What is Writing

If writing is writing, and thinking about writing is writing, then what is writing about writing to keep from writing? Writing?

That sentence started out to be less nonsensical but ended up like my favorite grammatically correct yet seemingly nonsensical sentence. Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo. But even that sentence reiterates the conundrum of the first paragraph. 

Thanks to Norman R. Augstine we all know that "Simply stated it is sagacious to eschew obfuscation." But is the word buffalo repeated 8 times obfuscated or sagacious due to its economy of words and power of its precise terms? An American bison from the town in western New York that is intimidated by other American bison from the same town in western New York also tend to intimidate American Bison from western New York. Or is it puzzled instead of intimidated? Or is it upstate instead of Western? Or is it an just an oxlike mammal and not a bison? Or are there even bison in New York? Is it more succinct to use 8 words than to use 35 to describe the same thing, especially if all three of the words that are the same word have different definitions other than just the fact that they are 3 different words that are the same?

Powerfully succinct, vaguely precise, or generally specific the sentence and the question remains. Is writing about writing as a distraction to keep from writing, writing?

So what keeps me from writing? It isn't that I think my writing stinks. Parts of it do, but overall I think I'm the most humble person you'll ever meet. Not one of the most, the most period. As a result whatever drivel I spew must be high quality literature on a par with Hemmingway, Faulkner, and Borges. 

My writing needs work. It needs an editor, it needs a content editor. I would even relish and appreciate an editing. It isn't perfect, far from it, but it isn't the rantings of a confirmed lunatic. There is purpose and meaning, and even subtle meanings deep in the story, plot, and characters. It is literary styled if not literature. And that in itself is a bit of a rub.

No one wants to read literature. No one. Everyone wants to have read literature. I had to re-read that the first time I saw it. But the third time I read it I got it. I wanted to have read before i read it, but having read it I got it. Which is the way literature works at times. Those not educated in the nuances of allusion, metaphor, similes and the like can easily dismiss the need for such an education. Once educated though, the importance, indeed the pleasure that can be derived from such a training is clearly evident. Even though the underlying desire to have done rather than to actually do may still remain.

So it isn't fear of perfection, my writing isn't. It isn't fear of rejection, even if it is. It's not a lack of ideas. So what is left?

I began his post last weekend, clearly as a distraction to keep from writing. But this morning it hit me, writing is like golf. By which I mean two distinctly different but very important things. My golf handicap is that I think I am a golfer. I spoiled a long walk (for Twain fans) in over a decade but when your score gets to be so high it is becomes a primer in math it becomes discouraging and makes you want to quit. And then it happens. You hit one shot so beautifully perfect it makes you say, "I'll be back."

The best thing about golf though is something I found and have stolen so long ago I cannot credit the person who said it. In the game of golf you find your self on some dewy morning or balmy afternoon standing in a manmade meadow and you realize: Any man can make a golf ball white, but only God can make the grass green.

Labels

One problem I see rampant in our culture today is the desire to label anyone we meet and talk with (whether it's virtual or face to face) in a manner that classifies them. "Oh, you're a _____." These all-encompassing labels will allow us to know your political affiliation, ideology, religious beliefs, what kind of work you do, which side of the bed you sleep on, whether the toilet paper rolls over the top or correctly, and sometimes even what colour your underwear is. But these same labelers when asked what label fits them will say that they don't fit just one label. "I'm a new urbanist, civil, contrarian, neo-classical baroque, Hungarian-Irish, chi-peek-a-doodle Centrist."

A corollary to this problem is that more often than not if you speak disparagingly of what group that makes you a member of the polar opposite. For example, if you insult a Democrat you must be a Republican. Or the more important, if you make joke that has the University of Alabama at Tuscaloosa as its focus you must be an Auburn fan. This also is not necessarily the case. (Just in case my favorite joke is when the cashier invites me to the express lane because they aren't busy but I have too many items and I ask if I have to act like an Auburn graduate that can't read or an Alabama graduate that can't count?)

