The Appalachian Trail 2015

I did it again.  I hiked the "AT - The Appalachian Trail." No. Not the whole thing. Don't be crazy. This was only my second year on the AT.

Last year:  1 day: 17.6 miles. This year: 8 days: 52.5 miles. Next year? (For all you math SAT fanatics out there, the answer to that question should be: 64 days and 156.6 miles.)

I was blessed to have my daughter Jillian join me for the first part of the hike and my daughter Lesley and her husband Robin join me for the last part. I was on my own in the middle. I hiked from Arden Valley Road near Route 17 in New York to the Mountain Top Deli in Stormville, NY.

So, ok there is a huge difference between last year’s “walk in the woods” with nothing on my back but some water and a candy bar or two and walking with everything I needed to survive “in the wild” on my back.

Here is what you need to know about that: You have to carry all your food, water, shelter, first aid, toiletries and other necessities ON YOUR BACK every time you move from one temporary location to another.  Yeah, I know. Nuts, right?

I get exhausted wheeling my suitcase from the airport baggage check area to the curbside pickup area. This is different. It is miles - up and down mountains - with lots of rocks. Oh SO many rocks. 

“Necessities” gets redefined pretty quickly and is a simple calculation of weight v. need. When Joyce came to pick up Jillian at Bear Mountain to take her back for her return flight to Atlanta, weight won nine out of every ten battles over need and I lightened my load considerably. Quite honestly, reading the book “Paris to the Pyrenees” which I brought along for entertainment could wait. (More on that later.) Extra clothing? Who needs it? Cook stove, fuel and pot? Cold food is just fine. I opted for the essentials: Tent, sleeping bag, sleeping mat, hammock (oh yes, essential with a capital ‘E’), headlamp, first aid, food and water. All other needs would have to met Bear Grylls style.

This is what I learned:

I am not so sure anymore that I need to do the whole thing. Don’t get me wrong. I truly admire those who hike the entire 2,168.1 miles from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine or vice versa. And I told them so. Virtually each and everyone of them I encountered. It is a “life accomplishment” in my view; akin to graduating from college or getting married or becoming an Eagle Scout or reading the complete works of Shakespeare. I am just no longer certain that it is something I “need” to do. I have moved it from my bucket list to my “Well if there is nothing else to do” list.

Plus it is hard. Actually, I do not know how hard it is. I know how hard eight days are. And those were eight days hiking considerably less each day than those who do the whole thing. It is not necessarily an age thing either because while the average age of the thru-hikers I encountered is about half my 60 years, there were older men and women too. I take a tiny bit of comfort in hearing that the first week is actually the hardest. Unless they let you hire a Sherpa after the first week, I cannot imagine it gets that much easier though.

Thru-hikers (North Bounders or “NoBo’s” - those who hike from Georgia to Maine - and South Bounders or “SoBo’s) are a unique bunch. 

They smell, of course. But everyone smells pretty much the same. Really. You get used to it.

They are focused. Head down. Straight ahead. It is all about the miles.

And they like to talk about one thing and one thing only: The Appalachian Trail in every single one of its manifestations: the terrain, the nearby food, the water, the shelters, the animals. That conversation is significantly enhanced by smoking pot.

But enough about them.

The highlights of my hike?

Watching the sunset with Jillian from the top of West Mountain for 40 glorious minutes. (Apparently sunsets last longer from high places. Who knew?)

Sitting beside Joyce at Bear Mountain and appreciating fully and deeply just how blessed I am to have a wife who indulges and understands my whims.

Singing “A Hiking We Will Go, A Hiking We Will Go” (sung to the tune of “The Farmer in the Dell”) with Lesley and Robin while “slack packing” on the last leg.

Talking to my 4-year-old granddaughter Violet and hearing the excitement in her voice when I told her we would go on our own hike to the Palmyra Nature Cove when I returned.

Taking off the backpack at the end of the day and knowing it would not get picked up again until the next morning.

