Ten Simple Contributions You can Make to Reduce Global Warming

We are living in troubling times. Global Warming is real, and the world's resources are rapidly dwindling down to alarming levels. Below is an article I wrote listing some simple things each of us can do to help reverse the global climate changes that are threatening our way of life. One person at a time we can make a difference if we embrace the concept that less is more.

Scientists estimate that Glacier National Park in Montana will not have a single glacier left by 2030. Scary thought that a National Park, and its singular attraction will disappear from the face of the earth in what amounts to the blink of an eye if we do not change our ways, take steps to reduce dramatic climate changes being brought on by Global Warming. Change starts at home, especially here in America. We make up 22 percent of the world's population, yet account for 22 percent of all Green House gas emissions. Each of us, doing our own part can effect positive changes that will begin reducing Green House gases, and in turn, reversing the harmful effects being wrought by Global Warming. Below is a top ten list of simple steps you can take to be a part of the solution.

Recycle/Freecycle

Recycling is simple, and something we can do everyday. One ton of recycled paper saves 17 trees and 7,000 gallons of water. Trees act as natural scrubbers, actively removing CO2 from the atmosphere, sequestering it from doing harm. Recycling one aluminum can saves enough energy to power a television for three hours. Freecycling works the same way, but amounts to giving away to friends, family or charity things you no longer use or need, rather than throwing them away and seeing them end up in a landfill.

Buy and Shop Locally

The average meal on the American table travels more than 1,200 miles all the while using precious energy, adding CO2 the environment, and increasing our personal carbon footprint. Make an effort to buy products that are locally produced.

Eat Less Meat (Notice I do not say, "eat no meat"...I like my steak.)

Raising, Slaughtering and transporting Livestock is responsible for 18 percent of global warming emissions. Also, the millions of cattle raised around the world release vast quantities of methane, a powerful greenhouse gas. Limiting meat consumption will encourage smaller herds, which will help cool our planet.

Bike Instead of Ride

You keep one pound of CO2 out of the environment for every mile you don't drive. Additionally, biking will lead to increased health and vitality.

Demand Change

Demand that your elected leaders make the climate a priority, locally, at the state level, and nationally. Politicians are greening their speeches, we now have to hold their feet to the fire so they green their actions and votes.

Lights Off

Turn your lights off every time you leave a room. You will be surprised at the energy you save.

Drink Tap

Bottled water creates over 1.5 million tons of plastic waste each year, which takes about 47 million gallons of oil to produce. Stop buying bottled water and instead filter your tap water.

Unplug

Deliberate or not, many of today's modern appliances and gadgets (their chargers) are energy thieves contributing to Global Warming. Appliances and chargers (including MP3 player and cell phone chargers) drain electricity, even when they're not in use. Forty percent of home energy is used to power devices that are turned off. Using power strips, unplugging unnecessary electronics when not in use can save a great deal of money and energy.

Go Organic

Organic agriculture produces soil excellent at storing carbon, keeping it out of the atmosphere. Organic fields are more resistant to droughts and flood than conventional fields. Purchasing organic supports increase of organic acreage keeping CO2 out of the atmosphere.

Switch

Compact fluorescent light bulbs (CFL) last 12 times longer than incandescent bulbs. If every home in America switched one incandescent bulb to a CFL, it would be equivalent to taking one million cars off the roads. LED's promise even greater savings, promise greater CO2 reductions.

We all can contribute our share to fighting global warming, and these ten simple steps will make a difference if embraced and practiced by all of us. If we do our part, we can create a healthy, thriving, green eco-friendly planet for generations to come. Scientists agree, for the world to continue living comfortably on our planet, we must reduce carbon emissions by 80 percent before 2050. It is an attainable goal if we all do our part. No one can do everything, but everyone can do something.

The History These Eyes Have Seen

Sitting here at almost five in the A.M. watching the New York Philharmonic performing in Pyongyang-North Korea on CNN, watching yet again as history is made right before my eyes. Spellbound as the cameras zoom through those assembled, mesmerized as one woman uses a hankie to hide her tears, amused at some of the men sitting so stoically still, pretending to be nonplused at this spectacle, unaffected at the history occurring right before their eyes. As the flutes add their voice to the chorus I find myself looking back upon my own life, remembering the times I've sat before my television watching as history occurred right before my eyes.

Perhaps the most vivid recollection I have of history being made was, is and shall continue to be the assassination of John F. Kennedy. I was in first grade at the time, Miss David my teacher. Coming back in from beating the erasers on the bricks of the building, walking past the principals office I saw everyone huddled around a black and white TV, heard the announcer (Walter Cronkite) state that the President had been shot.

I continue down the hall into our classroom and blurted out my news, "The President's been shot!" Miss David was furious at me, shouted out, "That's not funny YOUNG MAN, you're going to the principles office." She crabbed my arm and started dragging me down the hall when the principal came over the PA system, "School is dismissed for the day, please prepare to go to the buses, the President, John F. Kennedy has been shot. Miss David dropped to her knees as she shouted Oh My God, then tears rushing to her eyes started saying over and over again, "I'm sorry" as she held me in her arms crying softly.

When we arrived home both my parents were huddled around the black and white television we had, both of them weeping...it was the first time I'd ever seen my father cry.

There was the death of Martin Luther King, and then Robert Kennedy...that one really hit home with me because I was a fan of Rosie Greer...seeing that huge, hulking football player openly weeping, tears rolling down his cheeks hit me hard, made it far more personal to me than when John F. Kennedy had fallen, even though I'd shaken the man's hand when I was four years old.

Vietnam was brought right into our living rooms on a nightly basis, and a great rift began to divide our family, my parents clinging to their patriotic ways, my older brother and I listening to our Beatles music and questioning not only the war, but our government. Two opposing emotions existed with Woodstock, and the Apollo landing on the moon. It was FAR OUT to think we had just landed a man on the moon, there was a pride in our nation that perhaps counter balanced our hatred of a war we had come to believe was wrong.

I grew up on John Wayne and Shirley Temple, both a constant staple on Saturday afternoons. In my 20's I sat in a bar and wept when the television announced his death. Was not sure why his death affected me so at the time, but looking back, think John Wayne and Shirley Temple represented everything we had been raised to believe America stood for. There was my summer in Portland, Maine and learning the night before I was to see him in concert that Elvis Presley had died, just another in a long line of musical greats who perished from this world. (Janis Joplin, Hendrix, Buddy Holly)

There were lesser events, important to me, but in the big picture of the world insignificant pop culture events. The last episode of MASH, finding me crying at the end of a show and the lose of a cast I had come to love. Sitting in our college bar drinking JR Ewing beer and placing bets on who shot JR...all these years later, almost embarrassed to admit I can't remember.

There was Hinckley's attempt on President Reagan, an event that scarcely registered in my mind as a significant event, perhaps because I never really like the man, found his politics distasteful...blasphemy I know. There were the two space shuttle tragedies, both finding me weeping in my living room as I watched every moment on my personal silver screen, again history unraveling right before my eyes.

No event in history affected me more than 9/11, watching the towers collapse dropped me too my knees as a scream escaped from deep within. For almost two weeks I went almost totally without sleep, watching each painful moment of our nation's greatest singular moment of pain...my lord, why has thou forsaken me. Now, almost seven years later life has not returned to normal, our American psyche seems almost incapable of bouncing back, our swagger gone. Where is John Wayne when you need him, does any one else remember him in, "The Green Beret"?

Television has changed the world, brought history into our living rooms, and made us a part of it as it happens in the right here and now. This morning, while others sleep I've watched it occur once again half a world away in Pyongyang-North Korea.

Shared Tears

One petal dangled from the wilting rose, barely maintaining its tenuous connection to the flower. Marilyn, her honey blond locks blowing in the gentle winter wind knelt down to caress the singular petal, a single tear staining the beauty of her face as it slid down her rosy cheek. As I often did, I watched her silent vigil, smiled as she deftly brushed the snow off the few remaining leaves of the long stemmed tea rose clinging to life in the garden beside her house. This day the overnight snow kept me from going out to say hello, looking up she waved at me, knowing I would be there watching, sharing in her routine.

