All a man needs out of life is a place to sit ‘n’ spit in the fire.
Here is a little list that I wrote to my kids before I was mobilized for Iraq in 2003. Laura came up with all the subjects. I just filled them in.
A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of meeting Luis Alberto Rodriguez Guadalupe at the Centro de Evaluación Residencial (Residential Evaluation Center for the Juvenile Justice System in Puerto Rico). His story is as follows:
He was turned over to foster care seven years ago when his parents found they could no longer take care of him. He was lucky to find a family willing to take him in through the foster system. He was particularly bonded to the husband of the family, Fernando Luis Cartagena Torres.
“So, how was it with them? Did you get along?”
“Yes, I was welcomed into the family. I lived with the father.”
“What about the mother?”
“Oh, well,” he said, “They split up about 3 years into my stay. I chose to live with the father. I still saw the wife, but I stay with him.”
“Well, let’s talk about him, then. What is he like?”
“He was great to me, but he was sick. He had a lot of health problems. Actually, he already died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, when did that happen? How did it happen?” I leaned forward.
“It has been three and a half years. I was with him, and he started having… he had diabetes, and it caused all sorts of problems. He was at home and was feeling weak, and collapsed. They called the hospital and an ambulance came. I rode to the hospital with him. I was with him when they said he died. His heart stopped.”
“Oh my gosh. That must have been terrible. But he sounded like a great man.”
“He was, and then his children came for the funeral, an’ they scattered his ashes on a hill in Coamo his hometown. I got to throw some of the ashes. His kids were there too.”
He didn’t actually say it. I think being a young man, too much emotion wasn’t going to cut it here. But the way he said, “His kids were there too,” a couple of times, I got the sense that he felt accepted into the family. Birth, death, these are the sacred waypoints, and for the siblings to have accepted a foster kid into that moment said something about the family and the bond that had grown. In any case, I understood the implication.
“So,” I said, “He sounded like a great man. A modern example of Christ. You know sometimes we look to the past for examples of how to live our lives, but many times we have the best examples in front of us. Let me ask you something. Have you ever been tired or sick?”
“Yes.”
“How does it make you feel about helping others. When you feel bad, really sick, do you want to go out and help others?”
“I guess not,” he replied, “no.”
Don’t you just want to sit and sulk? And who would blame you? Most people would say for you to get well first, take care of yourself, and then look after others. That’s what is normal. You say that Fernando Luis was very sick. Wouldn’t it have been easier on him if he had said, ‘I will take care of myself first’?”
“I guess.”
“Just think about it. This is a man who was dying, but chose to look after you because he thought you were important. You were important to him. He loved you. He didn’t push you aside and say, ‘I can’t take care of you, because I am sick.’ No, he said that there was nothing he would rather be doing. He gave himself to you. When we talk about the sacrifice of Christ, that is what we are talking about. I hope you take that example with you and apply it.”
Luis Alberto was smiling now. He already knew that Fernando Luis was special, but perhaps my take on the situation exposed a new facet. Maybe he didn’t realize the depth of the man’s love.
“I will say an intention for Fernando Luis,” I said. “I will mention his name at Mass. We will pray for him. I will tell his story. It is an important story. It was good to have met you, Luis Alberto.”
We normally distribute Rosaries at the end of each session. The kids snatch them up with gusto. Although many are not Catholic, Catholicism is deeply embedded into Puerto Rican culture. The wearing of a Rosary is a powerful symbol on the street. I try to combat the “Rosary as accessory” by telling them that it is a reminder of their commitment, un recordadorio de tu compromiso. It is something that helps them not forget what they have been given and where they want to be. In the times when they feel small, petty, vengeful, selfish, or weak, it shall be a symbol to them of the love they have been given. Remember Fernando Luis, the man who gave his life so you may know love.
Remember Fernando Luis Cartagena Torres, Luis Alberto, so that you may be inspired.
I was on my way to the office when I passed an older man working to change a flat tire. He looked to be in his sixties and drove a modest car. My first inclination was to stop and help him out. Here is a recap of my internal dialog.