Setting up my one-person tent and hammock correctly and standing back to admire my handiwork.

The very occasional sighting of wildlife: Deer, mice, snakes, frogs, chipmunks and hawks. (I see more wildlife every day during my daily walks to Palmyra Nature Cove, less than 8 miles from Center City Philadelphia!)

Ordering Asian take out and pizza from the RPH Shelter, which has been described by some hikers as “The Hilton of Appalachian Trail Shelters.”

Walking across the Bear Mountain Bridge at 7am on a delightful summer morning and remembering that when it was completed in 1924, it held the record as the longest suspension bridge in the world. (But only for 19 months when it was surpassed by the Ben Franklin Bridge in Philadelphia.)

The “little things” like tossing a rope over a high tree branch to secure my food away from bears; having a cup of coffee I made myself atop West Mountain; and enjoying a good and hard-earned sweat.

Being startled while laying in my hammock at 9am at Fahnestock State Park by a man in a NY Yankee cap staring at me and asking, “Why didn’t you drop by last night?”  Turns out the gentleman stays at the park all summer long and treats hikers to food, coffee and conversation. He was really after thru-hikers so I did not go. Plus it was 9am and and he was holding a beer.

Admiring once again the rugged beauty of my childhood playground - "Upstate" New York - particularly Bear Mountain where we camped as Boy Scouts.

Sitting amazed at Bear Mountain State Park and seeing firsthand that virtually the entirety of NYC unloads on the park on a Sunday with massive amounts of food for a picnic.

When Jillian and I reached our very first "landmark" - The famous AT "Lemon Squeezer" - after a long and arduous first climb at the start of the hike and shortly before Jillian had to invoke the "No Whining Rule" on her dad.

The Appalachian Deli at the intersection of Route 9 and 403. A true hiker’s blessing!

Making fun of a sign on the last day near the end when our spirits were high anyway because we were almost finished. And saying, "Doesn't water ALWAYS do that?!"

Mostly just being with family in a remote location and talking about whatever popped into our minds.

And the not so high lights?

The very, very bad decision to think that just because I had not used my water filtering system on the first three days that I would not need it on the last five. Not very bright. Even the "good water" was bad.

Being lonely and bored to tears and regretting that I had relinquished the one book I had brought along. I broke down at the concession  stand at Fahnestock State Park and bought a used novel: "Vineyard Shadows:" A Martha's Vineyard Mystery.

Hurting my back. Not hiking. Not lugging the backpack. But trying to avoid the very icky floor outside the shower while putting my socks and hiking boots on at the State Park. Flip flops might have been worth the minimal extra weight.

The two very long nights in the shelters. First at Fingerboard Shelter and then at RPH. You can hear every single noise, roll over, snore, sneeze and other bodily activities that make noise. Definitely not conducive to a good night's sleep!

The bottom line?

I am glad I went. I am more glad that this time I finished what I set out to do. I credit the better hiking shoes and the many words of advice and wisdom from Godson Nick, son-in-law Rick and the countless number of you who told me what I did wrong in response to last year’s Appalachian Trail blog.

Would I do it again? And longer? As soon as my back stops hurting, I will think about it. Not before. Perhaps next year I will start in Connecticut.

Sixty

Likely

One of us will die alone.

Without

Tender eyes to bring us home.

Likely

Books set aside for later.

Never

Will ultimately matter. 

Likely

Trails first stepped with excitement

Are left

Destinations repentant.

Likely

Younger dreams clung to tightly

Loosen

Their grip to reality.

Likely

Faith, family, lifelong friends:

Really

Are THIS life’s cherished Amens.

There is no political gain in a bad attitude

Three out of every four people you meet today - at the beach, at the grocery store, at work, perhaps even in your own home - believe that the America of tomorrow will be worse off than the America of today and most definitely worse than the America of yesterday. That is what the polls say. These “seventy-six per-centers” have lost faith in the proverbial “brighter tomorrow” for their children and grand children. 

Do not count me among them.

