A Special Tribute: US Major Andrew Olmsted, R.I.P.

Major Olmsted was one among three of the first casualties in Iraq for the New Year. He was also an active blogger in his own blog, for other blogs and the Rocky Mountain News.

Olmsted, 38 years of age, died from small-arms fire when his unit was ambushed.

Why the special tribute?

Before dying, Major Olmsted starting writing his last blog post, with instructions to a friend to post after his death. Read it here. While the posthumous act itself was quite unusual, more awe-inspiring were the ideas that he committed to words for that last post.

But more significant for me were the words that came from somebody else:

“…it was important to know that Olmsted died doing what he loved to do — not just being a soldier, but posting his blogs for The Rocky and other sites.”

Now, isn’t that what life is all about? Doing what one loves to do. Regardless of the amount of time involved. Maj. Olmsted was 38.

Aside from what was mentioned in the quote above, Maj. Olmsted loved seeing his favorite baseball team win the World Series twice. And he was mighty proud of his extensive 80’s songs library, downloaded and ready to be listened to.

About the moustache? Was he going for the macho look? No, he just thought that Iraqis did not look too kindly on those without facial hair.

This fine soldier died in a war-torn country so the rest of us in the comfort of our homes and in the fullness of time can give pause and ponder on the wantonness of this soldier’s early demise.

This fine soldier died so the meek and gentle can gather thoughts and ask why with the utter uselessness of wars they are still breaking out in the world, with regularity and almost with necessity.

This fine soldier died so the rest of us can think and express ourselves in whatever way we desire, with freedom and without fear.

This fine soldier even died for those who may find dread or be squeamish about the brutally violent nature of a soldier’s job.

But as always things still fall neatly in place, since to each life there is a season.

What Is Art, again?

Maybe the above question is something we ought to ask often if only to highlight the attendant difficulties and uneasy confusion people encounter when trying to define what art is. The oft-quoted cliché that beauty is in the eye of the beholder could apply also in judging what art is, whether serious, pop, or whatever.

This untended difficulty reared its head during the last entry on my poster collection of Norman P. Rockwell works. Many critics had panned Rockwell’s works by denying him the honor of considering his work as serious art; instead that he was simply an illustrator however gifted he was as such.

And I always have a problem with such restrictive delineation because my mind has not really been able to grasp the exact parameters of what serious art really is. Should one rely strictly on the judgments of the art critics? But don’t they disagree amongst themselves? And many would go further and decry the lack of objectivity or relevance in many admired critics.

Anyway, I am not making this orphaned confusion my personal problem, because I simply follow my gut feelings and try to work up inspiring vibes about the works that appeal to what I could consider my sense of what is beautiful, tasteful, or extraordinary.

Click to read more.

Poster Collection: Norman P. Rockwell

Posters of different sizes and for different subjects have also been a popular pastime for many enthusiasts. Those enamored with films go for the very catchy, colorful, and artful movie posters that are seen in movie theatres and malls and which surely easily draw the captive attention of the onlookers. While others more into hero adulation may go for sports posters whether of racing cars and their drivers, professional sportsmen, etc. In short, there are posters and posters for most popular fancies and passions.
As for me, I was fortunate enough to have acquired over time a precious number of them (about 76) all about one subject, poster prints of the the paintings/illustrations of the late artist, Norman P. Rockwell, a very popular symbol of things Americana.

Click to read more.

US Homeowners vs. Current Housing Slump

Imperceptibly we wake up to find that the country-wide housing slump has been with us for a good part of the current year. Media has been diligent in holding this critical issue up front in our collective consciousness especially during these times of escalating political campaigns, first for the upcoming primaries and late next year, for the real thing. We ourselves cannot help but see around town, most any town in the USA, the unavoidable signs of this slump with the ominous for-sale signs strategically planted in front of many shuttered houses, both new and old.

Because we pulsate more than just lifeless numbers in statistics, many of us find ourselves emotionally wallowing in the dreary consequences and in fearful straits of the eventual outcome of this slump. Remember the stats bare that most homeowners have families living with them. And most homeowners, whether under the shadows of a looming default or foreclosure, or those who negotiated their mortgages prior to the housing boom peak, or even those who currently hold their homes free and clear, would invariably be affected by what this lingering slump could inflict on the housing markets in the long run.