She pulled the zip lock bag out of her coat pocket; sprinkled yesterdays coffee grinds around the base of the bush, dusted the snow off her gloved hands, the flakes sparkling in the crisp morning sunlight as they drifted back down to earth like diamonds shared from heaven. Wiping her tears away she tenderly kissed the tenacious petal and turned to head back indoors.

Taking my cue I went into the kitchen, putting water on to boil. Set up two cups, two saucers, got the Chamomile tea and honey out of the cupboard, placed the last of the Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Delights on a plate and placed them on the tray standing sentry on the counter top. The shrill sound of the whistling tea kettle let me know the water was ready, interrupted my reverie of that day not so long ago. Carefully I placed one tea bag in each cup, gingerly added a generous dollop of honey, and added the water to steep just as the doorbell rang.

I gracefully maneuvered my wheelchair through recently widened doorways of my home to the entry hall, careful not to bump anything along the way. Opening the door I let Marilynn in, she warmly smiled before bending down to give me a gentle peck on my cheek.

This was part of our shared routine.

Neither of us spoke as she whisked past me into the kitchen, I close behind. I watched as she slipped off her coat, watched as she placed cups on the tray and carried everything out to my sun room, placed it all on the table where we both could peer out through the window, see the rose bush her husband had planted two summers ago while home on leave.

She spoke first, asked me how my therapy was going, the usual small chit chat as we nibbled our cookies, sipped our tea. Her strength always amazed me, her will to carry on helping me in my own path of healing, my quest to again be whole. I listened, watched for the tears I knew would come. She glanced out the window at her rose bush, the one I'd help Rob pick out at the nursery down the road as a gift for their third anniversary.

Turning back, that singular tear again rolling down her cheek she smiled weakly and then began too speak, "Tell me again about the roadside bomb, I need to hear again the last words he spoke to you as you held him in your arms."

A Photographer is Born

One petal dangled from the wilting rose, barely maintaining its tenuous connection to the flower. Snow blanketed the few wilted leaves, a mottled green leaf edge glistening in the few rays peeking out from the billowy gray clouds. I'd spied the flower from my dining room window, knew it would make a great photograph, had grabbed my camera, slipped on my coat and headed outside as I'd done so many times before. At 47 I'd given up the dream of being a professional photographer, but old habits were hard to break, and being behind a lens was part of me.

As I was framing the shot, figuring out the angle Randy, the six year old in the house next door came running around the corner squealing in joy at being outside in the snow, his bright yellow boots, dazzling hot blue scarf and green winter coat a rainbow of movement as he approached. He slowed, and then stopped a few feet away watching as I went about the task of taking a picture. As I stood up he approached as he always did to say hello.

"Hi Patty, what are you doing?"

"Hi Randy, how are you on this beautiful day?"

"I'm fine, what are you doing?"

"I was just taking a picture of this flower Randy."

"Can I try?"

My first impulse was to find some excuse any excuse to say no, make my apologies, perhaps promise him an opportunity on some other day and get back into the warmth of my house, pour myself a second cup of much needed coffee. Just before I spoke I looked up into his face; saw his pleading eyes, his hopeful look of anticipation at learning something new.

"Sure, I'll let you take one picture."

With a shouted, "MOM, Patty is going to let me take a picture!", he took off on a run to the shared gate that separated our yards, slipping and laughing with glee the entire way. As he raced towards me he went into a deliberate baseball slide and stopped inches from bowling me over, then popping up like a Jack-In-The-Box began dusting the snow off his coat looking proud as a peacock at his antics. I smiled in spite of myself, marveled at his ability to squeeze every ounce of fun that he could find out of the day.

"So, how do I take a picture?"

Crouching down to his level I carefully explained how the camera worked, showed him which button to push to capture the shot, provided a brief explanation of the things he should look for in choosing a subject for his picture, then carefully slipped the camera over his knitted hat and around his neck.

"So, are you ready to be a photographer Randy?"

I watched as he gingerly lifted the camera into his small hands, watched as he examined it with a sense of wonder. "I push this button?"

"That's right Randy; you are a very good listener. So, what do you want to take a picture of?"

"I don't know, can we walk around the yard and find something?"

"Sure"

With that, Randy carefully headed back to the gate and on into his back yard, I following behind, watching as he went about his task. He would stop, carefully raise the camera to have a look, and then move on. He finally stopped at a bird bath that had been tucked into the Lilac bushes for its winter rest, snow frozen in its bowl. Again he raised the camera to his eyes, not satisfied he crouched down, looked at his chosen subject from a different angle and pushed the button capturing his prize.

"Would you like to take another?"

The smile bursting across his face told me another life long photographer had just been born.

Magicial Creatures in The Woods?

I tend to read a lot of fantasy, Robert Jordan a favorite author, Terry Goodkind another. I plead guilty to adoring Harry Potter. Pixies, trolls, fairies, dragons and other magical beasts of lore are make believe...or are they? I tend to think of them as ancients, actually spend time wondering if we are just to blind to see them in their homes. What if this land of make believe isn't so make believe at all, what if there really is and ancient energy force we've simply lost track of? This next small essay is a true story from my days out in California...maybe there is some magic after all.

Fairy Rings and Listening to the Ancients

So many manuscripts had spoken of them, I'd from time to time heard the stories, would never have dreamt I'd actually stumble upon one in this life. Yet I have been blessed with stumbling upon a fully complete and beautiful fairy ring, the mushrooms forming a perfect circle in which fairies are rumored to belong, where fables and stories spoke of passer bys enticed to dance their live?s away.

It was an early morning, the dew still fresh upon the grass, as I made my way along a gently sloping hillside away from my camp. I was Working my way up towards a grove of trees before the heat of the day made hiking to difficult and hot. As I topped a gently sloping meadow there it was, small purple and white wild flowers danced across the entire hillside, Golden rod gently waving in the breeze, at midpoint between myself and the line of trees, each blade of grass sparkling in the early morning rays of sun as if sprinkled with a billion zillion diamonds, and in the center of it all was a perfectly formed circle of mushrooms of varying shapes and sizes beckoning me to step inside...you could sense the magic, you could almost hear the gentle beat of drums as I grouched just outside, too timid or maybe leery to step inside. I?d read the rules, knew the story well and could not take the risk of forever dancing my life away at the start of such a perfect day.

Emotions flooded across my mind, tears of wonder washed across my eyes. I stopped just along the perimeter of this ancient magical circle and sat as peace and love washed across my soul...the magic was there and in some special way I was being blessed by the cosmos, a gift being shared from the wee folk that people insist are make believe. That morning, sitting outside this ring in a meadow of wild flowers I wondered. That morning, the sun's rays washing away the pains, I felt a purity, would swear to this day I heard voices whispering to my soul.

Eventually I made my way on up the hill and moved down the other side to spend the day soaking in the sun at Stenson's Beach before climbing my way back in the waning moments of dusk to my campsite. Coming back down and around the hillside my circle was gone, not a singular mushroom to be found...magic is a strange and mysterious force choosing where and how it will be seen or felt and by whom. Did I miss a chance by not stepping inside...I'll never know, but I do know there was magic in that field.

Where I Am From

" Where I am From". For some of us, where we are from cannot be written in one verse, a few stanzas of words spilled upon a page...we can though open a door into the mystery, share a part of the darkness that we've left behind in walking towards the light.

