February 2006 Archives
Female eastern bluebird checking out the nestbox in my backyard. Went in at least once.
Air temperature: 19 deg F.
K-
Love this graphic showing exactly how Irina Slutskaya lost the silver medal to Sasha Cohen. So many people complain they don't understand the intricacies of figure skating terminology and scoring. Well, it's obvious to even the most uninvolved observer. Slutskaya started off with that triple lutz instead of her planned combination! Hello? What kind of mental lapse is that? And don't talk to me about those low marks on the flying camel spin...
You know, I have to believe that any woman who can do a flying camel spin - no matter the quality - is just going to be really popular at parties.
K-
Recognize this guy? Manly, clear-eyed, reddish-brown hair? You should. His face appears on the $1 bill.
Just in time for his birthday, forensic researchers, funded by Mount Vernon, have reconstructed the face of George Washington based on a bust, some paintings, and his dentures. And some fancy spatial lasering helped. Beginning with the famous bust done by Houdon when Washington was 57 (supposedly from actual measurements), researchers age regressed him to back to 45 and 19. This picture is scientists' best guess at what Washington looked like at age 19, about the time Washington made his only foreign trip (to Barbados).
At this point in his life, Washington still had all his own teeth.
For more complete information on this effort, check out the ScienCentral News or Scientific American.
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On Sunday, I get to have lunch with the Episcopal Bishop of Maryland, the Rt. Rev. Robert Ihloff. I've met him before and he's a very nice guy. Erudite and humorous, just the way you'd expect a high-up clergyman to be. I'm sure it will be very enjoyable. I hope by the time we're done eating I'm calling him "Bob". (As in "You gonna finish the rest of that bagel, Bob?")
While pondering this upcoming event, it occurred to me that the Bishop bears a strong resemblance to Dr. Andrew Weil, who's that "holistic" TV doctor I'm always seeing on Larry King or public television fundraisers. Their pictures are above. On the left, Bishop Robert Ihloff, Bishop of Maryland, and on the right, Dr. Andrew Weil, TV doctor.
So what do you think? Separated at birth?
K-
Today we celebrate the 274th birthday anniversary of George Washington.
For the masses, Washington is simply the "Father of Our Country," a man with wooden teeth and a countenance to match. Hoary, covered with the dusty sands of time, I doubt many American know all that much about him.
Which is too bad because he truly was an amazing man. Perhaps the only essential American.
The Maryland State Archives has only recently acquired Washington's Farewell Address, written in his own hand, a speech he gave two days before Christmas in 1783. Standing in the Old Senate Chamber of the Maryland State House in Annapolis - then the nation's capital - he announced: "Having now finished the work assigned me, I retire from the great theatre of Action - and bidding an Affectionate farewell to this August body under whose orders I have so long acted, I here offer my Commission, and take my leave of all the employments of public life."
Maryland will also receive a letter sent by eyewitness James McHenry, who represented Maryland at the Constitutional Convention, to his wife-to-be, Peggy Caldwell, in which he described the event - steeped in formality, yet tinged with the fervor of a grand farewell.
"The spectators all wept, and there was hardly a member of Congress who did not drop tears. The General's hand which held the address shook as he read it," the letter reads.
For the commander of an army to relinquish power back to the civilian government was unheard of at the time. Washington understood better than anyone else that he served the government of the people. And having secured our liberty, he retired to his plantation.
For more information about His Excellency, the website of Washington College in Chestertown has more information.
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The Maryland connection to the Winter Olympics is Kimmie Meissner.
Ms. Meissner, part of the Women's Figure Skating Team and, at 16, the youngest member of the entire US Olympic Team, is from Bel Air up in Harford County. Much of the state, it seems, has Kimmie-mania. I guess I'm one of them because she is the only point of interest for me at this year's games. The Baltimore Sun has had front page coverage of her for the last week. Full-color photos show-off her performances; large, full-page graphics highlight the various twirls and spins skaters perform to catch the eye of the judges (who are using a new scoring system, I'm told, to prevent the cheating that occurred at the last Olympics.) We get definitions of all those maneuvers with the arcane names: Lutz, Axel, Salchow. We get pictures of large, proud, Harford Countians dining in local pizzarias; every restaurant in Harford County has a Kimmie fund going.
They tell me Kimmie is not expected to medal. I'm told that Irina and Sasha and any number of Japanese skaters will beat her out. But I don't believe any of that. I'm fully expecting her to bring back an Olympic medal to Maryland. I mean look at that face, that smile... does someone that enthusiastic and young and cute not belong on a Wheaties box? What a story! How could God deprive Maryland of that?
All we need to do is keep Don Schaefer away from her.
