The Big Lie

The mornings my boss is in town on the way to the office, he picks up a coffee for me and we shoot the shit for a few minutes before he starts his day. One day last week he came in and told me about a web site his friend told him about. The site examines the official report on the 9/11 tragedy and says that the report is false.

Well, ya know, I love a good conspiracy theory as much as the next guy so I had to check it out.

In David Ray Griffin's essay, The Destruction of the World Trade Center: Why the Official Account Cannot Be True, he examines the official story that the impact from the planes and the resulting fires caused the structural damage which caused the collapse of the towers. Through this examination he argues that the collapse could not have happened the way the authorities say but that the collapse was more like a controlled demolition. His theory is basically that the buildings were pre-wired with explosives and that the US government had sanctioned this tragedy.

Mr. Griffin is not alone in his thinking. Judy Wood, in her study, The Case for Controlled Demolition, gives a compelling argument for controlled demolition as opposed to the official “pancake collapse” theory. Perhaps Steven Jones' essay Why Indeed Did The WTC Buildings Collapse, explains why, when I first saw the towers fall I thought it looked a lot like the felling of the Sands hotel in Vegas. If you have a high-speed internet connection, you can watch Barry Zwicker's video titled, The Great Conspiracy which postulates that the attack on the WTC was staged to enflame the American people to the point that they would willingly go to war.

Can this possibly be true?

Well, I just had to read the official reports. Now I haven't read all 585 pages of the 9-11 Commission's report but I have read Section 9 and the Executive Summary. I've also read Chapter 2 of FEMA's World Trade Center Building Performace Study and their Executive Summary. These portions of each report deal specifically with the collapse of the towers.

In reading through all of this, I am reminded of The Big Lie.

If you are not already aware, this phrase refers to a propaganda technique that functions on the premise that people will believe a big lie sooner than a little one; and if you repeat it frequently enough people will sooner or later believe it. Basically, if you tell a big enough whopper, people will believe it because they won't believe you'd have the audacity to tell such a whopper. That's probably why I always seem to get away with telling everyone that I am Diana Ross' love child. (grin)

I feel certain that somebody is lying about this 9/11 thing but who is lying and more importantly, why?

As James H. Fetzer says in Thinking About Conspiracy Theories, “But what matters now is that we are confronted by alternative accounts of what happened on 9/11, both of which qualify as "conspiracy theories". It is therefore no longer rational to dismiss one of them as a "conspiracy theory" in favor of the other. The question becomes, Which of two "conspiracy theories" is more defensible?”

I'm told that one of the methods law enforcement uses to unravel the intricacies of organized crime is to follow the money. I think it's even simpler – who benefits? Who has benefited as a result of this heinous attack? Think about it then ask yourself, which is the big lie?

The Things THEY Know

I am a child of the space race; the progeny of unprecedented technological and scientific discovery. Mine was the generation who gazed at the nightime sky in hopes of spotting orbiting space capsules; who looked to science to explain life's mysteries.

I remember watching the opening of the original War of The Worlds movie, your remember, where Sir Cedric Hardwicke describes the other planets and why the Martians chose to invade Earth. Of Pluto he says the Martians couldn't go there because the atmosphere was frozen. They couldn't go to Uranus or Neptune because their atmosphere was full of methane gas and ammonia vapours. Saturn was a no-go because it was too cold and Jupiter had to be ruled out because it was too hot. Venus had no water or air and Mercury's temperature was as hot as a volcano.

Back then you just accepted these statements because you knew THEY knew these things to be true. Who were THEY? Well scientists of course. Everyone knew that somewhere in the bowels of some university lurked a “think tank”, a “panel of experts”, a swarm of scientists, a passel of pocket protected professors or at least a bespeckled guy with a slide rule who could be counted on to explain things in “laymen's terms”.

Still though, I wondered how they knew the temperature of Jupiter or that there was methane gas on Neptune. If you've never been there, how do you know?

I was watching a program called The Ghost Particle on Nova the other night and they were talking about neutrinos. I know, it sounds like a fancy Italian pastry but neutrinos are invisible sub-atomic particles. Unlike other particles you may have heard of, they carry no electric charge so they cannot be detected by traditional means.

The program showed how this guy, John Bahcall, sat down and mathematically worked out how the sun works. Think about it. He sits down and figures out an equation that explains the fusion reactions inside the sun. How do you do that?