Where I am From
Darkness Into Light

There are voices I remember
"old song lyrics"
shelter from the pain
truth from youth
~~~~~
I still remember mother's Lemon Meringue Pie
You could smell it throughout the house
She always baked two of them
One for church, one for the family table
It was safer that way

Baking cookies for Christmas
Hungarian Butterhorns
each carefully accounted for
They were Dad's favorite
He had best get his fair share

There were rules to follow
To this day, I remember them well
Don't eat with your mouth open
Sit up straight
Get your ass downstairs

You could beg, plead and cry
It did not matter what you said
You again had broken a rule
You had to be punished
The beating was about to begin

The basement was a dark place
the coal room darker still
The rules were simple
You'd best be naked
Before he towered over you

Why do you make me do this?
You know the fucking rules
Hold your hands out straight
God I hate this
But you need to learn

Long after he had left
Mother would come down
Gather me in her arms
Upstairs I was bathed
Lotion applied to bruises

Black and Blue
I was tucked in bed
You know he loves you
He does it for your own good
Good night mom, I love you too.

Laying there in the darkness
a small child whimpered
later the pain would come
it was part of the learning
A part of Father's great plan

Just one small boy all alone
whispering under the covers

I'm sorry Daddy
I'll do better
I love you Daddy
I promise to behave
I won't do it again

Pushing Limits of Comedy-God The Father, Son and Holy Smoke

When I meet people for the first time, I try to let them know up front that I am NOT politically correct, and have a cutting edge sense of humor where nothing is sacred. With that thought in your mind, I give you a small essay on God and Death...hope you find a laugh or two in its reading.

On Death and Religion:

When you get to be my age you start thinking of death…No, I'm SERIOUS, and it's not funny. Of course, you start thinking about death, and you start thinking about religion. They just sort of go together, like Love and Marriage. That whole after life thing is a long time, I mean eternity never ends, and not sure we get a do over either, which is what gets you to thinking about that whole damn God thing.

So, I start thinking about religion, and that gets confusing, there's just so God Damn many of them to chose from…forgive me father for I have sinned. Seriously though, you got your Christians, your Jews, Muslims practicing Islam, or is it the other way around, and lets not forget about Buda, There's the Shinto, the Baptist, Episcopalians, and you cannot leave out the Wicca and Pagan crowd, and last but not least, we have to include Alito and the Catholic crowd who you can usually find standing just outside of a Planned Parenthood office just down the street from the Starbucks, and Gap outlet store.

Then each religion seems to have a bunch of off shoot factions, and I do mean factions within it, each waging war to prove theirs is the one true God. Bunch of Christians sitting in a Denny's arguing late at night, 12 fat chicks eating double chocolate fudge sundaes.

"I'm a Christian."

"So, I'm a born again Christian!"

"So who cares, I'm going to heaven" says another, "After all, I am a spirit filled born again Christian"

"Can you speak in tongues, that's THE GIFT of the Holy Spirit."

From two tables away you hear, "Who the fuck cares, shut up and eat your God Damned hash browns."

Denny's is bad, but don't even go into a Waffle House after midnight unless you like reading pamphlets and being witnessed to by three old drunk chicks and a former biker who swears he saw God one night while tripping on LSD…far out man.

The whole Muslim/Islamic crowd is just as confusing and divisive. You have your conservative Islam's, the moderates, then you have those radical Islamic folks, and lets not forget the rabid fanatical fundamentalist Islamic Muslim crowd who seem to have a passion for blowing up cars and themselves. Oh, stop your groaning, the Catholics are even worse, and I am not one to be politically correct.

Gays are in, gays are out, and if we are talking about gays, it must be the Catholic's turn. Let's look the other way about pedophiles, no lets don't, fuck, why couldn't Father John just have had an affair…Oh never mind, he did that with parishioner Bob's wife and they gave birth to a beautiful bastard child they named Mary. OK, no more gays in the ministry, but lets not issue any edicts about pedophiles and sex with married women who are feeling lonely in the confessional. Have to love that new Pope, banning gays from the church while running around the globe in bright red Prada shoes. What's that ALL ABOUT, and have you seen the cute young assistant he has, wearing his own styling pair of shoes? Seriously, the Pope needs to learn that little knowing wink George Bush uses if he is going to be wearing those kinds of shoes. Kiss, but don't tell, it's Gospel for the military crowd.

I like the idea of picking and choosing from the proverbial buffet table of religion, a smorgasbord of choices. I'll have one from here, and two from there…really like the Southern Baptist theory of once saved always saved.

"Come on Johnny, let us dunk you in the water, you accept the holy ghost, then we can all go out, get a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and drive around in the pick up truck tipping cows."

"At two in the morning we are going to meet up with the girl's from the choir at Denny's, and trust me, that is a whole lot of fun."

"Betty Sue's going to be there; probably wearing that flannel shirt you always like her in Johnny."

The Shinto's have that whole thing of God being in everything, blades of grass, rocks, and the water in the sea. Any one feel like skinny dipping, I think I want to get closer to God. I CAN FEEL THE HOLY SPIRIT WASHING OVER ME! Hallelujah, and THANK YOU JESUS.

Can I have a, "Praise Jesus" from the crowd?"

"Our Heavenly father who art in heaven shallow being thy name, and please can you pass the potatoes, and let's have and Amen so I can commence to carving up this roast."

My wife and I were married five years ago, and not saying we are confused and conflicted, but we had an Episcopal/Pagan ceremony. We were trying to cover all our bases, which make's sense, since we both had been married and divorced once before, could say we wanted to make sure we got it right and left no stone unturned..

She's Italian, I'm German, Dutch, Irish, with just a bit of Basque French, and there are tales of a love affair that made father one quarter Jewish, and to hear Grandmother tell it, it all had something to do with a German Shepard and involved a really big staff. Which just might explain my fetish for short dark haired Jewish women who wear really hot shoes? It's OK though, it works well with my passion for German women who do not shave under their arm pits, and pale skinned red heads with lots of freckles. Of course, being a good old farm boy from the Midwest, let's not forget a brunette with thick lustrous hair braided up in twin pig tails wearing a flannel shirt with a tight pair of blue jeans. I know, getting off track here, but seriously, women are a religious experience, I shout out, "Oh God, I'm Cumming" every time my wife and I make love.

So, how about those Yankee's? The way they have been playing the last couple of years the Yankee's do not have a prayer's chance of making it to the World Series this year. A Sunday afternoon, a double meat Philly steak and cheese hoagie, a bag of chips with a nice icy cold beer watching football, and most men know they have died and gone to heaven. Spring is here, college hoops are moving into that magical time we call March Madness, and I only hope and pray for a miracle, and that my team makes it to the final four.

Another First Chapter Story-Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter

Pitter patter, pitter patter, the rain melodiously drummed against the tin roof as if in tune to the music that was drifting up through the floorboards from the bar downstairs, keeping time to the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour which seemed always playing on the old jukebox that had been there since the day Dark Desire's had opened some fifty years before. Leaning against the rotted slightly musty sill of the open window I pushed back my damp hair as I fetched another cigarette from the rumpled pack of Marlboro's I'd gotten at Chang's Market on my way home. The screeching wail of Nicky the neighborhood's adopted ratty looking tabby cat pierced the night, and smiling I knew spring was fast approaching if she were in heat and being nailed by the tom from two blocks over who belonged to Old Lady McKinnon.

It was a dark foreboding night, the sky a steely solid gray, the lamp posts, buildings and assorted vagrants and vagabonds dark, almost but not quite black silhouettes as they hurried by the solitary light where the alley met the Main Street. The forgotten and lost souls probably hoping against hope that on this sinister night they could find a place out of the wind and rain in the shelter two blocks further down in the basement of a long ago closed Baptist Church. The buses had stopped running hours ago, and taxi drivers avoided the area on a bright sunny day, let alone on a night like this. As I watched the lights approach I assumed the police were making their customary hourly pass by Dark Desires, making sure there was no trouble in the Mayor's favorite secret getaway.