K-
And of interest to me only... the species list from my 31 Jan-05 Feb 06 trip to Jamaica. I really could only bird the hotel grounds and adjacent areas. Not much time. Bold are life birds.
| Bananaquit | Northern Mockingbird |
| Common Ground-dove | Osprey |
| Zenaida Dove | Olive-throated parakeet |
| Cattle Egret | Northern Parula |
| Great Egret | Brown Pelican |
| Snowy Egret | White-crowned pigeon |
| Jamaican Euphonia | American Redstart |
| Magnificent Frigatebird | Spotted Sandpiper |
| Greater Antillean Grackle | White-chinned Thrush |
| Red-tailed Hawk | Jamaican Tody |
| Great Blue Heron | Turkey Vulture |
| Green Heron | Black-throated Blue Warbler |
| Little Blue Heron | Prairie Warbler |
| Tricolored Heron | Jamaican Woodpecker |
| American Kestral | |
| Kingbird sp. (Maybe Gray Kingbird? Eastern Kingbird less likely. Couldn't see the tail.) | Hummingbird sp. (Red-billed streamertail? Streamers missing.) |
I also saw several red junglefowl. Don't know if they count on a legitimate species count or not. I definitely need to bird the island some more.
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Maryland's 84-year-old comptroller and state curmudgeon, William Donald Schaefer, has made national news. On Wednesday, Don ogled a 24-year-old administrative aide at a public hearing. (He required two walking-away shots of her backside, making the second walk-away request of her in full view of the press.) Later he was unapologetic about what - at my place of employment, at least - must be considered an egregious bit of sexual harassment.
"That's so goddamn dumb, I can't believe it. [She] ought to be damn happy that I observed her going out the door. The day I don't look at pretty women is the day I die," said the unrepentant Schaefer.
No one, not a single, solitary person in Maryland, is surprised. Various Maryland state Democratic leaders have criticized Schaefer about the episode (including Montgomery County Executive, Doug Duncan, and Baltimore Mayor, Martin O'Malley, gubernatorial candidates both) and women's organizations have expressed both outrage and indignation. But for the hoi polloi of Maryland, this is just one more eye-roller from That's-Our-Don.
I'm sure many states have guys like Schaefer. He's a 50-year Maryland public servant, having been both Mayor of Baltimore and two-term Governor of Maryland. He's been Maryland State Comptroller since 1998. He's also an unabashed and vigorous booster of all things Maryland. But his statements and faux pas have gotten him in trouble before. He's kind of that wacky uncle people have: simultaneously dedicated and intemperate, loyal and exasperating, caring and belligerent. Even Maryland's current Republican governor seeks him as an ally.
All this doesn't excuse him. The woman humiliated is many decades and pay-grades below him. Where I work, only cheating on your timecard gets you fired faster than sexual harassment. It remains to be seen whether with this rudeness he has finally over-stepped.
But at least he only shot off his mouth.
K-
So how many of you are watching the Winter Olympics? Come on... raise your hands. Anyone? Watching the Olympics? On TV? Snow? Ice? Hoopla? Anyone?
That's what I thought.
The problem with the Winter Olympics is that no one cares about them. Reviews of NBC's coverage have been dismal. Unless you're really into the sport nearly everyone is unknown. And we won't even go down the elitist road.
But I have an idea to spice up the Winter Games. Just keep an open mind as I go through this. Most of the events in the Winter Olympics are timed, right? It's all about how long it takes to go from point A to point B. Downhill skiiing... bobsled... luge... skeleton... you get the idea. But how do they run the event? One-person-at-a-time. We're all agreed every luger looks pretty much the same. Man from the future lies on his back, he slides down an ice chute, he points his toe, he's a great athlete. There's no discernable performance difference between first and last place.
Boring!
Here's what I propose... we take a page out of all those Summer Olympics events that are timed.
We have heats.
Eight lugers, eight skiiers, eight bobsledders, whatever, line up at the start line, we give them the gun, they all go, top three move on. What could be simpler? Sprinters in the Summer Olympics don't go one-at-a-time. They'd all look pretty much the same, too. Marathon runners don't go one-at-a-time. Those little boats with the rowers don't go one-at-a-time. Why? Because that would be boring.
Look at the most exciting Winter Olympic event: speed skating. And why is it exciting? Because they have heats. Groups of guys out there skating around the track, muscling each other, crashing into things, that's exciting. Individually they would be... boring. Look at NASCAR drivers. They don't take turns. They're all out there together bumping into each other. You mean to tell me that bobsledders aren't as tough as NASCAR drivers? I don't think so.
Groups, exciting; singles, boring. What could be simpler? I should start a petition.
If I knew who to call, I'd have a laurel wreath sent 'round.