And let me warn my friends, particularly, but not exclusively, my Republican friends: There is NO political gain in a bad attitude.

Exactly when did we become a nation of pessimists and backward thinkers? 

Instead of celebrating the technologies that have freed us from the drudgeries of mall shopping, voluminous dictionaries and searching the backs of closets and attics for cherished family photos, we write books like Michael Harris’ The End of Absence - 243 pages of self-absorption decrying the internet and what it is doing to our children.

Instead of applauding the worldwide rejection of communism, the toppling of dictators like so many dominos on the global game board and the explosion of free enterprise in China and the African continent, we wring our hands and lament America’s supposed shrinking middle class and fuel with venemous hatred our envy of our own successful capitalists.

Instead of - especially this - of entering elected public service with hope and optimism; ideas and plans; heart and soul; our candidates spend their very first campaign dollars researching their opponents and figuring out how to tear them down. Is it any wonder really that the “unenlightened masses” think so little of all of you?

There is no equity in pessimism. Even if you are right about our future - which you are not - what is to be gained by walking around like George Orwell’s cynical and pessimistic donkey Benjamin from Animal Farm? Let me suggest that it is not coincidental that Orwell chose an ass for that character.

America is desperate for hope. It is not as if people do not want to believe in a brighter future. It is not as if they do not desire a better tomorrow for their children. 

The national candidate who can build and deliver that better mousetrap of optimism will find a receptive and hungry audience. 

Our next President needs to be an optimist. Our next President needs to have the spirit of Ronald Wilson Reagan - regardless of what you think of his policies. Our next President needs to reject the view that the “United States has had its days in the sun, that our nation has passed its zenith” as Reagan so eloquently repudiated in accepting the nomination of his party 34 years ago this summer.

We do not have to wait until 2016. Let the American renewal begin today. And let it start with YOU. After all, pessimism is an attitude. It is an outlook. It is a belief. It is easily changed. So today, lift a glass of one of America’s great wines or micro-brewed beers on your deck or patio or front steps or balcony or even underneath the flap of that cardboard box you might be living in and toast this “shining city on a hill” we have the great privilege in which to reside. And KNOW that tomorrow is going to be even better. In fact, I guarantee it.

2,162.4 Miles To Go

I walked 17.6 miles on the Appalachian Trail (AT) on Sunday from Long Hill Road to US 9 in New York and I feel like I failed. In fact, I am a little depressed about it. 

The plan was to walk some 46 miles or so to NY 17 near Tuxedo, or a little more than half of New York’s 88-mile claim to the AT. I would take NJ Transit back home from there. But after that first 7 hour and 40 minute day I couldn’t - or more accurately - felt I shouldn’t - continue. (See Matthew 26:41 - http://biblehub.com/matthew/26-41.htm) 

Hiking alone, I had to promise my family that I would not go forward unless I felt it was safe or, better, that the risk of injury was within reasonable bounds. There is never a guarantee of safety and after hours of conversation about bears, cliffs, marauders, dehydration and starvation, I knew better than to make unreasonable promises to them.

At about the 10 mile point, I fell and badly scraped my leg below my left knee.

But that is not why I quit. My leg healed quickly and the pain was more than bearable.

I quit because I could not promise myself that I would not fall again and with more severe consequences. I suspect that falling is part of the game on the AT. I do not really know. I am not an expert. I did not have the right shoes. I did not undertake the right training. I was not prepared. And I was alone. After falling and a half a dozen near falls that followed, I just assumed I would fall the next day. Acquiring new shoes and better training overnight was not an option.

I am impulsive, but I try really hard not to be stupid. So I quit. And I am depressed.

It had long been my “dream” (feel free to insert “hope” “whim” “goal” “desire” “fantasy” “ambition” “yearning” or any like word of your choosing) to hike the entire length of the AT - all 2,180 miles of it from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine. 

