Re-Post: Trussed to a Gun. When Size Isn't Everything!

Note: This is a post from more than two years ago. After the attempted assassination of Congresswoman Giffords and the death of so many bystanders, I am wondering when we'll start to look at the right to stay alive as importantly as we seem to take the right to carry guns to political rallies. Now, once again, we're confronted by a massacre - this time by a person in a movie theatre in Aurora, Co.  I'm re-posting it because I still don't understand.

From an article in American Handgunner:

Since I carry a gun with me nearly all the time, I’m always looking at the options available with an eye toward balancing firepower and conceal-abiitly. For the last couple of years I’ve been trading off between a SW 340PD and a Springfield Armory subcompact XD in 9mm. I consider the little titanium J Frame SW a “must have” carry gun, and I have it with me whenever the need for concealability outweighs my perceived need for firepower. Not that the Federal 147-grain .38 +P loads lack sufficient power, the limitation of five rounds could be a drawback in a fight with six adversaries. In some situations, all I can conceivably carry is the little 11-ounce five-shot revolver. But, sometimes I need to carry more gun, even in a concealed carry situation, so I’ve been opting to carry the XD with 10 + 1 rounds of 147-grain Federal HST ammo. As compact guns go, I think it is a great balance between size and having enough rounds.

Who are these people? If I met them on the street, would I recognize them?

Is their paranoia so incredibly strong that they actually believe they are going to be confronted by six or more adversaries on some dark street? And if they actually live in a world where this kind of potential confrontation is likely, where exactly is it? Truly, I'd like to know.

Or are they simply responding to the product placement of guns that permeates our media in the U.S.?

I'm trying to figure it out. Are these people really under some kind of threat, or are they merely sensitively responding to the signals that are beamed from our culture?

Let me acknowledge that I've never been robbed at gun or knife-point; never felt threatened in a way that made me wish I had a gun. So, I acknowledge that my experience-level is slight. Yet my query is an honest one. Do we live, within the U.S., in a climate of danger so egregious that we must arm ourselves with concealed weapons all the time?

And if this is not reality, what should we do to help the people who feel so threatened that they say "Since I carry a gun with me almost all the time...."?

According to an article by Fareed Zakaria entitled "Time to face facts on gun control" the US has the most heavily armed citizenry in the world. We have 5% of the world's population, but 50% of the world's guns.  Our military budget in 2010, according to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, represented 42% of the entire world's expenditure on arms.  The pattern here is pretty obvious: We're addicted to guns!

Yet, the gun lobby would make us believe that the only way to be safe is to arm EVERYONE.  

When I consider that option, I think of the tragedies that cycle through our society, and our representative's inability to confront the issue squarely.  

In the article from American Handgunner, the author says "Since I carry a gun with me almost all the time, I’m always looking at the options available with an eye toward balancing firepower and conceal-ability."  The Aurora Colorado event is a celebration of this psychology. 

My continual question is "Why?"

Remembering the SAAB 96

SAAB automobile company has died - another victim of the recession. But instead of performing a requiem mass, I prefer to remember Judith's favorite car: The SAAB 96 light gray monster that nearly bankrupted us.

Not our SAAB, but one like it - same color - no roof rack.

Don't get me wrong. I loved the car too and we had many happy trips in New England.  It was the essence of a "touring car", comfortable to ride inside, with a feeling of safety that our previous VW bug "Xenophon" could not provide, and with a reliability that the Oldsmobile F85 station wagon "Hog" failed to deliver.  There were lots of stories associated with each of those other cars, but with the SAAB 96 - which we never named - it felt that we had finally "arrived" in a vehicle that reflected our burgeoning personalities as young, rebellious, serious students of life. It was a car designed by geeky Swedish engineers who seemed to understand that an automobile's personality was a gift to the drivers.