K-
You know it's a bad Hump Day when:
1. Changing the furnace filter is going to be the high spot of your day.
2. The little screw mechanism in your deodorant jams leaving you only powder-fresh scent Secret to use.
3. Seeing a Chevette on the way to work takes you down memory lane. Who'd have thought any were still running? (And, yes, it's true, I drove a Chevette for a portion of my life. It's not something I'm proud of but with therapy and hard work I'm now able to take one day at a time.)
4. You drive to the Mobil station you usually get your gas at only to discover that the place - pumps, sign, and building - are gone.
5. Holmes and Cruise are on the outs. I am soooooo bummed.
K-
During the first week of February, I spent six days in Jamaica on a medical mission. Ostensibly a vacation to a beautiful Caribbean island, nearly all of my time was spent inside a church hall dispensing prescription medications to hundreds of Jamaicans. It was a remarkable experience unlike anything I had ever done before.
The Jamaica Medical Mission originated more than 10 years ago as an international outreach effort at my church, St. John's Episcopal, in Ellicott City, Maryland. Two St. John's parishioners - Stuart Mowatt, a US citizen of Jamaican heritage, and Dr. Elaine Trogdon, a Maryland pediatrician - and the then rector, established a sister parish relationship with St. Mary's, an Anglican church in Port Maria, Jamaica. The Jamaica Medical Mission became an outgrowth of St. John's relationship with St. Mary's. Teams of doctors and nurses recruited by Stuart and Dr. Trogdon, as well as St. John's parishioners to provide support, traveled annually to Jamaica to treat people who might not otherwise have ready access to medical care. Eventually, Stuart retired to Florida, where he recruited additional doctors, nurses, and support at his new church, Holy Sacrament Episcopal, in Pembroke Pines. Many from the Florida contingent of the Jamaica Medical Mission are themselves Jamaican, giving the team a collegial diversity and beneficial balance. This year's Jamaica Medical Mission team consisted of 15 from Maryland and 9 from Florida. I found everyone on the mission team immeasurably dedicated and eminently delightful. That we were all Episcopalian only assured a good time would be had by all. (Hang with Episcopalians for a while... you'll know.)
The medical team consisted of two internists, two pediatricians, an ob/gyn, a psychiatrist, a dentist, and a physical therapist with nurses to support them all. (Patient examination space at St. Mary's, not medical volunteers, is the limiting factor for the Mission.) We worked from 9 AM to 7 PM Wednesday to Friday as well as a half-day Saturday. Each doctor evaluated and treated about 45 patients a day. Scores of Jamaicans seeking treatment awaited us each morning in the St. Mary's parish hall when we arrived, hoping to be seen by one of the medical staff. Over 1,500 prescriptions, from amoxicillin to Zyrtec, were dispensed.
Morning Prayer, traditionally and wonderfully Anglican, began our days. Fellowship and traditional Jamaican food on the rooftop of Miss Essie's Restaurant in Port Maria ended them. We had almost no time for ourselves although I did manage to cadge time early each morning to bird the hotel grounds. (I got 10 life birds including 4 species endemic to Jamaica.)
Because it's a medical mission, the role of lay participation is somewhat limited. A third of the 24-member team provided support to the doctors, dentists, nurses, and therapists. Support included such tasks as registration, triage, baby-sitting, and in my case, manning the pharmacy. With the exception of a short lunch break, every team member was busy all the time. But despite the constant activity at a single work site, members of the team experienced Jamaica and Jamaicans far more than your typical blue-haired cruise ship passenger ever could.
For me, language was sometimes challenging but never insurmountable. Jamaica is the third most populous Anglophone nation in the Americas; English is the language of government and education. In some conversations I had, Jamaican Creole started off being their language of choice. But when my dumb looks made it clear I understood nothing of what was being said, folks would generally back their way down to (oftentimes heavily accented) English I could understand. That the people of Jamaica speak English makes participation on the mission much more rewarding. We can really connect with the people we are visiting; there are no interpreters getting in the way.
I return from Jamaica with few poignant vignettes or amusing anecdotes. Those cute snippets bloggers relish didn't make it back with me. How do you extract dedication, generosity, fellowship, or - to use a God-word - ministry from a continuum and plop it down in a weblog? Were I to try, I'm sure the words would fall flat. To be sure, there were dozens of encounters, conversations, and moments. But to select one or two of these, picked cleanly from the whole, as if to say "How cool is that?" would be tough.
Two occasions do stand out, however. Saturday night, the parishioners of St. Mary's treated the Mission team to a delicious Jamaican dinner. We feasted on jerk chicken and pork, ackee and saltfish, peas and rice, festival, callaloo, and Red Stripe beer, which, by the way, I learned to open with a Dasani bottle. It was all delicious. (Well, OK, maybe the soup did have some meat in it we just couldn't quite identify.) Following dinner there was music and dancing and thank-yous.
