A New Milestone

This is the six-hundredth post for Ancora imparo.  I knew the posting number was coming up but I had not actually made the connection that this posting is 'it'.  When I began Ancora imparo, my goal was simply to have a goal each day.  I was knee-deep into my post-teaching depression and I was at loose ends, trying to make sense of each day, let alone knowing where and how I fit into the world.  I didn't feel as if I belonged anywhere and simply putting thoughts to a 'page', on a regular basis, helped me disentangle myself from my self-made entanglement.  Somewhere in the process, composing an almost daily posting became a badly needed form of discipline, not only for my sanity but for what I looked at as the preservation of my brain.  I know there are regular readers of  Ancora imparo because I hear from 'you' on a somewhat regular basis.  The content that seeps from my cerebrum, on occasion, hits nerves and funny bones.  It is refreshing and reaffirming to know that somewhere 'out there' are like-minded folk who share my thoughts, dreams, frustrations, passions, quirks, annoyances, and viewpoints.  I also appreciate those who have taken the time to tell me that I have been off-base, 'out there', wacky, and just flat-out incorrect.  Like all humans, my biases and positions do get exposed, no matter how hard I try to filter them out of the postings.  I haven't been asked to apologize, yet, and I hope to never have to say, "I'm sorry."  

Ancora imparo will continue as long as my brain, wrists, and fingers hold out.  I will be truly amazed when, in about one year, it will be nearing its one-thousandth posting.  My trusty Merriam-Webster's 11th Edition, Collegiate Dictionary and my faithful and old thesaurus will remain at my right elbow.  I pray that my inner 'spell-check' holds out, more as a matter of pride than anything else.

As least, in my private and personal time-capsule of life, regular readers will have come to know the real me a little better.

Ancora imparo 

The Horse Before The Cart

Have you ever noticed that, in organizational terms, there is always a storm before the calm? 

Now that I am in one place, for the time being, I can devote energy to actually tackling household projects, both small and large.  This happens each year when all of the 'stuff' from the Aqua RV is hauled back into the condo, begging to be put
away......somewhere......any where!  Duplicates, while necessary in the summer, become a nuisance when trying to find space for storing them in the fall.  Even the smallest of items can present a storage challenge if I cannot cram one more container on a kitchen shelf.  It is no wonder that every year, at this time, I view everything I own with a jaundiced eye, carefully calculating its need in my life.  Need equals stay.  No need equals give-away.  Even my most cherished of belongings gets the evil eye of practicality, having to pass the necessity litmus test. 

The most frustrating part of organizing is the disarray that must occur before the calm of organization can be realized.  Shelves must be cleared, cupboards and closets must be emptied, floor space must be filled before all of the 'stuff' can be placed back into the area from whence it came.  It matters little, when in the fray, that the end product will result in personal satisfaction and maybe, ultimately, less frustration.  While in organization 'mode', one has to put up with the clutter, the constant stepping over and around boxes, containers, piles of this and that, and mounds of throw-away and give-away items.  It is not unusual for me to be overhead muttering, "Just why did I begin this?"

It really feels like the horse is before the cart - patiently waiting for me to be ready to climb into the conveyance and be carted away.  I will willingly be carted away, but only after all of my junk has been removed, first!  Then I can relax and enjoy my clean, neat and uber-organized surroundings.  If I were you, I'd come visit quickly because this state of being may not last too long.

I've always been fond of duplicates, triples and beyond.  Just ask my family!

Ancora imparo 

Yet Another Nocturnal Apparition

I have discovered that many large ships move in the night.  I know not exactly why....perhaps it has more to do with weather conditions than any other factor.  Whatever the reason, it is fascinating to 'catch' one when it makes a 'night move'.

Earlier this summer I wrote about one such vessel whose diesel engines awakened me in the dead of night.  Two nights ago, I had a similar experience, only this time it wasn't the sound of the diesels alerting me to 'boat!'.  I think the vessel was the Wilfred Sykes, a huge freighter that had been tied up for repair and machinery installation at a ship builder in Door County, Wisconsin.  The 'Sykes' had a giant piece of equipment attached to her topside and a group of us had a chance to observe a part of the installation.  We were not aware that the ship's retrofitting was near completion so I had no idea what sound grabbed my attention around midnight of a recent evening, but the sound was unmistakable......boat moving.

There are two sounds that herald the movement of a boat:  Diesels and thrusters.  (Well, there are actually three sounds, the third being the horn blast, a sound no boater wants to hear from another boat!)  It was just after midnight and I was having my usual difficulty finding sleep. I heard what sounded like thrusters and I scurried out of bed, to the upper deck of our Aqua RV, ignoring the cold with my curiosity simply too strong, to see what was moving.  Actually I thought it might be another boat in the marina and marina movement at night is rare, but night marina movement when it is very windy is a matter to check out.   I heard the sound of thrusters several times before I noticed a blinding light that seemed as if it was shining directly at me!  Of course it was not, but the light was so intense I felt as if I was on Broadway.  It was then I noted that the light was moving and, as my eyes adjusted to the night as well as the light, I caught the outline, in the moonlight, of a bow with a huge deck house.  Nautical giants appear to crawl along, when in reality, they are moving at a relatively fast pace, even in the channel.  All of the forward portholes were lit and the pilothouse was awash in light.  The white piece of equipment that had been recently installed stuck out like cream cheese frosting on a chocolate cake in the moonlight, all the while silently slipping past in the murky darkness.  The Sykes' diesels were obviously operating but with a deafening silence.  Had it not been for the extreme wattage that lit the Sykes up like an O'Hare runway, I would have never realized that a Great Lakes' giant was moving past me. I ignored my shivering body and kept my eyes glued to the ship until her aft pilothouse had passed and I was looking at her stern.  Only then did my attention turn to the cold and I did a reverse-scurry back to the relative warmth of the Aqua RV's interior, cold but thrilled that I had yet another encounter with a nocturnal nautical visitor.

Sometimes there are benefits to poor sleep patterns.

Ancora imparo 

What Was I Thinking?

It seemed as if it was a splendid idea......at the time, time being a scare commodity today.  My brain has been in high gear since we returned home from the Aqua RV yesterday, having emptied her for the winter season.  All of the summer clothes, food, etc. that needed to be assimilated back into our 'winter' household - not to mention all of the dirty clothes accumulated over the two-week period - were lurking about in bags, sacks, and boxes - waiting to be dealt with.  My trusty washing machine and clothes dryer got a six-hour workout until I, the wash wench, just became too tired to stuff yet one more load into the machine.

However,  a good night's sleep restored my energy, at least temporarily, and before my SO and I headed out the door for our morning walk, I started up the washing machine for another round of clean clothes.  I was feeling smug and ultra-organized.....very pleased with myself and my progress with putting all of the food away, finding spots for all of the extra food-storage containers during their winter hiatus, and conquering the mountain of dirty laundry.  I was "Queen" of the to-do list.  When we returned from our constitutional, I eyeballed the bag of soiled boat rugs and decided it was the perfect time to get that task over, as well.  I had it all figured out - wash those rugs while I did my 'other' exercises downstairs.

