Valentine's Day re-run: Capt. Mark Kelly the heavenly hubby

Happy Valentine’s Day — and isn’t that a wonderful redundancy? How could Valentine’s Day be anything but happy? This is from way back in ’11. 

On this Valentine’s Day, I’d like to salute Capt. Mark Kelly, husband of recovering gunshot victim, U.S. Rep. Gabby Giffords.

He’s succeeding in looking like Earths’s most steadfast husband while preparing to abandon his brain-damaged wife to go on a million-mile jaunt with six of his buddies.

Yes, every happily married couple needs a little space.

The news of her recovery since the January 8 shooting that left six dead and 13 injured has been astonishing.

That anyone could be shot through the head and suffer relatively minor injuries is either a miracle or evidence that much of the average human brain is full of lots of stupid or otherwise useless grey matter.

I don’t think that’s the case with Kelly. To me, the guy’s a genius. Clearly, he’s using his full brain.

I’m not suggesting he doesn’t love his (second) wife. He and Giffords met in 2003 at a Young Leaders Conference in Beijing.

Or so I’ve read. I wasn’t invited. Even if I had been, I’d have been unable to attend  having previous obligations at the Middle-Aged Followers Conference here in Latrobe.

Truly, it is a great love story about a very appealing couple (http://tiny.cc/bowbo).

Yet I can’t help but marvel at Kelly’s deft ability to maneuver public opinion into crowning him husband of the year at the very instant he’s planning to blast off from his wife’s hospital bedside to go into outer space.

I know husbands who struggle to wrangle spousal okey-dokies for long golf weekends in Myrtle Beach.

It’s a pity. I’ve had some of my best times there with the boys. We play golf, cards, get a little drunk and spend the nights enriching one dollar bill at a time the mysterious college funds of pasty-bedecked girls whose names all seem to end in the letter “i.”

When you look at it that way, it sounds almost wholesome.

The matrimonial reluctance to spend time apart baffles me. 

I’m convinced marriage benefits from more time apart -- and don’t confuse that for cynicism. I’m a man who loves his wife and his two darling daughters, one who just happens to revel in every chance he has to get the hell away from them.

Like the sky-bound Kelly, I need a little space.

Of course, so does my wife. The kids, 10 and 4, are at an age when they are acting increasingly like war-minded Romulans.

They’re driving both of us crazy. But it’s a lot easier for me to justify up and vamoosing than it is for her.

Like Kelly, one of just 65 NASA astronauts, I can always claim my credentialed travels are business-related. (“Honey, do you think I WANT to spend four days in New York City?”)

I’m sure, rather than New York, Val wishes she could board a space shuttle for a months-long mission exploring the effects of cabernet on low-gravity, stressed-out mothers.

A really long space vacation would be her dream vacation right now. Me, too. I’d love to arrange a two-week space flight for just the two of us. Instead of things like ant farms and petri dishes, we’d freight the craft with Snuggies, pillows, books, cases of wine, and the complete DVD collection of “The Sopranos” series, which we’re getting back into.

The seclusion would be heavenly.

But we had trouble Saturday arranging a babysitter for lunch and an afternoon matinee of “The King’s Speech” (loved it!). How are we going arrange two weeks of lunar day care?

The logistics would be out of this world.

So we’ll hustle through another half-assed Valentine’s Day hoping conversely the two of us can soon enjoy both more time together and more time apart.

Me, I’ll be watching in admiration as Kelly on April 19 boards the Space Shuttle Discovery for two weeks away from his healing wife, time he can spend gazing down on earth, and basking in the knowledge he’s circling a planet where millions of wives swoon, “Now, there goes a husband who really cares.”

The only way I’ll be more impressed is if the space shuttle makes an unscheduled landing for four days in Myrtle Beach.

Bringing civility back to political yapping

As I’ve been mostly successful in my efforts to avoid writing anything overtly political over the 18 months, some new readers may wonder about my core beliefs. Here they are in a nutshell:

I’m a knee-jerk liberal whose knee jerks most liberally when it’s in the vicinity of a Christian conservative’s crotch.

