I Succumbed

No, no one died.  Not that succumbed.  Succumbed as in "gave in to temptation".......the temptation to watch The Royal Wedding.

I was unable to view the RW (Royal Wedding) as it transpired, live, Friday morning.  Friday evening, I spoke with a woman who habitually stays up ridiculously late every night and she simply stayed up through the night to begin watching the media coverage at 3 a.m.  Each to their own.

I pooh-poohed the RW as the media frenzy around it grew to a fever pitch days before the event.  Reading about RW parties, I declared it was all silly and I would have no part it in.  Sophomoric, I thought.  Then, I arose early this morning, had some discretionary time and decided to search out pictures on the Internet.  I found a few, then thought I'd scope out YouTube to see what there was to see.  Wonder of wonders, the BBC had the RW coverage posted, in its entirety, on YouTube......all three-plus hours of it.  I'd seen enough post-wedding pictures on the national news to satisfy my curiosity so I knew I didn't need to see another RC (Royal Couple) ride in the Cinderella-type  carriage, Princely kiss or Princely ride in the vintage Aston Martin convertible, but I was interested in watching the ceremony itself.  Consequently, I found myself clicking on the "start" arrow.

I had watched the ill-fated wedding of Prince Charles and Diana in 1981 but this time, after years as a musician who has performed at dozens of weddings and as a still-active choir director, I watched this ceremony with different and experienced eyes.  What I observed fascinated me.

Cars in royal motorcades must be trained to follow each other with precise distances between each vehicle. The Church of England must be a male bastion.  The official frocks of the male celebrants reminded me of the aviary world.  The men were dressed in ceremonial finery, much like male peacocks, while the two token women - nuns, I guess - were dressed in the finest drab attire possible.

There is an assistant for everything.  Even the Archbishop of Canterbury (I presume.) had an assistant step forward to hold his "hat", which he removed during a prayer segment.  Important people are not immune to "hat-head" when they remove their hats.  And, speaking of hats, personally I thought the hat "fetish" was a bit absurd in some instances.  I felt sorry for wedding guests who would have had to sit behind the haberdashery choices of many of the women.  There were hats that more resembled "dish" antennas I see in my neighbors' yards than chapeaus.  Let's face it......not all women were born to pull off wearing a hat in any stylish fashion.  Yet, there were many women who carried off the whole "hat thing" magnificently.

Westminster Abbey is huge.  I knew this fact but I didn't remember that detail from the wedding of Charles and Diana.  Yesterday's television coverage demonstrated not only that Westminster Abbey is huge, but that there was certainly a tier-effect regarding the guest list.  A-list guests could see the ceremony.  B-list guests were within shouting distance.  C-listers could hope for a processional sighting as the participants moved down the long center aisle.  D-listers and below could only brag that they received an invitation. 

When Kate and her father stood at the alter area with Prince William, did anyone else notice how tightly she gripped her father's hand?  I found this to be a charming reminder of how even one so outwardly poised might be inwardly quaking a bit in her soon-to-be royal slippers.  Later, as husband and wife, I was relieved (for Kate) that she had a relaxed yet confident grasp of hands with her new husband.

Lastly, I cannot conclude this posting without mentioning the absolutely exquisite music that occurred throughout the entire ceremony.  The royal brass players sent shivers up and down "me" spine.  As a church choir director, I found the whole thing to be a choir director's dream, with the splendid singers - both young and not-so-young and hearing the abbey resonate with congregational singing while the pipe organ thundered, must be akin to what heavenly music would be like.  The organ sound was literally to die for. Just seeing the elaborate pipe system gave me chills and the instrumentalists were equally matched in skill with the vocalists.
It was great to see the tympanist get a few close-up shots as he played.

I'm glad I succumbed......to temptation, that is.

Ancora imparo

Is Today My "Someday"?

I  have so many notes from my pastor's sermon this past Sunday that will be fodder for several days of blogging.  He had one-liners all over the place, or at least, I wrote them down as one-liners and I do not mean the funny, comedy-club type one-liners.  His sermon content was meaty to sat the least.  Full of the proverbial food-for-thought with sentences built to intentionally foster thinking. 

One of his points was that we humans are want to say, "Someday I'll.........", and then we are left to fill in the blank with whatever trips our triggers for that day, week, month or year.  This statement of future intent is not unlike the movie, "The Bucket List", that I used as a topic for a blog posting some time ago, except the characters in "The Bucket List" made a list and then set forth to accomplish (or experience) all of the items on their lists.  In fact, if memory serves me correctly, they assisted one another in completing their "bucket lists". 