Like so many other boys, it was a dream hatched in the canvas tents of Boy Scout camping trips to Bear Mountain and Onteora Scout Reservation, both nestled in my own childhood “wilderness” in and near the Catskill Mountains of Upstate New York. 

It was dream nurtured by countless hours reading Gary Paulsen novels like Hatchet; Jean Craighead George’s My Side of the Mountain; virtually every personal adventure Appalachian Trail book written like Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods and Earl Shaffer’s Walking With Spring; and a huge heaping of Les Stroud and Bear Grylis on television.

But time has a way of getting away from us. So one marriage, six jobs, three children, two grandchildren, scores of weddings, too many funerals and so, so many wasted hours soon saw my biological clock rapidly approaching sixty. A “through hike” was out of the question. Not because I did not - perhaps foolishly - think I could do it, but because I was not willing to be that selfish - to spend that amount of time away from my family and work. Even at a “male maturity age” closer to 25, I could not be that selfish.

So I compromised and decided upon this 60th birthday present to myself. I would attend my family reunion in early August near Poughkeepsie and “walk back to New Jersey” on the AT. That would be enough. That would be an accomplishment. That would be a few moments of a lifelong dream fulfilled or in “Family Man” terms, a “glimpse.” I told everyone. I spent weeks planning.

Instead I walked 17.6 miles. In a day. Probably too fast and too unprepared.

THESE 17.6 miles:  http://walkmeter.com/5b6c87730a9918df/Walk-20140803-1013

That is what I did. And for the most part, it was a blast. There were others, but not many. I met a few through hikers - maybe a dozen or so - like "Blueberry Bear" who is way older than me and started in Georgia on March 11th. I told each one of them how much I admired them. I did not tell them how very envious I am of them.

But mostly I enjoyed the serenity. The leaf-blower-jet-plane-light-rail free wilderness. The absence of that constant suburban drone. And I enjoyed the adventure of it all.

Now I have vowed to try again next year, with a new plan, with companions, better prepared and most certainly with better shoes. I will be ready and I will still be sixty.

And after all, I already walked 17.6 miles. Only 2,162.4 to go!

R.I.P. Maxine Kumin (June 6, 1925 - February 6, 2014)

Upon hearing about Maxine,

I wondered how he had been.

And remembered “The Long Approach,”

Sent to my poetry coach,

By the dearly departed.

When I bought it, I thought him dead

It was implied in Wiscasset,

If not said. And internet

connected, we met yet again

for talk of poetry way back when.

Let it be.

Pssst.

Republicans. Come on over here. Even you Tea Party folks, come here. I want to let you in on a little secret. Here you go:

This President is perfectly capable of failing on his own. 

He does not need your help.

In fact, every time you try to push him down, you instead prop him up.

As we head into the 50th Anniversary of the Beatles historic concert tour of North America next year, you should take a cue from one of their better known tunes: “Let it Be.” 

In times of trouble, let it be. Let it be. Let it be. Let it be.

No more hearings.

No more Government shut downs.

No more threats. No more theater.

The Affordable Care Act? What you like to call “ObamaCare?” Guess what? It was ALWAYS going to be a disaster - particularly in its early days. You actually got that right. The Administration knew that too. Why do you think they kept pushing statutory deadlines back?

Now we are seeing what you have been telling us. But you know what? We would have seen it a month earlier if you had not shut the government down. This disaster started from Day One: October 1st. But no one noticed because they were too busy talking about the shut down and wondering whether we would default on our debt. I am not just guessing about that. The Kaiser Health Tracking Poll for October out on November 1st showed that “More than four in ten (44 percent) say they have followed the fight over the federal government shutdown and raising the debt ceiling “very closely,” while half that many (22 percent) say they’ve paid close attention to news about the website problems with the insurance exchanges.”

So now let it be. Let it run its course. When a reporter asks you a question or sticks a microphone in your face to get comment on the many failings of the current Administration simply say, “Yes, I think that is a problem. If the President needs our help on this, we are here for him.” Then shut up.