The Sunday worship service was the other memorable occasion. Simultaneously Anglican and Jamaican, familiar yet exotic, worship in St. Mary's was as spiritual an experience as I've ever had. The exchange of the Peace was considerably more affecting than I came prepared for. That I was asked to read the Epistle was icing on the cake.
My suburban sensibilities didn't always align with the realities of everyday life in Jamaica. Jamaica is, after all, a third world country. I encountered incongruities. Rastafarians closely matching the American stereotype - bearded with long hair tucked into yellow, green, red, and black knit hats - walk along the road. In most countries, driving on the left is curious. In Jamaica, driving on the left is terrifying. Goats, chickens, and other domesticated animals roam unfettered. Dogs were the animals that always caught my eye. The canine protection authorities of central Maryland generally prohibit free-range dogs. By contrast, Jamaican dogs - laid-back, amiable, and generic - come and go as they please. Open-air burning of rubbish is commonplace. Burned and burning piles of trash scar the shore and roadside. Away from resorts, litter and debris is ubiquitous. Despite the warmth and hospitality shown by every Jamaican I met, experienced team members cautioned the first-timers against visiting Oracabessa (where I stayed) or Port Maria (where I worked) alone. Don't drink the water I was told, although I eventually did so without ill effect. I dispensed pregnancy test kits to girls that couldn't have been more than 14 years old.
Jamaicans face many economic hardships. Fluctuations in agricultural productivity, inflation, and competition from multinational corporations result in disparate standards of living, though no one I saw approached what I think of as middle-class America. Many homes appeared decrepit; some looked OK. Some people have refrigerators; some don't. Cell phones seem commonplace; many households don't have land lines. But despite what Americans would think of as a paucity of material wealth, the Jamaican people I encountered seemed joyous and content with their lives. Everyone at St. Mary's was extremely generous to the Medical Mission team, plying us with hugs, food, Red Stripe, and encouraging words.
Which brings me to a question I still ponder: Why go to Jamaica? Why Port Maria? Why there... why that spot? Some few hundred Port Marians receive a smattering of medical care from us. Big deal. There's little follow-up treatment and just as many Port Marians are turned away. What about the millions of Jamaicans the team couldn't treat? The team goes only once a year. Why bother when there's so much left undone, so much more work to do? It's hopeless. It can't make a difference.
I won't pretend to know what motivates the other members of the team. I scarcely understand my own motivation. Maybe they go to preach the Gospel ("Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."). Maybe it's to fulfill the second of the Great Commandments ("You shall love your neighbor as yourself.") Maybe it's pro bono work or professional ethic. Maybe it's to secure a place in heaven or simply feel worthwhile in a tropical paradise.
Whatever the reasons, for nearly 1,000 Jamaican men, women, and children, the doctors and nurses of the Jamaica Medical Mission had impact. Previously undetected cases of hypertension and diabetes were diagnosed, infections were cured, discomforts alleviated, toothaches relieved, ailments treated, rashes balmed, mothers educated, children hugged, worries soothed, humans touched. The team makes a difference. We help the people of Jamaica. Now. Today. This instant. And they help us. The healing goes in two directions. The motivations of the individual team members, the larger picture, the apparent hopelessness, the work left to do, none of that matters. It's all present tense. "Ease the pain," as Stuart Mowatt, the Mission's leader, instructed me more than once. "That's why we're here."
And that's what will take me back.
K-
More pictures appear after the jump. Click on the thumbnails for a larger view.
I know, I know... I promised pictures and stories from Jamaica. But, unfortunately, I've had a number of other things - all mundane - to occupy my time this week. Travel on Wednesday, painting the hallway yesterday, evening meetings, you name it. But I will blog about my exploits even if it's well after the fact and even if it's just to save my own recollections.
For now, it's snowing at Beckett Haus. Here's the view of the neighborhood soon after I awoke. (Requiring 2 full stops of exposure compensation!) And with the 16 inches of snow comes empty-nest syndrome to bite me on the ass. A- is away at school and D- is on a ski trip with friends so I'm left all by myself to shovel my 60-foot driveway.
And, no D- for whenever you read this, I am not getting a snow thrower.
I'll keep you posted.
K-
I'm back. The trip from my hotel in Jamaica to my house in Maryland took nearly 13 hours. A plane delay in Ft. Lauderdale held me up for a while.
I've much to do now that I'm back and there will likely be little blogging for the next few days.
As for Jamaica, it's amazing and heartbreaking all at the same time.
K-
