Vichy Water – Author's Blog Just another WordPress weblog

 

I’ll never forget. June 6th, 1944. DDAY.  Fourteen months later I arrived. Fourteen hours ago, I walked outside under New Jersey stars; a clear, cool late spring night. Last year, during one of my late night walks (I call them constitutionals. Just like President Truman did) a shooting star streaked overhead. Last night, thoughts of my late parents streaked; strangely, I thought about what they were thinking when it was time to conceive me. The world was still in a terrible war. What if? Phillip Roth wrote a novel about that.(‘The Plot Against America’) Were my parents concerned about my future being born into a world of war and uncertainty? Was the notion of ‘me’ postponed because of Pearl Harbor? They did wait, practicing birth control, until DDAY and the beginning of the end of the war. When war news continued to get better, then it was my time. But every year at DDAY, I remember the greatest generation and their sacrifice

I see Iwo Jima and the flag rising; Normandy, Juno and Omaha Beach and the greatest invasion. For inexplicable reasons, sometimes I’m on the beach at Guadalcanal and Tarawa, digging in, holding the position until reinforcements come. More strangeness; I’ve been saying for a long time how I’d like to visit Guadalcanal and personally thank our soldiers who are buried there. I even wrote about this bucket thing in my novel. John Basilone (1916-1945), who was inducted into the New Jersey Hall of Fame Sunday night, also fought on Guadalcanal.

 

 

Sometimes it is a hard rain and just as hard to find a way to begin writing my weekly blog. Frankly, it’s this input thing. Virtually 24/7, my auditory and visual senses and   processing lobes are over-absorbing from things plugged into the wall (both floors of my house have sockets); so my head is constantly swimming; what the hell do I talk about?

When I was around eleven years old, Esther Williams, the actress and swimmer had a television special where she was swimming in black and white pool water. My grandmother, in a wheel chair because of diabetes, wheeled herself over to the TV and touched the screen to see if it was wet from the water. She couldn’t understand why the water was not leaking onto our carpet; all of which leads me to a couple of my favorite ‘if only;’ if only George Washington and my Grandmother could see us now (with all the plugged in appliances, air travel but not necessarily the state of politics).

Speaking of George Washington (segue time) and of conception (mine, five months after DDAY) here comes the judge and the blog topic about a politician’s career beginning in the womb. I’ve got a toy holster (with extra long belt) that I just ceremoniously strapped on to make a creative point. Pretending to be eleven, I’m just going to aim the toy gun at the Rio Bravo saloon doors, hoping the bad guys and robber barons come out with their hands-up. Political aroma seeps out of the air vents and electrical sockets all over Jersey.

Firstly, recently, I went to a fund raiser for “Big Brothers Big Sisters” at a local country club; $30 ‘donation’ at the door was for a buffet of fancied-up chicken nuggets, mozzarella cheese and Jersey tomatoes and some kind of pasta that got lost in translation. A local mayor (political person) arrived for the photo op and when he was told about the $30 admission for the fund raising benefit, he said something about being Mayor; he was told he still had to pay. Mr. Mayor abruptly left with a small entourage and went next door to a local bar and drank the night away; so much for Big Brothers Big Sisters and donating to a good human cause.

Last year, I attended a Jersey shore environmental conference and met the mayor of a Jersey shore town which coincidentally was featured in my recent novel. I told him that. He said I should send a copy (free of course) to his office.  What ever happened to images of starving authors? Are there starving mayors in New Jersey?  Next up, John Edwards who ran for President; but I’m done.

Then there’s Newt Gingrich who’s now running for President who dumped wife #1 for wife #2 while wife #1 was actually still in the hospital recovering from cancer surgery.  He eventually dumped wife #2 for wife #3 shortly after wife #2 was diagnosed with MS back in 1999. And he was having the affair on wife #2 with wife #3 while he was rampaging all over America trying to drive Bill Clinton from office during his ‘thing.’ Then, there’s Arnold Schwarznegger. Then, there’s Donald Trump (In an earlier blog, I said he’d never run even though I auditioned for ‘The Apprentice’). Trump said, “I employ a number of people that happen to work in this country. I don’t send it overseas.” During the June 6 edition of ‘Fox News and Friends’, he also said: “We’re destroying our country. We’re destroying our economy. We’re outsourcing our jobs. We’re not making products any longer. If you look at products, they’re being made in China and many other countries. And it’s really very sad what’s gone on.” Trump’s own line of men’s wear, the Donald J. Trump Signature Collection, is manufactured in China. Other pieces are made in Mexico and Bangladesh. Oh, then there’s Senator David Vitter who solicits a prostitute (illegal?) and gets re-elected and Senator John Ensign who resigns because of a mountain(of problems).

