Remember when banks and S&Ls were your friends? When as a child you brought in a quarter a week for deposit into your Christmas club account and the tellers smiled and acted like they were glad to see you?
I went into a SunTrust branch near Union Station last week to buy some loose dollar coins for use in parking meters. They said they had unrolled dollar coins in their change drawer alright, did I have a SunTrust account?
"No." Smiling broadly, the teller said she couldn't (wouldn't) help me. Would I like to open an account?
I merely commented that I hoped CapitalOne branches treated SunTrust account holders the same way. Smiling as broadly as the teller, a man in a suit seated at a nearby desk wished me a nice day as I headed for the door.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Uncle Sam's Day
It was Cherry Blossom time in the District last week. The blooms, as usual, were spectacular.
I'm taking off tomorrow, tax day, to celebrate. After I donate blood for the 99th time in the morning, I'm going to have lunch at the Lost Dog Cafe in Westover at noon. Anyone who cares to is free to join me.
I'm taking off tomorrow, tax day, to celebrate. After I donate blood for the 99th time in the morning, I'm going to have lunch at the Lost Dog Cafe in Westover at noon. Anyone who cares to is free to join me.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Richard II
Richard II by William Shakespeare. What a garden of words! wrote critic Walter Pater about the history in 1889. The noted playwright was acquiring the power of language with which he would later infuse the protagonists of his great tragedies, Othello, Macbeth, King Lear and Hamlet, with their heroic personalties, intriguing pathos and complex characters.
The process of welding language and thought into a single entity was well begun in Richard II, first performed in 1595, noted critic Richard D. Altick in 1947. The play, about a weak king addicted to flowery speech as the personification of life who ran headlong into a cold, calculating realist who stole his throne, is the tragedy of betrayal as well as that of fallen royalty, noted critic Derek Traversi in 1958. Altick observed that the play centers upon the violation of the laws of blood descent, Henry Bolinbroke’s usurpation of the crown of his cousin, Richard II, in 1399, which led but to the spilling of precious English blood, the coming decades of internecine warfare known as the Wars of the Roses.
The play is a riot of speech. Shakespeare’s kings are an eloquent lot, Pater pointed out, and in "no other play perhaps is there such a flush of those gay, fresh, variegated flowers of speech," depicting Richard as an exquisite poet if he is nothing else.
The play contains several references to reverenced England: a scept’red isle, earth of majesty, seat of Mars, other Eden, demi-paradise, fortress built by nature, none finer than that described by John of Gaunt, Bolingbroke’s father, Richard’s uncle:
This precious stone set in the silver sea
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. II.i.46-50.
Bolingbroke, who becomes Henry IV by his deposition of Richard, is banished from the realm by the rightful king in the beginning of the play yet treasonously returns to stage a successful mutiny. Bad a king though he is, Richard notes that:
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king III.ii.54-55.
The right of linear descent disordered by Bolingbroke’s actions, the usurpation, will beget:
Armies of pestilence, and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn and unbegot III.iii.86-87.
The Bishop of Carlisle prophesies that as a result of Bolingbroke’s intrusion into the natural order:
The blood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act IV.i.137-138.
Some in the play, however, are honor bound, and in the finest homily Shakespear offers on the concept of honor, Mowbrey states upon also being banished at the play’s outset:
Mine honor is my life, both grow in one;
Take honor from me and my life is done. I.i.182-183.
Mowbrey honorably heads into permanent exile saying:
Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,
to dwell in solemn shades of endless night. I.iii.176-177.
But the deposing of a rightful king occurs after Bolingbroke collects an army upon his return and ultimately triumphs over Richard’s forces, dispirited by Richard’s ennui. The strange king knows that ultimately there will always be sad stories of the death of kings, for kings live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, need friends:
And nothing can we call our own, but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bare bones. III.ii.152-155.
And when the new king states to the present Richard in the deposition scene that he thought Richard was willing to resign, the former king reveals a bit more of his pathetic, poetic character when he speaks back:
My crown I am, but still my griefs are mine:
You may my glories and my state depose;
But not my griefs; still am I king of those. IV.i.190-193.
Richard reflects cynically upon human crassness:
Showing an outward pity: yet you Pilates,
Have here delivered me to my sour cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin. IV.i.239-241.
