Boo-Goo is tax cuts, but another classic example is the Freedom of Information Act.

Frequently, Boo-Goo measures are also Goo-Goo -- see FOIA above. And frequently they actually have good effects (ditto). But let's not kid ourselves that such laws are ever entirely written to serve the public interest.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Who watches the watchmen?"\\

Plugged My Ears Again

I took out my three earrings before my brain surgery in November of 2007 and never got around to putting them* back in, until yesterday**.

* Actually, I have three holes (because one is for wimps and two is for girls), but one of them seems to have closed.

** Actually, I have just one in, because one of them seems to have disappeared during the night. Oh, well, they were only 75c each.

In other news, my father is continuing to recover, and I have switched from nights to afternoons, leaving him to handle the nights for himself.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "I won't tell them that you initially forgot to mention how your father is doing."\\

They Just...Cut It

The other night, Dad slept all night, and therefore I got to also. There was a nice La-Z-Boy recliner in the room, and I moved it alongside the bed and it was quite a pleasant night, all things considered. The recliner was quite easy on my poor injured back .

No such luck any longer. Apparently the staff at the nursing home objected to someone actually sitting in one of their recliners, so during the day someone went through the facility and cut the power cords for all the chairs.

Just...cut them.

Weird.

I think so, anyway.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "I think so, too."\\

George Burt's Recovery Continues

Slow, slowly, but we will get there.

It's hard. Thanks to prior demands on my energy I am worn away to a frazzle and Mom is not far behind. She is taking a class to become a census worker (2010 isn't far off, after all), I suspect for the sake of having something else to do.

But Dad is getting better, and I expect he will be able to go home before too much longer.

I sure hope so, anyway.

//The Magic Eight Ball says, "Hang in there."\\

George Burt is Recovering

Dad has now been transferred to a nursing home in Junction City, which is good news (because it means he is recovering rapidly) and bad news (because his periodic stays at a nursing home are always stressful times for the family).

So, until further notice, I will be spending my nights at his bedside, making sure he doesn't become so disoriented that he panics or otherwise endangers himself, while Mom takes the days.

I anticipate becoming very tired, physically and emotionally. But that's life. You do what you gotta. Life goes on. And various other catchphrases that seem somehow to give me comfort, and if they get on your nerves, my apologies, but golly folks, something had better give me comfort....

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Do what you can and leave the rest."\\

Track George Burt For Yourself

http://www.peacehealth.org/apps/Smartrack/view.asp?book_urn=196441&fac_mnc=SHRB&x=8&y=2

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, " http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~ssanty/cgi-bin/eightball.cgi "\\

Dad is Having Surgery Today at 1:00 PM

1300 hours Pacific Daylight Time.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Or in George's honor, call it 1400 hours Pacific War Time."\\

My Father Has Hurt Himself

I'm at work, doing an overnight shift. I'd been going to go pick Dad up tomorrow morning to take him to his gym, but my mother just called to say he'd fallen and injured his hip. He'll be going to the same nursing home in Eugene that he went to after his last "incident".

I just hope he gets to go home again this time. He's 78 years old and not in good health.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "All you can do now is to hold him in the Light."\\

Feeling Better Lately

I hurt my back awhile back. It gradually got worse, though I tried various treatments for it.

Late last month I started physical therapy, and it seems to be helping. At my most recent PT session, I was found to have greater flexibility bending both backward and forward.

Also, today I had to crawl into the bed of Uncle Wesley's Isuzu pickup, and it was merely a challenge rather than an epic farce.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Take good news when you find it."\\

Mystery Building (Dis)Solved

For years I have been going past a solid, concrete-block building at the intersection of Highway 20 and Independence Highway, and from time to time I have wondered what purpose it had served, back when it was in regular use (it had obviously been abandoned quite awhile ago).

Little did I guess, though, that nobody else knew what the thing was for until I saw an article about the "mystery building" in the Corvallis Gazette-Times.

The other day, I saw a crew at work with a crane, tearing the building down. Perhaps the stress of not knowing what it was for drove someone to distraction. Or maybe someone has another use for the location....

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Who knows?"\\