Mood:  irritated

When travel is required, Frodo does his absolute best to soak in a little local color, or at least absorb some regional distinctiveness.  The suburban nature of greater Phoenix always makes Frodo think of the Netherlands, which has been similarly re-claimed from the clutches of Mother Nature.  Frodo is particularly taken with the flora and the fauna which seem more resilient, and hence sometimes prettier, because of the contrast to the setting itself.  Not too terribly far away, on the California coast, sits the old mission at Capistrano, where scruffy little swallows have been immortalized  in pre-Frodo balladry.  The annual return, at this time of year, is part of a festival which now, unfortunately, serves little purpose.

For years the number of swallows returning to Capistrano has been in serious decline.  The development of critically-important strip shopping centers, and overpriced homes has disturbed the balances which drew the few birds who appeared to the once ideal clime.  Those who did appear in the area this year chose to nest under the bridges of Interstate 5, or in nondescript commercial eaves far from the idyllic setting of the old mission.  Once again, it seems, man has found that his own commercial interests supercede the romance, if not the reason, for a tune that haunts anyone whose memories drift back before the second of the Great Wars.  Why, then, go at all?

Frodo last walked the grassy fields outside the old mission when first he cast his eyes upon the ocean pacific.  Even in these days, the wind still whips blue and the smell of salt would excite Captain Gregg or Long John Silver.  Frodo thought of the day his father stood there with him, and together they wondered how the birds found their way back year-after-year, to the same spot.  His father had no answers, but he left Frodo with the question.

That was good enough.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 1:36 PM EDT

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Mood:  a-ok

Frodo and Sam, once again, venture into the wilderness.  Bilbo's house stands empty now, because Bilbo resides in something called an Assisted Living Center.  Bilbo will return to that house on the morrow in order to meet Frodo and Sam and let them rest a day before commencing this joint venture into the unknown. 

Bilbo seems to enjoy the Assisted Living Center, other than the fact that there is no "family" nearby.  Bilbo's Doctor has made it clear that Bilbo should no longer reside in that house, all alone.  The Doctor has taken the somewhat unusual step of suggesting that Bilbo leave the Assisted Living Center in the desert and go to live in a place such as the Shire, where there is "family."

Frodo feels that Bilbo would like that suggestion if Frodo were the one doing the moving.  Frodo's Sister, about whom he never speaks, has offered Bilbo a room, a bathroom, and a telephone, all on one floor, in a place where there is no more than four months of sunshine annually.  Frodo notes a similarity to the place known as Leavenworth.  Frodo knows that if this is the course chosen, then this will probably be the last visit he shares with Bilbo in this dimension.  Sam, long ago, made the offer that Bilbo could spend the final days in the Shire, but Frodo and Sam both know that the multi-leveled Shire is not suitable for one on oxygen and utilizing a walker.  If this is the choice, then Bilbo will take residence in a nearby Assisted Living Center, albeit a place for daily visitations. 

The third option is that which Frodo suspects is what Bilbo wants.  Bilbo wants to go home; to sleep in Bilbo's bed, and to look upon the hummingbirds and the rabbits who populate the environs of a mini-desert Shire.  To have someone about to help bathe and tend at evening tide, but to stay out of Bilbo's way as Bilbo quietly surrenders the charge in her battery.   

Frodo understands his role very well.  That does not mean he likes it.  Frodo will make an assessment after observing, first-hand, then discussing, factually, with Bilbo that which he has seen.  The result, he knows, will be just like the day long ago when Bilbo told him he had to concentrate on his schoolwork, and to use that time in something more sensible than playing football.  Most likely it is that the same lines will be repeated, only the roles portrayed will change.  Frodo's greatest challenge will be the maintenance of demeanor, and to not fall into the emotional trap of trying to argue or reason with the rusty synapses which comprise geriatric logic in the twenty-first century.  Bilbo would not understand if Frodo told her that she could not play football.  What she will understand is what comprises a wilderness, 2000 miles to the West.  A long days journey.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:27 PM EDT

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Mood:  special

Dr. Arthur Kellermann is a Professor at Emory University in Atlanta, and he is a Physician on Staff at Grady Memorial Hospital.  He stood on one side of the prone figure on the table in front of him, while the parents of the patient stood on the other.  The father looked down, unable to meet the doctors' gaze, but the mother stared deeply into the eyes of the doctor, searching for a sign.  Kellermann spoke first, "It was a terrible crash.  His truck left the road at high speed.  The ambulance crew saw that he was severely injured and called a helicopter.  He has several injuries--a collapsed lung, internal bleeding.  But his brain injury worries us the most."