On one trip, down to North Carolina School of the Arts, we picked up Judith's sister Margot and her friend Tommy Hulse - who later earned fame playing the part of Mozart in "Amedeus". Tommy was so impressed with the car as we drove north. He watched me shift the car with its egg-beater gear shift that stuck out of the steering shaft - free wheeling, allowing us to coast down the hills, never using the clutch - and spontaneously proclaimed "What a wonderful car!"  Ah, music to our ears as proud owners, and it was true.  The insides were spartan but with just enough engineering panache' to make one feel like the car was designed for humans.  The front seats were angled slightly towards the center to provide more leg room.  There were little buckets clipped in the foot well for trash. The seats adjusted easily. The floor was absolutely flat.  The rear seats folded down so there was access to the trunk and more cargo room (we slept in the car overnight more than once on long trips - often while one or the other continued to drive). One felt you were driving a flying machine instead of a car.  Everything seemed to have a more reasonable design, including the hood, which opened backwards so that, if covered with snow, the load would fall off in front of the car when inspecting the engine.

And then there was its revolutionary front wheel drive: a novelty at the time.  We lived on a back road in Southern Vermont that was seldom plowed in the winter.  Driving down the mountainside after a snow the car cut a path like a duck through water, waves parting to either side in a spray of white. It's a memory I'll never forget.  Or when we visited a friend who lived in a holler in Kentucky: We had to drive up a creek in the middle of the night that was - in places - about a foot deep to reach her house. We were following penciled directions sent to us in a letter.  Judith was 8 months pregnant with our first child.  We paused, wondering if we'd made a mistake, since there were no signs on the road that now ended at the creek.  We both gulped, then drove on up the creek for several miles.  The SAAB 96 handled it remarkably well, spraying water along the sidewalls, never hesitating, the front wheels finding their track beneath the rushing stream.  Our friend later told us she'd lost a couple of cars in that creek. This knowledge affirmed our faith in our magnificent SAAB 96.

We'd purchased the car for $3700 with the trade-in of the Oldsmobile "Hog", whose transmission had failed and whose floor boards had rusted through in Vermont.   We'd bought the SAAB back in Munster, Indiana from the only SAAB dealer in the state.  (The Hog was still in his used car lot five years later when we passed by.)  It was the car of our dreams and we were convinced that it would be the last car we would ever buy.

Of course, we were naive', both 22, and we thought of cars not as machines but as inventions designed for the ages. We also bought a heavy-duty steel roof-top cargo basket that was our best investment. (Great for hauling firewood). We also ended up carrying twenty feet of logging chain and a ten gauge shotgun (inherited from Judith's father) in the compartment under the back seat.  And some metric wrenches and a couple of screw drivers in the pouch that was designed for the wheel jack.  These were essentials for us during that time living in rural Vermont while we attended college.  And we used them all.

As luck would have it, Indiana also killed the SAAB 96. After college we moved to Washington, DC, and then to Northern Indiana to live on a little farm.  The only mechanic in LaPorte, Indiana who would work on it was employed at the local tractor dealership outside of town.  The odd little problems that a car develops over time started to create serious difficulties for us with a new baby - such as the time that the carburetor float developed a pin hole and would fill with gas and then choke out the engine.  Ah, the humiliation of calling my father in the middle of the night to come haul us home - baby wailing in the back seat. My dad never said a mean word about the car, but there was a sadness in his eyes as he hooked the logging chain to the undercarriage and dragged us back to the farm.  It took the tractor mechanic more than a week to figure out what was causing the problem and he was ecstatic that he'd diagnosed it and fixed it so easily. He was like a kid who had worked on Lionel electric train sets all his life, and had suddenly been promoted to Swedish Rocket Engineer. 

The mechanic was so interested in the car that he special-ordered the factory manual for tuning the engine.  Unfortunately, all the measurements were metric and the manual was in Swedish, so that when he adjusted the valves, he kept tightening them too much, and we went through a series of burned valves before I realized what his problem was.  The SAAB 96 -- our dream car - "The Last Car We Would Ever Own" - was going to achieve its title simply because - if we didn't do something soon -- it would bankrupt us with repairs.