My pastor went on to urge us, instead, to "make today your someday", calling us to action instead of thinking.  I don't believe he was referring just to social justice or religious action but, perhaps, to any action that would get us off square one and on to square two or three. 

I have certainly taken his challenge to make my "someday" today but I find that all I can do, at this point, is think.  Will I ever get past square one?  I don't know, but I do understand that thinking about future squares is rewarding in and of itself.

Here's to making today your "someday", too! 

Ancora imparo

On Again, Off Again

There are two times of year that seem, to me, to be bi-polar in nature (pun intended) - spring and fall.  In terms of the outer environment, I love spring and fall.  The outside temperatures tend to be mild, giving us pause from the heat and humidity of summer and the cold and snow of winter.  Some years bring protracted periods of amazing spring and fall weather - the kind of weather where people can be overheard saying, "I wish we could bottle this weather for the entire year!"  Other years find shortened, almost non-existent spring and fall seasons - seasons where winter morphs suddenly into shorts, tees, and air conditioning, while fall slips away quickly as the first big snowfall arrives early in November. 

That is the outside environment.

Inside, I find fall and spring to be environmentally vexing, at best.  Because Capt. SO and I have polar- opposite internal heating and cooling systems, we exist in a sort of thermostatic war zone.  I do not understand the problem of being cold all the time and I am continually (of course, gently) telling him to simply put more clothes on.  As I see it, being cold is just a matter of not wearing denim (denim is much colder to the skin than, say, corduroy....and he has corduroy slacks) and wearing layers on the upper torso.  So he looks like a sumo wrestler when he's clothed to his satisfaction?  Plus, rectifying a person's "coldness" is socially acceptable, whereas rectifying the issue of being hot all the time can be publicly problematic.

During the spring and fall months, sleeping conditions can also be a matter of contention.  The "cold" one wants and needs the winter blankets, sheets, and comforter left as part of the bed-linens.  The "hot" one would be happy to sleep with the air conditioning on and one sheet.....period.  Thusly, the nighttime becomes a constant tug (or, should I say "throw") of war regarding sheets, blankets, and comforter.  Even the "cold" one becomes overheated when covered with double layers of bedding, becoming the recipient of the "hot" one's unwanted linens.  I spend these transition nights feeling like a light switch in a public bathroom.....on, off, on, off.  One minute I'm hot, so I throw my bed-linens onto Capt. SO's side of the bed but the next minute, I'm cold, so I'm fishing and fumbling to find the layer on him that I discarded.  This yo-yo effect goes on all night long, ended only when one of the exhausted bed partners stumbles out from under whatever covers were left over him or her.

I'm off to shop for end-of-season sales on corduroy slacks and down parkas, plus get in on spring promotional sales for fans.  Something for "everyone". 

Ancora imparo
    

Check

My list for this day was rather like a checklist for a basic survival course offered by Outward Bound, or some similar organization.  Here's how my checklist looked for Monday, April 25, 2011:

• Actually get out of bed                                                                                                            
• Walk outside, even if I didn't want to                                                                                       
• Clean the cat's litter box                                                                                                          
• Read my newspaper regardless                                                                                               
• Drink my coffee while it is warm                                                                                              
• Blog two times                                                                                                                        
• Decide what to wear  (very hard)                                                                                             
• Write a difficult letter                                                                                                               
• Run two errands in a short amount of time                                                                               
• Decide what to gobble for lunch (cereal with banana)                                                              
• Refrain from wearing my bathrobe before dinner                                                                     
• Be brainless after dinner                                                                                                         
• Listen to classical music while driving (to relax)                                                                       
• Decide which couple to vote for on DWTS                                                                            
• Refrain from going to bed too early even though my body is screaming SLEEP                       
• Sleep well in the knowledge I made it through Monday                                                          
• Make list for tomorrow.....include getting out of bed on the list

Check.                                            

Good night.

Ancora imparo

Where Is The Fire Extinguisher When I Need It?