I came to this foundational position during the Clinton impeachment follies.

We can disagree about what the meaning of the word “is” is, but I believed impeaching a busy president for having a consensual affair was a silly overreaction by hate-filled conservatives who in their spare time were enjoying multiple consensual affairs.

So as the agitated country became more and more polarized through Gore-Bush 2000, WMD, The Iraq War, Gitmo, Swift boats, Tea Party birther politics, ObamaCare and right up to today’s Baingate, my knee was doing more jerking than a one-legged man’s in a three-legged race.

That’s why I was so surprised to find myself engaged in something I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoyed: a charming political conversation with someone with whom I disagreed.

It was with Chuck, our tavern attorney.

I’d better clarify that. He’s the lead partner in the bar’s unincorporated firm of several lawyers who do pro bono work for the interesting people who fall afoul of the law in various colorful ways that happen when you add alcohol to stressful situations.

They help us overcome the self-inflicted perils of our DUIs, our divorces and drunken firearm violations. They help us with our wills, our property deeds and advise us over beers and bourbon about whether it’s better to run from the cops or just fall upon our knees, break down in shameful tears and weep for mercy.

So Chuck’s a good friend -- a good conservative friend.

And he reads my blog so he know’s my politics.

Maybe that’s why we rarely engage the topic. We’ve all over the last 10 years been so singed by divisive politics that thoughtful people are reluctant to mention in public our most important current events for fear an offended listener might enliven the discussion with self-righteous gunfire.

Because there are so few examples of it on TV or in the news, we’ve all forgotten how much fun political conversation between informed opposites can be.

Chuck and I bantered about history, colorful politicians, potential Romney VP picks, Obama’s re-election chances and other hot button topics that lead to bloodshed between less refined conversationalists.

The booze flowed and for a moment he was Ronald Reagan and I was Tip O’Neill, two partisans still hailed today for their ability to set aside political disagreements and come together for alcoholic refreshment and collegial BS for when the day is done.

It’s confounding that Washington can no longer function like that.

I’m pleased because this marks a happy trajectory for me that began when I vowed I was going to be less politically antagonistic back in January 2011. It started with the shooting of Gabby Giffords and President Obama’s call for more civility in political discourse.

I did my part the very next day when I wrote this piece where I said nice things about George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh and other conservatives I used to routinely mock.

Sadly, I don’t think my dream of a more polite electorate will ever be achieved. Too many people are addicted to talk radio, America’s greatest obstacle to clear thinking.

The people who earn their living talking on the radio -- and there’s no denying the GOP owns the yap gap -- have a vested interest in keeping their listeners crazy so the demonization is unlikely to abate.

I’m convinced common ground will evade liberals and conservatives right up until the extra-terrestrials show up and start eating without discrimination the both of us. That will certainly help clarify party positions on illegal alien issues.

Until then, I’m fairly certain disharmony will rule.

Heck, it even happened between Chuck and I during our happy little powwow. He said Tip O’Neill, speaker of the house attributed his political longevity to his conviction that “all politics are local.”

I insisted Chuck was wrong and that O’Neill had been historically misquoted.

In fact, all politics are loco.

Capt. Mark Kelly, a heavenly hubby

On this Valentine’s Day, I’d like to salute Capt. Mark Kelly, husband of recovering gunshot victim, U.S. Rep. Gabby Giffords.

He’s succeeding in looking like Earth’s most steadfast husband while preparing to abandon his brain-damaged wife to go on a million-mile jaunt with six of his buddies.

Yes, every happily married couple needs a little space.

The news of her recovery since the January 8 shooting that left six dead and 13 injured has been astonishing.

That anyone could be shot through the head and suffer relatively minor injuries is either a miracle or evidence that much of the average human brain is full of lots of stupid or otherwise useless grey matter.

I don’t think that’s the case with Kelly. To me, the guy’s a genius. Clearly, he’s using his full brain.

I’m not suggesting he doesn’t love his (second) wife. He and Giffords met in 2003 at a Young Leaders Conference in Beijng.