And do the same thing on Syria. On the new revelations about Benghazi. On NSA spying. On drone strikes. On unfair IRS scrutiny. Let it be. Let the aggrieved parties make their case. Not you.

No one likes a player who piles on. The loudest gasps from a crowd at a football game come when the quarterback is hit after he throws the ball or a runner is tackled after he goes out of bounds. 

Without you as a foil, this President is helpless. He has nowhere to go. 

Let it be.

She's Got The "Nack"

My two-year-old granddaughter Violet pronounces “neck” and “snack” the same way - “nack” - or at least that is the way it sounds to her hard-of-hearing “ahhpa” - me, her grandfather.

Yesterday I went to get her up from an afternoon nap. As I always do, I ask her if she would like a snack when we go downstairs. She almost always responds “Bi-dot nack,” while touching her hand to her chest once or twice. That is Violet-speak for “Violet snack.” But first we had to find her socks which had mysteriously gone missing while she was napping.

I asked her to help.

“Violet, where are your socks? Did you leave them downstairs? Are they in the crib? Are they underneath the crib? Did mum-mum (her grandmother) take them off you? Did Elmo eat them? Grandpa is silly.”

And, yes, I have an annoying habit of asking questions in rapid-fire fashion without pausing for a breath and giving people a chance to respond. It is not just children who are the victims of this.

Violet just turned to me and said, “Bi-dot nack” while touching her hand to her chest.

I said, “Yes, Violet, we will get a snack when we go downstairs, but we have to find your socks first. Help me look.”

She looked at me again with a serious look on her face and stated emphatically, “Bi-dot nack” while once again touching her hand to her chest.

I again repeated, “We have to find your socks first. Let’s look under the crib.” I even shouted downstairs to her mother and grandmother, “Do you people know what happened to Violet’s socks?” They told me to look under the crib.

After a few more exchanges of “Bi-dot nack” hand touched to chest and grandpa repeating “YES WE WILL GET A SNACK, BUT WE HAVE TO FIND YOUR SOCKS FIRST,” Violet looked at me and said “AhhhPaaaa, NACK!” and put her hand to her chest and left it there.

I put my hand on her hand and felt a lump. I pulled her shirt open and Lo and Behold, there were Violet’s socks - insider her shirt by her neck! 

I said, “THERE are your socks. Thank you for telling me.”

Violet turned to me and said “That’s funny.”

Grand parenting. Best thing ever.

My Thanksgiving Menu is Better than Yours

Here is my 2011 Thanksgiving Menu:

Aperitif: 

Cranberry Float

Amuse Bouche Duet: 

"Thanksgiving Taco" (Corn tortilla with maple-glazed pork belly, cranberry-ginger salsa, sage crema and queso fresco)

Butternut squash, sage and homemade ricotta crostini

Trio of Autumnal Squash Soups:

Butternut with parsnip bacon
Acorn with maple bacon
White pumpkin with toasted nutmeg pecans

Palette Cleansers:

Cinnamon Pear Ginger Sorbet
Sauvignon Blanc Green Apple Sorbet

Entrees/Sides:

Traditional Roasted Naturally Raised Turkey with Sage Dressing and Gravy
Smoked Southwestern "Red Bourbon" Heirloom Turkey w Cornbread Sausage Dressing
BBQ Pheasant with Quinoa Red Bean Stuffing

Paula Deen's Green Tomato and Cheese Casserole
Sour Cream Mushroom Leek Pie
Macaroni and Cheese with Bacon
Brussel Sprouts with Brown Butter, Sage and Bacon
Maple Brown Sugar Sweet Potatoes
Lucy Mary's Broccoli and Cheese Casserole
Spiced Orange Cranberry Sauce
Hot Chunky Buttered Applesauce
Tri-Colored Roasted Beets
Mascarpone Mashed Potatoes
Assorted Homemade Breads and Rolls

Dessert:

Lesley's Maple Pecan Pie
Barb and Mom's Cream Pies
Apple Pie
Pumpkin Pie with Strudel Topping
Cherry Pie
Gingersnap Ice Cream

See, I told you.