Scratching my head I pulled myself to attention as I watched the long nose of a pitch black Rolls Royce ease itself into my view and stop. I heard a door open, and then a silhouette appeared as a man in trench coat, derby hat and a black umbrella walked over and leaning against the light pole pulled out a cigarette, his face almost but not quite becoming visible as the lighter came to life. It was obvious he was watching, or perhaps looking for something, and instinctively I pulled back stubbing out my cigarette, not wanting to be seen, and sliding down the wall I crouched behind the old tapestry drapes tattered and frayed, watching this figure as he searched, looking from side to side, and up and down the street. I could not make out his features, yet his silhouette was in perfectly crisp detail, I watched as the individual droplets of water gathered upon the brim of his derby catching the light briefly and then blinking out of view as they fell to the ground to find their way to the sea. I could almost make out his eyes each time he took a drag from the cigarette dangling from his lips…he was no doubt reluctant to touch it any more than possible on such an impossibly wet night, and as he searched I watched the cigarette grow shorter and shorter till his gloved hand snatched it and with a flick tossed it deep into the alley acting briefly like a flare before being drown by the rain.

Not sure how much time went by, the lone figure leaning against the lamp post as one cigarette after another appeared and disappeared, my legs aching and beginning to cramp as I knelt there afraid to move, afraid to make a sound through the open window. Magical Mystery Tour had been replaced by Janis Joplin screaming in pain about Bobby McGee, and then replaced by Jimi Hendrix and then a few old Elvis songs and something from Buddy Holly. Glancing down to the old bent fruit box acting as a bedside table the clock told me it was now 3:47 in the AM…odd that the music was still drifting up through the floor boards, but then sometimes special clients were invited to stay long after the doors had been locked and most patrons sent scurrying along their way.

However this was a dark desolate rain filled night, three days before welfare and pension checks came in the mail and the place on most other nights like this would have been all but desolate. If Red had been working she would have invited me down to keep her company, and I would have been happy for the drinks being poured for free. Suddenly the silhouette pushed himself off of the lamp post adjusted the umbrella and disappeared. I heard the car door shut and then the Dark Rolls came briefly into view in the alley and was gone out of sight.

The music was still drifting up through the floorboards and the clock now read 4:03 as I carefully stood up allowing the blood to rush back to my legs. Stretching I reached for another cigarette and striking a match smiled weakly at the trembling fingers trying to hold still. I stared at the alley, looked at the lamp post, finished one and lit another cigarette before deciding to climb out and down the fire escape to have a look.

My feet splashed as I dropped to the alley floor stumbling as I almost fell on the boxes stacked up underneath the grill work I stumbled across and hid in the darkness of the opposite walls. Slowly I slide my fingers along the rough well worn bricks, the water numbing my hands as I crept closer to the light. Just inches from the separation of light and dark on the wall I stopped, trying to slow my breathing and catch my breath. I could see the other side of the street now, a few more feet and the neon light above the door of Dark Desires would be visible to my eyes. For some reason I doubled back along the wall and then crept up the other side to gain some sight of the direction in which the Rolls had driven off.

As I strained my eyes to see through the now pouring rain I was certain the street was empty, and taking a closer look at the street light I noticed a glint and there some two foot from the street drain was a golden lighter. I edged closer, and taking one last glimpse both ways stepped out into the light and retrieved the lighter. It looked expensive, and holding it at just the right angle I saw the initials GHS engraved upon each side. I hurriedly tucked the lighter away and made for the door of the bar to get in out of the rain, and to avoid having anyone see me standing there, or more accurately to have whoever it was that had been standing there return to find me where he had been.

The door to the bar was locked so I scurried back down the alley and up the escape pushing myself through the window just in time as once again lights came traveling down the street as the Black Rolls Royce stopped, its nose just visible in the dim haze from the street lamp as I quickly found my lookout behind the old decrepit drapes.

Again I heard the car door open, watched the lone figure appear, do a thorough search around the pole and then disappear. The car door closed and I watched the Rolls Royce briefly appear before vanishing into the night. I reached across to my bedside table and retrieved another Marlboro, smiling reached into my pocket for the lighter I'd recently retrieved from the street there underneath the lamp post standing guard against the night. I fumbled around and found the top flicking it open and bringing it to life as I inhaled deeply from the smoke. GHS, each initial in the light I could see separated with a diamond, identical on both sides.

The body had been found the next morning just down the street from Dark Desires. I'd been awakened rudely by pounding on the old oaken door that separated me from the rest of the outside world...Anyone in there! Open up, it's the police! Suddenly aware of the shouting I dragged myself awake and mumbled incoherently…be right with you. I reached for another cigarette, took the last one from the pack and tossed it too the floor kicking it under the bed convinced that one day I would take the time to redeem the miles for some fabulous prize to be sent by mail in six to eight weeks. Spying the lighter I lit my last smoke before the long walk to Chang's Market and tucking the lighter safely into my jeans went to open up the door.

"Did you see or hear anything strange last night, what time did you go to bed, did you see anything out of place?"

"Uh…no, why, what's going on officer?"

"Are you sure you did not notice anything out of place?"

"Well, no, not really, just that the music stayed on longer than it usually does on a rainy night in April."

"Here's my card, call me if you think of anything, and don't go anywhere just yet, the detectives want to talk to everyone in the building."

"Can I go get some cigarettes?"

Reaching into his jacket pocket the officer pulled out a crumpled pack of Marlboro's, "No, not just yet, here take these."

Closing the door I fetched another smoke and went to the window to take a look outside…the sun was trying to peek out, but the sky still hung heavy with signs that the rain was not finished dropping and might not be for a few days yet to come. I thought better of using the lighter again and retrieved my matches from the bedside table when there was a second knock at the door. Shaking my head I quickly splashed some water on my face from the sink in the corner of the room shouting I'd be right there.

Opening the door I was pleased to see it was only Red, and letting her in I gave her a hug as her lips found mine, we kissed that deep knowing kiss shared between two lost souls finding company in their shared misery and an occasional romp in the hay. At one time she had been quite the looker, but time,the ravages of a life gone wrong had taken their toll as her once proud breasts sagged as if on a journey to join her knees and her once scarlet mane of hair now more like a discarded rag mop in need of some repair. Yet, she was a friend, or as close to a friend as one could find when living in a flop house above a bar located in the wrong part of town.

Pushing me away she asked, "Have you heard the news yet?"

"No, I just woke up; the police were pounding on my door, why what's going on?"

"The Mayor was found shot dead just down the block early this morning by the trash men making their rounds!"

Thinking to myself…odd, I did not hear a gunshot last night. "Oh MY GOD! You are kidding me right, was he in the bar last night?"

"No, he never made an appearance, but considering the weather we did not give it any thought. Besides, Jake had invited some friends in for the evening and we ended up pouring drinks till almost five this morning. He asked me to work on my night off, and you know I need the money…would have invited you down, but with Jake there, could not be pouring you free drinks at the end of the bar. You got an extra cigarette?"

"Sure."

"Got a light?"

Without thinking I reached into my pocket and produced the gold lighter with the engraved initials.

"Where DID YOU GET THAT?"

"I found it."

"Where?"

"Never mind, just forget you saw it, OK?"

"Sure. Where did you find it?"

"FORGET IT RED, JUST FUCKING FORGET IT. Look, I have to get out of here for a bit…can you stay here and put the detective off if he shows up?"

Not waiting for a response I ducked out on the fire escape and made my way up to the roof and taking off at a run leapt to the adjoining roof and then the next and let myself down onto the street almost a block away. Looking at the almost full pack of cigarettes I decided I could splurge for a cup of coffee and maybe even a morning paper.