I should stop. He looks like he could use a hand.
Oh, there’s no real place to stop. Oops, I just passed him. The traffic is heavy, there’s no space. Should I turn around?
Would I want someone to help me?
But I’m dressed for the office. I’ll get all sweaty and dirty if I stop.
It looks really dangerous. He’s got only 1 or 2 feet of clearance parked where he is in the middle of the road.
It’s too dangerous.
If I stop to help help this man, what will happen to me? I shook my head, and then it hit me. I was on the road to Jericho. No, I think, if I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?
He is in the middle of the road, there is traffic all around. If he slips, if a car passes too close… what would happen to him if I’m not there to help?
I wheeled around and pulled up in where he was. I stepped out of the car and asked him if he needed a hand. He didn’t really, but "Thank you," he said.
He was finishing up, but I told him I’d stand and watch for cars. I’m tall and hard to miss. I’ll make sure that the cars see you here.
Again, he thanked me. I said I wished I could have gotten there sooner to help, because this thing has happened to me many times. He tightened the lugs and stood up. I shook his hand and wished him a good day. We got into our cars and drove off.
I know I didn’t really do anything physically helpful. Would that I had arrived earlier, but I suppose, with all the cars passing by barely noticing a fellow, my presence was lifting. You’re not alone, hermano. If anything, there was someone today looking out for you on the road to Jericho.
And here’s why:
First, I know he’s not going to enter into illegal wars. I also like the idea that a leader isn’t the doer-in-chief. He seems to realize that change comes from the bottom up, and that it is the role of the leader to inspire, nurture, or not get in the way.
I like that.
I also don’t think he has a problem sitting down at the table with Iran, Venezuela, North Korea and having a talk. How can we turn down the tension, he would ask? He realizes the strong nation reaches out, makes concessions, looks for peace, and isn’t afraid of diplomacy. It is the weak nation that stonewalls dialog, refuses to listen, and uses the thread of force as a weapon of first resort.
When I picked up my little dog Billy from the street, he was a nervous little crazy nut. He was nippy and erratic, a little lunatic. I reacted to him with anger and authority. I tried to cow him into compliance. It just made him more insane. Then I realized if I spoke softly to him, stroked him gently, put myself on an even plane with him, he was much more reasonable. It didn’t take anything away from me. I knew I was still in charge, but if I could make him feel like he was a little bit more in control of his domain, it made all the difference.
I think Obama understands that. He’s multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, well traveled. I think those things give you a perspective on the world that makes you less afraid.
I’ve had discussions about the "illegals problem" I always ask what is this problem? It doesn’t seem to be a problem to me. At some point, the erosion of the English language is mentioned. I would ask again "Okay, so what is the ‘language problem’? What is this problem? I need to know, because it doesn’t seem to be a problem to me." Thinking the "problem" self-evident, we end up devolving into game saying and catch phrases gleaned from talk radio, until finally when all is exhausted, out comes the final appeal to authority,"they broke the law."
But it’s just fear, fear that they are bad, and they are bad because you don’t understand them. I get the impression from Obama, that he sees lack of understanding as an opportunity to understand. He may not be fully informed on all issues, but he’s not fearful about getting to know them. He might not speak Spanish, or Farsi, or Arabic, but I think he’s willing to accept that those people are just like our people. We aren’t that different. And we shouldn’t be afraid.
That’s the key. I’m sick and tired of politicians pandering to fear. Elect the Dems and it’s a vote for terror! Elect the Dems and dirty Mexicans will overrun the border, take your jobs, and marry your daughter! Elect the Dems and the economy will stagnate further, turn to socialism and your lives will be over… or worse, be like Europe.
Bah! Obama says, your future can be as bright as you want it to be. He says, I’m not going to pander to your fears. I’m going to be fearless. I’m going to be a black man running for president in a still decidedly racist country. I’m not afraid. You shouldn’t be either.