My point here is of course dual but the main one is that we want to believe that we are multi-faceted but others are so easy to understand that one label covers all. That is almost certainly not the case. My second point is much less obvious.

I work with a German who is mostly a very typical German. He plans, he is prepared, he is on time, he doesn't break the law even if it's a stupid law like not killing the massive nest of hornets I have in my shed, and he puts his cellphones in the back seat of the car when he drives to keep from being distracted. While it sounds very spur of the moment to say he got married in Las Vegas, it actually was a very well planned out event when he and his wife toured the western United States and stopped where they arranged to get married in Vagas. 

He is atypical in that he drives a lot. He actually drives more than I do, probably more than I drove in my last job where my daily commute was 1.5 to 2 hours one-way. We have driven many times together. Our trips to Wiesbaden or Garmisch are 3.5 hour trips one-way if we don't hit traffic. Driving through Wurzburg, Frankfurt, and/or Munchen we almost always hit traffic. When we started traveling together 2.5 years ago I would have my phone connected to the car's bluetooth but after a year or so he connected his to the car if he was driving. 

Another atypicality of his is that he has never gotten a speeding ticket. Here in Germany they have speed cameras to give tickets. In speaking with a German lawyer on a different subject I mentioned a ticket I had received and he said, "Drive like a German. You'll get a ticket, pay it, and forget about it." Germans tend to get their licenses much later than Americans. He is six months older than me, but I got my license at 15, he did not. Partly this is because to get a license in Germany costs over 1000 Euros. The advantage is that their insurance is much cheaper. It should be, they can drive unlike us Americans with our cheap licenses and expensive insurance.

So it came as a surprise Friday when he told me he may have gotten a speeding ticket. You don't know until something gets mailed and since he was driving one of the vehicles I am signed for the notice comes to me. It arrives with a picture as well as the date and place so I can easily know to whom I need to send it for payment. I didn't think much of his revelation until a few minutes later when he said, at least I had the phone connected to the car so I wasn't holding my Blackberry to my ear. That would be a real sin in Germany. Another German I know got pulled over for just looking at his Handy (what Germans call their cellphones) while driving. Getting pulled over is a rarity because there are not roving bands of Polizei like we have in the US. They don't need to with speed cameras, and red-light cameras, and law abiding citizens. I may have mentioned before, in the US we will say, "That is the best law any politician has ever passed. I'm not going to obey it, but it's a great law." In Germany they say, "That's the stupidest law that anyone could have ever passed. It's so dumb we don't know how they dreamed it up. I mean, we're going to follow it, but it's dumb." And yes, those three sentences probably contain at least four 8 letter words that sound like you're angry when you say them even if you whisper.

A minute or two later in my conversation my friend revealed to me that his problem, and why the camera may have caught him, was that he was trying to connect his laptop to his iPhone for a data connection. This caused me to come to a full stop. I clarified, "You were speeding, because you were talking on your bluetooth, while trying to connect your laptop to your iPhone to access an email for a number?"

"Yes, for a conference call. The number was in an encrypted email," he said. We can't see encrypted emails on our Blackberry but to see it he would not only have to connect the phone to the laptop but log into the VPN and pull up the email. A third-order distracted driving task that only the most experienced should never attempt. 

Shaking my head I said, "I'm wearing off on you the wrong way. You don't even sound German when you say that. I mean, you sound so American I think you'll be voting in the mid-term elections in November."

"Is that all it takes?" he asked.

"Pretty much," I said, "And if you're dead you could vote Democrat twice."

In answer to your unspoken question, no I have never been called right in the head.

Overthinking

For those that know me, you know I have a lot of information rumbling through the blank space beneath my hat. The least little thing is likely to start me talking about something that seems so incredibly off subject that right about the time you lose interest (or sometimes well after) I hit on something that smacks right back to the subject at hand that spun me into the original tangent. A had a friend once tell me they wished they could be inside my head for a day. I asked them why, because there are times I don't want to be inside my own head.