Eventually we were forced to trade it in for a new VW Rabbit - a mistake, but one that we lived with until it rusted out through the floor boards.  It was a sad day to say goodbye to the SAAB 96 in South Bend, Indiana.  Then, about two years later, I remembered that I'd left a 10 gauge shotgun under the rear seat along with the logging chain.  I never forgave myself and I wondered if it were still there, hidden out of sight from its new (imagined) owner.

The SAAB 96 was a great car for a young family: we'd hauled trailers with it, dragged birch logs down the icy roads for firewood, slept in the back during cross-country trips, crashed it at 40 miles per hour without injuring any passengers, and generally learned a lot about owning cars.  Judith still remembers it with fondness and pride.   

We've long ago stopped seeing old SAABs of that era here in California. There were never that many out here anyway.  The later models held no interest for us.  They cost far too much, and seemed to be designed for yuppies.  They were too plush, too artificially "modern".  By comparison, the SAAB 96 was like a car that one wanted to hand down to your children and your children's children.  It wasn't "retro" because it was exactly what it meant to be: basic transportation designed with a utilitarian bent for practical people.

Since the SAAB days we've owned a lot of cars: 3 VW bugs, 2 VW vans, a VW Rabbit, a Datsun station wagon, an old MGB, a Honda CIVIC, a Mercury minivan, an Isuzu Trooper, a couple of Toyto Corollas, two Toyoto Prius, and one leased Subaru Outback. And I've probably missed remembering at least one more.  Just listing out all the cars leaves me with  a sense of guilt for buying so many vehicles (imagine the carbon we've pumped into the air over the years).  But we've always bought "used", and I suppose that's some indication of our environmental consciences and our financial priorities.

Still, I have these dreams - nighttime revelries actually - of returning to my parents' two garage.  In this dream I open the door and discover all the cars that I and my family have ever owned.  They're all jammed in there somehow, as the garage extends mystically back into an ever deepening space.  Every car.  Chryslers, and Dodges, and Oldsmobiles, and Buicks, and more modern vehicles, parked side by side.  The smell of engines, and the feel of cold enameled metal penetrates my senses as I slip sideways between their silent hulks.

And in this dream I always head over to the little light gray SAAB 96.  It's exactly as I remember it, complete with the dented front fender and the rear bumper that is slightly out of alignment from dragging a ten foot long birch log along the ice.

I slip behind the wheel, and somehow manipulate it out of the garage.  I start down the road, convincing myself that the burned out valve that has left the car with such poor acceleration and compression, can be fixed once and for all.

And then, I pull the car over to the side of the road, lower the back seat, and take a nap as the sun beams through the rear bubble windows, with the leaves of trees swaying above my head.  I don't nap long.  Just a little cat nap, the smell of the seats mixing with the smell of autumn that streams through the cantered  back side windows.

And then something occurs to me.  Is the ten gauge shot gun still under the rear compartment?

I wonder.

I get out of the car and start to lift the rear seat to see.

But then I wake up.

RIP SAAB.

How to overcome your anxiety about the long wait for Peace Corps

I continue to get messages from other Peace Corps applicants who are waiting for their formal invitations to serve. Everyone asks the question - since our wait has been difficult - for our most current status. Each time I wish I could respond "It's a GO!" But not yet.

We continue to check with the placement officer about once a month. The last time we checked was at the beginning of November when she wrote back the following:

I wanted to just give you an update on the medical approvals I’ve requested. I sent for medical approval for the eight remaining programs to which you could serve as a couple for the 2012 year. I’ve gotten three negative responses back so far. We have given the remaining five programs a reminder to give us their responses soon. I will let you know as soon as I hear back from the remaining countries. Thank you for the amazing amount of patience you have exhibited in waiting for your placement. I am keeping my fingers crossed that we will have some good news from the remaining five programs. Sincerely, (name not posted)

The issue again seems to be medical approval, but - from our perspective - it's difficult to understand what's holding the assignments up. But we've got to trust that the people in the field are more knowledgeable that we, and keep our fingers lightly crossed.