A big source of these neutrinos is the sun so this other guy, Ray Davis, goes down into an old gold mine somewhere in South Dakota and builds this experiement to try and trap these invisible particles. Where do you even start? I would think it's easier to trap farts in a bubble wouldn't you?

A couple of years ago I saw another Nova program called The Elegant Universe. I watched this show because they mentioned Einstein in the advertisements. When I was twelve I had three heroes, Louis Pasteur, Madame Curie and Albert Einstein. I thought the program was about Einstein, so I watched. What it actually was about was a physics theory called string theory.

Now string theory goes way beyond the neutrino. Basically, string theory says that at the highest microscopic level, everything is made up of groups of vibrating strings and this explains the nature of all matter. If this theory holds water, it is quite possible that matter or energy can exist on up to ten spatial dimensions. We live in a three-dimentional spatial world but what if there were seven additional dimesions existing right alongside of us? Is that mind blowing or what?

If that doesn't blow your mind think about this:

The first law of thermodynamics states that energy can be changed from one form to another, but it cannot be created or destroyed. Within each of us is a series of electro-chemical reactions, a life force, if you will, which powers the body. Perhaps this force can one day be measured much like the mathematical efforting of the fusion reactions which power the sun. Anyhow, if this energy cannot be created or destroyed, where does it go when we die? Could it be that this energy simply moves from one spatial dimension to another? What if heaven was simply another spatial dimension a breath away from our own? Think about this and the impact these theories may have on what many hold as their religious or spiritual beliefs.

I've always thought that scientic theories and religious or spiritual concepts went together as well as oil and vinegar. Perhaps we are entering a time in history where science can begin to explain the spiritual answers we have had since we first crawled out of African caves, and were hunting-gathering for a good salad.

I'm not a scientist. The only theory I know and can swear by is the one stating that the severity of an itch is directly proportional to its reach. But I do like to think about these things and wonder how it all fits together. I'm curious about the things THEY know. Aren't you?

Mom, what do you know about plumbing?

I was in the store shopping with my daughter last night when my son called my cell. The first words out of his mouth were, "Mom, what do you know about plumbing?" I immediately got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. You know that feeling, the one that precedes the hard kick to your wallet.

I paced the aisles of the store while Matt tried to explain the problem. Or shall I say problems. I'm a visual learner so I was getting frustrated by not quite understanding how I could explain to him what he had to do so I told him I'd be right over.

Years ago, when I started meeting taxi drivers with degrees in history and biology, I left university to pursue a career in the trades. Remember, I had a family to support and if I couldn't get into medical school or teacher's college we'd be screwed. At the time the government had a big push to introduce women in the trades and with the offer of free education, I signed up.

As I was driving to meet my son I was wishing that I had paid more attention to the plumbing apprentices in the school cafeteria. I was in the welder-fitter program and we usually sat with the electrician's apprentices who would tease the plumbing students by saying things like, "All a plumber has to know is that shit runs downhill and payday's on Friday!"

Well since I was a welder-fitter back in the day and had done some toilet and faucet repairs, I suppose that and the fact that I watch a lot of reno shows on HGTV qualifies me to be my son's plumbing expert.

Matt has two plumbing problems. The first is a seized water supply valve to the toilet which is leaking. It has to be replaced. His second problem is a leak under the kitchen sink. It's a double sink and is leaking at the elbow below both sides of the sink and at the reducer which joins the vertical part of the T-joint above to the p-trap. I told him I would get the parts for him and drop them off the next day.

Matt is a very talented artist so I made him draw a sketch of all the pipes and fittings. On that drawing I indicated where the leaks were with little arrows that said, "buy this" and headed off to Home Depot which was on my way home out of the city. The sketch was so that when I asked for help I could point to the drawing and say, "It's leaking here. I need a doo-dad like that and a what-cha-ma-call-it like that". The nice man at Home Depot explained how everything fit together and I bought every part he mentioned - even the ones he said I might not need. Why? Well we all know about Murphy's Law - anything that can go wrong will. What you might not know is Barbara's corollary - it will happen to me. It has been my experience that it never fails that I will desperately need the part I thought I didn't need.

I was supposed to drop off the parts the next day but I knew I wouldn't see my son as he would be working the next morning, so I drove across town back to his house with the bag of parts. I'm glad I did because by the time I drove back I had nearly forgotten the Home Depot man's assembly instructions. Matt and I dumped all the pieces out on the living room floor and did a "dummy" (gee, you could take that two ways) assembly of all the parts.

