I was charged with taking out the diaper bin trash this morning before the mommy charged off to Jazzercise with her wailing battalion in tow. This was unfortunate because A) the diaper bin trash event is always a nasty, foul one, and B) the garbage man, early-riser that he is, had already arrived, collected, and driven off -the story thus culminating in our child's excrement sitting in a bag in the can on the side of the house for another week, under the hot July sun.

Some things procrastinated are better left unmentioned altogether.

In other, more cheerful, garbage news: we bought a new trash can for the kitchen. It's a Costco item, stainless steel and battery-powered. Yes, that's right, battery-powered. All things are going electronic nowadays, don't you know? So you plop a few (non-disposable) D-cells in the bottom of the thing and it opens its lid for you by way of the "intelligent infrared sensor system." Just wave your hand in front of it and whoop -the lid opens, ready for trash! "Touchless!" it declares on the box. There is a learning curve, however, as you never really realize how often you use two hands to carry trash to the bin until you're standing there and... how shall I wave my hand in front of thee? So you move some of the trash over the sensor and whoop up goes the lid, knocking your trash. As well, sometimes I wave my hand and it doesn't open, like, these are not the garbage cans you're looking for... Who invents these things? Was there a flaw in the foot pedal design?

The Little Ditchman seems to enjoy it. I tried to teach her how to jettison garbage with flair by displaying that it was necessary to say "Abracadabra!" each time you magically open it, but alas, this did not catch on. 'Twas not such a bad purchase, though, and it was relatively inexpensive, which was important at the moment because there was no non-electronic trash can for sale, oddly. Anyway, the thing has a truly friendly, servantile demeanor. Walk too close to it and it opens for you sometimes, with a supplicating look on its simple-minded metal maw, asking, ...Trash?

Also, it came with a smaller duplicate of itself -free! So we now have two automatic, battery-powered, infrared-sensing, stainless-steel, self-opening garbage pails. We put the other one in the downstairs bathroom, and it's like the mini-me of the kitchen one, asking politely when you enter the privy ...trash?

Honestly, I didn't think this was a necessary electronic purchase for the home, but the previous can was just cracked, scratched, busted and uncleanable. I emptied it before I disposed of it and I thought, What am I doing? I mean, how do you throw out a trash can? Answer: bigger trash can. (I honestly wish I had a funnier, more profound punchline to that question.) I guess I could just put it out on the curb. One man's trash (can) is another man's treasure (chest).

Next up: we need a new coffee maker. Does yours take an hour to make half a pot of coffee even when you poured a full pot of water in it? Where does all the other water go? And why are these cabinets all hot and damp?


~

More. More of everything. All kinds of action around here! Very exciting. But I'm not going to tell you about it, as I don't want to bore you (at least, not today.) One man's "action" is another man's hyper-caffeinated channel surfing finger.

I mentioned that I was "confused" this morning. "Again?" Mrs. Ditchman asked, and it was then that I thought: uh oh. So I guess I better get to the bottom of it. I think it has to do with the doubled-up workload, anticipation of future events, and the pile of mail, chores, and unread magazines on my desk. Also, the receipts are mounting up, due to the previously mentioned weekend of consumption. I meticulously double-check my receipts in the register, and then appropriately file each one for tax purposes. It is a simple task, except when put off, where it soon becomes a surprising morass of paperwork. Like a looming Tax Day without a deadline.

Today was the Little Ditchman's first day of school! She was excited about it, and I suspect she'll do well as long as these schools sustain that preconceived interest. It's Preschool, in case you were wondering, but it's not even that, as it's summer Preschool. I remember absolutely loathing summer school as a child, and would stop at nothing to avoid it. I guess with Summer Preschool they get the brainwashing in early.

Getting ready this morning she asked a perfectly valid question: "Do they have a bathroom at my new school?" The answer, in case you're wondering, is yes, thank Jehovah. I'll have to teach her about the difference between may and can now, because I remember every kid being mocked by the higher-ups for asking "Can I go to the bathroom?" I hope so! HAR HAR! was always the answer, or thereabouts. It was never funny.

So we roll on. There was a typical amount of First Day chaos in the classroom and I immediately hoped the teacher had a team of able assistants. I thought to myself that that was a job that I just could not handle -being a lone pre-school teacher. (Damn, what fortitude that must require.) We put the little girl's name tag on her and showed her to her new cubby and introduced her to her new teacher and our Little Ditchman just ran in and got on with it, like she'd been there a thousand times, and done with us. We didn't cry about any of it. We just sort of gave it a sanguine shrug, walked back to the parking lot and got in our respective cars. I went off to work, Mommy went off to Jazzercise, and the Little Digger just happily laughed it all off like he does everything else, neither considering the momentous occasion nor the profound passing of Time.