So how are we managing the wait? Our strategy is to continue to engage the placement officer by trying to keep our profiles in front of her. So I wrote back to her the following:

Thanks for this update. We are keeping our fingers crossed that at least one of the five remaining programs will accept us. It's been a long road, but I sincerely appreciate that you're pushing the portfolios out to prospective programs.

Our daughter returns home (permanently?) Monday after 3 1/2 years working in Cambodia, with her new, 9 month old baby. That's a great Turkey-day treat.

So that will keep our minds and bodies busy while we await the outcome of Peace Corps placement process.

In the meantime, I'm continuing to work on projects for our son's NGO, Human Translation. org. As you probably know, Northern Cambodia is really suffering from the flooding that occurred several months ago: Crops gone, roads lost, live stock decimated. My son has started a new relief fund, and we're managing the fund-raising. So far, we've raised about $25 K. He'll be returning to Siem Reap where his naturalized Cambodian NGO called Community Translation Organization (CTO), is trying to mount the relief effort. He'll be there during the month of December before returning to the states. The good news is that the 600 hectare reservoir significantly helped mitigate the flooding in the villages of Balangk where the organization is working. Unfortunately, two of the six canals that were dug from the reservoir collapsed during the flooding, but as the water recedes, they can be rebuilt by hand and there's a possibility that - with the right instruction - the villagers will be able to "dry farm" another crop of rice in the next few months. CTO has several grants from Australia Aid and the UN's work for food projects. So, with some more hard work, I think the villagers will make it through. But not unscathed. Part of the relief fund will be spent on restoring clean water and sanitation. It's a mess.


So, while we're waiting for PC's determination of a placement, we're relatively busy here. Judith is continuing to teach at a local college, and they've offered her another term, and I have financial work coming in too. So we're not sitting on our hands. Nonetheless, we're extremely hopeful that PC will find a place for us. We both feel that the skills we will learn will substantially help us achieve our own goals, and I'm confident that we have something to offer, where ever PC might send us.

Our health continues to be very good and our spirits could not be stronger.
We both wish you a Happy Thanksgiving. And thank you for your work on our behalf.

Sincerely, Tom

So is this strategy working? Well, we still have no more news, but I did receive the following back from the placement officer last week:

Tom it is great to hear you are both keeping busy. I’m very glad you and your family are able to help with relief efforts in Cambodia. Your attached photo is a real eye-opening---I can almost imagine the difficulty of living in such a situation.Thank you for you the update. I will be in contact with new information as soon as I can.

And why are we continuing to push on Peace Corps placement when we have this other NGO to occupy us?

The answer is pretty simple: Peace Corps offers a chance to learn more, to do more, and to build our skills in this important area of service. At the same time, it's just one avenue of service. And if one avenue becomes blocked, it's important to us to seek others. It's like any job that needs doing: you persevere until you find the path that works. There's no romance about it. You just do it.

One of my favorite "old" movies that we recently watched was 1958 production of "The Inn of the Sixth Happiness" with Ingrid Bergman. No doubt it seems terribly romantic - this woman applies to work as a missionary and is rejected over and over again. The missionary stuff doesn't attract me, but the real-life personage of Gladys Aylward is inspiring. She's somebody who wouldn't take "No" for an answer.

I have no inclination to be a missionary, but I do have a desire to make a difference in some of the places where I know my skills can be of use.

Meanwhile, we're settling in now with our daughter and her significant other and her baby, who have just returned from Cambodia after almost four years. Our son Tobias was here too, as well as our son Dagan with his two boys. It was the first time in a long time that we were all on the same continent, in the same country, in the same town, in the same house, at the same time. It was an overwhelming experience - chaotic, exhausting, and terrible fun. Who knows how many of these will be left to us?

We sat around the table, made a toast to our recently departed cat Gus, and drank a bottle of 1981 Robert Mondavi Cab Reserve that I'd been saving for a special occassion since the time I worked there. (And it was still drinkable after 30 years.) A good time was had by all, and it was a Thanksgiving to be remembered.