I briskly made my way up to 47th Avenue and Market in the wind and tucked into the diner shaking the water from my coat. Sitting down at the peeling and chipped sky blue Formica counter I ordered coffee and taking a survey around was pleased to find a newspaper two seats down…my lucky day. Getting the waitress's attention I splurged and ordered the eggs and toast special for a dollar and ninety nine cents.

Just as I started to read the sports scores I heard the announcer's voice coming from the old black and white Zenith TV that resided over in the corner…we interrupt this program for this special news announcement. The reporters rambled on about what time the body had been found, had interviews with the trash collectors who had happened upon the scene, and there was the detective who wanted to speak with me telling the on scene reporter that so far they had no suspects…I pulled the lighter out of my pocket and stole a quick glance at the initials GHS and quickly put it away as the detective's voice droned on…he was shot twice in the back, it had to be an execution style hit…but there were no gunshots, I know, I was there the whole time…it had to be the person in the black Rolls Royce, but there were no shots…who is GHS?

A Peek Through the Door

I'm not a learned writer, don't really know the rules. Sometimes I write beginnings of a story, then cast them aside trying to concentrate on something else. Other times I jot out quick poems/prose...not sure which of the two they are, only that I need to place the words upon the written page. One day I'll perhaps learn the rules, as I am sure they have a reason for existing, are meant to help guide us along the way. For now, I'll just keep putting words on the page as I uncover the who of me.

A Peek Through The Door

(A story about inner child)

I know I really shouldn't

But sometimes I can't help it

It's safe in here within our room

But sometimes I still have to peek

My hand upon the doorknob

There goes that voice again

"You know you shouldn't"

But I can't help it

Maybe I'll take a little peek?

Growing bolder I slide my hand up

Caressing the jam a bit

Just a peek, no one will know

I know I shouldn't

But I can't help it.

Maybe just a peek.

Slowly I ease the door ajar

Stealing a peek outside

He's standing there watching

Just like I knew he would be

Our guardian gatekeeper

Watching over all of us inside

He hears the creak

Turns to see who's there

A brief stern look

Then that magical smile

He waves me out for a hug

Go back inside now

I'll stand watch out here

You'll be safe forever

Remember, it's always safe inside

And I'll be here guarding

Just outside the door

A Man Writes on the Goddess in Women

My wife was at work a few months ago, called me up to share an invite she'd recieved to attend and event for women to honor the Goddess Within each woman...what a wonderful concept I thought.

Liking the basic premise of such a gathering, I gave voice to this piece, and hope that you all enjoy it as much as my wife did, even if it seems odd to have a man writing it.

Praise of the Goddess within Each of Us

Daily toils, stresses, children and the foibles of a hectic world to often see us as women losing connection with the Goddess which resides within and is a part of the whole we are meant to be. We need reminding of our heavenly and spiritual connection to the cosmos. our oneness with the universal stream of energy which joins each of us singularly and as womankind to the Universe. Today, we are here to remember and pay honor to that special Goddess that is who we are, and who we are meant to be.

A soul laid bare as once again we remember our gossamer wings and with scarcely an effort we take deep breath, eyes closed, our mind's eye focused we lift off into flight, our spirits once again gliding through the heavens as star dust touches and reawakens our hearts to the beauty of who we are, reminds us that we are of and are the Goddess, united in the sisterhood of the heavens.

Be all that we can be, but never lose touch with the temple residing within, find special time, sometimes alone, and sometimes with family or the one you love to honor the Goddess, take time to keep your temple a wondrous and mystical shrine which honors the most important of all things, that which is holy and pure, our Goddess.

Being graced with such a precious gift is an honor, yet with gift and honor comes responsibility…responsibility to hold dear that which is sacred, a responsibility to feed and nourish that which connects you to the heavenly spirits above, a responsibility to remember and pay tribute to yourself, and in that focus life takes on the mystical and magical hues of a rainbow as each day holds a special vivid brightness missing in a shrine that has fallen into disrepair.

Dark paths and sinister plots seem always about, trying to sway us from our Goddess path, the abyss waiting for us to falter, hoping that the light within will fade and wane, leaving us frail, timid and afraid to make a move. Fear not the darkness, fear not those seemingly dark passages through the forest of life, for your spirit will always show you the way back home if you stay focused on the heavenly light, and keep your Goddess Shrine holy and pure. We are one in the sisterhood, one with our creator, one with the heavens from which we have descended, one with the stars that light up the evening sky, guide ships traveling the turbulent oceans we know as life.

We are women; Goddesses placed here on earth for a spell in the hopes that together each of us in our own special way will make Mother Earth and the world a more beautiful place in which to live. In being who we are, in being the Goddesses that the cosmos intended us to be, we have no reason to fear the darkness, because it is we who were chosen to chase away the demons, it is we who were chosen to bring laughter and joy to this world, it is we who were chosen to brighten up those places where even men are afraid to tread.

So today we pay honor to the Goddess that resides within each and every one of us. We pay honor to those Goddesses who came before us, who shared life lessons that only mothers and sisters could share. We offer up thanks to the heavens, and reconnect to that sacred sisterhood that joins us with the skies.

Written in honor of my beautiful wife who is the Goddess whom I adore, Pina (My Sweet Pea).

A tribute to Boo's Mom from Boo's Perspective

This is a sister piece to my own goodbye to Boo that was written to his mother, my wife, from Boo's perspective...enjoy the read.

Saying Goodbye...

This is dedicated to my beautiful, loving, caring wife who gives her all in everything she does, who cares for her/our cats as if they were our children...in some ways, having no kids these little furry balls of love are.

Her Boo, the old man of the lot (eight cats)is going to the great beyond this Saturday, his health issues leaving us no other choice, and that reality has her grieving even now, five days away from the grand goodbye. Boo (his formal name is Deniro) is going to be missed...for as long as I can remember, since I've known her, he's been a fixture in his Mom's life for twice as long as I, he's been there every morning to get his Mom up for work, waited patiently at the foot of our stairs when it was time for bed...even with seven other cats to keep us company, the house is going to seem empty for awhile as we adjust to the new reality of him looking down on her from heaven.

Boo never quite figured out the fine art of typing, though he's spent many hours lounging close to our keyboards, occasionally playing with the mouse. He's one of those cats that has a way of talking to you though, certain meow's, the way he tilts his head, or a gentle pat from his mighty paw. He knows the end is near, it's almost as if his heart is breaking too, not from what is about to come, but for those he has to leave behind. It's important to him, he wants his Mom to know he'll be OK, so this small piece is written from Boo to his one and only Mom, to my own Sweet Pea.

Dearest Mom:

Do you remember the day you brought me home...Wendy is always reminding the two of us that she's the one that brought us together on Richard's first birthday...it's true what she says, but I/we have never needed reminding. Our meeting, my going home with you, it was the way it was supposed to be, our time together written in the stars. I was yours, and you were mine, and that was just the way it had to be.

Though, looking back on those early days, not so sure Chilli agreed at the time, was not overly thrilled at the new arrival of a frisky young male kitten without enough sense to leave her alone. Her and I though...we over time got very close, and though she's gotten cranky in her old age, still respect the who of her, and the things she taught me early on. You take care of her, she'll never let on, but she's going to miss me laying beside her on the sofa.

We've been through quite a lot you and I...remember our BIG MOVE? The new house at the time seemed SO LARGE, but I knew it was where I belonged as soon as I saw our bed up on the second floor, had no doubt that I was at home. Other than occasional guests, for the longest time it was just the three of us. Mom, Chili and Deniro Boo, three peas in a pod. We played, we watched movies, and sometimes when you were feeling blue I'd curl up in your lap and listen for awhile, knowing you needed to talk.

Things changed dramatically for all of us in 2000. I knew something was up when you started spending HOURS upon HOURS chatting on the phone, giggling, laughing and even crying curled up on the sofa, or sometimes up in bed. Then those balloons arrived...do you remember that? It was shortly after that when HE arrived. OK, I can admit I was a bit leery, but you were right, he was a good man, and gave the best hiney rubs a cat could ever have. I began looking forward to his weekly arrivals, and even Chili in her haughty way gave him her tacit approval, though it would be awhile before she gave in completely and curled up in his lap to give his hand a lick.