Wish I could be more like him.






~

Well, it was a near perfect 4th, and I shan't go into the sordid details, but I say near perfect because we watched fireworks on the tv, which is an insult to fireworks everywhere.

Actually, no, we caught a glimpse of a firework or two from the upstairs office window, out across the street, between the two neighbor houses, past the trees, beyond the hill, and off in the distance. It was unsatisfying. But it was a swell time at the neighbor's, as it was last year, with the kids running on the grass with cupcakes and strangers chatting over beers about simple, uncontroversial things; kid's names, local water temperatures, the lack of storage space in these old tract homes...

And yesterday we had church. It's a nice church, with nice people, and nearly everyone in Hawaiian shirts. No one thinks twice about it, though I imagine if you'd abruptly joined from the Bible Belt, you might find it off-putting, and perhaps mildly cultish. Communion was passed and I didn't screw it up this time, thank the Lord. Though I admit I was tempted to pass the Holy Host to my wife and say, This gluten-free wafer is the body of Christ, broken for you... This thimble of bland grape drink is the blood of Christ, shed for you... But I didn't, and asked forgiveness at the thought. Sometimes I just can't help myself.

Oh, but the Lord made me this way, so shame on Him! After church we went on a spending spree of wild abandon, like the good capitalist American Christians that we are, purchasing electronic goods for the family business and stopping in at Costco to drop a couple hundred for whatever; cases, vats, pallets... You'd never know the economy was on the downturn by going in that store. Consumption! It's a good thing!

Today leads me, like riding bareback without reigns. I've felt confused all morning, and I fear it's just the early pangs of mid-life -fleeting moments of nonsense and madness inserted into a busy Monday schedule to keep you on your toes. Let's try and get something done today, in spite of it all.


~

I really wanted to write something for the 4th, and did a little reading on it, but then I came across this and decided that what I wanted to say somebody had already gotten down. (Lucky me! I get the morning off!)

On July 4, 1776, the Declaration of Independence was adopted.

There were no trumpets blown. No one stood on his chair and cheered. The afternoon was waning and Congress had no thought of delaying the full calendar of routine business on its hands. For several hours they worked on many other problems before adjourning for the day.

What kind of men were the 56 signers who adopted the Declaration of Independence and who, by their signing, committed an act of treason against the crown? To each of you, the names Franklin, Adams, Hancock and Jefferson are almost as familiar as household words. Most of us, however, know nothing of the other signers. Who were they? What happened to them?

I imagine that many of you are somewhat surprised at the names not there: George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, Patrick Henry. All were elsewhere.

Ben Franklin was the only really old man. Eighteen were under 40; three were in their 20s. Of the 56 almost half - 24 - were judges and lawyers. Eleven were merchants, nine were landowners and farmers, and the remaining 12 were doctors, ministers, and politicians.

With only a few exceptions, such as Samuel Adams of Massachusetts, these were men of substantial property. All but two had families. The vast majority were men of education and standing in their communities. They had economic security as few men had in the 18th Century.

Each had more to lose from revolution than he had to gain by it. John Hancock, one of the richest men in America, already had a price of 500 pounds on his head. He signed in enormous letters so that his Majesty could now read his name without glasses and could now double the reward. Ben Franklin wryly noted: "Indeed we must all hang together, otherwise we shall most assuredly hang separately."

Fat Benjamin Harrison of Virginia told tiny Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts: "With me it will all be over in a minute, but you, you will be dancing on air an hour after I am gone."

These men knew what they risked. The penalty for treason was death by hanging. And remember, a great British fleet was already at anchor in New York Harbor.

They were sober men. There were no dreamy-eyed intellectuals or draft card burners here. They were far from hot-eyed fanatics yammering for an explosion. They simply asked for the status quo. It was change they resisted. It was equality with the mother country they desired. It was taxation with representation they sought. They were all conservatives, yet they rebelled.

Though the resolution was formally adopted July 4, it was not until July 8 that two of the states authorized their delegates to sign, and it was not until August 2 that the signers met at Philadelphia to actually put their names to the Declaration.

William Ellery, delegate from Rhode Island, was curious to see the signers' faces as they committed this supreme act of personal courage. He saw some men sign quickly, "but in no face was he able to discern real fear." Stephan Hopkins, Ellery's colleague from Rhode Island, was a man past 60. As he signed with a shaking pen, he declared: "My hand trembles, but my heart does not."

Even before the list was published, the British marked down every member of Congress suspected of having put his name to treason. All of them became the objects of vicious manhunts. Some were taken. Some, like Jefferson, had narrow escapes. All who had property or families near British strongholds suffered.