All the world is one big connection. The more of this great big giant globe I see the smaller it becomes. But the other thing that happens as I see more of the world is that I see what drives some of the world and definitely get a small glimpse of what drives us crazy Americans.

When I first started working for a government entity I was appalled at the lack of urgency and sense of leaving something undone. In my defense, I had worked for almost a decade at private consulting firms where the rules of capitalism mean that if you don't please your customer he isn't your customer long. My last job before government work was one where I learned the most about this because I spent a lot of time working alongside the President of the company who would ask me on Thursday what the client had demanded we have done by Tuesday. Not next Tuesday mind you, two days prior. I have long said that if it wasn't for the last minute I wouldn't get anything done, but Mark would not do anything unless it was critical mass and probably overdue. So comparing that to either the unspoken attitude of leaving it for tomorrow or the more brazen spoken, "It'll be there tomorrow" was a polar opposite.

Many even told me that I'd get there. My naiveté would wear off. My optimism would run out. But it hasn't. It still bugs me today when I have to deal with people that don't hustle, don't care, and simply don't get worked up over anything whether they need to or not.

Two and a half years later, I have finally realized that the attitude in Europe is one of "it'll be there tomorrow." Problems don't have to be solved today because they weren't made in a day and they won't be fixed in a day. The problem will be there tomorrow and we can nibble off a little more of that problem tomorrow. If we didn't finish it today and it's Saturday, we can do it on Monday because tomorrow is Sunday. The only two things open on Sunday in Germany are the churches and the restaurants and they don't open the latter until the former lets out. People here know that we work to live and we must live now.

Compare this to the United States and its live to work attitude. Fix it now and don't wait. Big or small issue it must be corrected now because there will be a new problem tomorrow. Now, faster, bigger, more efficient, less wasteful. Except of course for the things that are opposite. In those cases it must be slower faster, smaller in a huge way, more efficiently less efficient, and waste nothing in making it more wasteful. 

Every time I hear someone say the US can have healthcare like Europe, or welfare like Europe, or like the article I read last week that said ALL it will take for the US to institute universal basic income is to increase our taxes to match Europe it makes me laugh. These people do not understand. They choose to see only a part of the problem, only a part of the solution, and fail to understand that their sprint to the finish attitude will not help them gain an edge on the marathon.

It is quintessential American idealism that we are stubborn and stuck in our ways. We unabashedly will not quit. Everyone should be like us because we're better, except for the things we are not better at. And those should be like someone who does that better, only we don't want to give up what they gave up to get it, because we are American.  But wen're young.

Europe can wait until tomorrow because there was a yesterday for so long. I've long said that what is old in the US is still called new in Europe. There is a road in Grafenwoehr called Neue Amberger Strasse. The new road to Amberg. It replaced Alte Amberger Strasse (Old Amberg Street) because it goes through the Grafenwoehr Training Area. The infamous Tower of Tower Barracks is on Alte Amberber Strasse. So they needed a new road that didn't go through the military base when they started building the base--in 1908. Over 100 years and the road is still called New. In a town near me, Vohenstrauss, there is a castle built in the 11th to 12th century which has five towers. In the late 1800s they added a sixth tower to add in some indoor bathroom facilities. In the late 1980s, literally a hundred years later, as a part of repairing and updating the structure they tore down the tower because it was an add on. In Garmisch, the "new" church is 650 years old. It sits on the site of the old church which was there for 650 years.

In America a hundred miles is a short distance and a hundred years a long time. In Germany, a hundred miles is a long distance and a hundred years a short time. An attitude that is reflected in almost everything.

Editorial comment: I've updated quite a lot of things. Check out the new About the Website (added some new bits), and the links at the bottom (or the side) now go to some of my fiction work. Or just leave a comment. I would love to hear your thoughts on my thoughts. And thanks for reading this far. I cannot make you understand how much I appreciate that.