Or so I’ve read. I wasn’t invited. Even if I had been, I’d have been unable to attend  having previous obligations at the Middle-Aged Followers Conference here in Latrobe.

Truly, it is a great love story about a very appealing couple.

Yet I can’t help but marvel at Kelly’s deft ability to maneuver public opinion into crowning him husband of the year at the very instant he’s planning to blast off from his wife’s hospital bedside to go into outer space.

I know husbands who struggle to wrangle spousal okey-dokies for long golf weekends in Myrtle Beach.

It’s a pity. I’ve had some of my best times there with the boys. We play golf, cards, get a little drunk and spend the nights enriching one dollar bill at a time the mysterious college funds of pasty-bedecked girls whose names all seem to end in the letter “i.”

When you look at it that way, it sounds almost wholesome.

The matrimonial reluctance to spend time apart baffles me. 

I’m convinced marriage benefits from more time apart -- and don’t confuse that for cynicism. I’m a man who loves his wife and his two darling daughters, one who just happens to revel in every chance he has to get the hell away from them.

Like the sky-bound Kelly, I need a little space.

Of course, so does my wife. The kids, 10 and 4, are at an age when they are acting increasingly like war-minded Romulans.

They’re driving both of us crazy. But it’s a lot easier for me to justify up and vamoosing than it is for her.

Like Kelly, one of just 65 NASA astronauts, I can always claim my credentialed travels are business-related. (“Honey, do you think I WANT to spend four days in New York City?”)

I’m sure, rather than New York, Val wishes she could board a space shuttle for a months-long mission exploring the effects of cabernet on low-gravity, stressed-out mothers.

A really long space vacation would be her dream vacation right now. Me, too. I’d love to arrange a two-week space flight for just the two of us. Instead of things like ant farms and petri dishes, we’d freight the craft with Snuggies, pillows, books, cases of wine, and the complete DVD collection of “The Sopranos” series, which we’re getting back into.

The seclusion would be heavenly.

But we had trouble Saturday arranging a babysitter for lunch and an afternoon matinee of “The King’s Speech” (loved it!). How are we going arrange two weeks of lunar day care?

The logistics would be out of this world.

So we’ll hustle through another half-assed Valentine’s Day hoping conversely the two of us can soon enjoy both more time together and more time apart.

Me, I’ll be watching in admiration as Kelly on April 19 boards the Space Shuttle Discovery for two weeks away from his healing wife, time he can spend gazing down on earth, and basking in the knowledge he’s circling a planet where millions of wives swoon, “Now, there goes a husband who really cares.”

The only way I’ll be more impressed is if the space shuttle makes an unscheduled landing for four days in Myrtle Beach.

I say nice things about Republicans

It’s a measure of President Obama’s humility that he won’t reveal the healing role he played during his visit to Gabby Giffords.

And being a partisan Democrat, I can’t help but wonder what miracles would stem from a Bill Clinton visit.

If Obama can restore vision to traumatic head shot victims (well, sort of), then certainly the sight of Clinton sauntering into intensive care would cause the ladies to spring out of their hospital beds to start applying party make-up.

Say what you want about his politics, but the man’s got charisma.

It’s been five days since the tree of liberty was refreshed by the blood of patriots. Anyone feeling better about it yet?

I have to think that’s one gem Thomas Jefferson wishes he could take back. I can’t imagine he meant the bloodletting to apply to someone like Giffords.

Could she be a more becoming patriot? No fair-minded observer would describe her as tyrannical (the full Jefferson quote applying to blood from both patriots and tyrants).

She is beloved for being collegial, intelligent and even-handed about difficult issues. Sure, she may have favored prudent health care reform, but she was married to an astronaut. That’s so cool.

Is she the kind of patriot to whom Jefferson was referring?

Was 9-year-old Christina Green?

If I may be so bold, I’d like to edit Jefferson to something more in tune with common sensibilities.

It should read: “The tree of liberty is magnificent to behold in all seasons, but it looks best when patriots of all political persuasions come together to nurture it and hang red, white & blue bird feeders from its majestic boughs.”