What the republicans won’t tell you, and this is their dirty little secret: Lowering taxes does not help the economy. Raising them doesn’t either, but that’s neither here nor there. The secret is this: hope builds the economy. When people have hope, when they see a future that looks bright, they create. They build. They grow. That is why the economy booms. Right now the economy is in the tank because people are afraid, and the current leadership doesn’t want to give up that tool of oppression and control. A vote for McCain is a vote for fear, a vote for more foreign wars, more erosion of the Constitution, and a continued lessening of the collective national spirit.
Obama, I think, has this idealistic, audacious child-like hope, not dashed by fear, not crushed under the heal of bureaucracy. The grownups at the table might snicker at his audacity, "Son, you just don’t get how the world works, do you? Let the grown-ups handle things, okay?"
Obama, "And how’s that been going, hmm?"
"Javier, come here, little boy. You need supervision. I’m tired of you getting into things!"
"I not a super hero."
"Huh?" What could he be saying, I thought.
"I not super vision. Not super hero."
"Haha, no, Javier, you’re not going to get super vision. Hehe, you crack me up."
"I funny, daddy, yeah?"
"Yes, Javier."
I was surprised to find out today that Barack Obama isn’t being truthful about his Iraq War Voting record. I know I know, I’m bummed. I liked the guy. Up until today I would have supported him. Maybe I still do. But I’m not so sure anymore. How can people be so disingenuous about such big issues? And why has no one else mentioned this.
Barack Obama may have opposed the war in 2003, but he never voted against it. What?! You heard me right. He never actually voted against it. Why? How? Wha?
He didn’t vote against the war, because he didn’t become a senator until 2005, that’s why. When the debate and vote on whether or not there were weapons of mass destruction, or whether or not we would go to war with Iraq, Barack Obama was a state representative (local state politician, not national), for the 13th District of Illinois. He wasn’t there. He was just a twinkle in his Senate seat’s pants.
What!? How could this be? Haven’t we heard about how he was right from day one. What was day one for him? How can you be right from day one when your day one didn’t start until January of 2005?
If we are going to elect people on their ability to be "right" then elect me. I said in 2002 there were no weapons of mass destruction. I said we shouldn’t have gone in. Check this post. I wrote that back in March of 2003. I knew it was wrong. Props for Obama as an armchair foreign policy quarterback, but it sure as hell isn’t anything upon which to base your complete campaign.
I like the guy, but if he wasn’t a member of Congress, he had nothing to lose by taking that position. I had nothing to lose. I had no authority. He had no authority. I had no access to classified intelligence. He had no access to classified intelligence.
Now, as far as I’m concerned, Obama based his opposition to the war on a hunch.
Sounds remarkably like our current president, doesn’t it?
Sorry I haven’t kept up. It’s always a pain to get it going here after a long vacation.
For some reason all the momentum that I had heading into the holidays was just eaten up by a soft mushy substance. We refer to it in engineering as a dampening material. You rush with great speed into this pool of sticky stuff. You collide with it at high speed and a single stupid low amplitude undulating wave makes its way only a few feet before it subsides, dragged back to the depths. Some small perturbations emanate outward and dissipate in soft waves through the viscous liquid, but if they have any affect at all, it is only to increase the temperature imperceptibly.
You get extracted out of your normal flow and life just seems to slow down. It slows down to the point where you’re like a fly caught in amber, stuck solid.
That’s where I am now, stuck to the trunk in tree sap. Get a little stick and pick me out, will you?
We’re all back in Puerto Rico now, trying to get back into the routine. There’s lots of work to do. I’ve got a couple of posts in my drafts, but I have to clean them up a bit. They need a lot of proof reading. I really don’t know what my deal is. Perhaps I need more alcohol or something. Coffee makes me edgy and difficult, but alcohol seems to release the inner joy.
Sigh. Here’s to some inebriated posting in the near future.