End to Prejudice

Few things make us feel as good as finding others that think like us. When a quote from a famous person matches our feelings it seems to drive home the point that much better. As a general rule I would say that had we found the quotes before the underlying concept they may not have as much an impact on us but I challenge any who disagree to comment.

I have long loved to travel. Whether it was to my aunt and uncle's house in rural LA (that's the original LA, Lower Alabama), or to family reunions in central Mississippi, of course trips to New Orleans, Mobile, and Atlanta were always full of new things too. Once I reached a point I could truly set out into the world those trips became longer and more fascinating.

Early on I had found Innocents Abroad, but found the film adaptation (perhaps it was a PBS adaptation) to be more interesting than the book, a rare occurrence for me. It tells of Mark Twain's adventures when he convinced a newspaper to pay him to see the world. This is a step away from con man but I leave it to the individual to decide if it is above or below. My own interpretation is clear as I have regularly used my employer as a means of funding my trips to other parts, of the state, of the country, and of the world. It was only once I had reached a Twain level of employer-funded jaunts that this quote knocked me off my feet.

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” —Mark Twain  

No less accurate is his quote from On Life, "The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why." but these are days that can occur at home. One by definition would occur where you are from, but the other may well be after you have begun to knock the prejudices of our upbringing off of your character. But by that point we should realize a little better what Hemingway was talking about.

"There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self." —Ernest Hemingway

In many ways this blog has become my own version of Innocents Abroad. I have chronicled my travels and noted my observations on employer funded, as well as personal funded, jaunts of various lengths, distances, and durations. As they began I felt uncomfortable. I could feel my comfort bubble if not bursting at least being left behind. In many ways I am more comfortable outside my bubble than I was inside it. Perhaps the most shocking revelation to me was a quote I stumbled upon more recently.

“The American is always an alien abroad. He never can assimilate nor do other peoples ever accept him otherwise than as a foreigner. His own heart is in his own country, and yet there is less and less of a niche for him when he returns.” —Herbert Hoover

Whether the comfort bubble has popped, expanded, or merely been exceeded, life outside is an incredible place to be. You never know what tomorrow may hold. You never know what is around the next corner. And you never know what may happen when you return back home. Rest assured though, as your world expands, your narrow-minded petty thoughts are wont to disappear.

The Circle is a Bubble

During my visit to the US I had a chance to sit with my Dad and two uncles. An impromptu meeting in a gas station deli with the best oyster poboys in Biloxi. A table full of Byrds is a dangerous place to be.

When I started typing this I got off onto a bit of a tangent which led me to describe my Comfort Bubble. Eleven hundred words later I still finished it up with "that's my bubble in a nutshell." I'm reading a book of essays by and about Southern Writers and one essay I read said that we Southerners tell stories. It's just what we do. To illustrate the point the author, Joe Formichella, told a story about his older brother visiting Myrtle Beach and attempting to order a piece of pie. Describing the encounter he said that after listening to the ". . . history of its origin, a cautionary tale about its proper pronunciation, a dissertation about the preferred method of eating it, 'When all I wanted was a goddamned piece of pecan pie!'" Seems right.

Back to your piece rather than my whole pie, I grew up in Biloxi with my paternal grandparents two blocks east and maternal grandparents six miles west. My Dad was the middle of seven and my Mom the middle of six and most all of them still lived in Biloxi. Across the street was my Uncle Jimmy, whose wife was Daddy Byrd's sister. We're Southern, we know what Great Uncles and third cousins are, we just don't mention the details unless we have to. I knew four of my great grandparents, and lived in a house that was another set of great grandparent's house before they passed. I didn't know everyone in the town, but there could not have been more than four degrees of separation from knowing any of them. The way I describe it is that there were 50,000 people in Biloxi and my Dad knew all 70,000 of them.