It was at this point that the mother interrupted.  Kellermann was already aware that they had driven two hours from the North Georgia mountains to downtown Atlanta's only Level I Trauma Center, burn unit, emergency psychiatric unit, and 750 inpatient beds.  "Doctor, I don't know how to say this, but I must.  My husband lost his job six weeks ago.  I work but my employer doesn't offer health insurance.  I have to ask:  Will my son get the care he needs?"

She started to cry, and Kellerman said "Ma'am, you're at Grady Memorial Hospital.  Our doctors are the best in the South.  We choose to work here because we believe in what this hospital stands for.  I swear to you--we will do everything in our power to save your son."  Kellermann was already aware that he hadn't told her the entire truth.

The best may not be good enough, and, if her son should make it, he could be disabled for the rest of his life.  Kellermann was already aware that the parents would be billed for the helicopter flight, and for weeks of treatment in intensive care.  Hundreds of thousands of dollars will mean that all of their savings and a mortgage on their home would not meet the bills sure to come.

Kellermann was already aware that the unpaid bills will push Grady Memorial Hospital closer to insolvency.  By staying silent however, he left the mother with what she, and he both, needed--hope.  His written words cannot be improved upon:

"Hope that her son will beat the odds.  Hope that Emory researchers will discover an effective treatment for brain injury, so future victims will have a better chance of recovery.  Hope that Georgia will fund a statewide trauma network, so everyone can benefit from top-quality trauma care.  And finally, hope that someday, perhaps soon, this great nation of ours will finally cover the uninsured, so no more mothers will need to ask, "Will my son get the care he needs?""

Frodo offers the possibility that should he and Dr. Arthur Kellermann, whose name he knew not before this day, arrive before Saint Peter at the same time, Frodo would offer up his entry pass to ensure that a man such as this, the best in the South, obtain his deserved position at the right hand of God. 

Frodo has no doubt that someone calls Kellermann by the nickname "Hawkeye."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:48 PM EDT

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Mood:  on fire

Once touted as the most famous man in the world, Muhammad Ali developed a strategy for defense of his Heavyweight Championship Boxing Belt which he dubbed "Rope-a Dope."  Basically, all Ali did was to cover up against the ring, and allow his opponent to rail with gloved hands against the immobile fortress.  His theory being that the opponent would waste his precious energy pounding against Ali's forearms, leaving Ali with an ability to box aggressively in later rounds against a spent brute.  The only thing that proved consistent in the fights in which Ali employed this methodology was that the exhibition was BORING.  Ali won virtually every fight, often against much weaker opponents, and he didn't even have to try very hard.

Boxing is anathema today.  No one can even name, without the benefit of GOOGLE, the identity of the current Heavyweight Champion of the World.  The sport is excoriated for its brutality, the fact that it draws from the poorest segments of society for its participants, and certainly it is dominated by heartless criminals in its management.  Interesting it is, thinks Frodo, that he considers boxing to be the moral equivalent of the Catholic Church under the tutelage of someone named Benedict.  This philosophically-recognized and accepted sexual deviant seems to have implemented an ecclesiastical strategy to disarm the faithful and to use their humanity against them.

One no wiser than Bristol Palin has made it quite clear that abstinence is not an effective strategy in order to deal with the problems of teenaged pregnancy.  Does it not follow, dear reader, that Ms. Palin could be making an effective argument for the use of condoms in order to combat the spread of the sexually-transmitted HIV-AIDS killer?  Wouldn't it seem logical, to even the most faithful, that the most famous cleric in the world should be doing something other than observing his own limp dick when he argues that condoms are not a weapon in this fight?