I had been itching to do some artwork for a Christmas card, both for personal and our company, Altamente. I tried a bunch of things, but I settled on this: 
We did a short run at a local printer. Turned out very nicely. I printed the friends/family one at Shutterfly. I ended up being happier with the local printer. Next time…
I wanted something that was typical to Puerto Rico, communicated home, holidays, but wasn’t wintery or traditional. It would be silly, of course, since we live in the tropics. Not all Christmas seasons are winter wonderlands. Personally, I’m not too keen on religious themes either. Not that I don’t like them, it’s just that their export is not as easy as one would believe when your clients (this card above) and friends (another card that doesn’t have the "Altamente" logo) are all over the map. I wanted them to get a card that they could happily put on their wall and enjoy, something different but cool. It turned out nicely, I think.
May we open the door to the hope that
is reborn during Christmas.
That 2008 be a year
where social commitment
and excellence are
the foundation of prosperity.
These are our most sincere wishes,
It sounds nicer in Spanish. Laura came up with that text. I used a font called BernhardMod BT. I liked the way the taller letters and capitals are much taller than the lowercase. There was something about this serif font that evoked elegance and an Old World feel.
Typical Door
Spanish Colonial Style
Old San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Taken from this photograph by me.
I always snap pictures of these doors in Old San Juan. Anyway, I did the drawing in Inkscape and print layout in Scribus.
A short skit to read in the style of Monty Python’s Cheese Shop
Bush: As a member of the axis of evil and state sponsor of terrorism, Iran is actively seeking nuculer weapons.
Press: Do you have proof?
Bush: Why of course we have proof. It’s how this administration operates. We operate in the realm of truth. Truth is – well – truth. If it wasn’t truth, it would be lies, and we do not lie.
Press: May we see it? This proof?
Bush: Well, it’s classified, but trust me. We have it.
Press: Well, I have here in my hand an intelligence report which details that Iran stopped its nuclear program in 2003.
Bush: Ah, I see. Well, there is that, I suppose. But I’m afraid it’s a bit overstated. You see. They WERE actively seeking weapons of mass destruction and may do so again. If they restart, which is probable, they could have them in a few years. They could then use them to attack.
Press: You just told us that they were actively engaged in a program to build nuclear weapons. We now find out that they stopped and are not seeking to build nuclear weapons. How is that truth?
Bush: Ah, well, I did say that, didn’t I. Look, this President defines "thinking about building nuclear weapons" as part of the process of obtaining nuclear weapons. You see, you have to think about it. That’s research. Some of that research could go on in the heads of scientists. Who am I to say that they are not thinking about it actively right now? Can you say what they are thinking about? They could be thinking about it. And that’s enough for me. It could be a threat to the US or our interests if the Iranians are thinking about building a nuclear weapon.
Press: …
Bush: You see. Thought leads to action. If you are thinking about something, then you are actively engaged in the process of doing it. It is my job as Commander in Chief to head off these programs of thought that exist to destroy the United States. Would you rather that we go about our business while they think their dirty little terrorist thoughts? I don’t think so. That is why I reserve the right to think about attacking Iran for their dirty little thoughts.
You have been good to me all these years. I purchased you in the fall of 1993 in Maryland while I was attending my Army Officer Basic Course at Aberdeen Proving Grounds. During that time, we toured the Chesapeake, navigating the hidden inlets, enjoying the beautiful fall colors. There was such a rush of freedom and headiness in those early weeks that I got carried away and wiped out. You carried a ding in the top tube until the very end.
Later I moved to Boston and commuted to work from Mass Ave, left on Commonwealth Ave and straight on out to Brighton (if I recall correctly). I lived in an Apartment in the South End, and you were my ride. Life was good. I had my panniers, a Star Market 20 minutes away (kept me in shape), and a beautiful town. I used to tool around the city on weekends, making sure to take in the way along the Charles River.
Next we went west, San Francisco, Noe Valley… way the hell up in the clouds. It seemed we lived on a 90 degree grade. Those were the times I was in the best shape of my life. If only I was still competing, I lamented. Those San Francisco hills exacted a heavy toll from my ride to the 24th Street Bart Station Embarcadero Bart Station. Okay it wasn’t to the Bart Station, because duh, that was downhill, but coming home, the ride was brutal. Sometimes (err… frequently) I would wimp-out and ride the bus. I still did my shopping and around town errands on two wheels. Good times, those were.