· Francis Lewis, New York delegate saw his home plundered -- and his estates in what is now Harlem -- completely destroyed by British Soldiers. Mrs. Lewis was captured and treated with great brutality. Though she was later exchanged for two British prisoners through the efforts of Congress, she died from the effects of her abuse.

· William Floyd, another New York delegate, was able to escape with his wife and children across Long Island Sound to Connecticut, where they lived as refugees without income for seven years. When they came home they found a devastated ruin.

· Philips Livingstone had all his great holdings in New York confiscated and his family driven out of their home. Livingstone died in 1778 still working in Congress for the cause.

· Louis Morris, the fourth New York delegate, saw all his timber, crops, and livestock taken. For seven years he was barred from his home and family.

· John Hart of Trenton, New Jersey, risked his life to return home to see his dying wife. Hessian soldiers rode after him, and he escaped in the woods. While his wife lay on her deathbed, the soldiers ruined his farm and wrecked his homestead. Hart, 65, slept in caves and woods as he was hunted across the countryside. When at long last, emaciated by hardship, he was able to sneak home, he found his wife had already been buried, and his 13 children taken away. He never saw them again. He died a broken man in 1779, without ever finding his family.

· Dr. John Witherspoon, signer, was president of the College of New Jersey, later called Princeton. The British occupied the town of Princeton, and billeted troops in the college. They trampled and burned the finest college library in the country.

· Judge Richard Stockton, another New Jersey delegate signer, had rushed back to his estate in an effort to evacuate his wife and children. The family found refuge with friends, but a Tory sympathizer betrayed them. Judge Stockton was pulled from bed in the night and brutally beaten by the arresting soldiers. Thrown into a common jail, he was deliberately starved. Congress finally arranged for Stockton's parole, but his health was ruined. The judge was released as an invalid, when he could no longer harm the British cause. He returned home to find his estate looted and did not live to see the triumph of the Revolution. His family was forced to live off charity.

· Robert Morris, merchant prince of Philadelphia, delegate and signer, met Washington's appeals and pleas for money year after year. He made and raised arms and provisions which made it possible for Washington to cross the Delaware at Trenton. In the process he lost 150 ships at sea, bleeding his own fortune and credit almost dry.

· George Clymer, Pennsylvania signer, escaped with his family from their home, but their property was completely destroyed by the British in the Germantown and Brandywine campaigns.

· Dr. Benjamin Rush, also from Pennsylvania, was forced to flee to Maryland. As a heroic surgeon with the army, Rush had several narrow escapes.

· John Martin, a Tory in his views previous to the debate, lived in a strongly loyalist area of Pennsylvania. When he came out for independence, most of his neighbors and even some of his relatives ostracized him. He was a sensitive and troubled man, and many believed this action killed him. When he died in 1777, his last words to his tormentors were: "Tell them that they will live to see the hour when they shall acknowledge it [the signing] to have been the most glorious service that I have ever rendered to my country."

· William Ellery, Rhode Island delegate, saw his property and home burned to the ground.

· Thomas Lynch, Jr., South Carolina delegate, had his health broken from privation and exposures while serving as a company commander in the military. His doctors ordered him to seek a cure in the West Indies and on the voyage, he and his young bride were drowned at sea.

· Edward Rutledge, Arthur Middleton, and Thomas Heyward, Jr., the other three South Carolina signers, were taken by the British in the siege of Charleston. They were carried as prisoners of war to St. Augustine, Florida, where they were singled out for indignities. They were exchanged at the end of the war, the British in the meantime having completely devastated their large landholdings and estates.

· Thomas Nelson, signer of Virginia, was at the front in command of the Virginia military forces. With British General Charles Cornwallis in Yorktown, fire from 70 heavy American guns began to destroy Yorktown piece by piece. Lord Cornwallis and his staff moved their headquarters into Nelson's palatial home. While American cannonballs were making a shambles of the town, the house of Governor Nelson remained untouched. Nelson turned in rage to the American gunners and asked, "Why do you spare my home?" They replied, "Sir, out of respect to you." Nelson cried, "Give me the cannon!" and fired on his magnificent home himself, smashing it to bits. But Nelson's sacrifice was not quite over. He had raised $2 million for the Revolutionary cause by pledging his own estates. When the loans came due, a newer peacetime Congress refused to honor them, and Nelson's property was forfeited. He was never reimbursed. He died, impoverished, a few years later at the age of 50.