The Biloxi of my youth was not a huge town, even though it was the second largest in the state. It had not only a hometown feel but a welcoming home town touch. It was easy, especially with my familial connections, to think the whole world knew itself. As a fifth generation Biloxian, I never imagined living anywhere but Biloxi. Once I left I've never imagined moving back.

No matter how far away I've been I always have to go home and recharge my Biloxi Battery. It was more frequent at first, and never takes real long, but it's a must. Several years back it finally struck Ginger who said, "No matter where we live, no matter how long we've lived there, you will always call Biloxi home." She knows me better than I do. I've taken to telling people I'm from Missibama because I've lived in Alabama about 4 months less than I lived in Mississippi. More accurately I'm from the whole Mississippi Territory. But Biloxi is my home.

We once traveled 350 miles for a pizza. A Hugo's Pizza, the establishment that brought french dressing to pizza, ask any old school Biloxi resident they'll tell you. I can still taste that 18" shrimp pizza even though I think they closed before Katrina wiped out the building. Traveling 5000 miles for an oyster poboy doesn't seem that far fetched to me. I try not to tell Ginger that's the point of the trip and she acts like it isn't so we're all good. But part of the reason I can travel intercontinentally for a meal is that I know I'll get to recharge my battery and see at least some of my huge family.

This trip was no exception. Of course Dad was there, and Bea who had traveled with him to Germany for 2 weeks in May. Then Uncle Doughnut showed up. Things were going great when Uncle Pat called so he headed over too. Now we're having an impromptu family gathering in a gas station. Bea and her granddaughter left, then Faith and Ginger went out to the car leaving two generations of Byrd Boys shooting the breeze around the table. 

It comes as no surprise, but I talk. I talk a lot. It surprises people when I tell them I want to kiss the Blarney Stone because they can't believe I haven't already. But I also listen. I listen more than anyone who talks as much as me can. Listening to two conversations at the same time is easy. The problem is that at some point you will be drawn into one conversation over the other and you can't tell when (or where) that happens. In Afghanistan I had one 12 second interval where I was listening to one conversation in my right ear, one in my left, and talking to a guy in front of me. After 12 seconds I told everyone to quit because I will never be able to top that.

Part of the listening is paying attention. In the midst of our conversation I noticed that my Dad was more quiet than he normally is. Not sure what's going on there yet. I think we all kind of deferred to Uncle Pat a bit. My Dad wasn't the youngest, but he did seem to have the least to say. I suspect he was recharging his battery, too.

The interesting point that started this whole post was something Uncle Pat said. He talked about some of the things he's lived through, especially the civil rights movement, and said that everything is a circle. It all comes back around. And now, even that is coming back around. 

The first instinct may be to say that no, the civil rights movement is not coming back around, but before you say that think in terms of parallels and equals. In many ways there are similar situations happening. And it's uncomfortable. The world of political correctness and offense over words taken out of context is immensely uncomfortable. The words taken in context are often poorly formed. And with the age of instant notification a misspoken word can be sent around the world in a hundred different ways before the smell of expulsion of words has dissipated.

I'm reminded of a line from one of my favorite poems. I don't like much poetry, I don't read much poetry. Taking it out of the whole could mean taking it out of context but the line is "Success in Circuit lie." 

Life outside the comfort bubble is by definition uncomfortable. No matter how one defines the bubble. Sometimes the bubble defines you no matter how hard you try to avoid it.

Tell all the truth but tell it slant--

Success in Circuit Lies

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased

With explanation kind

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind--

Emily Dickinson (1263)

Kid Adult of an Adult Kid

Last night as I discussed my adult children's plans for today and tomorrow I kept repeating that they had no plan. While my patient wife Ginger agreed with me, she also asked me if I remembered when we were running around my parent's house with them asking us "What's the plan?" To which of course we had no answer. We had the overarching plan, but none of the details to fill it in. Nothing that showed how we would make it happen. Sort of exactly similar to what my kids seem to have now. A good plan short on details.