He has already earlier vilified his former subjects, so readily loyal to an usurper as dogs so easily won to fawn on any man, to Scroop his treasurer, who thereupon characterizes the true nature of blissful love turned to blind hatred:
Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. III.ii.135-136.
Richard cannot live, for alive he presents too much danger to the usurper, and when the natural order is no more, and when time is broke and disordered, and the sounds of the clock striking are clamorous groans which strike at the heart, Richard famously utters his sorrow at his wastrel life. Indeed, it is commentary on the end of anyone's life:
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. V.v.48.
Richard is murdered in his prison cell but first, perhaps for the first time in his life, he manfully rises up and kills some of his assailants. Henry IV faces down Richard II’s murderer, Exton, who did the deed pursuant to words he heard from the new king’s own mouth ("Have I no friend who will rid me of this living fear?"), and the regicide king says,
They love not poison that do poison need,
Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. V.vi.38-40.
Richard, formerly taking his last leave of his wife, speaks a truism relevant here:
So two weeping together make one woe. V.i.86.
The process of welding language and thought into a single entity was well begun in Richard II, first performed in 1595, noted critic Richard D. Altick in 1947. The play, about a weak king addicted to flowery speech as the personification of life who ran headlong into a cold, calculating realist who stole his throne, is the tragedy of betrayal as well as that of fallen royalty, noted critic Derek Traversi in 1958. Altick observed that the play centers upon the violation of the laws of blood descent, Henry Bolinbroke’s usurpation of the crown of his cousin, Richard II, in 1399, which led but to the spilling of precious English blood, the coming decades of internecine warfare known as the Wars of the Roses.
The play is a riot of speech. Shakespeare’s kings are an eloquent lot, Pater pointed out, and in "no other play perhaps is there such a flush of those gay, fresh, variegated flowers of speech," depicting Richard as an exquisite poet if he is nothing else.
The play contains several references to reverenced England: a scept’red isle, earth of majesty, seat of Mars, other Eden, demi-paradise, fortress built by nature, none finer than that described by John of Gaunt, Bolingbroke’s father, Richard’s uncle:
This precious stone set in the silver sea
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. II.i.46-50.
Bolingbroke, who becomes Henry IV by his deposition of Richard, is banished from the realm by the rightful king in the beginning of the play yet treasonously returns to stage a successful mutiny. Bad a king though he is, Richard notes that:
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king III.ii.54-55.
The right of linear descent disordered by Bolingbroke’s actions, the usurpation, will beget:
Armies of pestilence, and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn and unbegot III.iii.86-87.
The Bishop of Carlisle prophesies that as a result of Bolingbroke’s intrusion into the natural order:
The blood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act IV.i.137-138.
Some in the play, however, are honor bound, and in the finest homily Shakespear offers on the concept of honor, Mowbrey states upon also being banished at the play’s outset:
Mine honor is my life, both grow in one;
Take honor from me and my life is done. I.i.182-183.
Mowbrey honorably heads into permanent exile saying:
Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,
to dwell in solemn shades of endless night. I.iii.176-177.
But the deposing of a rightful king occurs after Bolingbroke collects an army upon his return and ultimately triumphs over Richard’s forces, dispirited by Richard’s ennui. The strange king knows that ultimately there will always be sad stories of the death of kings, for kings live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, need friends:
And nothing can we call our own, but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bare bones. III.ii.152-155.
And when the new king states to the present Richard in the deposition scene that he thought Richard was willing to resign, the former king reveals a bit more of his pathetic, poetic character when he speaks back:
My crown I am, but still my griefs are mine:
You may my glories and my state depose;
But not my griefs; still am I king of those. IV.i.190-193.
Richard reflects cynically upon human crassness:
Showing an outward pity: yet you Pilates,
Have here delivered me to my sour cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin. IV.i.239-241.
He has already earlier vilified his former subjects, so readily loyal to an usurper as dogs so easily won to fawn on any man, to Scroop his treasurer, who thereupon characterizes the true nature of blissful love turned to blind hatred:
Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. III.ii.135-136.
Richard cannot live, for alive he presents too much danger to the usurper, and when the natural order is no more, and when time is broke and disordered, and the sounds of the clock striking are clamorous groans which strike at the heart, Richard famously utters his sorrow at his wastrel life. Indeed, it is commentary on the end of anyone's life:
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. V.v.48.