But, there was one more fatefully bad idea yet to come.  As I walked into our bath/dressing area, I spied those small floor rugs and thought to myself, "Why not kill two birds with one stone and wash all of the little rugs together, in one load, and be done with it?"

What was I thinking?

I tossed six little rugs into my trusty friend, squirted what I ERRONEOUSLY thought was just the right amount of soap into the tub, set the dial on 'mega-size' load, put the lid down, and pushed start.  The initial hint of trouble began during the first spin cycle when the washer tried walking across the laundry room floor.  I literally dropped what I was doing, ran to the washer, tried re-positioning the rugs (to no avail), then had to drape myself over the washer to hold it in place through that spin and one more.  When the ill-fated load came to a halt, I lifted the lid, and discovered mounds of fluffy soap suds greeting me.  Two more full cycles later (and, yes, four more full-body drapings over the washer) the rugs were finally soap-free, at least to the naked eye.  Instead of saving time by cramming two loads of rugs into one, here I am three loads later, who knows how many gallons of wasted water later, two hours behind and still no floor exercises have been beaten into my body. 

I'm busy doing a combination of Lamaze and Yoga breathing exercises at the moment, trying to reduce my heart rate and blood pressure.

Just what was I thinking?

Ancora imparo

My Apologies To Bo

This summer, on the Aqua RV, Capt. SO and I have had the pleasure of meeting many wonderful new boat people.  We all have one thing in common:  Our summer homes float.....thankfully well and without leaks.  When your home is supposed to stay on top of the water, knowing that it is helps one sleep at night. 

There are other common attributes that bind boat people together:  A dislike of rain, differing tolerance levels to wind (sailors like some wind, power boaters prefer flat seas), the gift of gab, an aversion to spiders, the love of the color white (for the most part), an appreciation for low crude oil prices, an over-all annoyance with tiny bugs and, perhaps the most important, a love of animals.......dogs in particular. (Sorry kitty-owners, you just do not find many cats on boats.)

Dogs, like their owners, come in many differing sizes, shapes, colors, and dispositions.  One does not often see very large dogs at marinas because there are few boats large enough to comfortably house a large-breed dog.  The Marmadukes of the world live only on the mega-yachts.  Medium-to-small-sized boats are where you find great variety in the canine world.  Since my SO and I are particularly fond of Springer Spaniels, it is not surprising that we met, and fell in love with, a liver and white Springer named Bo this summer.

Bo is a charming, slightly older dog, with a keen sense of smell and selective hearing loss.  Like our beloved Max, Bo doesn't always hear the human voice but he can probably hear a bag of dog-treats being opened from a football-field away.  What he cannot hear, he smells.  As often as we remember, we carry dog treats in our pockets, hoping to have the pleasure of running into Bo (and his owners).  Poor Bo has probably gained a few pounds this summer just because of us, but he remains handsome, Buff Bo.

When greeting a friend or newcomer, Bo will bark his acknowledgement.  Bo eagerly accepts treats and this communication characteristic has probably served to reinforce his barking.  Bo knows that we usually carry doggie-delights and also knows that if he barks, he'll get a treat.  Smart dog, that Bo.  He knows a dog-lover (or two) when he sees them.

And so, Bo, I apologize for reinforcing your barking but I do not apologize for falling for you. The pleasure has been all mine!                                              

Ancora imparo

National Punctuation Day

Imagine the literary world without punctuation it would be a difficult world to navigate because every thought would be a long run on sentence with no organization of idea or structure everything would be a nightmare to read imagine reading the newspaper a magazine or novel and not being able to understand the natural pauses or construction of speech you would feel as if the writer never took a breath and I think the reader would find little relaxation when following the text I do not even know how paragraphs would fit in what would be the purpose of a paragraph if there was no end to a sentence if I was writing dialogue this could be problematic as well  darling said Joe how is your project at work coming along not well said Sue thank you for asking how is your broken foot doing not well said Joe I think gangrene has set in oh you dont say said Sue should we call the doctor not sure said Joe the pain is tremendous but I think I can shoulder through you dont say said Sue I hear little panic in your voice and I certainly do not see urgency in your text nor do I said Joe guess the gangrene will go away by itself I feel much calmer now thank you for your concern youre welcome said Sue describing people places or things would be challenging as well because the handy hyphen would be nonexistent and harddriving people could never be adequately described this posting has been an exercise in concentration because it is not easy to type without using punctuation and the subsequent spacing and capitalization that accompanies it I am glad that National Punctuation Day only comes once a year

Ancora imparo

Just That Kind of Day

I'm stuck in the same topic round-a-bout as the weather; in other words, I'm stuck on the weather as a topic. 

This weather pattern began last night.  As a group of us were walking back to our Floating Tents, we noticed that, although it was very warm and temperate, the night sky was clouded to the point that no stars were visible and the moon, while able to be seen as a faint glow, was simply a whitish orb in the heavens, mostly obscured by the low-hanging clouds.  Heavy rain was predicted to begin some time in the night, which it did, and was also predicted to continue throughout this day, which is has, on through this night, which it promises.  No surprises thus far.

What has been the defining image of this day is the heavy, mist-like curtain that has descended on the area.  It is not fog, but rather like some filmy tapestry of gossamer fabric that God hung on a giant curtain rod, reaching to the ground, enveloping everything in a filtered lens, much like a snow globe.  When I walk, outside it looks as if I'm stuck in the stuff that people buy during the Halloween season to simulate cobwebs.  I could be in the bogs of Scotland, with a misty steam arising from the saturated land.  In fact, I cannot tell if the mist is descending or ascending.  The whole of the landscape is swallowed up in an ethereal visage of whitish condensation.  Erie, to say the least.

The rain keeps falling and the haze continues.  This has been a day for coffee, contemplation, and shopping.  The evening will hold more conversation and the rain can continue for as long as Mother Nature desires.  Our tent is not leaking.  Thank goodness for small, and large, favors.

Ancora imparo 

Just Wonderin'

Because I spend a fair amount of time outdoors in warm-weather months, I pay a lot of attention to weather reports. When you live in a floating tent, the weather defines ninety-percent of what you do, when you do it and how long you do it. If the wind gets above ten to eleven knots, you think twice about whether or not the floating tent will move at all. Fifteen to twenty knots really gets the attention of Capt. SO and sustained winds of more than twenty knots mean that extra lines will be added to keep the floating tent secured at her dock.

Rain? Well that is another matter. If the temperatures are warm then rain is no big deal. Warm and wet is comfortable but wet and cold.....now that is another story. Wet and cold makes you want to stay inside the floating tent with the bed covers pulled high over your head, summon the maid to bring a scrumptious bedside brunch, and read a novel until it is time for the maid to return with a gourmet dinner entree.