Frodo has no patience to abide the pedagogical ranting of an ideologue who refuses to listen, even to his own subordinates, who serve and treat the afflicted.  To merely stand there, and to accept horrible pain and suffering in order to justify a strategy which drives away parishoners, and weakens all of those who accept a message of hope and caring, especially for the poorest, embodies the concept of Sin.  It certainly explains why Frodo calls this version of an Incomparable Moron as "Pope-a-Dope."  

Frodo knows that there are devoted and sincere people who think him brash and perhaps even a bit sacreligious.  Frodo will take his chances with St. Peter, especially if he has the opportunity to go a few rounds with Benny in front of a cheering throng of innocents who deserved more than what they got from the leader of the pack, who didn't try very hard, at all, ever.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:57 PM EDT

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Mood:  party time!

Occasionally, Frodo's creative juices are fueled by fact, not fiction, so be not surprised that what follows is based on truth, albeit slightly askance for communicative effectiveness.  Note also that Frodo has purposely avoided multiple outrageous entries from any one source.  In sum, Frodo will add an editorial comment, or two, thereby adding a level of credence to the subject identified herein.

At both the University of California at San Diego and at Reed College in Portland, Oregon, there is a course entitled "Underwater Basket Weaving."  The myth, it seems, is true, and the course does involve the dipping of reeds or stalks of plants underwater while fabricating bowls, pitchers, and other utile instruments.  The course description does not state if full-body immersion is optional, or required.

At Centre College in Kentucky, there is a course in Philosophy called "The Art of Walking."  Despite the implication that George W. Bush could only take half-credit while chewing gum, the course actually stems from Immanuel Kant's "Critique of Judgment," and is taught while the class wanders through the fields and forests surrounding this rural Nirvana.

At the University of Wisconsin, as part of the Women's Studies Program, Frodo was unsurprised to discover "Daytime Serials: Family and Social Roles."  Frodo was disappointed to learn that the course centers on the viewer, rather than to provide him with an answer to what eventually happened to Luke and Laura?

Columbia College in Chicago, with which Frodo has absolutely no familiarity, provided the impetus to Frodo to embark on this research when he stumbled on their listing for "Zombies in Popular Media."  Frodo thought, at first, that the course might include segments on Campbell Brown, any of the CNBC Financial Reporters, or any "journalist" who covered the first term of the Bush White House.  In actuality, there is a segment on voodoo in Haiti, as well as the presence of Zombies in popular video games.

Friend Merry will go ballistic when the discovery is made that Frostburg State University in Maryland teaches "The Science of Harry Potter."  Frodo notes that it is an Honors Course for non-Science majors, and that there is no required lab.  Questions such as the "possibility of an actual flying broomstick," designed to meet transportation challenges in the twenty-first century, Frodo assumes, are postulated.

Frodo could not resist taking note of the course at SUNY (Buffalo) entitled "Cyberporn and Society," although he notes that there are several schools with something similar in the curriculum (Frodo, called it "dating" in his day).  What particularly elevated his interest (pun intended) was the audio-visual participation (they watch movies).  Actually, this is so very understandable.  What, pray tell, other than shovel snow, does one do in Buffalo?

Appropriate it is that Frodo gives special notice to the University of Iowa, homeplace of the Iowa Caucuses, which propelled President Obama on his quest, for their Honors Class, known simply as "Tolkien."  Perhaps Frodo will be invited as a guest speaker someday, along with all in the Circle.

What struck Frodo about the expansiveness of curricula, is that there was not a single reference of significance in any Southern school.  Oh sure, swimming and diving stuff in Florida, but Frodo was looking for some reference to Flannery O'Connor and how difficult it is to find a good man.  Is Frodo alone when he wonders what Skip thought about when Willie Morris left for Harper's?  Do people in North Carolina truly see themselves as a bastion of freedom, surrounded by States filled with Visigoths?

The final editorial comment herein is that all of the reference is to non-science offerings.  The bias, the assumption, is that all science and math is useful, assumes Frodo.

"Well, exxxcuuuse me," says Frodo, "but of all the courses presented to me at the College of the Shire, or in the trek that followed in the City of Orleans, there is only one course to which I can point and say that I have never used it, still don't understand it, and to this day have absolutely no interest in its hypotheticals."

"Oh, and what Sir Frodo, would that happen to be?"