Richard is murdered in his prison cell but first, perhaps for the first time in his life, he manfully rises up and kills some of his assailants. Henry IV faces down Richard II’s murderer, Exton, who did the deed pursuant to words he heard from the new king’s own mouth ("Have I no friend who will rid me of this living fear?"), and the regicide king says,
They love not poison that do poison need,
Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. V.vi.38-40.
Richard, formerly taking his last leave of his wife, speaks a truism relevant here:
So two weeping together make one woe. V.i.86.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Classic
I went out running at noon on the Mall on Good Friday with two work running buddies, H and M. We wended our way through large throngs of tourists to the Washington Monument, enroute to the Lincoln Memorial, when I spotted a man carrying a large cross in a crowd of pilgrims and I stopped to snap a picture.
I lost my two running companions. I have no idea where they went but after looking for them on the route ahead, and the place where I stopped, and the route back to work, I gave up and headed back towards the office, mad at myself for losing them because of my impulsive action.
How can you stay mad while running? As I approached the Capitol going back, I scrutinized the imposing prominence of Capitol Hill rising in the distance. In the olden times I charged up that hill three times in the last mile of a fast 10K race, the venerable Capitol Hill Classic, back before I a chronic, nagging injury slowed me, back when I was younger and quicker.
Why not, I thought, do the last mile of that mile of that race right now and push it hard! So I did, charging up the prominent third of a mile rise, acquiring the level street above and darting down the diagonal street to Stanton Square, finishing strong in front of the school there.
As I trotted back the further half mile to return to work, I was happy to partake, at least for about eight breathless minutes, in memories of times gone by but not entirely gone. At work I encountered my two friends, who had looked for me everywhere out there (except in my past), relieved to see me returned to work in apparently fine fettle.
I lost my two running companions. I have no idea where they went but after looking for them on the route ahead, and the place where I stopped, and the route back to work, I gave up and headed back towards the office, mad at myself for losing them because of my impulsive action.
How can you stay mad while running? As I approached the Capitol going back, I scrutinized the imposing prominence of Capitol Hill rising in the distance. In the olden times I charged up that hill three times in the last mile of a fast 10K race, the venerable Capitol Hill Classic, back before I a chronic, nagging injury slowed me, back when I was younger and quicker.
Why not, I thought, do the last mile of that mile of that race right now and push it hard! So I did, charging up the prominent third of a mile rise, acquiring the level street above and darting down the diagonal street to Stanton Square, finishing strong in front of the school there.
As I trotted back the further half mile to return to work, I was happy to partake, at least for about eight breathless minutes, in memories of times gone by but not entirely gone. At work I encountered my two friends, who had looked for me everywhere out there (except in my past), relieved to see me returned to work in apparently fine fettle.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Until seventy times seven
Happy Easter Jimmy Rogers. I love you.
Moreover if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother. Matthew 18:15.
Happy Easter Johnny. I love you.
Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven. Matthew 18:21-22.
Happy Easter Daniel Wilson Lamberton. I love you.
Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellowservant, even as I had pity on thee? Matthew 18:33.
Moreover if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother. Matthew 18:15.
Happy Easter Johnny. I love you.
Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven. Matthew 18:21-22.
Happy Easter Daniel Wilson Lamberton. I love you.
Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellowservant, even as I had pity on thee? Matthew 18:33.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Happy Birthday Kate
It's my sister's birthday. Happy happy!
Huntington Park, Columbus Ohio, August 2010
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
The Choice
"You take the baby and the toddler and go to Pottery Barn and I and the three year old will catch up with you there when we're done here," she said. Thinking he understood his wife's thinking, the father carried the baby and escorted the toddler by the hand across the busy divided four-lane highway when the light was right and started for the mega-store entrance with the two children firmly in his charge.
Because the father, now a law student, wasn't too far removed from police work, he could sense that something was wrong and he looked back. The mother had told the little boy to "wait here" on the sidewalk on the far side of the busy roadway for daddy to return for him while she headed a short way away to retrieve the nearby vacant stroller. A potentially deadly error in judgment, she should have brought the boy with her that thirty feet, tired though he was.