Then, there’s Elliot Spitzer, former Governor of NY and Jim McGreevey former Governor of New Jersey. Speaking of New Jersey, we’ve got Governor Chris Christie who campaigned and delivered an almost heartless and brutal, take no prisoners, cut spending, and leave the rich alone, austere fiscal policy. The State Supreme Court last week yelled and told him to give back funding to poor school districts. Last week, he took a state police helicopter, at a cost to taxpayers of $2500/hour, to his son’s little league game and back to his governor’s mansion to meet with rich Iowa people who want him to run for President; State business, right?  Some of Christie’s fiscal toughness I liked. Could he really be a genuine politician/leader? Is he for real and honest, a refreshing example of a new breed of get-tough politicians who might run for President someday? Far from being a political analyst, I was comically disappointed but not surprised when his image ‘team’ including the State Police chief tried to smooth over this embarrassing episode(so much for Presidential timber), even having the temerity, to say it didn’t cost the state taxpayers anything as the helicopter pilots need the practice flying time anyway. Christie is just another windy, what’s in it for himself, politician; no magic in them there hills. Confession: I wondered about a President from New Jersey; our last one, Woodrow Wilson.

Video of Sarah Palin(33 seconds) and how Paul Revere warned THE BRITISH

Then, there’s Sarah Palin, who said over the weekend, Paul Revere warned the British on his famous ride (no further comment). Then, there’s beleaguered Governor Scott Walker (last week’s blog) of Wisconsin who’s now pushing new legislation that will destroy the micro brewery industry in Wisconsin – thanks to the mega donations that Anheuser-Busch, Coors, Miller etc. made to his campaign.

 

A few minutes ago, Anthony Weiner confessed having on-line relationships (twitter) with six women he never met. And he probably had a wonderfully promising political career. I’ve said enough. Point of all this being; if I were starting a family and entertained the notion of my child going into politics, I’d begin training and molding the embryo about two months after conception; child still in womb. Enthusiastically, I’d whisper to baby in womb, that for the rest of your days in life, you need to do and say everything right. You must think about every word, action, cause and effect. You must be consumed with fair play, morals and leadership. Every second must be to build and grow as a leader. Think of every consequence and constituent. Don’t ever throw all that hard work away; a career is born when you are. Never give Newt Gingrich and the media an opportunity to throw (cast) first stones.

This blog has been around for 18 months; (in 12 countries) sort of like two human gestation periods back to back. Elementally, (my dear Watson) I’m a stream of conscious purveyor of words, yet I’ve managed to stream clear of a critical component of my cellular composition; a confounding, haunting spirituality. Truth be told, I’d need about 300 pages now to bring you all up to date with this spirit stuff. Much happened to me innocently, virginally (in that regard), partly beginning back on February 24, 2004. I was taken into another world (sounds like a television soap opera, which one day soon will become obsolete, making room for ‘enough already’ reality shows). This is all I’ll say right now about spiritual origins (I don’t want to over stay my wordy welcome), but within the walls and confines of my second novel, which I’m working on, I’ll have the lay of land and time and space continuum to tell ‘this haunting story.’ But and it’s a significant ‘but;’ I’d like to throw a spiritual synchronistic teaser out there; my head is still spinning, digesting the meaning of a celestial message. Remember part of the title of this blog: “Synchronicity, Spirit and a Wooden Beam in a Brooklyn Apartment Building.”

An ascension of sorts took place last weekend for me and my gal (wife). We ascended the tree of life, climbed to our nest, gently lifted our son out of a computer, video game and television laden nest and cast him to a summer west wind blowing towards Brooklyn, New York. Alas, Mr. De Mille, I’m now a central Jersey empty nest denizen. We moved my son (had him around for 1/4 century) last Saturday into his apartment in Williamsburg. The apartment building is a completely renovated three story edifice in an area inhabited by only ‘under thirty-year olds;’ a living futuristic novel. The three room mates and families were busy carrying a myriad of boxes, computer paraphernalia, speakers, dishes, guitars and enough blue jeans to supply ‘Old Navy’ for a month. At the end of a long hallway is a new elevator. Next to the elevator was a very old thick wooden beam, probably from fifty years ago, seemingly supporting the building; the owners opted stylistically to leave this relic of a beam intact creating a blend of old and re-new. I walked by the first time and slapped it, to test endurance. Eleven trips later, waiting for the elevator to fetch me up, looking all around at my son’s new surroundings; I noticed writing etched on the beam. In strange disbelief, I stared at my son’s name, Neil and my name, Cal and a few other undecipherable words. I don’t even know what to write anymore about that; its way past odds and coincidences; its part of the story of my life, hauntingly witnessed with goose bumps on the side.