It isn't easy. As a parent we would rather take the pain, the inconvenience, the tribulations leaving them the undamaged joys of life. But that doesn't always happen. By 'doesn't' I mean 'can't' and by 'always' I mean 'ever.' It's so easy for us to see exactly what our children need to do yet so hard for us to tell them. We denied that we were like our parents until we grew old enough to realize we were exactly like them. We see our kids are exactly like us yet watch them deny it. 

Personally I was amazed at both how smart my folks were and how quickly they went from complete idiot to genius as I progressed from the ages of 17 to 25. It appears that right now I am smack dab in the middle of that range for my oldest but it isn't satisfying to merely sit back and relish in the amount of wisdom I gain daily without any effort.

My Dad has recommended lots of books to me. A good number I've read, especially The Rising Tide by John Barry. This book tied together so many of my loves from my childhood and life now that it was incredible. In reading it he learned some of the things I knew (namely engineering, the Corps of Engineers, 19th century technology) that sent me down the path I'm on and I learned more about fascinating subjects he knew better including how Huey P. Long and Herbert Hoover rose to prominence and power, how New Orleans lost its place of authoritative control in Louisiana and the US, and a more thorough understanding of how deeply-seated the distrust and hatred of the Corps of Engineers is in the lower Mississippi River.

But this is merely the latest in a long list of recommendations. A much shorter list is the one that I've sent back to him. Last week he came over after we had recovered from our enjoyable flight and among other things he mentioned a phone call he had received for me. This call was about The Third Door. I was able to get into the group of advanced readers for the book. For those in the know, I took the Third Door into The Third Door. Since I was overseas it made it hard to get a physical copy of the book, however, that issued worked itself out and I was able to read it in advance of its publishing.

Phenomenal read. I couldn't put it down from start to finish. Oh, I stopped at times to admire the writing and its impactful words, but I never put it down. When I wrote my reviews I hoped that it might inspire others to read it, but little did I know it actually worked. My Dad in a very matter of factly manner told me that he said it all sounded interesting. He knew what kind of books he recommended to me that i liked and as a result, he figured he might like this one. He got a copy and it is on his reading list.

When we're young we strive to be grown and accepted. We yearn for positions, not necessarily of power, but of influence. To be taken as serious, persuasive, intelligent, perhaps even experts at something. But it doesn't arrive in a bang or with fanfare. The next step on the road of life is merely another step. It is just one more piece of traveled ground. Ground that everyone has to travel on their own whether it takes you further away or closer to home. Becoming a true grownup, or just no longer being a child, never gets easier or faster and no matter how hard we try we will never be able to make the parallel lines cross. We can however marvel in their similarities.

Back up

After what seems like forever I have rescued my blog from the well entrenched grips of malware. As a part of the cleaning and fixing I am deleting a lot of subscribers because I suspect that one or more of them are the reason for the malware limbo that my website has lived in for way too long. As I struggle to become more technically savvy to keep this from happening again I haven't yet figured out how to just send an email to subscribers but I think making a post will let people know, and those that are actual subscribers and not just weird automated malware providers will see this. I am not deleting everyone, though of the 50 or so names I've deleted so far I haven't recognized any. If I accidentally delete you I'm apologizing in advance and asking you to re-subscribe. As a point of reference, I'll try to finish this and post something new by 11 May.

So look for another post from me before next Friday and if you don't see one, check back at byrdmouse.com. Thanks for your patience and understanding and we'll talk again real soon.