Of those 56 who signed the Declaration of Independence, nine died of wounds or hardships during the war. Five were captured and imprisoned, in each case with brutal treatment. Several lost wives, sons or entire families. One lost his 13 children. Two wives were brutally treated. All were at one time or another the victims of manhunts and driven from their homes. Twelve signers had their homes completely burned. Seventeen lost everything they owned. Yet not one defected or went back on his pledged word. Their honor, and the nation they sacrificed so much to create is still intact.

And, finally, there is the New Jersey signer, Abraham Clark.

He gave two sons to the officer corps in the Revolutionary Army. They were captured and sent to that infamous British prison hulk afloat in New York Harbor known as the hell ship Jersey, where 11,000 American captives were to die. The younger Clarks were treated with a special brutality because of their father. One was put in solitary and given no food. With the end almost in sight, with the war almost won, no one could have blamed Abraham Clark for acceding to the British request when they offered him his sons' lives if he would recant and come out for the King and Parliament. The utter despair in this man's heart, the anguish in his very soul, must reach out to each one of us down through 200 years with his answer: "No."

The 56 signers of the Declaration Of Independence proved by their every deed that they made no idle boast when they composed the most magnificent curtain line in history. "And for the support of this Declaration with a firm reliance on the protection of divine providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."

~

You may not have heard, but a 4000 man surge in the Helmand River valley of southern Afghanistan has begun. This operation is the largest Marine Corps-led operation since the Vietnam War. It would be good to keep the troops in our prayers this 4th of July weekend.

No, really.



July 1, 2009 · Brig. Gen. Larry Nicholson, commander of the 2nd Marine Expeditionary Brigade, addressed his troops in Afghanistan before the operation launched early Thursday against Taliban-occupied areas.

Following are excerpts from his remarks at Camp Leatherneck in Helmand province.

He did not use a teleprompter.

On the mission in the Helmand River valley:

Our job is to get in there and get it back [from the Taliban] ... We don't want to give the enemy one second to think about what he's going to do. Because we're going to be pushing so goddamn hard on the enemy. Our job is to go in there and make contact with the enemy — find the enemy, make contact with the enemy and then we'll hold on. This is an enemy that's used to having small-scale attacks and having the coalition pull back. There is no pullback. We will stay on him, and we will ride him until he's either dead or surrenders.

On the threat of roadside bombs:

Now, I'm concerned about the IEDs [roadside bombs] and I know you are, too. There's a hell of a lot of IEDs out there. As we get in there, we're going to get a better feel for who these people are who are putting them out. We're going to work the networks. And we're going to kill the guys that have a chance to go out there and lay them. But they are out there, and you need to know that.

On putting the Taliban on the defensive:

All too often, it is us who have to think about where we're going to go, where we're going to attack, what we're going to do. In this case, we're going to be so thick in his AO [area of operation] that he's going to have three choices: Stay and fight, which we hope he does; try to blend into the population and just pretend he's a local, in which case the Afghan army and police can sure as hell help identify that along with local leaders; and the third thing is run. And if he tries to run, we've got people waiting for him.

On the Marines' training and preparation:

You probably know the name of every little terrain feature in that AO. And that's good. Because you're going to need to. You're going to need to very quickly get into his turf and get comfortable and make him the guy on the run. Make him the guy who's going to have these decisions as to what he's going to do.

On defeating the enemy:

We'll kill and capture a hell of a lot of enemy over these next couple of weeks, I'm confident of that. And I hope the enemy does try to go chest-to-chest with you. It would be a hell of a big mistake, and I don't think his last mistake. And I suspect we'll see some of that.

On supporting the Afghan people:

We need to make sure we understand that the reason we're here is not necessarily the enemy. The reason we're here is the people. What won the war in al-Anbar province [Iraq] and what changed the war in al-Anbar was not that the enemy eventually got tired of fighting. It's that the people chose a side, and they chose us. We offer the one thing the enemy can never offer, and that's a future; that's hope. The people are looking to you.

On the need to minimize civilian casualties:

We'll surround that house and we'll wait. And here's the reason: If you drop that house and there's one woman, one child, one family in that house — you may have killed 20 Taliban, but by killing that woman or that child in that house, you have lost that community. You are dead to them. You are done. And when I talked to the governor [about this scenario], I said, 'Yeah, but governor, we will have killed 20 Taliban.' And he goes, 'Yeah, but you will have also killed the local family, and the people will always remember that.' The Taliban didn't kill that local family. You did. And as far as they're concerned, you killed locals and you're done. They will do anything they can at that point to help the Taliban and help the enemy against you.

On the media:

I tell you, personally I want the media out there because we've got a hell of a story to tell. I'll tell you, I've never in more than 30 years regretted embedding the media with the Marines that we've been associated with.