All of this meteorologically applied need for information hinges on the weather report and this is from where my question arises: If the weather report says there is an eighty-percent chance of rain, does this mean there is an eighty-percent chance it will rain once or does it mean that it will rain eighty-percent of the time? There is a vitally important difference between the two concepts and the National Weather Service would do a great public service if this is clarified.

I need to know if I can stand outside all day and have an eighty-percent chance that I might get wet, because that is a gamble that I will take.....even in cold weather......or, if I stand outside all day, in the cold, will I be rained on eighty-percent of the time?

Just wonderin'.

Ancora imparo

Unjust Malignment

Today I write in defense of Spam - not the electronic-message-nuisance kind of spam, but, rather, the Spam that you eat. (Well, some of us eat it.)

I grew up with Spam and I grew up eating it, long into my early fifties......until my arteries said, "Enough is enough!" When I was a child and I and my parents took cross-country car trips in our boat-sized station wagons, we would eat all of our meals off the wagon's tailgate. A typical meal consisted of chunks of bread, colby cheese and slices of Spam. Water came from our individual Mason jars Mom had filled with water, probably at a gas station, since we slept in the station wagon and rarely stayed at motels. We could have seen Europe on ten dollars a day!

Spam has gained a disreputable image over the years, being scoffed at my the culinary community and a goodly number of average citizens as well, which is a shame. True, Spam is very high in sodium but you can purchase low-sodium Spam, which is still very salty. There is nothing tastier than Spam cooked over an open-flame grill at a campsite. Spam and toast in the morning at a campground is akin to the breakfast of champions that Tony The Tiger espouses. Spam and eggs easy-over......too tasty for words.

Consequently, I find it distressing that unwanted or unsolicited electronic mail is referred to as 'spam'. Using 'spam' as a universal term for junk mail is like referring to all facial tissues as 'kleenex'. (lower-case "k" intentional) Sure, Spam is a niche food, but food it is. I see little difference between Spam and the macaroni and cheese dinners that come in the familiar blue box. They are both a bit short on nutritive value but long on flavor......if you like salt. Boxed macaroni and cheese is loaded with sodium and some ugly food-coloring additives that are not good for human consumption, either.

So let's lay off on the Spam attacks. And, I'm calling for out-of-the-box thinking on another term for unwanted electronic mail. Why not call it velveeta, jello, or pepsi?

Spam lovers of the world - unite!

Ancora imparo

Separating The Chaff From The Wheat

As I was mentally preparing what I would include in today's post, two realities struck me:

1. 'Chaff' is only one letter off from 'chafe'.
2. I was intentional in the reverse wording of the more commonly-known phrase, 'Separating the wheat from the chaff'.

Perhaps it is all of the November-election television campaign ads that are chafing at me. These ads appear non-stop, twenty-four-seven. They are loud, obnoxious, negative, and insulting to the intelligence of the viewer. At least I assume they insult the intelligence of most viewers. If the viewers are not insulted, they should be. Whichever advertising agencies come up with the 'spots' must employ dozens of minions whose only job is to dredge up awful-looking pictures of their clients' opponents, painting them in the most unflattering poses possible. The opponents are always pictured with half-closed eyes, facial sneers, down-turned mouth corners, mouths wide open as if shouting in a rage, mouths agape as if suffering from a severe lack of intelligence, or smug and conceited looks as if dealing with a room full of imbeciles.

Couple that with The Great Illusionist and his lackeys who are out in full force, trying to fool the gullible American public into believing that 'their' party is the only political party who can rescue the country. The opposition party is doing the same, painting the incumbent party as liberal fools taking our great country down a path to certain failure. Add in the third 'beverage' party and the political free-for-all is mind-boggling, to say the least.

I'm trying to separate the chaff from the wheat, on a personal level, because I am tired of partisan politics where the politician thinks his or her view is more important than that of the electorate. I'm tired of the constant gloomy news from Wall Street. I'm tired of hearing about this person and that business struggling to stay afloat and simply scraping by. I'm tired of squabbling and rhetoric. I'm just tired.

My dilemma is that I cannot find any wheat among the chaff to separate out. There is just flat-out more chaff than wheat. The politicians, wonks, policy-makers, and suits all seem like chaff to me. Where is the quality, integrity, and intelligence needed in a politician today? Is there no one who can produce ethical, moral, and intelligent action?

All the chaff is chafing on my nerves. I think that the fact that the word 'chaff' is so close to the spelling of 'chafe' is no accident. They are one-in-the-same. I propose that we all look for and support 'wheat' candidates, not the traditional two-party system along with the 'beverage' party
choices.

I want 'wheat'. I want 'meat'. I want substance. I want compassionate intelligence coupled with straight-talk. Don't talk 'down' to me, don't patronize me, and don't ever assume I am stupid.

I'm starting a fourth party - the Wheat Party. No chaff allowed.

Ancora imparo

Gourmet, Anyone?

What constitutes gourmet? Is it ingredients? Preparation? Presentation? Or, all three?

My SO and I are continuing our grazing course up and down this small peninsula, discovering new eateries that we've heard about but never tried. In past years, we've not been very adventuresome, frequenting the same ten or so restaurants that we had become comfortable with. Perhaps it is our new location for the Aqua RV, complete with a new set of acquaintances, but this summer we've already visited ten new restaurants, with possibily more yet to come - very unlike us, but fun, nevertheless.

One of my favorite pastimes is reading about local eating establishments, clipping articles to tuck away in the hopes of actually dining at one or some of them. Today, we lunched at one such restaurant, known for its gourmet presentation of everything it serves. We ate pizza one more time, which is unbelievable for us. (Pizza three times in seven days - a trend we definitely need to stop.) But, the dietary indiscretion was most certainly worth both the trauma to the arteries and the driving distance.

The pizza had a crispy-thin crust - topped with very little cheese, the perfect amount of shredded chicken breast, thin strips of wood-fired green and red pepper and portabella mushroom slices. The sauce was flavorful but not spicy and did not overpower the vegetables. Freshly shredded Parmesan cheese was available upon request, as was extra marinara sauce. Even the water, good old,plain H20, was served in an inventive vessel resembling a wine bottle, complete with removable cork.

We agreed that this was an unqualified definition of gourmet. We shared a pumpkin pie dessert that was a delicious, small portion, decorated with leaf-shaped pie crust detailing. The dessert plate was drizzled sparingly with maple syrup and powdered sugar had been lightly dusted over the plate and pie. The dessert did not disappoint, being a treat to the taste buds as well as being visually appealing. The entire meal, from the food to the tableware, was unique - tasteful and creative - both to the eye and the palette.

I'm gathering ideas for my own new creative touches in the kitchen, borrowing ideas from the best this peninsula has to offer. We even shopped in an olive-oil bar, purchasing some 'gourmet' olive oil straight from Italy. Who knows what culinary creations I'll generate this lonely, cold winter?

Stop by and see what's cookin'!