There! Now, isn’t that better?

Being a liberal I’m, of course, politically correct. Words matter. 

They matter when you’re talking about patriotic bloodlettings, Second Amendment solutions, and emphasizing the need to re-load rather than retreat.

And I hope the ones that matter most are the eloquent ones President Obama spoke in Tucson.

Our 10-year-old daughter had heard vague details about the shootings over the PA system at school. That pleased me. In football terms, the principal there called an audible. He decided on the fly the event was relevant enough to turn into a mini-civics lesson.

Bravo.

I didn’t want her to see the footage of the mayhem, or the demonic pictures of the madman. I didn’t see that doing her any good.

But I wanted her to see how we grieved.

“America suffered a tragedy on Saturday,” I said. “I want you to watch how America heals.”

It couldn’t have been more moving.

From the native American invocation and the steely poise of intern Daniel Hernandez to Obama’s stirring speech, it’s something I’ll never forget.

Of course, it means nothing if we don’t act on his admonition to care more for one another, to civilize our rhetoric and elevate the political discourse.

Let it begin with me.

I’m going to say a bunch of nice things about prominent Republicans I used to blast for knee-jerk reasons.

Because I’m so new at this, please forgive me if some of it sounds sarcastic.

Here goes:

• George W. Bush! -- He was the right man for the right time on 9/11. I felt exactly the way I do now about Obama’s speech in Tucson as I did when Bush spoke after 9/11. The people who know him best all love him. He’s raised two beautiful and vivacious daughters. He loves baseball. He presided over the presidency during extraordinarily difficult times and he didn’t let it defeat himself or the country he loves. He enjoys a good laugh and isn’t one of those childish sorts who can’t laugh at himself. He doesn’t hold petty grudges. His post-presidential years will be dignified and free of taint. He’s at peace with his actions and is deserving of the happy respite he so enjoys in the Texas he loves.

• Dan Quayle! -- In 2003, I wrote a book called “Hole in One! The Complete Book of Fact, Legend and Lore of Golf’s Luckiest Shot.” The New York Times cited it in 2009 as the Bible on the topic. If The Times says my book is The Bible about holes-in-one, then I can rightly declare I’ve written a holey book. I interviewed dozens of celebrities about their golfing perfection. Quayle was one of the nicest. We talked for about 45 minutes and he couldn’t have been friendlier. He was such a good sport he didn’t even mind when I asked him about his wife Marilyn’s saucy response when someone asked her about reports he’d had an affair while on a golf trip (“Anyone who knows Dan knows he’s much more interested in golfing than sex.”) He just laughed and said she was mad when she said it. He’d had two aces though 2003 and I hope he gets a bunch more.

• Tom DeLay! -- The man’s got balls. Even while under indictment for the crime of which he was just convicted and sentenced to three years, he still went on “Dancing With The Stars” and whooped it up. And before he went into politics, I hear he was a fine exterminator.

• Newt Gingrich! -- He has a true and abiding love for animals, zoos and history. He’s a thrice-married man who still has the buoyant audacity to court family values voters. Did you know he’s a Pennsylvania native? Go Keystone State!

• Rush Limbaugh! -- He loves golf and smoke cigars. He’s indifferent to what people think about him. He had Elton John sing at his recent fourth wedding. When National Enquirer busted him for drug addiction in 2003, he didn’t weasel out and call them a bunch of liars. He said, yup, you got me, thus another monumental victory for tabloid journalism.

• Dick Cheney! -- Now, this is getting tough. Okay. When he shot that guy -- anniversary alert! -- five years ago February 11, he didn’t let his instincts get the better of him and just go finish the poor bastard off.

• Sarah Palin! -- Uh, Sarah Palin! . . . Sarah Palin? . . . Hmmm . . . Okay . . . Sarah Palin is wonderfully childlike in her approach to complicated problems!

That’s enough for now.

President Obama said we needed to start being nicer to one another.

He didn’t say it was always going to be easy.