Of course, that as we both know was just the beginning, and what a whirl wind romance the four of us had. You and he, and I and his cat Muffin...what a delightfully beautiful cat she is, and so kind and affectionate. I took to her right away, but of course you knew that...think we carried on even more than the two of you. Us two couples had a lot in common. I would have loved to have had kittens with her, but that was not to be, though that never stopped the two of us from cuddling, and purring in the middle of the night. I never told you this before, but you have been a GREAT Mom, and a child would have been so lucky to have been born to the two of you.

That first summer as the five of us adjusted, and you two planned the wedding was a hectic time. Dad and I about killed ourselves turning that attic into your bridal salon, and now our Master Bedroom...him staying up till the wee hours of the night, me right there by his side, rubbing up against the fresh wet plaster, and pointing my nose up against the freshly painted walls. Watching him take that old musty space, and converting it into a space with love showed me he was right for you...I'll never forget the night he took you by the hand up to see the room, completely finished down to the dust ruffle on the bed, and plants surrounding the windows, finished off with white lace curtains, and tie backs like I'd never seen.

Your happy tears spoke volumes, and I knew the wedding coming up in just two short days would be a time none of us would forget...though, have to admit I was a bit MIFFED at the fact you two would be leaving us in the hands of a sitter for three weeks while you two love birds ran off to honeymoon in Maui without me! I could understand leaving Chili and Muffin behind, but come on, I worked as hard on that room as Dad did.

You two were barely back home when the new additions arrived! Leave it too Dad to decide we needed her, his and OUR cats...what was he thinking? I was fine with it, but Chili was fit to be tied, and she's attitude enough in the best of circumstances, let alone when suddenly faced with two new kittens running around the house like they owned the place. No one would know it now, but remember how White Snowball was as a kitten? Now, six years later she looks like a fat Siamese! Then we had Checkers...what a wild child he was. It's no wonder he ended up getting Snowball in a motherly way.

I still remember the night the three kittens were born...Dad sure knew his stuff when Snowball was having troubles with the birth. He'd made her a perfect nest upstairs on the bed, and while you snored through the night he helped her give birth to her first little girl that we named Spaz a few weeks later. That's when you burned out Dad's eyes...that was SO FUNNY. He woke you up to see the new baby. He'd been up for almost two days, and you were so excited that you leapt out of bed and threw on the lights. Then came the other two, Shadow Dancer and Ginger. You sure made a fuss over those three wee little kittens, all but mothering them to death.

Remember the morning Snowball had started to move them from the closet downstairs into the kitchen while you were asleep? You were BESIDE YOURSELF, and poor Dad being wakened from the dead of his sleep was the only thing that calmed you down.

From just the three of us, you, Chili and I, our family had grown quite a bit. From three to ten, and all in less than a year. Dad was always projecting, painting walls, moving rooms around, and of course I was there to help.

Yes, Ginger and I fought now and then, but then that is what boys are meant to do...brothers love to fight, but don't kid yourself, we still love each other through and through.

You've been the BEST MOM a cat could ever have, and I need to let you know that. Don't grieve at my passing, as I'll be all right, your Mom will see to that. Know that we'll both be up in heaven, I in her lap, she holding your Father's hand. We'll be fine, the three of us...in fact if you think of it, it'll be like going back to the beginning again and starting all over with just three. From the stories that you have shared of your Mom, have a feeling she'll take care of me just fine until we meet again.

If you are out walking on a summer's evening, I'll be the brightest star in the heavens, winking down at you. When you see that first crocus of the spring, know it was sent from me to you, my way of saying I love you, and that you still are the best Mother a cat could ever have. Don't cry Mom, it's all going to be just fine. I know you'll miss me, but close your eyes and I'll be right there, whispering in your ear. Take care of Dad, you know how he is...give some extra pats to Chili, Spaz, Muffin, Checkers, Shadow Dancer, Snowball, and most of all Ginger, as I know I at times was rough on him. They'll all be wondering where I went, so please tell them that I am just fine...sitting up here in heaven, I'll be watching all of you each and every day.

Angels Keep,
Always Your Loving Son

Deniro

Rainbow Bridge...Dad Says His Goodbye To Boo

The below piece is something I wrote as a tribute to our dearly beloved Boo who passed over Rainbow Bridge going on two years ago...he was a great cat, and is still missed. Was going through a few things I'd written early on in my own attempts at writing and this one seemed worthy of sharing with my readers. There is a sister piece I wrote from Boo's perspective wherein he says goodbye to his mom that I will share in the next post, as I believe in puts things into proper perspective, shares with the readers the special relationship that this cat had, and in some ways still has with him Mom.

The wind whispers through the azalea
Melodious chimes join the lament
The air forlornly heavy in the sky

Early still as tears stain our eyes

They are all aware of the hour today
Shadow peers silently through the window
Chili curled in Boo's special spot

Early still as tears stain our eyes

Checkers wonders, aimless
As if he needs to take inventory
Remembering Boo's special scent

Early still as tears stain our eyes

Snowball lays all alone
Looking out towards heaven
Pensive, reflective, still as stone

Early still as tears stain our eyes

Ginger is out of sight
Unusual in morning light
As if he cannot face this day

Early still as tears stain our eyes

Spaz is behaving
Not at all like who she is
Her playfulness put away today

Early still as tears stain our eyes

Boo lays on the very top stair
Resigned, or perhaps ready to go
A symbolism in his choice of perch

Early still as tears stain our eyes

Mother Pina sits stoic
Holding her emotions in check
Being brave for her loving Boo Boo

Early still as tears stain our eyes

Dad sits here melancholy
Words used for tears to big to cry
spilled out across a silver screen

Early still as tears stain our eyes

110 Minutes remain for him
His time here with us almost done
Goodbye our faithful loving son

Early still, tears spilling out

Hush now the quivering lip
Be brave for a bit longer
The time is ticking down

Rainbow Bridge awaits

I've this week written for Boo, a cat of graceful style with a heart of gold. His love and devotion to his Mom a tribute to her heart which she wears proudly on her sleeve. I've posted pictures, contributed a comment here and there as this time drew ever near...now the fateful day is upon us, high noon oh to close. December 2nd 2006, almost winter with a storm moving closer in on us, yet the sun is bright, temperature almost balmy...almost as if heaven reached in to create one last salute, Boo's perfect day to say goodbye.

Snatches of songs drift in and out between my scarcely hidden tears as they spill out and race down my cheek unimpeded. "Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again." 10:25 on the clock, a milestone as Boo's time is now down to double digits instead of having three. This sorrow is such a burden for one to carry, but he deserves no less than this...be brave one more time old Soldier, your Mom and Boo need your strength in these closing hours, all to fast changing into only minutes, and then all too quickly it will be only Mom as Boo makes his crossing at Rainbow Bridge.

"If I could save time in a bottle, if riches could make dreams come true, I'd save every day until eternity passes and again I would spend them with you."

If you see my Mom in Heaven Boo please tell her that I am fine...tell her not to worry, I'll get through this in time just like I always do. Snoop around and mark a cloud or two, so all the angels in the cosmos know the Piss Man has arrived. Find Pina's father, wrap yourself around his leg to share a purr or two...then leap into her Mother's arms, giving her face a lick. Tell her all about your time on earth...oh, the special times the two of you shall share. As Pina sets you free from here, know her mother's lap is waiting and that you will never be alone.

Hush now baby, don't you cry...

Going to miss you Boo. Who's going to wake up Mom for me when she over sleeps, and I am still in dreamland, trained to ignore the alarm ringing in my ear. Morning coffee will not be the same without your Meow's, your way of saying "Good Morning Dad" and "Can I have my butt rub now?" Who will sit in Daddy's chair, basking in the sun, who will keep me company when I am posting in my blogs?