Change Your Liking

Today I got an email from the uncle my cousins and I have called Uncle Doughnut since I was young. I can’t say he’s my favorite uncle mostly because I don’t have favorite uncles or aunts, but he was always the cool uncle. Still is. He is still a bachelor, buys top of the line toys (like cameras, electronics, appliances, etc.), always got us great Christmas gifts whether as individuals or as a group, and on Saturday mornings he brought Krispy Kreme doughnuts. For lunch he brought Desportes’s french bread because when we hung out at Mama and Daddy Byrd’s we usually had some meal that went well with bread. My memory is fuzzy on when, but at some point in the 70s he went to the Canary Islands to live for a while. This was a few years before Aunt Maggie and Uncle Scotty took off sailing on the Robin for 30 years but I fondly recall each week when we found out there was a new post card with a picture of where he or they were or what they had seen. One of those cool Uncle Doughnut gifts was a 12 volume set atlas. Two volumes were the United States, but the other ten were the rest of the world. I never modeled my life after Uncle Doughnut, but to this very day no matter how full I am there is still room for hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts (and peach cobbler but that’s another story), and I love bread. There is a soft spot between my breastbone and my belt line for them. My affinity for these aren’t all because of him, but no doubt he had an impact.

Back to today’s email. It included a link to a 60 Minutes clip about Rick Steves. I had never heard of Rick or his brand of travel books. Then again, until I got here I’d never heard of Rothenburg and didn’t know why my Introduction to Bavaria instructor mentioned that all Americans want to go there. But Rick’s explanation of why Americans should see Europe resonates with me. It resonates because even before I heard him say it, it is my own.

Early on he says that if when you travel the experience isn’t to your liking, change your liking. At about 3:50 in the video it gets really good, and at 4:30 the hook was set. I stopped watching news on the television back in the 90s but I knew 1) the question she was about to ask, and 2) his answer at 4:30. This is why I wanted to move my family to Europe, to get them out of the country to see what the rest of the world is and how it works.

I saw part of the world from inside a tour bus with tinted windows. The buses were an armoured SUV and an MRAP. The windows were bulletproof. But the view was eye-opening enough that I realized that I wouldn’t be a good father if I didn’t show my daughters that despite the fact I wanted to put them on a pedestal they would never change the lightbulb by standing still and waiting for the world to revolve around them.

Rick's reasons repeat themselves. Last week I mentioned to some Germans I work with that as Americans we are arrogantly ethnocentric. Just today I told some other Germans I was glad to be in this country because they have common sense. At the Nuremberg Zoo (Tiergarten Nuremberg) Saturday Ginger and I both saw and commented on things we’d never see in the states. Some pansy would sue because they stubbed their toe on an uneven sidewalk or missing bollard. It was excessive that my daughter jumped the fence to join the llamas in their compound but here, unlike America (more specifically Norte Americano for my Bolivian friend), they don’t protect us from ourselves. The insanity that is the norm that causes us to not know which bathroom to pee in just doesn’t manifest itself here. The reasons TO travel continue to reassert themselves as we DO travel. They are underlined, quotated, highlighted, parenthesized, capital lettered, and away from everything else on the other side. Constantly.

Byrd Boys love Biloxi. I am a fifth generation Biloxian, and all my uncles on the Byrd side spent the majority of their life either in Biloxi or right next door (one lived in Ocean Springs, the town where Biloxi was founded in 1699, another story for another time). I never imagined living anywhere else, and once I left I never imagined living there again. Before I left I saw the first two volumes. I've seen a lot of the United States and love it almost as much as Biloxi. The more I see of the other ten volumes of this giant world the more I realize how small it is. Taking my family out into the great big world is going to show them how small it is, too. Uncle Laurence didn’t make me want to leave to see the world, but he did remind me why I did. Rick Steves reminded me why. We both are doing our part in our own way to make an impact on American narrow-mindedness.

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

-Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad

Fair warning world, the Byrd's are loose.

P.S. Neither Dad, Mom, nor my Mother-in-law can blame Uncle Laurence, Aunt Maggie, or Uncle Scotty for causing me to move my wife and their grandchildren 5000 miles away. At least until they've come for their first visit and seen the Achtung, the Complicated, the Proper, and the Lovable Chaos for themselves. For my part I can't wait to meet the later or show the former.