On the conditions in enemy territory, in the desert:

Bottom line, fellas, it's hot. It's gonna get hotter. Your packs are heavy. They're gonna get heavier. Our resupply to you is going to be tough. We're focused on getting you water. We're focused on getting you ammo. Chow will come later. Anything else will come later. We'll get you all the water and ammo you can use, but a lot of it may be by air drop, because the roads to get to you may not be open. And like I said, there is no cavalry. There is no reserve. You're gonna fight. And you're gonna stay there, and you're gonna fight until you win.

Final words:

Bottom line, fellas, is that this is the moment. This is the moment you've trained for. This is the moment you came into the Marine Corps for. This is the moment that all of us have been waiting for for a hell of a long time.

~

Travel tip: If you're flying U.S. Airways from New York to L.A. and decide you'd rather stop in Albuquerque mid-flight, just take off all your clothes.

This is the second morning in a row that I have suffered my ordinarily monthly ocular migraine. Both mornings the coffee was strong and I woke up about 45 minutes earlier than usual. So tomorrow: sleep in and no coffee. I get the OM about once a month, and I have to stop whatever I'm doing for about twenty minutes because I go mostly blind. I've had it for years and there's no explaining it, like the various other random physical anomalies I suffer. The thing about the ocular migraine is that its accompanying headache is slight, so it's not a terribly painful experience, but my vision blurs and fuzzes like bad pixels on an LCD screen, and suddenly I can't read or walk and I am forced to lean back in a chair, stare off into space, and wait for it to pass while passersby think I'm being lazy or meditating selfishly. The worst is when I'm driving down the freeway and suddenly, uh-oh, gotta pull over. Also, my vision always blurs out to blindness in a star and crescent shape, so, yes, there is a Muslim extremist conspiracy to literally mess with my head going on here.

Well, I suppose everybody's got their something. Mrs. Ditchman, for example, sometimes gets the true migraine which is a wholly immobilizing pain that renders her face down in bed. It's awful to watch. She carries around Excedrin Migraine, which she says is the only thing that does the trick, if she can catch it early. Interestingly, Excedrin Migraine is laced with caffeine, which I was supposing was one of the factors that was causing the OM, so go figure.

Who knows why we're burdened with such things. In my case, it happens and it's as if the finger of God reaches down and clips you right in the Achilles. God sayeth, "Whoa, kid. Stop for a bit. I'm here, you're there. Don't forget it." And so I do. I know I'm lucky, because it's not too painful, but others get it differently. It's one of the questions I'm gonna ask The Boss in the celestial performance review; why some people get fair bodies and others don't. Of course, I already know what the answer's gonna be: "Whoa, kid. Mind your own."

But I'm gonna ask Him anyway.




~

Welcome to July, where you cock your head in disbelief at how half of 2009 has already come and gone. Hopefully we're not still writing 2008 on our checks (hopefully we're not still writing checks) and if you're anything like me, you were writing "2009" all through December of last year just to get on with it. So how are you doing with those new year's resolutions?

I didn't make "New Year's resolutions" this time out, if you'll recall, feeling that the whole idea of "resolving" anything had proved itself inanely unrealistic after all these years. Rather, I crafted a list of Ten Big Goals for myself, to be accomplished by 2010, and I remember that I went over them with Mrs. Ditchman on the way home from Christmas (she humored me.) Big Goals! I'm not going to list them here because A) I think they would bore you, B) I would lose gravitas, ambition, and momentum at your mocking me, and C) I don't want to jinx it. I'm about halfway through half of them, a few I haven't even begun, and one is finished/filed/forgotten. That last one I will tell you and it was "run a marathon" but that's the free gimme I put on the list every year so that I can feel like I at least did something. It's funny to think that "run a marathon" is the easy one, but that's the kind of bold, stop-at-nothing, go-getter I am.

The other goals are in a mire, bogged down and repressed under the weight of last year's goals. (It would have been easier to just pick ten marathons.) To be completely honest, I think last year's goals are this year's goals, but who's counting? Goals are goals. This year's good idea is next year's project which is a goal for 2011 but really won't be accomplished until 2012. I'll keep that in mind next time I have a great idea: add three years to the date of execution. I say "execution" because at that rate, any good idea should just be killed off to avoid the spousal nagging.

Or, just make a million dollars and pay someone else to take care of it. Make a million dollars! I never will, and I know this because that was a goal of mine I put off years ago.

Speaking of making millions... I was supposed to be up with the concrete guys this morning but the concrete guys have abandoned me altogether and today I dig on my own time. It will be hot. That's the thing about being in the shade business -you're always working in the sun.


~