For those of us who have been homeowners for a while, we have some calming experiences to lean on in making our personal assessments of the current predicament. In 1990 we also witnessed a similar general housing downturn which lasted for a year or two. But we got over that and by 2005 the housing boom was in full bloom anew, in spite of the unimaginable turn of events in the intervening years – the crashing tech bust in 2000 and the ensuing financial letdown caused by the devastating events of 9/11.

As early as 2005, 68.9% of all housing units in the US were occupied by their owners. And the current housing slump is definitely hitting hardest from within that favored group. Divided racially, Whites (Europeans) hold the highest percentage in homeownership at 75%, while Asians trailed behind at 60%. And it should be noted that the other races are not far behind, both African Americans and Hispanics both registering close to 50%.

Clearly by 2007 homeownership had breached the 70% level and regardless of the eventual outcome it has become a singularly significant accomplishment for families latching on to the American dream.

We can now debate ceaselessly what brought about the many challenges in the housing markets, whose visibly glaring results have been the record defaults and foreclosures and family dislocations. Included in the mixed bag of causes has been the following: the easy money brought on by a host of factors, very lax and lenient lending practices, and the two capital human sins of greed and fraud. And throw in there the inaction and/or delayed responses by federal regulators in trying to stem that fast-rising trend that was heading toward what many adjudge as a speculative bubble.

Hindsight speculations, indiscriminate finger-pointing, or inveterate hand-wringing, and etc. will definitely not amount to much for those who are already in the throes of losing their precious homes many of whom were beneficiaries of sub-prime and other exotic mode of lending. And early corrective actions will benefit even those credit-worthy homeowners who will start to see values in their neighborhoods diminishing because of rushed or pressured sales, or even foreclosure auctions. Thus the cascading loss of equity in homes will begin to dry up a good source of increased consumer spending, a critical factor in continued economic growth.

And we are also learning of the spillover effects of this slump into initially, the support industries complementing housing construction like the flooring, carpet, tiles, and landscaping sectors. And in the long run to consumer confidence and spending. And thus ultimately, the broader economy would be affected.

But on the other side, we can continue to be hopeful and there are many encouraging signs pointing toward this direction. The US economy is still very vibrant and growth-oriented, productivity still at enviable levels. And while the slump in housing lumbers on, the broader economy at least is not beset with other potentially-catastrophic weaknesses that might impact on its ability to deal squarely with the housing slump. Even the recurring fears of a recession are being hotly debated on both sides, so it is still a toss-up as to whether we are experiencing the onset of one or not.

Thus while the housing slump has been with us for a long enough time, the broader economy continues to be on even keel, which is unequivocally a good sign. And already, corrective actions in the real estate markets are being felt. 30-year fixed mortgages are back in style while long-term interest rates continue to be attractive and affordable. True, resets in mortgage interest will continue to be a factor for the ensuing years for most of those loans under variable rates, which some estimate could stagger to a total of 1 trillion dollars worth. Again, we are hopeful the US economy can ride this over, over and above dark predictions such as that we have not seen foreclosures this much and this many, coupled with widespread home prices downswings, since the depression years of the 20’s.

Update:

One may wonder what the connection is between Narvik in faraway and cold Norway and the troubled housing slumps in sunny California and Florida. This should explain a bit how extensive the ripples are caused by the latter. And reveals somewhat who the rest of the international players that are involved in all this.

Catching The Spirit

The spirit of the season is definitely catching. One unmistakably notices it in the suddenly-changed behavior of people around us, on top of the pervasive festive decorations around town, which at times may be too garish and/or gaudy for one’s tastes as to be repressively unnoticeable.

But how exactly does one catch it, as most of us are unarguably inclined toward it? I’d thought I’d investigate first hand.

So rising up late yesterday morning with slivers of sunshine cutting through the room in what promised to be a battle royale between the cold nippy morning air registering in the 50’s (F) indoors, against the gathering phalanx of warm sunshine emitted by Mr. Sol, I flopped snugly on the den’s comfy chair facing the PC’s empty stare. Turned the switch on while ambidextrously fingering the CD-player’s remote to bring on some Christmas aural delights from a favored list of singers. Cursorily scanned through holiday greetings from my registered list of list groups and some tagged blogs, aptly serenaded by the soft muffled sounds coming from the CD-player. Then furtively wheeled my eyes through the den, to try and spot any perceptible changes that may have been brought on by imbibing some holiday cheers. No such change. Still saw the same shelf-cabinets with their captive books held stiffly in place. So to the question whether this was the way to catch the holiday spirit, I’d have to answer in the negative.