"Algebra," said he.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 1:28 PM EDT

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Mood:  bright

The Men of Gondor gathered at Fort McPherson, just south of downtown Atlanta, in the 700 or fewer days remaining in the existence of this military establishment.  The responsibilities headquartered at this location will transfer to Fayetteville, North Carolina, within the next two years.  What lies ahead for the land and the facilities is up to conjecture, and it was of great interest for Frodo to listen as his comrades discussed the possibilities.  One dismissed the suggestion of "Section 8 Housing," while arguing that a tax-advantaged transaction with a major corporate entity would bring another major employer to the area, and create thousands of new opportunities.  Another felt that the rolling hills and recreational facilities would make an excellent "green" addition to the quality of life in this outcropping of the Shire.  Frodo looked at the officers' quarters, envisioning yellow ribbons on oak trees, and handsome lads amarch to stirring cacophonies upon the parade grounds.  The red brick and white trim is a part of the landscape that is our home, dear reader.

The National Museum of the Army Reserve is located herein.  Humble by most standards, the displays and the objets d'art are symbolic of the groups who stand ready to respond to the President's call if regular military units require support or supplement.  It was an enlightenment to consider the difference between the Army Reserve and the National Guard, and to remember the activities of each during the human conflicts that led to the struggles upon Mount Doom.  Many who have served in the Army Reserve were medical practitioners in truth, but that did not mean that they served in the rear echelons.  The "Lost Battalion" (starring Ricky Schroeder) of World War One fame was one such Army Reserve unit, immortalized by a gallant homing pigeon who remains displayed in the Smithsonian Institute as one more who served with derring-do when called upon.

The museum itself is "open to the public."  The increased security at any military establishment makes public access however almost impossible, if not at least daunting.  The lack of knowledge regarding displays such as this is almost stunning, with very few regular army-types themselves having little or any awareness of the existence of such a facility.  Frodo and his friends were the only attendees on a cool late-winter afternoon.

The highlight of the visit was to be taken behind the displays to the research facilities.  Maintained in temperature-controlled environments are the "souvenirs" of war, brought to the Museum by those who had no further use for that which they had salvaged.  In addition, there were the flags and the equipment of divisions and units disbanded after the conflicts no longer required their existence.   With gloved-hands, Frodo could examine the pith helmet of a North Vietnamese Regular Officer, or the once-live grenade fashioned from a discarded K-Ration can and welded to become a lethal weapon.   Perhaps the helmet had been worn by he who took the life of John Jenkins.  Frodo trembled as memories warmed his retinas and brought a flush to his face.  With reverence, he touched the patch on the jacket once worn by a "Buffalo Soldier."  He was aghast at the storeroom of video and nitrate-based films, too fragile to as yet be transferred to disc.  They, too, must wait, until called upon, just so that nothing is lost.

The Men of Gondor stood quietly outside, each remarking upon the professionalism and the dedication of the historians whom they had just met.  They, private citizens all, also serve when called upon.  Not all who love our land bear its arms, some are those who use their talents to help us remember and to comprehend the path to the summit of Mount Doom.

May Frodo always remember that those who study the liberal arts are not seeking an easier path, but they may actually be seeking to follow that least traveled by. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 12:44 PM EDT

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Mood:  not sure

Recently, Frodo spent some time with a friend and business associate, originally from Taiwan, whose family long ago made a new home near the Shire.  Frodo has learned a great deal from his friend about parts of Middle Earth where he has never been.  The cultural aspects are even more fascinating, thinks he, than the geopolitical.  This time they discussed language, and how Chinese has replaced so many "Romance" languages from the curricula in the local schools about the Shire.

There are a limited number of characters in what we would call Chinese, but there are also tonal differences which change meanings significantly.  For example, should you, dear reader, say something like "Wang" in a near-falsetto voice, it may be translated as the word "tree."  Say the exact same word basso profundo and it may mean "monkey dung."  Something in-between could be a reference to the genitalia of the speaker, or not.  In any event, to be aware of the "sing-songey" importance of the spoken word almost makes it seem artful to the illiterate listener, aka Frodo.

