Born in the Panama Canal Zone 80 years ago, Mr. Zidbeck came to California in 1944 with his mother and three siblings. He enlisted in the US Army after graduating from high school. Honorably discharged in 1952, he attended college under the G.I. Bill. After graduating from UCLA in 1958, he worked as a probation officer in LA County. George's wife of 55 years died this past August. However, he plans to remain in San Luis Obispo County since retiring in 1985. In addition to penning observations and reflections since living in San Luis Obispo County, George has authored six volumes of a family saga that addresses the negative influence of alcohol on a family from the perspective of the mother (two volumes); the father (three volumes); and the first born son. Anyone interested in contacting the author, may write George Zidbeck. Rochester, George's Good Buddy

Life and Longevity, An Essay

by George Zidbeck

No, I'm not misleading you. Not in any underhanded sense. What I said on my 3rd take last month, regarding Aging on the Squiredom, tied me to a promise to not saddle you with any further comments on my biological clock for the balance of 2011. My current offering relates to some generalized reflections regarding the cultural value a society places on those who served in the military and how such service impacts our perspective on living and dying.       

What brought me to focus on that subject? A recent news item spoke about a Frank Buckles, who recently turned 110. More important than his name and his age, it turns out he represented the last surviving veteran of WWI. I thought it a shame that the reference carried no info on what theatre he served in, what medals he might have earned, nor did it reveal his rank or summarize his family history. The brief article did, though, hearken me back to my minority years when newscasts featured a small group of elderly, usually gray bearded Civil War Veterans parading during Memorial Day events. But then, those survivors eventually failed to answer the bugle call for assembly. As did the U.S. Mexican War and the Spanish American War survivors. And the beat goes on . . .  .

How many service members stand in the wings waiting to be the final member of this or that conflict? Should I draw the card that makes me the last standing Korean War Veteran, inscribe on my grave marker that I did not knowingly or intentionally kill another human; nor did such uniformed tenure represent my finest moments. Moreover, my claim to patriotism does not emanate from my four years in the army or how many guns I own. Loyalty to one's country, however, requires its own essay. Therefore, let's move on shall we?

I find the circumstance saddening that simply spending time in the military mandates a eulogy. Fantasize, if you will, an unending line of military figures, nearly all nameless, memorializing armed conflicts since the Bronze Age of which none ended in an enduring peace. No country's history stands without footnoting military interventions. We humans must have a genetic predisposition to cudgel/slash/smash one another no less than those territorial squabbles of other life forms from ants to chimpanzees.

Shall our finest hours as individuals and nations be represented primarily by military symbols? I hope not even if I acknowledge some favorable purpose in rewarding bravery and heroism. Moreover, when our country is invaded, and our very livelihoods seriously threatened, perhaps we should stand ready to die in defense. For FREEDOM after all is free doom. Nevertheless, I will not raise my arm against you in rancor should you decide in conscience to refrain from the common defense of the homeland.

If I (and you) make some allowance for patriotism in armed defense against a proven enemy, then that suggests that we make room for recognizing/rewarding front line heroes. George Washington, for example. But, might there exist some future date where militarism has no application? Where acts of aggression have no chance of survival? Where we confront commemorative statues of Buddha, Mahatma Gandhi, and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and honor their passive resistance?

Thank you for reading this brief tome. I promise that next month's offering will not discuss age or war or any folly of the human race.

(PS: Even if my (biased) thoughts above totally sidestep my usual animal observations, I'd like to announce that Brazen, the Steller Blue Jay I wrote about a few months back, returned February 5th. Thus, similar to Punxatawny Phil, the hedgehog that foretells early springs or continued winters, my plumaged visitor's return at the beginning of February promises an early entry of spring. Plant some snow peas, radishes, turnips, rutabagas, kale, cabbages, cauliflower, broccoli, and/or chard this coming weekend.)