Once satisfied that he understood the theory of how to replace everything, I patted him on the back, said, "son, welcome to home ownership" and grabbed my coat. It was late, I had a trunk full of groceries in the car, a 45 minute drive home and I hadn't had supper yet.

Although I was tired and hungry I felt I should have stayed to help him but he assured me that he had it all under control. As I walked out of his house I felt another bit of that old apron string being severed. He's got a tool kit and a book I bought him on home repair. I suppose now he knows as much as I do about plumbing. I have a feeling that after this weekend, he'll be able to teach me a few things.

The Defiant Ones

This is my firstborn, Jennifer. Here she was angry, defiant. She didn't want to go to bed. I crawled under the table to take this picture of her.

I know a lot of moms say this (especially when they are trying to lay guilt trips on their kids), but I almost died giving birth to her. I was given an epidural and instead of freezing from the waist down, I froze from the waist up. It wasn't pretty.

Oh but my Jenny was the prettiest little thing I ever saw. Of course the nurses whisked her away almost immediately but despite being covered in goop, I could tell she was a looker.

Jen was a bright affectionate child but when she turned two she became the queen of temper tantrums. If we were at the mall and she wanted a gumball (curses on those people who put those things right at the store entrances) and I said no, she throw herself down on the floor, flail her arms and legs and scream like she was being tormented by demons. Being a young mother I didn't know what to do. I was embarassed, people were looking askance so I tried to pick her up and cajole her into complying.

I don't know if you've ever tried to pick up a wiggling, wailing two-year old with an eight month old baby strapped to your chest in a baby carrier and a backpack full of canned goods on your back but it's not something I'd recommend anyone who doesn't know the clean and jerk to attempt more than once. The second time she had one of these fits, I simply stepped over her and kept walking. By the time I got a few yards away she realized that I wasn't there to witness her display. She stood up in panic and with her eyes scanning the crowd, called out for me. I calmly walked back to her and quietly asked if she was ready to come with me. She took my hand and we carried on. I repeated this tactic with every tantrum. When she was a teen I told her that if she ever found herself in therapy with abandonment issues, it was totally my fault.

From the time she was two and a half, she was a willful child. Now that's not necessarily a bad thing. You want your kids to be strong, have their own point of view and be confident in themselves. But Jen could be downright obstinate. Yes, she frustrated the hell out of me and there were countless times I'd chew my fist rather than spank her. She taught me patience.

The day I left my husband I knew I would have to be more patient with Jen for she had every reason to be angry and defiant.

The summer of 1984 I had my gallbladder removed. The day after my surgery I was visited by a police officer and a social worker. They told me that while I was having my operation, my husband had betrayed his child's innocence – I collapsed and had to be sedated.

When I came to, all I could think of was getting out of that hospital and getting to my children. The surgeon wanted me to stay in the hospital a few more days but I was having none of it. I started ripping the IV lines out of my arms and nearly fainted from the pain of the drainage tube in my side scraping against my ribs as I pulled it out. The nurses were having a fit and I demanded that one of them put a dressing over my incision or I'd do it myself. Seeing my determination, they relented and I raced from the hospital to my mother's home where the social worker had left my children.

They say that when someone gets terrible news one of the first reactions is denial – it couldn't possibly be true. I just had to see Jen, hold her, talk to her so I would know the truth. After I had held her and rocked her to sleep I ruefully recalled my husband insisting I see a psychiatrist because I was crazy and just imagining that he would do anything to hurt his daughter. I remember those sessions with the psychiatrist. How I would cry and feel so guilty for having these terrible thoughts. I thought there was something wrong with me.

Most people are relieved to learn that they are not crazy. I was horrified.

Big Shoes

My son Matt was a year old in this picture. He's standing in my friend Dan's army boots. This photo was taken several months after I had left my husband and had moved to a new city. Once the shock of my dissolving marriage subsided, the reality of my situation began to sink in. I was a woman with no money and few marketable skills and now I had a family to raise.

My mother tells me that her parents supported nine children through the Depression and never went on the dole. I remember her telling me this when I was a child and when she said it, she sounded so proud. When I left my husband I had a two year old toddler, an eight month old baby and $14 to my name so I swallowed my inherited pride and went on the dole.