Ancora imparo

She Has Pig-Tails!

My Princess Leia has pig-tails! Her mother ever-so-kindly sent through a picture on her 'smart' phone of Princess Leia with two tiny but obvious pig-tails. Her mom said she thought they looked a bit like antennae but PL's debut into the world of hair is a day to remember.

The picture stole our hearts and made us even more attuned to the wiles of little girls that we saw at the street festival today. Everywhere we looked, there seemed to be a little girl, somewhere between the ages of one and two, sporting her own miniature version of 'pig-tails'. It was fascinating to see how the person who prepared the tresses of these cuties sought individuality of presentation. We saw bows, yarn, ribbon, cloth strips, barrettes, hair pins, and other peculiar-looking hair decorations. Several of the little girls had wiggly, jiggly things in their tiny pig-tails that really did look like antennae. One child obviously did not like her mother's choice of hair decor and kept tugging at each pig-tail, only to have her mother swat away the child's hand. The child appeared to be very persistent in her dislike and I would have loved to 'spot' the mother/child duo throughout the day to see who won the hair battle.

Rodgers and Hammerstein got it right in the hit song "There Is Nothing Like A Dame" from their musical, "South Pacific". There is nothing like a dame.....a little dame, to be exact. Or, Maurice Chevalier who sang, "Thank Heaven For Little Girls". Little girls have an adorability (my word) that is irresistible to young and old alike, but especially to the fathers of those little girls. Okay - fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, neighbors, little old ladies in the grocery store.....etc. etc. etc.

"Who?", I ask, "Who?" can resist a little girl in pig-tails?

Not I.

Ancora imparo

What A Difference.......

Why is it that communities that have rivers or channels running through them often have defined 'sides' in which people reside? An older phrase used to be 'from the other side of the tracks', where communities were defined geographically and economically by the railroad tracks that divided them. To be 'from the other side of the tracks' was not a positive descriptor and has been immortalized in song by various vocal groups over the years. Many a love song has been penned about two lovers separated by geographic/economic locations.

Back to my own question: Why is it that communities that have rivers or channels running through them often have defined 'sides' in which people reside? Not only defined, but unequal levels of success?

We attended a street festival today that was teeming with people, pets, vendors, as well as a very large vintage car show. The weather cooperated and ushered in blue skies, sunshine and temperate fall-like conditions. There were so many people that it was hard to move through the throng of attendees, most of whom were contentedly munching on the tantalizing food offered from food tent after food tent. The local merchants whose businesses line the main downtown street, where the street festival is being held, must surely be feeling the positive effects of the increased foot traffic.

Let's back up one month and one-half mile across the channel, which, for explanatory purposes could be considered river-like. A street festival was held on this 'west side' main street in July and apparently had relatively low attendance. Two major differences delineate the neighboring street festivals: The weather was very windy and blustery for the July event and the number of shops on the west side is considerably smaller than the number on the east side. So there is logic to be applied but.....the difference in the two street festivals is striking. I'm certain that the promoters of the west side are highly envious of the success of the east side's festivities today.......and, it is only a 'river' and a half-mile apart. There might as well be two entirely different communities involved.

Just food for personal thought. It simply reminds me that success can be elusive and difficult to attain, depending on which side of the river God places you on.

Ancora imparo

Clean, Flush, Pack and/or Throw

Capt. SO and I are in the beginning stages of the end of Aqua RVing season. If you have an Aqua RV in a marina anywhere above the Mason-Dixon line you will see this pageant play out time and time again between now and the end of October. Glassy-eyed, grim-faced, depressed-looking individuals can be seen pushing dock carts to and from their vehicles, ferrying items from the boat that must be removed while it is in winter storage. Washing machines are also humming as the bedding is laundered in preparation for either home storage or on-boat storage. All involved have that same haunted look that says, "The fun is almost at an end."

Boat mechanicals are also a point of focus as would-be, self-styled mechanics work to winterize this and that system. Boats usually have several sump pumps, each with a filter that becomes unspeakably 'yucky'-looking after a season and Captains are want to carry them right past the face of their First Mates, saying "See how crudded (my word) up this got?" I personally think these Captains get a secret charge out of the appalled looks that come over the faces of the First Mates.

The contents of storage compartments, of which boats usually have quite a few, come under close scrutiny at this time of year, with Captains everywhere questioning why this or that item is really necessary for the operation of the boat. Invariably the First Mate says 'yes' while the Captain insists he cannot fathom any reason why it should have ever come onto the boat in the first place.

This is not a time of year when endearing sweet nothings are typically murmured in the ears and uttered from the lips of Captains to First Mates and vice versa. This is a time of year when conversations are kept to a minimum with little trivial discussion taking place. It is a serious time of year when Captains are occupied with fine-tuning the art of cramming all of the 'stuff' that needs to go home into over-packed vehicles with suspension systems seriously stressed.

It is good that this 'season' only happens once a year.

Ancora imparo

Nostalgia Tour

I took a step back in time today with my SO. We visited a city we lived in for seventeen years, moving away in 1991, leaving behind so many friends, neighbors, and memories. I have very fond remembrances of this mid-western city. It was the first city my SO and I moved to, away from the family safety-net of Michigan. We were young and idealistic, full of bravado but just kids underneath the swagger and hubris of our youth. Our children were born there, my SO's career flourished there and my various careers played out over the years in venues so different, even I cannot believe I traveled in as many directions as I did.

I spent a year at a state university, studying Electronic Media, thinking that music education was a closed door for me, convinced that a second bachelor's degree was just what I needed. Then the state financial coffers opened up and the powers-that-be declared that music education needed to offered twice a week to all school children and......lo and behold......music education opportunities were in abundance. So, it was back to school for yet another year and more undergraduate classes to earn my vocal ed certification.

During today's journey, we drove past all four residences we lived in over the years, taking pictures of each place, probably making neighbors and owners nervous, wondering why a car was pulled up, out front, cell phone in hand aimed at the structure. Surprisingly, we had no trouble navigating through the differing sections of the city that we had called home. The homes we left were all in good condition, although they all were missing the landscaping attention to detail that my SO was so good at. We found our former church, which did look a little worse for the wear, but......with some better landscaping would look fabulous.

Our final stop for the day came almost as an accident, but was kismet, indeed. We were headed out to the eastern side of the city, towards the interstate, knowing that we would pass many eateries, when we saw a street sign, looked at each others, and said, in concert, "Pizza". Sure enough, our favorite pizza hang-out of all times was still open, in good shape, and still delivering the best pizza we're ever had. (Except for the pizza our favorite Italian makes!) We dined there, declaring after the meal that we might as well call for a taxi to take us straight to one of the hospitals because our arteries must surely be plugged to the max! On our way to the interstate we discovered that our favorite EVER custard place had closed. I was so upset by this possibility that when we returned to our Aqua RV, I Googled the business, found a phone number and called, only to discover that both locations had closed. This is a sad loss to the culinary world.