It is a very old joke to say that Chinese is not really so difficult, simply because there are tens of millions of children who speak it fluently.  Frodo thought about this as he listened to a talking head describe the evening news on his black-and-white this evening.  The monotonal diatribe centered on the individual, sentenced to three years in an Iraqi jail, who tossed his shoes at the Incomparable Moron when last he visited his personal nation-state.  His relatives evidently indicated that the miscreant did not retreat from his dislike for the now FORMER PRESIDENT (Frodo loves constructing those two words).  In fact, they alleged, and this dear reader is the crux of our commentary, that the offender actually wished to "xxxx" on the target of his pedestrian ensemble assault.

Frodo glanced up at the screen, and queried Sam as to the missing word.

"Did he say 'spit'?"  Ed. Note, it might also have been "sit."

Sam feigned ignorance, but did indicate that had the word been in Chinese, and the tonality was anywhere close to the deep-voiced presentation which Sam heard, then Ole George would've needed several handkerchiefs.

Frodo has a new appreciation for the Chinese language, and he has learned to be prepared to duck whenever he hears it spoken in a deep voice.  Secretary of State Clinton need also be advised. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:32 PM EDT

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Mood:  happy

Frodo's father was one of five siblings.  They are all gone now, and Frodo has a million questions unanswered.  He will never make that mistake again.  Three of the five suffered from ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease), including Frodo's father, and that anomaly will be summarized in the words that follow.  Apologies are offered to those who this evening expected humor, or will read something about which they were already aware.

The youngest brother was struck first, and strangely enough, the symptoms commenced in his throat.  Generally, the disease first appears in the limbs and works its way in, eventually strangling the victim.  About half-way through the total dimunition of his ability to communicate, his brother, Frodo's father, was struck in exactly the same fashion.

There is no way to adequately express what it was like to watch the two of them, eating ice cream, and watching their beloved Atlanta Braves on TV.  When one tried to speak, it was usually to ask "What's wrong with Murphy (Dale, they both loved the guy)?"  For the most part, they sat in silence, knowing that it was growing impossible for anyone to understand what they were trying to say.

When his brother died, Frodo's father was too weak to travel to the funeral, so Frodo did not have to be asked.  Frodo was there.  In a few short days all learned that the youngest sister had now been diagnosed with ALS, but it was of a more traditional nature and commenced in the limbs.  Soon, both his aunt and his father were no more.

Neither the oldest brother nor the oldest sister ever developed any signs of ALS.  The brother probably drank himself to death, and the sister lived well into her 90's, with Alzheimer's for the last decade or so.  Every living member of the family submitted a blood sample to a study being conducted at the Massachusetts General Hospital, and brain tissue of the victimized was included.  The published result found that 18 families of European descent had a "genetic predisposition" to ALS, and that probably accounted for about 10% of all such cases.

It goes without saying that research utilizing embryonic stem cells is a potentially crucial tool to uncovering the genetic secrets and the exceptions that plague those like Frodo's forebears.  Frodo is personally grateful to those who realize that it is within the power of Man and Hobbit to ease suffering.  The fact that any would deny such an effort is something for which Frodo has neither patience nor understanding.  He concludes this evening with gratitude to the President, and a reminder to all that it was Mohandas K. Gandhi, who said that changing the world should yield life as one chooses to live it.

Frodo and his father did not agree on many things, and it is likely that the election of Barack Obama would have been another disputed moment; until tonight, that is.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:05 PM EDT

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Mood:  hungry

Frodo has written before about his fond memories of a motorcar, a radio, and the dark of night on a stretch of lightly-travelled interstate highway.  When lights do beckon to an exit, it is often a guidepost to the Waffle House.  Created by two Georgia Tech students, both whom incidentally are still alive and in their 80's, the greasy pleasantness of the waitresses, and the short-order cook, are a diversion for the loneliest of nights.  The conversations are brief, but pleasant, and the fellow customers are as much fun as Saturday Night in Times Square.  Where people such as these gather, interesting events are sure to happen, and these that follow were first chronicled by Sharon Gaus and Phil Kloer of the ATLANTA JOURNAL AND CONSTITUTION.

In March of 1999, a waitress at a Waffle House in Montgomery received a lottery ticket as a tip, and the result was a $10M first prize.  Four co-workers sued.