I received just over $600 a month and this crappy little place cost $290 a month. Thank goodness the previous tennants left that old lumpy sofa you see in the background, because that gave me something to sleep on.

As I'd tuck my two babies in each night, the weight of the responsibility I had to them was nearly suffocating. I knew their future, whatever chance they had in life, was totally dependant on the decisions I'd make and I was determined we would not be another statistic.

In those anguished, lonely nights I'd sit on that sofa, in the darkness of that tiny living room, and listen. I'd try to still my breathing, my thoughts and the nauseating panic. I'd force myself to focus on the muffled sounds of distant traffic, the neighbour's droning television, the raindrop's patter on the window until I could hear nothing but my own breathing. Only then could I hear the whisper of my father's voice, “Educate to elevate”.

I had met Dan's wife Marlene in the first weeks in my new city. Although I couldn't pay her very much, she agreed to babysit my kids while I took courses to upgrade so I could get into university. Between classes, I got a job cleaning rich people's houses for grocery money or a new pair of shoes for Matt. He was growing so quickly and was so hard on his shoes.

He was my little man. The most important man in my life. I named him Matthew because I once read somewhere that “Matthew” meant God's gift. Matt was a twin. I lost his twin but carried Matt to term. That he was even born, (and born on Christmas Day no less) was a gift. I'd gladly scrub toilets to buy him shoes.

The day I took this picture I remembered wondering what kind of man would grow to fill those boots. Would I be able to raise a good, strong and kind man or would, in my desperation to survive – to keep us fed, clothed and housed – I make some misstep and fail him?

It seemed we both had to fill big shoes.

Love on a cellular level

I have two children. Here they are when they were children.

They are grown now and have their own lives. This is good and is as it should be. Children need to separate from their parents and find their own way in life. My logical mind agrees but in my heart (where I've heard it said we just don't know better), they will remain closer to me than my own skin.

I could become maudlin and weave a tale of a mother's love but what many have described as, the "Mr. Spock" in me, will not allow it. Instead I will refer to a National Public Radio piece I heard this morning titled, Babies' Cells Linger.

Scientists have discovered that fetal cells remain in the mother's body for decades after the birth of their children. They have yet to determine if these cells harm or help protect the mother.

I know this is not scientific, but I think those cells remain so that no matter where life takes them, I will carry them with me always.

Papa was a rolling stone

This is a picture of me and my dad. It was taken on May 13, 1967. It was the day of my first Communion and the last day I ever saw him. I remember that my mom was upset that he arrived late (I think he may have missed the entire ceremony) and they argued on the steps of the church. I vaguely recall her saying something to him about drinking but I don't recall smelling liquor on his breath. I didn't care that he was late. I was just glad that he showed up to take this picture with me.




I don't have a lot of photos of my dad. The few I do have are grainey and faded. This wedding photo is the best photo of him that I have.

As a child I would look at this picture and think my dad was as handsome as a band leader and my mom looked like the queen's image on those Irish Sweepstakes tickets she always bought.



A year later, I was born.

Daddy was never around very much so when I'd ask mom where he was, she'd tell me that dad worked three jobs. I accepted this explaination because in the early 60s lots of kids' dads worked more than one job to make ends meet.

As a child I worshipped my father and whenever he was home, I'd follow him everywhere. He didn't seem to mind and allowed me to tag along while he mowed the lawn and fixed things around the house. He was handy and I liked this about him.

I remember being fascinated while I'd watch him shave. I'd stand quietly in a corner of the bathroom by the sink and watch him whip up a lather with his brush then apply the soap to his face with rapid, tiny little circles. With his face properly lathered he would turn the small knob at the bottom of the handle of his razor and the top would open up wide like the jaws of a hippopotomus. Dad would drop in a new blade and twist the knob again to close the jaws. By this time the mirror was fogging over from the steamy hot water running from the faucet to fill the sink. He'd swish the razor in the hot water and lift his hand to begin the first stroke. I liked this part the best because he made funny faces when he shaved and I'd try not to giggle. If I did, he'd reach for his brush and put a dollop of soap on my nose and chase me away.

Sometimes my dad would be gone for two weeks at a time and when he was gone that long we'd run out of food. Eventually he'd show up with a couple of bags of groceries and we'd be able to eat again. It was always very exciting when he'd arrive because he'd bring home candy. I don't know if any of you remember the scene in the movie "Lillies of the Field" with Sidney Poitier where he comes in with bags of groceries for the nuns and pulls out a string of lolipops, but that was just what my father would do.