Less I forget.....we stopped in at one of the best chocolatiers in the United States. Yes, we bought chocolates, although only one piece is missing from the box, as of this moment. Our self-control is to be congratulated!

I wanted to stop at homes, knock on doors and see if former neighbors still lived where they once did. Capt. SO said that they would think we were nuts and would wonder who in the world we were and so we passed on that opportunity.

A trip down memory lane......well worth the time, effort, and gas.

Ancora imparo

Interventions

I just got off the phone after speaking to someone my SO and I have come to know this summer while at our Aqua RV's new marina. She is one-half of our dockmates and a delightful woman she is. We see her much more often than her SO because he is still "earning a paycheck and paying for others' Social Security", as he frequently reminds the rest of us slackers. She just had a medical scare, while we were gone, and I called to check on how she is doing. Fortunately for her, it was a medication reaction and she is fine.

Because she and her SO have a fancy car, one with a mobile phone built right into the dash, our conversation was on speaker so I could talk with both her and her SO. They each have wicked senses of humor and, as always, we found ourselves laughing. Her SO said that she will be at their sailboat next week to 'pack stuff up' before taking the boat out of the water for the winter. I referred to this as the end-of-season 'stuff' but he retorted that it is a yearly intervention for her. They both joked that the boat is akin to an addiction for her and that she needs to be weaned away from it over the winter months.

Of course, after hanging up, I began to contemplate what interventions I could use. Some interventions should be self-imposed, others need to be orchestrated by outside influences. I do not see that the concept of an intervention needs to be a negative one, but rather a re-direction of intent and purpose. For instance, if I like chocolate too much, why could I not be re-directed to, say, cod liver oil? I think this could be an interesting experiment, one which could be more healthful for me in the long run. Who knows, I could grow to love cod liver oil, could I not? Imagine instead of chocolate chip cookies I could bake cod live oil chip cookies. Yummy!

Who am I kidding? I think I must be delusional. There's an intervention for someone to tackle!

Ancora imparo

Leafy Inspiration

I didn't know how to write about the topic of this posting until I remembered a favorite poem (that was also put to music) from my childhood, "Trees" by the American poet, Joyce Kilmer.

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

"Trees" was originally published in Trees and Other Poems. Joyce Kilmer. New York: George H. Doran Company, 1914.


I first learned about "Trees" and Joyce Kilmer when I was, perhaps, in first or second grade, and my church's Cherub (I was a cherub in name only.) Choir director (who would in later years become my mother-in-law) had the Cherub Choir sing a song that was based upon Kilmer's poem. The words have stuck in my head for over fifty years although I can only sing the notes that go to the poem's first line.

Yesterday I heard a reporting piece, on network television, about a special survivor from the World Trade Center attacks on 9/11 - a pear tree. As rubble was being removed, in the search for survivors and victims, this tree was discovered under twelve feet of concrete. Battered, bruised and nearly destroyed, the tree later displayed a tiny bit of new growth and was moved to an off-site location where it has been loved and cared for since the disaster. It carries with it scars and burn marks from its fateful position at Ground Zero but now stands strong and viable at thirty-five feet tall, a reminder of death and destruction coupled with life, courage and rebirth. It will be relocated back at Ground Zero, among the other trees that will be planted, in time for the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks and the unveiling of the Memorial site.

What a beautiful and inspirational story about one tree that survived against all odds. I think that Joyce Kilmer - who himself was a victim of WWI as a soldier in the 165th Infantry Regiment, dying in 1918, at the age of 31, in the Second Battle of the Marne - was a man with a vision.

Thank you, Joyce Kilmer. I hope someone remembers your poem as the pear tree is being replanted.

Ancora imparo

Searching For.......

As I was 'futzing' around with my rapidly cooling coffee just now, I came to the abrupt realization that the perfect cup of coffee is something that I am always searching for. Coffee and I really do not get along very well any more but I am yet reluctant to give up the brew that I have come to enjoy and appreciate. As with many things, my SO and I have conflicting preferences when it comes to coffee. He likes his brew to be strong and robust. My stomach, on the other hand, requires a more mellow, less acidic cuppajoe. Even then, mine must be tempered with either a non-dairy-type creamer or the ubiquitous and oxymoronic fat-free cream. With all of those precautions, I often end up with symptoms that tell me I really should not drink coffee any longer. Still I search, determined to find the mellow coffee bean that I can grow old with.

The perfect-coffee thought process then brought me to the path of thinking about what other 'things' do I constantly search for the perfect example of. Bananas came to mind almost instantly.

Have you ever observed grocery store shoppers lingering over and fingering most of the bananas laid out in the banana display?

I go in and out of banana-buying streaks. Bananas are no exception to the now-familiar story of yin and yang with my SO and I. We both enjoy the flavor of bananas, but my digestive system is no longer in sync with banana chemistry. Occasionally I do cave into a banana-craving urge, paying for the urge dearly, which, therefore,limits my banana-buying exposure. I, too, am always in search of the perfect banana.

Buying bananas is a very personal experience. Some shoppers (my dad, for one) prefer a soft banana, with some brown ripening spots visible. This stage of ripeness is repulsive to most of my senses. I only see this type of banana as a tasty candidate for banana bread. Others prefer their bananas to be on the greenish side, so green that it is difficult to remove the peel from the fruit. This type of banana seems to me like chewing chalk. Then there is the perfect banana, one which is half-way between the banana-bread ingredient and the chalk-banana. But......purchasing bananas that will keep you in supply with constant perfect bananas is another skill, in and of itself. You must buy really green bananas that will ripen in time, you must buy kinda-green bananas that will ripen in a day or two and you must buy two or three bananas that are ready-to-eat the moment you arrive home. This, my friends, is banana-buying science.

Then there is the search for the perfect picture-taking pose, of which I seem to have yet to discover. I avoid the camera like the plague. In posterity, there will be no photos available of me, only whispered remembrances, folk-lore and urban legends.

Here's to searching for perfection......for whatever it is that the perfect 'one' is evading your grasp.

My coffee needs warming again. Some things never change.

Ancora imparo

Too Much To Analyze

The world seems to be changing at warp speed - or ludicrous speed, as in the movie "Spaceballs". In fact, so much of the information that comes along seems just plain ludicrous. Period.

As readers may know, I love my Merriam-Webster's Eleventh Edition Collegiate Dictionary and I visited it, once again, to locate a definitive definition of ludicrous. Below is what I found.

lu-di-crous 1: amusing or laughable through obvious absurdity, incongruity, exaggeration or eccentricity. 2: meriting derisive laughter or scorn as absurdly inept, false, or foolish

Below is what I see.