After Laura and I got married, we moved to Oakland. We got a place on Lake Merritt. Here’s a shot I took back in the day. Beautiful. I loved Oakland.
I used to ride my bike to the nearest Bart Station and catch the train to San Leandro. There was no shower at my workplace, so pedaling to work was not a viable option. I’d ride home though. It was a good way to finish the day. I’d stop off in a park in Lake Merritt and do some pull-ups, push-ups. Then I’d go for a 3 or 4 mile run with the neighbor.
1996 rolled around and we were off to live in Spain. My bicycle got to pedal around the Basque Country, the south of France, and even a stage in the Tour de France in 1997. We did the first stage of the Pyrenees. The ride wasn’t so bad, but I got the worst sunburn of my life. Ouch.
I took classes in Spanish at the university in San Sebastian. Rode my bike.
I did some of the shopping on my bike.
And I rode for fun. It was always fun, even in the rain and the chill.
Around this time, the paint was looking a bit ratty, so my friend Iker and I cooked up a paint plan. I worked in their little bike workshop (avid racers all) removing the paint bit by bit with some sort of sulphuric acid compound. Later, the father of Mari Fran (Iker’s girlfriend), sweet man that he was, did an awesome paint job with in a metallic forest green. Iker and I drew and cut out some vinyl lettering that read "Askatasuna" or "Liberty" in the Basque Language. It’s a political slogan, but I latched on to it because my bicycle has always been my liberty.
We left Spain in 1998 and came to Puerto Rico. My bicycle has continued to serve me well since that time, but alas, the brutal heat and humidity, salty air, and my prodigious quantity of sweat had caused my Liberty to develop this:
I discovered the hole while I was scraping the paint. This August I attempted to patch areas of, what I thought were, surface rust. The problem went way beyond the surface, though. Now, I know this looks bad, but I still had to go for my morning ride. There were eggs, milk, diapers to be bought. I wasn’t going to let a little structural deficiency stop me. I will continue to ride you, Mr. Bike, while I cobble together parts for a transplant. Besides, if I remember my engineering properly, the top tube resists a compression force, not really any shear force. It should be good, I hope.
Good God, what was I thinking?! I am an idiot. You see? This evidence reveals two important aspects of my personality: I love my bike… can’t get enough riding, AND I can’t throw shit away. Sigh. By the last two days of its existence, the frame was making strange noises like those in a disaster movie.
"Did you hear that?" an unsuspecting character asks.
"Hear what?"
BAM! – the walk way collapses, the wing snaps in two, the floor crumbles, the wheels fly off, or cargo bay 14 decompresses violently.
Fortunately for me, Ebay came to my assistance in the purchase of the following (including shipping):
I bought some cables and housing at my local bike shop. Actually, I tried to get all of it at my local bike shop, but they never had anything. I’d rather buy local, but everything I needed/wanted was old-school. Ebay is the only place you can find vintage new old parts. Anyway, for around $300, I built a new (mostly new anyway) bike. And it’s just the way I want it.
Lovely, just lovely. I saved the thumb shifters because Jose Mari, Iker’s father and fellow hardcore bicycle enthusiast, once told me, "Those thumb shifters are the single greatest piece of equipment to ever come out of Shimano." The thumb shifters are dead simple, convenient to use, durable, and work well. I agree, but I also keep them around because every time I look at them, I now think of Jose Mari and his general loving adoration of bicycle equipment. Gets you right there, it does. Brings a smile to my face.
I also saved the brake calipers and cantilevers. They’re aluminum and pitted a bit but still work as well as the day they were new. Maybe I’ll change them at some point, but for now, they work just fine.
Now, after this little eulogy, and nearly 75,000 miles in nearly 15 years, I bid my former ride a fond farewell.
I know I am a dork.
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