...And now, the end is near, And so I face the final curtain. Frank Sinatra...in his own way, that was/is our Boo.

It's almost eleven, time to push Pina into the shower...I did not want her to be ready to soon, as this is going to be hard enough without her being dressed all in black to soon. We are in the magic zone, the last hour of Boo's life, and so I close this post, and with its launching into cyber space I say my own goodbye...I love you Boo...BIG BOYS DON'T CRY..BIG BOYS DON'T CRY....

but we do...............so long old fellow, you'll be always in my heart.



Saying Good Bye To The Best Mom A Cat Could Have.

Trail of Nuclear Tears-Exposing Nuclear's Horrid Truth

Indian Point, Unlicensed Abortion Clinic?

Living less than three miles from the antiquated, leaking twin reactors of Indian Point, I am not a big fan of Con Edison, Entergy or nuclear energy. On another blog that is currently inactive I have gone to great lenths to expose the risks of this fatally flawed industry, and American's dangerous aging fleet of nuclear reactors which the NRC (Nuclear Regulatory Commission) has been wrongfully rubberstamping in a fixed (as in rigged) licensing renewal process. My claims that the pro-nuclear side have labeled as the rantings of a mad man are being given a great deal of legitimacy in light of the admissions in the news that Celsium 137 has been leaking into the environment at a long term storage facility in Germany.

In light of this news out of Germany which the American Press is giving little coverage too, feel it appropriate that I share here with my readers a story that I penned much earlier this year on the subject of nuclear power. I give you the article with these final thoughts...nuclear energy in its current form, America's 104 aging reactors are not safe. The NEI (Nuclear Energy Institute) and their talking head Mr. Moore are lying to the citizens of America, the NRC is lying to the people and failing to protect human health and our environment in the name of the nuclear industries profits. We as a nation must take a much more serious look at nuclear before deciding it should play any role in solving Global Warming.

Trail of Nuclear Tears-Exposing Nuclears Horrid Truths

So, the world wants to see a Nuclear Renaissance, believes that nuclear energy is the safe, vital, secure, and Green Energy Source that is going to save us from Global Warming, and give birth to the Hydrogen Economy. Young green hipsters and tricksters in the Green Fashion Industry believe it is so. After all, former Greenpeace founder Patrick Moore tells them so, just like Jesus in "The Bible Tells Us So" song shouted out by the religious right as they warn us about gays, and abortion...harsh comparison I know, but then the five front runners in the Republican race to the Presidency have endorsed nuclear, opposed gays serving in the military, and except for one are against abortion and gay marriage. The Democrats are no better with Clinton and Obama having some very ugly ties to America's two largest nuclear polluters in Exelon and Entergy...shame on them all.

When will we stop believing the 30 second sound bites fed to us on network TV, when will we take the time to educate ourselves before taking a position on any issue? In our convenience driven society where the need for energy rules the day, the citizens of Yuppieville, USA and their 20-30 something children are content to accept on face value the nuclear industry's huge propaganda campaign to sell them on nuclear energy...where is the disconnect, how can almost 70 percent of America oppose the Iraq War, support bringing our troops home, be against the use of depleted uranium, yet believe nuclear energy is safe, vital, secure and green. Don't you realize it's all the same damn thing? If you look at nuclear, if you look at the entire cycle, you have to accept that DOD (Department of Defense), DOE (Department of Energy) and the NRC (Nuclear Regulatory Commission) are all a part of the same train. There is no commercial nuclear industry without its Siamese twin, the military nuclear industry, the two of them joined forever at the hip. Nuclear kills and causes cancers (it is noted here, author wife has breast cancer) at every step of the process, is the most lethal energy source in the universe.

Congressman John Hall in an off the record conversation told one of my anti nuclear friends that he wants to close down Indian Point, but that we have no idea how tied into the Middle East nuclear power was/is. Hall went on further to explain that his access to documents we could not see truly was opening his eyes, and that shutting down any of America's nuclear reactors was not going to be easy because of the situation in the Middle East. Hall was not just speaking of the quagmire that is Iraq, though it was and is a part of it. You see, our Pentagon needs the commercial nuclear industry, and the infrastructure it takes to power it for its own evil purposes, including vast stockpiles of Depleted Uranium, which is used in numerous weaponry to make armor piercing ammunitions and war heads. Our Congress renewed the Price Anderson act because nuclear is not safe, and Wall Street will not touch it without a waiver from liability and loan quarantees.

Going further, George Bush, our government, our military machine opposes Iran gaining the capability of enriching uranium for a very simple reason...with the capability of enriching said uranium for nuclear reactors, you gain as a part of the waste stream from enrichment operations the byproduct of Depleted Uranium. Oh My God! Iran already has a vast supply of oil, they have already developed long range missiles capable of striking various western societies, and now they are on the brink of having Depleted Uranium. Such a reality might mean America has to negotiate with Iran as equals, heaven forbid. Let them get the BOMB, and we might even have a new super power to contend with, someone to take Russia's seat at the grown ups table. Ugly reality, a level playing field in world affairs. Maybe we should level the playing field by abandoning our own nuclear efforts, instead of always trying to keep others from owning a technology we see as some how being our own.

That's one of the big problems with the nuclear fuel cycle...there is no such thing as the peaceful atom, no matter how you try to dress it up. Additionally, anywhere nuclear goes in all of its various forms, death is soon to follow. From its earliest days, even pre-dating the Manhattan Project, the exploration and exploitation of uranium has brought with it horrid deaths, devastating cancers, birth defects and destruction on a level almost unimaginable. Problem is, you have governments, and various assorted private corporate interests trying to hide the ugly truth, trying to convince us that uranium and nuclear energy are safe. Tell that to the hundreds of thousands of woman who have breasts cancers as a result of living near nuclear facilities.

Do some homework, explore the hundreds of millions of dollars the DOE has spent on attorneys to fight union workers claims that their illnesses and cancers were caused by their exposure to elevated work place radiation levels. Look just under the surface of the commercial nuclear industry, and you find a trail of death...it is no coincedence that every county within 100 miles of a nuclear facility has elevated cancer rates when compared with counties outside of that 100 mile circle. Look at both wars in the Middle East (Desert Storm, and the Iraq War), and you find our soldiers coming home with strange illnesses, illnesses caused by their overexposure to depleted uranium. Already in Iraq, mothers are giving birth to children with horrible deformities, deformities caused by that same exposure to Depleted Uranium, and where does that Depleted Uranium come from? The production cycle employed to produce fuel for commercial nuclear reactors.

McCain, in a nationally televised debate on CNN, boldly lied like no other man before him. Not only did he embrace nuclear as a CO2 free clean source of energy, but he claimed that the Nuclear Navy in over 50 years of operation had never had an accident. When called on it, he just recalibrated the claim a bit.

Funny, I know of numerous examples of nuclear sea going vessels accidently ramming into other ships, and am aware of at least 37 times (up through 1983) when said nuclear vessels had MAJOR releases of radioactive materials into the environment. I believe we have had at last one nuclear sub sink. As a Senator, as a member of the military, he KNOWS the truth...do we want such a liar as our next president? Why can't he, the other candidates, our president, and even the nuclear industry come out and BE HONEST WITH THE PUBLIC? What is it that is really driving this insane push for a Nuclear Renaissance? What lunacy sees the world wanting to build 2200 new nuclear reactors when the first 437 aging reactors have been such a dismal failure, and killed so many innocent people?

There is no bigger myth within the nuclear energy industry than their claim that nuclear energy and commercial reactors are an environmentally friendly CO2 free source of electricity. From the very beginning of the uranium fuel cycle, the massive creation of and dumping of CO2 into our environment begins, as well as a trail of far deadly contaminants. First, you have to get the uranium out of the ground...uranium mining is very equipment intensive, and the large pieces of equipment use MASSIVE amounts of fossil fuels. Further, it takes tons and tons of of ore containing trace amounts of uranium to get enough actual raw uranium to be of any use. This means said materials have to be carted to processing plants...again, said transporting of such vast quantities of these raw start up materials burn up vast amounts of carbon based fuels, adding to nuclear's CO2 contributions to Global Warming.