• The Floridian pastor of a very small congregation has garnered too much air time and print space and has been given a ludicrous amount of media attention which fermented into a world-wide hornet's nest.
• Moderate alcohol consumption - bad/no alcohol good v.s. moderate alcohol consumption - good/no alcohol questionable
• Bad bacon v.s. the now 'good' bacon;
• bgh - bovine growth hormone - very bad. Oops, it is naturally present in all bovines.
• Caffeine v.s. no caffeine
• Bad butter - good margarine. Oops. Bad margarine - good butter
• Bare feet - bad v.s. expensive shoes -good. Oops. Now it is no shoes - good v.s. expensive shoes not-so-good
• Bad public behavior - just plain bad v.s. bad public behavior good-for-the-career
• Google past v.s. Google "Instant". Leave well-enough alone.
• Stating the obvious v.s. obfuscation. Do 'they' think 'we're' stupid?

My apologies for my inner curmudgeon making an appearance today. I need to see the Three Musketeers.

Ancora imparo

Hyphennistically Speaking

I knew about this meeting for several days in advance. I had prepared as much as I could, based on what I knew about the attendees. Actually, I was excited and nervous, all at once. The meeting guests would be staying overnight and heading out early the next morning. Wanting to make a good impression, care had been taken in selecting menu items and tidying up the condo.

When the guests arrived, introductions were made and pleasantries exchanged. Maybe a few awkward conversational pauses occurred at first but soon the conversation flowed freely, shifting from topic to topic with ease. The two guests were fine conversationalists, moving in and out of the discussions as their interests dictated or tasks allowed. Clearly these were people with keen intellects, sharp wits, and quick senses of humor. The time passed rapidly and suddenly the clock and our bodies indicated that sleep might be in order.

Sleep for me was a bit elusive due to the trivial facts my mind tried to recover following the evening's discussions. About 3:00 a.m., I seized upon the final trivial fact lodged in the file cabinets of my mind and fell asleep, only to have the alarm sound a short two and one half hours later.

Breakfast brought more lively repartee and, toward the end of the meal, one of the guests turned to my SO and me and said, "So, are there any other questions you would like to ask me during this interview?" For a split second, we were speechless, and then burst out laughing. We never considered the meeting as an interview but could certainly see, in retrospect, how one could construe the meeting as such. We retorted, "Well, are there any questions you'd like to ask us?" The response was negative......indeed all had been learned that was necessary at that juncture. We are still chuckling at the memory of the question put to us!

We are up for another meeting. During our time together last night, we learned a bit more about
punctuation marks, mainly the hyphen, and American Idol winners and runners-up. I can't wait to see what the next discussion topics might be. I'll have to brush up on my current, past and future events.

Grammatically speaking, no one harshed my mellow.

Ancora imparo

Feel Good v.s. Right

Finding the right title for my daily posting of Ancora imparo is something that I take very seriously. I'd say I'm happy with ninety percent of the titles I've selected. There are times when I'll have a topic in mind but the title does not solidify until part-way through the development of the posting when it comes in a 'voila!' moment.

Blog topics are another matter. There may be a seed for an idea that gets planted but it does not germinate for a few days, or even weeks for that matter. Other times, the idea has grown from seed to fruit in a matter of days or even hours. Today's topic kernel took shape yesterday and festered all through the night until it was begging to be written........'as we speak'.

I wanted the title, for today, to be "It May Feel Good But Will It Feel Right?" Allow me to explain while speaking in code.

I have an acquaintance who is a real curmudgeon. He is a walking, talking prime example of the definition of the word. (This person is not a relative, nor does he live near me so do not spend any time musing over who this person might be.)

Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary - Eleventh Edition: n [origin unknown] (1568) 1 archaic: MISER 2: a crusty, ill-tempered, and usually old man

This person has no verbal filter and is adept at hurting the feelings of others. He is devoid of tact - most of the time - and seems to relish making remarks that make others squirm. I am thankful that our paths do not cross very frequently because when they do, I come away from the encounter wishing I'd said this, that and the other thing in response to his cranky and crabby running commentary. This is why I wanted to publish the title of today's posting as "It May Feel Good But Will It Feel Right". I know that if I made a retort it would feel good at the time but would make me feel very low and......curmudgeonly.....myself a short time later. It is difficult not to stoop to the level of a curmudgeon. My challenge is to try to forget the man's seemingly natural ornery demeanor so that the next time our lives intersect, I can view him with fresh eyes.

What is that saying about rose-colored glasses? I need a pair.

Ancora imparo

Breaking Free

Do you ever feel fettered, confined, restricted, bound, limited.....both in thought and movement? Do you ever feel as if your thoughts and actions are dictated by others and outside sources? Do you ever sense the weight of the chains of this world and feel like Atlas?

Not too long ago,I heard someone say in passing, that he felt like Atlas and "needed to break free". At the time I laughed, along with everyone else, but, as with many of my posting topics, this one got parked somewhere in my cerebrum and has simmered, like a good pot of soup. Yesterday, my SO and I got stuck in a conversational loop about the woes of the world and I came away from the discussion feeling like Atlas. When I made the connection to what another had said about Atlas, I smiled and thought to myself, "Oh, lighten up!" I made myself smile and moved on. But......Atlas stayed with me and emerged, once again, this morning from my subconscious. I decided to go browsing online and re-acquaint myself with Atlas. I'm confident I had a teacher, somewhere along the line, who taught all about Atlas during a Greek mythology unit, but at the time I was having 'none of that' and paid too little attention. (Oh, to go back in school-time!)

In Greek mythology, Atlas was a Titan who carried the heavens on his back. He was condemned by Zeus to stand at the western edge of Gaia (Earth) and hold up Uranus (the Sky) on his shoulders, to prevent the two from resuming their primordial embrace. A common interpretation, today, is that Atlas was forced to hold the Earth on his shoulders, but the Classical interpretation portrays Atlas as supporting the celestial spheres, not a globe. (Paraphrased from Wikipedia.)

For me, the key difference between Atlas and us Atlas-wanna-be's is that Atlas' fate was determined by someone else; i.e. Zeus, whereas, we assume the Atlas posture pretty much from a volunteer position. Oh, I have no doubt that, when I feel like Atlas, others may have played into that current mind-set, but the ultimate answer is that I allowed myself to get into whatever situation I would then give anything to be released from. I may not want to accept that conclusion when I am in the throes of 'Whymedom', but I do know, upon careful inspection, that it was choices made by me that got me to where I didn't want to be.

What I need to do now is go back to Greek mythology and search out a character who was pelted by life but was able to continually throw off the constant onslaught, discarding woes and issues right and left, just like a discus thrower would do. I like that mental image. Feel a weight......toss it out the window of life.

I'm opening my windows right now. I hope you'll do the same.

Ancora imparo

Pass The Duct Tape, Please

I really struggle with my mouth. Always have, perhaps I always will. Some of what I write today may sound familiar to this blog's readers, and I apologize, in advance, for any repetition.

Maybe it was growing up as a faux only-child that unleashed my speak-up gene. (My two older sisters were born quite a few years ahead of me. I was an "oops" child, born when my mother was nearly forty years old. ) Maybe it was because, as a child, both my parents worked and, after my care-giving maternal grandmother died, I did spend quite a bit of time alone, talking to who else - me! Who knows? I've devoted a fair amount of time to analyzing myself and have yet to come to a firm set of conclusions.