The boy immediately wandered into the road to go to daddy, with swift traffic bearing down upon him in the two lanes he was crossing with two further lanes of rushing cars separating him from his daddy. The dad, carrying a baby and holding a toddler by the hand, was appalled by the developing situation but he quickly ran through his options. The boy would certainly get killed if he wasn't immediately rescued.
If the father set the baby down and let go of the toddler and left him on the sidewalk and ran across the street, he might get killed himself in traffic but he also might somehow save the boy. This was worth the risk to him.
But it was likely that he would be struck in traffic as he ran across four lanes of traffic and killed or incapacitated and the boy would be killed anyway too, but also that the toddler would likely follow his father into the street and be killed as well. Three deaths instead of two or one.
The father looked at the little boy in the roadway, kept holding the baby and gripped the toddler's hand tight. He had made his choice, to trade one life for two or three. It was agonizing to choose to allow one child to die as he watched the onrushing band of Chevys and Fords bear down on the oblivious boy, and he would trade his life for a hopeless attempt at rescue, but he couldn't trade the highly probable death of the toddler, now safe, for that boy's life with the possible harm to the baby as well if he abandoned them in a long-shot gamble to dart across four lanes of rushing traffic in a rescue attempt.
His former life flowed into this moment as he declined to act, no matter how hopelessly, and a future life of permanent grief stood beckoning him as he watched death come for his oldest child. He was incredibly sad but resigned in that moment of terrible conscious choice.
Then providence intervened. The drivers in each foremost car in the two far lanes saw the little boy in the roadway in time and stopped dead on the busy highway, jamming up the honking traffic behind them. The mother swiftly returned from her ill-chosen task and fetched the child. In a happy jumbled rush of emotional relief the father's former life returned to him, at least for another dozen years before he permanently lost all three of his children to spousally-induced estrangement during the divorce.
Happy 61st birthday, Sharon. How are Jimmy, Johnny and Danny?
Because the father, now a law student, wasn't too far removed from police work, he could sense that something was wrong and he looked back. The mother had told the little boy to "wait here" on the sidewalk on the far side of the busy roadway for daddy to return for him while she headed a short way away to retrieve the nearby vacant stroller. A potentially deadly error in judgment, she should have brought the boy with her that thirty feet, tired though he was.
The boy immediately wandered into the road to go to daddy, with swift traffic bearing down upon him in the two lanes he was crossing with two further lanes of rushing cars separating him from his daddy. The dad, carrying a baby and holding a toddler by the hand, was appalled by the developing situation but he quickly ran through his options. The boy would certainly get killed if he wasn't immediately rescued.
If the father set the baby down and let go of the toddler and left him on the sidewalk and ran across the street, he might get killed himself in traffic but he also might somehow save the boy. This was worth the risk to him.
But it was likely that he would be struck in traffic as he ran across four lanes of traffic and killed or incapacitated and the boy would be killed anyway too, but also that the toddler would likely follow his father into the street and be killed as well. Three deaths instead of two or one.
The father looked at the little boy in the roadway, kept holding the baby and gripped the toddler's hand tight. He had made his choice, to trade one life for two or three. It was agonizing to choose to allow one child to die as he watched the onrushing band of Chevys and Fords bear down on the oblivious boy, and he would trade his life for a hopeless attempt at rescue, but he couldn't trade the highly probable death of the toddler, now safe, for that boy's life with the possible harm to the baby as well if he abandoned them in a long-shot gamble to dart across four lanes of rushing traffic in a rescue attempt.
His former life flowed into this moment as he declined to act, no matter how hopelessly, and a future life of permanent grief stood beckoning him as he watched death come for his oldest child. He was incredibly sad but resigned in that moment of terrible conscious choice.
Then providence intervened. The drivers in each foremost car in the two far lanes saw the little boy in the roadway in time and stopped dead on the busy highway, jamming up the honking traffic behind them. The mother swiftly returned from her ill-chosen task and fetched the child. In a happy jumbled rush of emotional relief the father's former life returned to him, at least for another dozen years before he permanently lost all three of his children to spousally-induced estrangement during the divorce.
Happy 61st birthday, Sharon. How are Jimmy, Johnny and Danny?
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