 

Late last week, sort of late in the afternoon, psychic energy doing a number on my premature power nap REM sleep patterns, ‘tossing and turning'(in 1964, this was also the name of a British album by the Ivy Leagues) I remote controlled the television on, flicked channels until ‘something’ made me stop on a HBO channel, and saw a movie/documentary just going on, “How to Die in Oregon.”

Movie Trailer for “How to Die in Oregon”

Did you ever watch the first few minutes of a movie and know you may have to see it; I was glued, stuck, intrigued and then joined by my wife. A few more minutes, we looked at each other and I said, “Do you really want to see this?”  She said, “No.”  I said, “Me too.” But we continued to watch. She went downstairs but I still watched. The story was about death with dignity; people in Oregon, with a new progressive law, can take their own life legally, if their medical situation warrants. So the lives of several memorable people (late term cancer) heading down that road were documented. Notably, the film making was poignant, detailed and wonderfully sensitive. I can’t stop thinking about Cody Curtis, real, alive, warm and now gone. I ran downstairs for a spot of seltzer; my wife was watching the movie. One scene towards the end, filmed at dusk, a dark black-blue sky, voices from inside a house, a lone leaf blowing gently in an invisible wind, moved me the most. Enough said. Here’s the movie trailer. Oh, a few days ago, Dr, Jack Kevorkian (Dr. Death) passed away.

How about chocolate time? (a Calvin euphemism for lightening blog things up). Back to the future and my aspiration of living to 150: A fair amount of research suggests that the ‘flavonols’ in dark chocolate increase cerebral blood flow, which in turn may trigger the creation of new blood vessels and brain cells. And a new study showed that older adults performed better on cognitive tests after eating small portions of the dark sweet stuff. That’s why, before writing my blog, I munch a bunch of 70% dark chocolate. (The piece I just ate was flavored with Chili, making it spicy; go figure) A new study showed that regular chocolate eaters who had heart disease were less likely to die following a heart attack compared with the people who didn’t treat themselves to dark wonderful chocolate.

Also major new research findings about treating nasty cancers: A drug made by pharmaceutical giants Roche and Daiichi Sankyo reduces the risk of death from melanoma by 63% – if the skin cancer tumor has a particular mutation. A Pfizer lung cancer treatment awaiting regulatory approval keeps lung cancer patients alive longer, if they are in the small minority and have a very specific genetic defect. Two clinical trials that have been presented at American Society of Clinical Oncology’s annual meeting in Chicago showed it is possible to pick drugs for patients using a panel of genetic tests. This is a huge giant step, like the real moon landing. A few blogs ago I talked about living to 150(after seeing Dr. Michio Kaku and hearing Ray Kurzweil).

We’re getting closer; just that we’ll need so many more tennis courts. Of course, I worry about the survival race (not reality television) we’re in (on a lot of fronts). How about the race to sustain food production on a warming, demanding, over-crowded planet?  Or the race to move to high ground as ice melts. Did I hear about a sewage treatment plant near Boston that moved to higher ground in preparation?

Now some ramblings:  Last year the oil spill in the gulf; a few months ago the disaster in Japan (and admitted meltdown in 3 reactors); both now out of the news and our consciousness and replaced by Anthony Weiner. Now Chile has a volcanic eruption, Iceland, a few weeks ago (my nephew ‘J’ cancelled a trip there) and I recently watched a video with a scientist predicting a “9” earthquake in the Pacific Northwest; a 30% chance in the next fifty years. More ramblings: the flooding in our mid-section, the tornadoes in the same mid-section and I thought I saw a locust in my backyard this morning.

I’ve got notions and potions about all this stuff in the news thanks to the crystal ball of my friend Ruth in Seattle. I just took a huge deep breath. Suddenly, I thought about an old friend, ‘Reckless Ostrich.’ It’s been a while. I’m such a sentimentalist, hopeless romantic and dreamer. I took a hard look at this empty nest situation. A breath of synchronicity eased me down the yellow brick road and out of the tree where the nest was perched. Now I ponder cycles of life; an embryo that I can whisper to and teach how to become a good leader. Does the concept of empty nest presume that next ‘grand’ stage in life?  Then I can get back to teaching and going to see ‘Santa Claus’ in the mall. I just hate waiting in long lines.

CONTACT INFORMATION

website:  http://vichywater.net

email:   earthood@gmail.com

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter:  Earthood

Book Trailer (65 seconds. please check it out)

‘Vichy Water’ Book Trailer