Once the materials have been mined, they then must be milled, or crushed. These milling operations are usually fairly close to the mines. Once the materials are crushed, various impurities are removed (creating vast amounts of waste), and the end product of this segment of the processing creates what is known as yellowcake. This yellow cake is then packaged into 55 gallon drums, and is ready...TO BE SHIPPED AGAIN, thus using even more fossil fuels.

This yellow cake is about 70 percent pure, but still needs further processing to remove more impurities. A refining facility handles this purification, and then chemically transforms the yellow cake into uranium trioxide, which is now suitable for FURTHER PROCESSING. Think about much CO2 has been pumped into the environment already, and we are still not even close to being done with the process of having fuel that can actually be used to power a nuclear reactor. Yet, the NEI would have us believe nuclear is CO2 free?

Depending on the country, and enrichment means to be used, the uranium trioxide goes through even more processing at a conversion plant, where it is transformed into either uranium dioxide or uranium hexafluoride, the feedstock for enriched light water reactor fuel. At this point, the materials are ready...TO BE SHIPPED AGAIN, this time to a fuel fabrication facility. Using Canada as one example...once they have created uranium hexafluride, said materials are sent for fuel fabrication to the United States, France, the U.K., Germany or the Netherlands. Sure is a whole lot of CO2 being created that the commercial nuclear industry does not want to admit too.

For over five decades, most fuel rods produced for commercial reactors were fabricated at the Gaseous Diffusion plants in Portsmouth, Ohio and Paducah, Kentucky, with most of that production under the watchful eye of the DOE until 1992 when then President George Bush privatized the facilities and transferred oversight over to the NRC with the signing of the 1992 Energy Policy Act. This is where the nuclear industry's CO2 contributions to Global Warming really sky rocket.

Looking just at the Portsmouth Gaseous Diffusion Plants 50 years of operation, you realize the true folly that is nuclear energy. First, this plant is the largest under roof manufacturing facility ever built in its time. Sadly, it was built less than one mile from the Sciota River, less than 20 miles upstream from the Ohio River, and sits atop the largest underground aquifer in the United States of America...BRILLIANT SITING decision!

This plant was fueled by nine coal burning energy plants, and used enough electricity each and every day of operation to power all of Los Angeles county for a year. If you do the math, the Portsmouth Gasesous Diffusion Plant burned enough coal, used enough electricity to power all of Los Angeles county for six million, six hundred and sixty one thousand, two hundred and fifty days, or 18, 250 years! America is just over 200 years old folks! Imagine how much CO2 would not be in the atmosphere if it were not for those 9 coal burning power plants running 24 hours a day, all to supply America's nuclear reactors with fuel rods. Even scarier...these figures do not include the CO2 and energy consumptions for the Piketon, Kentucky plant.

Factor in the building of the nuclear facilities, and the vast amount of fossil fuels that will be burned in decommissioning, and it is obvious who the major contributor to Global Warming really is.

It would be nice if this was the end of nuclear energy's CO2 contributions to the environment, but it is not. It would be nice if these CO2 emissions were the only contaminants and contributions to Global Warming that nuclear reactors created, but sadly, it is but the tip of the iceberg. The fuel rods as one example still have to be SHIPPED to the reactor sites. Again, additional fossil fuels being burned up, and we have not seen one watt of electrical energy produced as of yet. We need to abandon a Nuclear Renaissance and look for a truly viable sustainable energy stream, such as Solar and Geo Thermal.

A New Starbuck's Latte

Quote of the day:

To honor and celebrate diversity, Starbucks should come out with a Mocha-Vanilla, Caramel Latte with heavy cream.

Self Authored July 2008

Late night wordsmithing-chapter one.

Not sure I'll ever have enough discipline to write an entire book unless someone decides a book of first chapters is worthy of being put into print. I have various unfinished and barely started writing projects I've started in the past three plus years taking up room on my hard drive as I strive to refine my craft. Perhaps that is the curse of coming to writing at this late stage in my life, or maybe none of my projects have reached conclusion yet because I am not ready, am still refining my skills.

Tonight, or perhaps early this morning I again felt creative, wanted to start something new and FRESH...the joys of being ADD. At almost four it is time to get some sleep so thought I would share yet another Chapter One, the start of another story that will never see an ending. Let me know what you think.

Chapter One-Introductions

"Excuse me, do you have a light?" The stranger's voice intruding in on my thoughts was a nuisance I could do without.

Taking a drag on my Marlboro, I realized it was easier to lend him a light than brush him off, so I rummaged through my overcoat and handed him one of the boxes of matches I'd filched at Barnegat's Pub down along the rivers edge, a recent favorite hang out of mine. Stella the middle-aged barmaid had taken a shine to me, kept my glass properly filled with decent Scotch when the owner wasn't looking and ringing it up as a well drink. "Here you go, take these."

"Thank you, mind if I take a seat."

Jesus Christ, do I look like I want company? Maybe it would have been easier to send him on his way, let him go bother someone else at this late hour of the night. "No, make yourself at home, it's a free world."

As I spoke he struck a match, his face briefly appearing, coming fully into focus on this foggy night, rain hanging in the air. Ruddy complexion, maybe 60 years of age, his hair silver gray, well groomed. As he lifted the match to what looked to be a Sherman his signet ring glistening in the match light caught my eye. It was larger than most, a shield with two lions framing its edge. His cigarette lit, he gracefully slid the used match into the box, tucked it into his overcoat and pulled out a small flask, the same crest and lions upon its sleek finish.

"It's a cold night, would you like a nip?"

OK, maybe it pays to be nice. "Sure, don't mind if I do."

As I took a swig he introduced himself, "I'm Randal, Randal Cunningham, and you are?"

Handing him back his flask, "John, John Smith, and thanks for the drink", not my real name, but he would never know.

"You are George, George Sterling to be precise. I've been following you now for three days."

I started to get up when I saw the small caliber pistol in his hand. Slumping back into the park bench, the fog seeming heavier, more sinister I took a closer look at this stranger. Who was he, and why was he following me, not just tonight, but for days? As I sized up my chances of making an escape, perhaps saving my life; he reached into his coat and pulled out a small black leather wallet, and flipping it open showed me his badge.

"Randal Cunningham, British Intelligence. Relax; we just need to have a talk." As he spoke he put both his badge and gun away, satisfied I would stay put. He knew who I was, which also meant he knew my past, was right in knowing I'd hear whatever it was he had to say.

"They have Brandi, nabbed her on campus at Harvard in between classes, two of her friends are in the hospital, beat up pretty bad, but they'll be OK."

Brandi is my God-Daughter. My best friend Jim and his wife had asked me to accept the honor years ago when we were both in the Navy. His wife worked for the CIA, Jim had taken a job with the Secret Service back in the Reagan administration. Brandi would spend time with us when her parents were out of town, which was frequently. Cynthia, my wife, and I had no kids of our own, Brandi our part time adopted daughter. We were there for every birthday, watched Brandi grow up into a beautiful young woman.

When my wife died, I'd left the CIA, sold my home and bought a sail boat. Brandi called me about once a month. I'd see her, Jim and his wife Sandy once a year for Christmas...it was easier that way. Cynthia had been my life, the CIA for too long had been my home. With Cynthia gone it had been the right time to say my goodbyes, make arrangements to have my retirement checks deposited in the Chase Manhattan Bank, and leave my former life behind. After two years sailing around the world, spending most of my time out at sea I'd bought a small flat in Cambridge, spent my days snooping around antique shops, contemplating going back to work, perhaps teaching over at Oxford.

"How are Jim and Sandy taking it?"

"Jim gave me a call; we've worked a couple of cases together, asked me to track you down. Sandy is taking it pretty hard."

If Jim knew Randal he could be trusted completely. It also meant he was pretty high up the chain of command. "Lets get out of this weather, my flat is not to far from here, and I have some Scotch in the cupboard. I want to hear everything you know."