So dismissively moved on to the other typical chores for the day, which may had have taken on a different spin given that this was the day before Christmas.

The wife announced her desire to be done early with her banking needs before the mad rush during the rest of the holidays. Good, I said thinking this little trip might provide the occasion to see if I could catch the spirit of the season.

Gingerly pushing ourselves outdoors to use the car parked in the driveway, we found that we had comfortably bundled up to handle the low temperature; otherwise it would have been easy to catch the sniffles or a cold. Though the possibility of catching the spirit was also evident out there because the cold nippy atmosphere conjured images of white Christmas, without the white stuff that usually hampered driving trips.

Anyway, our bank is situated on a strip mall anchored by a widely-patronized grocery chain. We observed passersby coming from their parked cars bounced about with quickened steps, buoyed obviously by the slowly warming glow of the creeping sun. The grocery chain had temporarily installed in front a rather huge charcoal-fired barbeque pit loaded with big chunks of beef in differing stages of cooking. The engulfing plume of scented smoke surely must have stirred some cravings from those within reach. Though the parking lot was slowly filling up and abuzz with activity, I wondered whether this was where I could catch the spirit.


But uninspired by the absence of any palpable stirring in my soul, I decided to step aside and walked toward one of the tree-lined streets that bounded the mall. I could only console myself with looking at the bare-branch trees lining the sidewalks and median island. Clearly the flora showing signs of a transitional stage – having shedded, folded up, and hibernated for the winter. Clearly signs of some kind of death, or at least, animated suspension. Clearly too, too gloomy a sight to entice an uplifting change in spirit.














Having done her little banking chores, we quickly got back home. And I quickly dressed down to my biking gear deciding to avail of the warmth of the sun which by now had stretched out to it full splendor during its winter hiatus. So round and round the park I pedaled with half a mind on my biking. The other half focused on the familiar sounds emanating from the trusty iPod’s earbuds. And before I noticed it I had already reached the routine’s limit of 45 minutes of mindless circling around the park. A few minutes more and no lingering memories of the routine stayed on, and sadly, still no change in spirit for me.

After depositing the bike in the shed and getting indoors, the wife announced without skipping a beat her next item in the daily agenda. She wanted to attend the four o’clock Mass to be done with her duty for the holy day of Christmas.

Good, I muttered mentally, another chance to catch the spirit of the season, and in a holy place, too. And in a faith that initiated the celebration of the event which is the reason for the season.

So like clockwork we were on our way to church a few minutes past 3:30 pm. One pass-around and we had found an acceptable parking spot. As usual, the wife had sprung out the vehicle the second the car had stopped. But I seemed glued to my seat, apparently from a host of reasons among which may have been inertia, inability to extricate myself from the comfy confines of the car, etc. But more significantly I found that this particular exercise was problematic. Because two days ago we had been here under similar conditions and for similar purposes. And there was no change of spirit then. So what would make today different? And finally with the wife grudgingly pointing herself toward the church steps, I stayed on to stew and grapple with my predicament.

Gee, it might be getting too late for me to catch the spirit. What should I do?

In what seemed an eternity, finally resolved to do a last recourse effort to deal with it. Took pen and paper and started feverishly to commit to paper all the relevant issues confounding the problem, with the very firm commitment to stay in solitude until this thing was resolved. Not a twitch of a nerve or a muscle, until I had the spirit of the season firmly ensconced in my recalcitrant system.

Another eternity later and Voila! I got it! Eureka!

It was with me all this time. Like the glasses we thought we misplaced but actually are unnoticeably perched above our heads, I missed noticing the many subtle changes that have somehow become part and parcel of daily and everyday living.

Recall the popular piece about the footprints in the sand. What we instinctively believe is missing in us is in actuality already there, for us to discover and make grow.

So, remember in our desperate need to catch the spirit, detach a bit and tarry, it may already be with us.