A certain someone needs to have a chat with a certain someone, by George!

NOW, comes the real test. 

NOW, comes the real commitment to a cause; to the children; to Camden; to humanity!

The Camden Democratic Party’s hand-picked, expensively litigated, carpet bagger celebrity candidate - Olympian Carl Lewis - has just dissed George Norcross.

The Eighth District Senate Candidate, who is on the ballot again this week, I guess, took the time to once again explain yesterday that while he STILL has not had the chance to examine all the issues; and STILL does not have a platform; he does know at least one thing: He opposes the Chris Christie/George Norcross “Opportunity Scholarship Act.”

It is true. I read it in my Philadelphia Inquirer this morning. When asked about the OSA, Carl said, "I'm not supporting any of that. I'm supporting the children."

Problem with that is that those who support the OSA believe THEY are supporting the children. And some of them are kind of important folk.

The OSA isn’t just some obscure bill and passing fancy. It is THE lynchpin of the revitalization of Camden and the signature piece of a plan to reform education. It also just so happens to be the subject of numerous op-ed articles by a man who usually turns up his coat collar to the glare of public attention - George Norcross. From the Star Ledger to the Inquirer to the Courier Post, Mr. Norcross has promoted the OSA as a way to “show we really mean it, to back up our words with bold and creative actions that will produce concrete, lasting results.” (Star Ledger  February 16, 2011) 

Mr. Lewis apparently does not believe that “All of New Jersey’s children deserve a chance” as suggested by Mr. Norcross.

So what happens now? 

Does George publicly chastise the candidate? Does he take him to the political woodshed? Does he just leave it alone knowing full well that in the unlikely event that Carl Lewis is elected and when the time comes, he WILL vote for the OSA if presented the chance or ELSE?

I don’t know.

I do know what will happen now, however. The Lewis camp will spin his words. They will say, “Well, that just shows that Carl Lewis is his own man. That he is independent. That he is not owned by any political party or political personage.”

Balderdash.

What it shows is that the Lewis team made a political calculation that the support of the powerful teachers union - the New Jersey Education Association - is essential if he is to have any chance whatsoever of victory.

But the burden now really is not Carl’s. He did what he did. The burden is belongs to Mr. Norcross. Does he stand up for what he believes and harm his candidate or leave it alone. Let’s see.

President Alexander

Remember the good old days of 2010, especially last fall and summer when The White House and Members of Congress were getting along so well, holding hands, singing “Kumbaya” and generally working in a bipartisan manner for the good of America?

Yeah, me neither.

But all of a sudden it is the 10-15 percent of Congress who identify themselves as “Tea Party” members and who just arrived at the Capitol in January who are mucking up the works; generally causing all sorts of havoc; and destroying the American and global economies. At least that is the impression you would get if you spent anytime watching MSNBC or, God forbid, tuning into “Face the Nation” or “Meet the Press” on Sunday and listening to the President’s spin masters, including the pitiful David Axelrod and the Massachusetts Senator who has become a caricature of his own self, John Kerry (who, by the way, in case you forgot, served in Vietnam).

Here is what Axelrod said:

“It was the right thing to do to avoid that default. It was the wrong thing to do to push the country to that point. And it's something that should never had happened. And that clearly is on the backs of those who were willing to see the country default, those very strident voices in the Tea Party. And by the way Bob, let me say one other thing - not one of the Republican presidential candidates stood out in opposition to that. Not one of them said let's compromise and be responsible about this.

Kerry was even worse:

“I believe this is, without question, the "tea party downgrade." This is the tea party downgrade because a minority of people in the House of Representatives countered even the will of many Republicans in the United States Senate who were prepared to do a bigger deal, to do $4.7 trillion, $4 trillion, have a mix of reductions and, and reforms in Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid; but also recognize that we needed to do some revenue. I think this is one of the most telling, important moments in our country's history right now.”