My dad had been a US Navy cook. I think that was the highest ranking thing a black man could be in the Navy during the second world war. I loved it when my dad was home because he would do the cooking. Mom couldn't cook worth beans. She hated cooking but dad seemed to love it.

We always had a can of grease (bacon fat and such) at the back of the stove and I remember him scooping big tablespoons of grease out of the can and watching it sizzle in the big cast iron skillet. He'd fry bacon, then fry sausages in the bacon grease then save that grease to fry chicken. Can't you just feel your arteries hardening?

Sometimes, after dad had finished up with his chores he'd snatch me up and take me for a ride in his Impala. He'd stop at a corner store and buy me a Dr. Pepper. A few times we'd stop in at a boxing gym and watch the men spar. That was a pretty smelly place but dad would let me wander around while he visited with his friends. One wall of this gym had a calendar with a picture of a naked lady who had big balloons on her chest. I had never seen a naked lady before and I remember asking my dad what was wrong with her chest. I thought it was some kind of disease like the pictures of chicken pox and measels rashes I saw in mom's big medical book. Daddy never brought me back to the gym after that.

Most times when dad was finished his chores he'd go stretch out in front of the TV in his black, naugahyde lazy-boy with a cold Miller in one hand and a Winston in the other. As long as I changed the stations for him I was allowed to curl up on his lap. He'd watch baseball (he was a Yankee's fan) while I buried myself in his chest. I liked the way he smelled. His feet were a bit stinky and sometimes he was sweaty but I liked the smell of Old Spice and tobacco. I'd stay cuddled up on his lap even when he fell asleep and started to snore. He didn't seem to mind except when I'd pull at the little hairs on his chest.

One time, while I was nestled with him a news bulletin came on announcing that a skinny man with glasses and no last name had been shot at a ballroom in Washington Heights. My dad looked at me and said, "Remember baby girl, you ain't never gonna be far off the plantation." I didn't know what he meant but I was scared when I saw him blink back his tears.

I don't know if it was before my first communion or shortly thereafter but after nine years of marriage my mother learned that my father had two other wives. Three months later, my mom moved us to Canada.

I've since learned that my dad died February 18, 1980. He was only 10 years older than I am right now. Last year I found where he is buried. I'd sure like to see him one last time.

China Rises

The CBC recently aired a documentary titled, China Rises. I don't know if anyone outside of Canada saw this 4 part documentary but it had me enthralled and a little bit frightened.

The documentary examines China's politics, economy, environment and society through the lives of various Chinese individuals. I had so many thoughts and feelings while watching their stories but the feeling that sticks with me the most is amazement.

China's economic growth is nothing short of amazing. To see the sprawling factories, the rags-to-riches stories and the sheer enormity of their industrial complex is staggering. Anything that can be made by the hand of man is manufactured in China. In a land where you can pay a worker 60 cents an hour for a 12 hour day, it's no wonder North America is loosing all of its manufacturing jobs - how can we possibly compete?

This economic boom comes at a heavy price though. As big (geographically speaking) as China is, it doesn't have very much arable land. A good proportion of what it does have is being expropriated to industrial and residential development. The documentary took a look at the city of Shanghai. The skyline looks like something out of a Buck Rogers serial! Thousands of skyscrapers, glowing in neon conceal those unfortunate enough to be displaced in the development boom. Never was the difference between the "haves" and "have-nots" made more apparent.

Beyond the cities, fishermen can no longer earn a living because the rivers which had sustained them for generations are so polluted there are no more fish. Farmers irrigate their fields with waters laiden with chromium and other toxic by-products of the factories. Most of the produce is so tainted that it wouldn't pass the safety standards of Europe or North America. Not only are the crops contaminated but China's water supply is disappearing to the point that desert is encroaching on once-fertile land.

That the Chinese are eating poisoned food and are loosing their reserves of water is not the frightening thing. What's so frightening is that many of those who would be in a position to do something about it simply shrug off the environmental destruction as a cost of prosperity. What I understood from the interview of one woman in the documentary was that she seemed to think that the harm to the environment was a small price to pay and once the country had grown sufficiently, they could then address environmental concerns. Sound familiar?

Am I afraid that China or any other country for that matter, will destroy the earth? Nah. We can't destroy the earth. We can though, make it uninhabitable for humans. The earth will endure. Whether or not we do is another story.