What I do know is this: Put me in a room full of people who are confused, but embarrassed to ask clarifying questions, and I'll be the one who will ask the first question. Over the years, it has not been usual for a friend, seated next to me, to elbow me and whisper in my ear, "I don't get this. Ask............"

Thus far, in my rapidly disappearing youth, I've managed to mostly avoid self-induced trouble,
and life-threatening situations created by my mouth. But.......here is my fear. As I move closer to my one-hundredth year than my year of birth, I sense that my aural governor is beginning to lose its effectiveness. This causes me great concern that one day, I may find myself in a poorly-run, interminable, unnecessarily long meeting and finally blurt out all that my mind has been thinking but my internal governor had previously prevented me from declaring to one and all present.

I have two upcoming-meetings, on my calendar, where I know that my urge to verbally purge will be great, but I will have-have-have to bite my tongue to the point of drawing blood. Because I am not fond of the taste of blood, I think that duct tape, strategically placed, might just be my saving grace, but I worry that it might look odd for a meeting-attendee to have duct tape placed over his or her mouth. I've thought of stuffing my mouth with soda crackers, just prior to the beginning of the meeting, but that would seem to be socially even more strange.

I'm leaning toward the duct tape option. Anyone got a spare roll or two or three?

Ancora imparo

Curiosity Satisfied

It is a movie I'd been curious about from the first trailer that hit the airwaves - "Inglourious Basterds", written and directed by Quentin Tarantino and starring Brad Pitt. The trailers for the movie were characteristically indefinite, giving the would-be-movie goer a slight taste and tease for what the movie actually portends. My only impression what was Madison Avenue wanted me to see and the "rest of the story" was left to my imagination. At the time of its release in 2009, I was too timid to watch the movie, but over the past year, and inspired the the library rental fee of only $.25 cents, I gathered up my courage, stepped outside of my comfort zone and rented the movie.

Quentin Tarantino has a well-deserved reputation for being a master of suspense, second only, perhaps, to the venerable Alfred Hitchcock. Knowing a bit about Tarantino's "Kill Bill" movies, I wasn't eager to watch "Inglourious Basterds", but, as I said, my curiosity got the better of me.

What a fascinating movie. At once I was repelled, repulsed, yet riveted by Tarantino's ability to combine the macabre with a little comic relief, bound tightly together with a constant sense of impending doom, coupled with continuing brutality and violence. Tarantino does not disappoint, by the way. Yet, in the context of the movie, I found that I was troublingly (my word) comfortable with the violence, perhaps because of my knowledge of historical events. My ability to rationalize the human-to-human violence in "Inglourious Basterds" still bothers me but my discomfort is over-shadowed by my awe of what another human being can conjure up. Tarantino's imagination must never stop, nor sleep. Perhaps he doesn't sleep, either. I'd love to know what he was like in junior and senior high school.

The movie is ultra violent but if you want to see what all of the movie buzz was about and why the actor, Christoph Watlz received an Acdemy Award for Best Supporting Actor, then rent this movie. Just be prepared to spend the entire two hours and thirty-three minutes on the edge of your chair. This movie is not kid-friendly.

Ancora imparo

Labor Day Observations

My SO just asked me what I was going to do today and I replied, "As little as possible." He shot back, "But it's Labor Day. You know, LABOR day.....you know.... labor implies action." Thusly, I am in the process of creating the illusion of action by blogging.

So far, today, I have gleaned many important bits of information from watching CNN that I thought I'd share with you. Mind you, I do not like CNN but my SO likes the news-feed aspect of the channel and, I must say, the useful tips shared by the various reporters could be life-changing.

The financial advisor told the viewing audience, in a segment about rising credit card fees, that if you only charge, per month, what you can afford to pay off in that month you will avoid paying interest. Really?

Dublin, Georgia has passed an ordinance banning baggy, low-hanging pants. Guess it must be the sagging economy.

The rip tide currents off the coast of Florida are dangerous. Really?

In a video clip, a famous rapper is shown walking through a crowd of admirers, carrying (and partaking of) a large bottle of liquor. This person is known for having difficulty controlling what he says. Really? (For disclaimer purposes, I drew an inference that the bottle actually contains an alcoholic beverage and not water.) I'm really sure it is water.

To all who would read Ancora imparo on this day, labor not-too-hard. This day is to recognize the American labor movement, not to demonstrate the meaning of labor. Take it easy, get together with friends, read a good book, take a walk, hug your dog (or cat, if it will let you), take a nap, or simply sit quietly and meditate on the meaning of life.

In the meantime, I'll do as little as.......I can possibly get away with!

Ancora imparo

Shiver Me Timbers

Getting up is getting harder on my Aqua RV. With the much cooler nighttime temperatures, the interior temperature lowers accordingly and makes staying under the covers, head covered up, a cozy environment, difficult to leave. The water temperature is also dropping so the Aqua RV's wooden floors reflect that temperature change and make for cold feet, which was the topic of this blog yesterday.

However, staying in bed and conserving body warmth also gives more time to listen to the saccharin-style radio station that our clock radio is set to. The radio station's marketing theme is 'relaxing' music. Now 'relaxing' means many things to many people. Some would find this particular mix of music nauseating and would prefer radio fuzz rather than listen to one minute of Bobby Darin, Nat King Cole, Debby Reynolds, Bobby Vinton, and the like. I would describe my reaction to hearing 'relaxing' music as a combination of fascinated and irritated - usually simultaneously.

The music is mostly one genre - the old crooner tunes from the fifties and sixties. The music that my sisters probably 'spooned' to in the back seats of their boyfriends' Chevrolets. Occasionally I'll hear a tune from my junior high and early high school years and it does transport me to another place and time. Waaaaay back then, high schools hosted regular Friday night dances called 'mixers'. This was basically a cattle call where the single guys lined the gym, either seated or standing, and the girls paraded around and around, just waiting for 'that guy' to stop one of them and ask her to dance. Good grief, we even had dance cards, where girls would get guys to sign up for dancing with them on Dance Number One, Two, etc. The only people in the middle of the dance floor, shuffling about, dancing cheek-to-cheek, were the regular couples, the girl probably wearing the guy's school ring which would have been wound tightly with yarn, color-coordinated with the outfit she was wearing that evening.

Crooner music mostly brings back junior and high school love-angst and the awful feelings that only teen-aged 'romance' can produce. I do find myself chuckling, from time to time, when I hear a particular song and the memories it dredges up. Secretly, though, they were great times and I'd re-visit those days in a heartbeat.

Shivering, reminiscing. and chuckling. I'm going back to bed. My feet are cold.