Let me repeat: The Tea Party members are 10-15 percent of Congress. Blaming them is kind of like blaming the other team’s cheerleaders for your loss.

President Obama has become Judith Viorst’s Alexander of “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” children’s book fame. Except that the bad experience isn’t just lasting a day or a week or a month, for that matter. He lives in perpetual “Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” land and it does not look like there is a sunny day at the Jersey Shore anywhere in his future. And the hits just keep on coming as 11th Circuit Court of Appeals ruled this afternoon that Health Reform’s individual mandate violates the Federal Constitution. (The children’s book reference is especially apropos given the President’s comments today in Michigan on how to solve the debt problem:  "Everybody's got to chip in," he said. "That's fair. You learn it in kindergarten.")

But the President is the problem. He blames people. He has mastered the blame game. If he is not blaming the Tea Party or Republicans, he is blaming the Tsunami or something called “the Arab spring.” And, of course, there is still some currency in blaming George W. Bush and conservatives in general.

But none of that will get the President to a better day. 

Perhaps this will: Now that the 12 Congressional members of the debt commission have been appointed, the President should meet with them and say:

Get to work. I look forward to your recommendations. Here are a few rules I personally believe you should follow. They will help you reach agreement. Remember, language matters. Trust me.

Don’t refer to tax policy as “loopholes.” At one time, these so-called “loopholes” were “incentives” that Congress believed would create jobs and improve the economy. If they have outlived their usefulness or are no longer accomplishing their goals, let’s get rid of them. But if they still work in some instances, seems to me we could use a job or two in this country.

Don’t use the phrase “fair share” when it comes to who should pay taxes and how much. I will bet a lot of money that we will never agree on the what that means. YOUR idea of fair is not mine. 

Let’s dump the phrase “safety net.” What does it really mean, anyway? Perhaps it would be better if we simply said, ‘We should do what we can to help those who really need our help.’ Put a special emphasis on the word “really.”

And finally, if the deadline approaches, and we are close to an agreement, let’s just give ourselves some more time. Is there anything really wrong with that?

If the President does that, he just  might have a very GOOD day sometime this winter or next November.

If he doesn’t, however, perhaps he should move to Australia. (Read the book.)

A Deficit Raptor Spends

It is unfair to call me a "deficit hawk." Hawks are too meek and mild to represent how I feel about the Federal deficit.


So I instead call myself a "deficit raptor," raptor being the term used to collectively describe ALL birds of prey, having been derived from the French word "rapere" meaning to seize or take by force. And while I would not take all of it ("it" being Federal spending), I would take a lot - by force if I had to.


And while I would not cut my 90-year-old aunt's Social Security payments if I thought it would lead to a balanced budget and elimination of the Federal deficit, I would have to think about it. (Don't worry, Aunt Anne, I am just trying to make a point. I still love you.)


But even Raptors are smart enough to leave some nibbles behind when eating them might endanger their very well being. 


Such is the case for protecting the F-35 Program and its thousand New Jersey jobs. And while I care about the 126,000 jobs in the 46 other states that the program provides for once, I have to be parochial. 


Federal budgets are about choices. So let's assume that even the grandest of deficit hawks - say a Paul Ryan - is going to fail to eliminate Federal spending in its entirety. Some things will stay and some will go. The F-35 should stay.


Unless you have been in a cave and have not read a newspaper in a few years and thus believe that peace is about to break out worldwide any second now, foregoing the need for a U.S. Military presence, we need the F-35. The program will deliver more than 2,400 aircraft for the United States and our allies. One only needs to look to Libya to understand the importance of air power to a successful military operation and foreign policy at a minimal cost in human life. And one only needs to look to Iraq to understand that Americans will no longer tolerate the sacrifice of its soldiers. Our current fleet of aircraft is older than at any other point in our history. We have to modernize.


So if the program protects us; saves lives AND happens to be beneficial to New Jersey also, well that is a formula that this deficit raptor can live with. And one around which our entire Congressional delegation should unite.