April of 2003 gave us the funeral services of a frequent customer at the Waffle House near Gainesville.  Attended by more than 40 fellow customers and emoloyees, past and present, the funerary urn sat atop the hood of a 1958 Oldsmobile.

It was in March of 2007 when police arrived at the Waffle House just outside Richmond,  in order to break up a fight between two women.  Using this as an opportunity, four drunken male customers skipped out without paying.  Since their combined check was more than $100, police pursued at speeds reaching 110 mph (Frodo has computed that the entire menu price list is less than $100).

Without further explanation, in April of that same year, an Atlanta man barricaded himself in the mens room at the Waffle House just off Northside Drive in Atlanta.  When police broke down the door, the customer was naked and attacked the officers with a toilet paper dispenser.  He was maced and subdued.

On a lighter note, Bubba Mathis and Pam Christian, two Waffle House employees in Dacula, got married in the parking lot.  The wedding party then gathered inside for cake and coffee.

Topping it all however, this past October, "Kid Rock" got into a "disagreement" with a Waffle House customer when his tour bus stopped at a Buford Highway location.  Rock pleaded "no contest" to battery, and earned more than $12,000 for charity by signing autographs in the parking lot. 

Samwise, travelling with Frodo, once took hold of the door handle outside a Waffle House on a long-forgotten byway, and held on for dear life when the handle came free from its mooring.  Given that the employees inside were all quite busy, the quandary would have been best resolved if Sam had merely followed Frodo's advice, and let him keep it, as a souvenir.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:25 AM EST

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Mood:  hug me

Morris Frank was a 20-year-old student at Vanderbilt University who was very unhappy about his dependency on others.  After learning of an American named Dorothy Eustis, living in the Swiss town of Vevey, who had written an article about dogs being trained to assist humans with disabilities, he decided to have a "look" for himself.  Here he was introduced to Buddy.

After a very extensive joint training program, Eustis provided the financial backing for Morris to return to America in order to spread the word about Seeing Eye dogs.  Reporters who greeted Frank and Buddy in New York Harbor were immediately dumbfounded by the way "she moved forward into the ear-splitting clangor, stopped, backed up, and started again."  Frank himself later wrote in his book "First Lady of the Seeing Eye" that "I lost all sense of direction and surrendered myself entirely to the dog.  I shall never forget the next three minutes. . .ten-ton trucks rocketing past, cabs blowing their horns in our ears, drivers shouting at us. . .When we finally got to the other side and I realized what a really magnificent job she had done, I leaned over and gave Buddy a great big hug abd told her what a good, good girl she was."

As time passed, what seemed to amaze people the most was that Buddy had an ability called "intelligent disobedience."  She would obey Frank without question, except when the execution of a command would result in harm to Frank.  Her new friend found that what he enjoyed most were the conversations in which he could now participate because people initiated discussions with him about the dog, when, in earlier times, people would be hesitant to speak at all.  After two years in Frank's hometown of Nashville, where they had founded "The Seeing Eye" as a training center for guide dogs and their new acquaintances, Eustis and Frank moved to Morristown, New Jersey, since the German Shepherds found the Tennessee climate too hot for training all-year round.

There were no laws in America at the time to allow the presence of Seeing Eye dogs in restaurants, hotels, trains.  Frank startled many of those who attempted to stop Buddy from entry by simply insisting that "I'm not bringing her in; she's bringing me in."  A railroad porter once attempted to remove Buddy from a sleeping car after allowing her to guide Frank to his berth.  The exhibit of her "beautiful teeth" was a great equalizer in the struggle for Seeing Eye dog liberty.

Buddy arrived in Nashville in 1927, and, as all things must, ended her association with Frank in Morristown in 1938.  The obituary, printed at length in the NEW YORK TIMES stated "Buddy had appeared on hundreds of lecture platforms and barked in response to applause; she had been received by Presidents Coolidge and Hoover and other notables; and she had been led into the homes of poor among the blind and given them hope while they patted her and fingered her harness."

Today, dear reader, you can learn at www.seeingeye.org that 14,000 dogs have been trained, beginning with Buddy.  You can go downtown in Morristown and "see" what is probably the only statue in the entire world of a blind man and his dog.

Good, good girl.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:36 PM EST

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