Ancora imparo

Cold Feet

OK,it is early September, Labor Day weekend, and my bare feet are cold? What gives, Mother Nature? Granted, I've complained mightily about the heat and humidity that we Americans have endured, just having gone through the hottest summer on record, if I am not mistaken. I'm all for cooler temperatures and lower-to-no humidity, but to have cold,bare feet on Labor Day weekend is quite unusual.

Typically, when the children and teachers return to their classrooms at the end of August, the weather does its 'hat trick', the Dog Days of summer rear their over-heated head, and all are miserable. Given the mercurial nature of mid-West weather, the switch back from cold feet to hot feet will come over night, all too soon.

I'm holding out for real football weather, when the day temps are in the mid-to-low seventies or high sixties, there is nonexistent humidity, and the night skies are clear and chilly. Football weather. Sweater weather. Hooded-sweatshirt with blue jeans weather. Apple-cider doughnuts weather. Apple-picking weather. Pumpkin-patch weather. Crockpot-soup weather. Put-another-blanket-on-the-bed weather. Garden squash weather. A fire in the fireplace weather.

Our home-before-the-condo had two fireplaces and I so miss the ambiance that a lit fireplace projects. The crackle and spit of the logs as they burn, the mesmerizing effect of the flames, the urge to open a good book and read in a large, over-stuffed chair before the fire. Now I have to utilize Harold Hill's "Think Method" from the "Music Man" musical. I am relegated to envisioning a fireplace rather than experiencing a fireplace.

Back to the cold feet and reality. The time is late-afternoon, the wind is blustery at best, the rain is intermittent, my feet are cold and my bare legs are telling me it is time to lose the shorts and opt for long pants.

Can a hot cup of tea be far behind? Join me, won't you?

Ancora imparo

If Only.......

As previously stated, this posting was going to be about the phrase, "If I Only Had The Time". After much reflection and thought, I decided that the more appropriate wording, for me, was "If Only......." I have a long list of If only's, which is also concerning to me - about me - because I do not wish to exist in a state of "If only", but I find it challenging to avoid.

Do you ever think "If only...."?

I am not referring to the maudlin, hand-wringing, choke-sobbing-sniffling kind of "If only....", more the kind of hit-your-head, "Gee, I should have had a V-8" type of realization.

For instance:

• If only I'd gotten up when the alarm went off.
• If only I hadn't eaten that second helping of potatoes and gravy.
• If only I lived one hour closer to the Three Musketeers.
• If only I hadn't waited two more seconds to jump on to the boat.
• If only I had started growing out my bangs one year earlier.
• If only I were three inches taller.
• If only I had installed granite countertops.
• If I only could have landed that big small-mouth bass.
• If I only could remember the phone number.
• If only I could talk him into a dog.

And, the big 'one' that Capt. SO and I talked about on our walk just yesterday: If we could only be twenty years younger. We do not want anything or anybody else to be twenty years younger, just us. Rather selfish, don't you think? We just like everything as it is and love everyone as they are and would like to have a guaranteed twenty more years to enjoy it (and them) all.

Ah, but there are no guarantees, are there?

Ancora imparo

Gaggles' Gibberish

So I fibbed. I said my next posting would be about "If I Only Had The Time", but the enormous gaggle of geese assembled not more than one-hundred feet off the stern of our Aqua RV has inspired me to chronicle what I am hearing and seeing. Since my last posting was about listening and motor mouths, allow me to describe what Capt. SO and I have been experiencing since today's dawning.

I'll estimate that the number of geese assembled in the open, channel-waters behind our Aqua RV has fluctuated between one to three hundred Canadian Geese. If you are not familiar with Canadian Geese, they are not shy about expressing their thoughts and feelings to fellow geese and any other living creatures or inert objects, for that matter. The honking has been non-stop. Geese are the ultimate motor-mouths. Occasionally it seems that one goose will honk at a time, then suddenly a chorus of geese gibberish will erupt, sounding like the first choir rehearsal of George Frederick Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus". How I would love to know what geese dialogues are playing out.

It is clear that geese do not appreciate the presence of seagulls. If a seagull comes near or has the nerve to land among the geese, the ensuing complaint level can be ear-splitting and the seagull usually takes flight immediately. From time to time a really irritating seagull will calmly float a bit, as if trying to annoy the geese. Ultimately the gull gives in to the heckling honking and takes off. Ducks do not appear to have the same affect on the geese and are able to peaceably float with their fellow feathered-friends.

Canadian Geese are a protected species here and, I suspect, everywhere. They are considered nuisance creatures when they congregate on land because they are prolific poopers and they care not where their poop piles up, and pile up, it does. Owners of cottages and homes that are located on the waterfront go to great lengths to discourage the geese from assembling on their property, utilizing every imaginative prop known to mankind to drive the geese 'somewhere else'. Thusly, I can appreciate the geese from my vantage point because they are not on the docks.......yet. When the piles of poop, that resemble falafel when stepped on (I have personal experience with this.), begin decorating the docks, the geese will become unwelcome visitors and will have to be shooed off.....no easy task as goose-leaders tend to become highly aggressive when annoyed.

May your day be goose-free, with the exception of seeing the impressive geese formations as they fly through the sky. I will enjoy my goose-visage from a closer perspective......until the falafel appears.

Ancora imparo

Do They Ever Take A Breath?

OK, so I listen a lot. Yes, I can also talk a lot but there are occasions, depending on the people assembled, when getting the proverbial 'word in edgewise', just is not going to happen. I'm certain I have been guilty of that which I am about to write and so I apologize right here and now for the bad habit of 'never taking a breath' in conversation.

Some humans seem incapable of taking a breath when they talk. It makes me think they would be or would have been mighty fine musicians - either vocalists or instrumentalists - because the phrases they could have played or sung on one breath would have been incredible. I used to be frustrated by these non-breathing people. Now, I am resigned to their presence on this earth. If I know them really, really well I'll ask "Are you going to take a breath any time soon?" I do not recommend this question be asked very frequently. It does not elicit a favorable response, as a rule, but it does interrupt the person's soliloquy just long enough to get an edgewise-word interjected into the one-way conversation.

When I was teaching, students would refer to fellow student who never stopped talking as 'motor-mouths'. I never thought too much about this moniker however, upon reflection, there is kind of a funny connection.

But......being around motor-mouths does afford the opportunity to simply listen. Listening has become a favorite past-time of mine. When one is actively listening it is natural to smile, laugh, nod and otherwise indicate, through body language, that you are fully engaged in the one-way conversation. Both parties win in this situation and it is fascinating to really 'hear' what the other person is saying. Many of the topics posted in this blog come from listening to what others have to say. In fact, my next posting will revolve around a phrase I heard more than once yesterday, "If I had the time....."

Wouldn't it be the ultimate experience to be in a room full of people who all had the idea to listen instead of talk? The silence would be deafening. Those assembled might very well burst into laughter after realizing what was happening. Imagine the explosion of conversation that would ensue!

It is time for this electronic motor-mouth to stop typing.

I am taking a breath. Someone else can have a turn to speak now.

Ancora imparo