I've been annoying my family and, perhaps others, for years with my frequent interjection of song lyrics that, to me, fit a situation.  These useful bits of lyric-trivia float around in my brain, just waiting for the opportune exposure moment.  It is amazing how many moments in life are commemorated somewhere in a song.....but then, are not song lyrics often written based upon the experiences of the lyricist?  Since Easter just concluded and bunnies are now breathing easier, I am certain that Gene Autry - the lyricist for the original "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" - was inspired by some rabbit-sighting somewhere at some time.  How many rock star/composers/song writers have said, in an interview, that they were sitting on an airplane or tour bus and an incident prompted a new song? 

Well, Kenny Rogers has been on my mind this morning, with the lyrics from his song, "The Gambler":

"Know when to hold 'em,
Know when to fold 'em." 

I have inadvertently found myself in between the proverbial "rock and and a hard place" and it is a highly uncomfortable position to be in.  In a "fight or flight" situation, my initial instinct is usually to flee and that is exactly where I find myself.  When faced with controversy and conflict, isn't it simply easier to back off or walk away than voluntarily become ensnared in a web of someone else's making?  I write, not infrequently, about life being too short anyway, so why take a seat, of my own volition, in a frying pan that is already smoking?  

I am not a gambler....never have been and probably never will be.  The three or four times that I have played poker (for pennies) have never resulted in a positive position at the end of the game, so, clearly, I do not "know when to hold 'em" or "know when to fold 'em".....but I can smell smoke before the fire and I know I need a fire extinguisher.....sooner than later.

Ancora imparo

A Work In Progress

An unusual event happened during church this morning.  Our senior pastor invited a highly talented high school senior to paint during all three services.  Apparently he gave her no instructions except to create "something" that would reach its conclusion during the third service.  To say it was fascinating to watch her work would be both a disservice and an understatement.  Her portfolio has gained local recognition and her talent has earned her well-deserved college scholarships.  Seated at the very back of the congregation, I could see that the people in attendance were torn between watching "Lisl" (not her real name) and paying attention to whatever was happening on the altar.  When the pastor began his sermon, he acknowledged "Lisl" and took our attention from him to her, sort of like giving us permission to pay attention to her while she worked.  Since her work was wordless, it was possible to keep track of her progress and still listen intently to what the pastor had to say, although it must have been challenging for him to maintain his thoughts and intensity with so many faces not looking in his direction.

As "Lisl" painted and I watched her create, I was struck by how her progress is not unlike that of the human experience of life.  I am a work in progress.  Like "Lisl's" painting, changing with each brush stroke, so I am changing, with every breath, step, thought, action and deed.  I am not the same person I was fifteen seconds ago, nor would I want to be.  I need to change, to breathe and to keep on breathing.  My canvas is incomplete, devoid of true shape and contour.  There are days when my canvas feels as if it has shape and definition then there are other days when my canvas feels and looks as if some tornadic activity wrenched it from its easel and rearranged it in some form unknown to mankind.

The morphing that I experience on a daily basis is a positive action because it means that I am alive!  It means that I have an opportunity to right the wrongs I inflicted that day, to reverse any negative thinking I may have engaged in and to re-think foolish ideas that floated through my head.  It means that I have been given one more day to utter words that need to be spoken and to banish words that might possibly leak out and create damage.

Unlike "Lisl", whose work should now be completed and ready for public viewing, I am incomplete and unfinished.  I am a work in progress.  Good thing.  I have a long way to go.

Ancora imparo

Food Connections

Food is a powerful stimulant.  Food is so important to the human machine that simply viewing a picture of food or a television advertisement can cause a psychological stimulant so potent that the individual is seemingly powerless to overcome the urge to eat that particular food right then and now.  While I have never fallen prey to the actual consumption of certain food(s) from seeing them either in print or on the "little" screen, I have frequently thought to myself, "Ooh, I would love thus-and-such right now!" 

Food can also carry with it reminiscent associations to people, places or things.  I still remember eating stick pretzels as a two-year old - not only the sitting-on-the-floor part but the taste, as well.  I will always associate tomato bisque with my Aunt Dorothy, morel mushrooms with Uncle Loy, soy crumbles with my Down-the-Hill friend, Saint Patrick's Day with the one dish my family asked me to never make again - green creamed asparagus on toast (It tasted great....they just didn't like the color, I guess.), Bananas Foster with our New Orleans trip, peanut butter and jelly on sourdough bread with our first San Francisco trip, and frosted grapes with our Tulsa, Oklahoma visit.

My father elicits the most food memories, although I'm not certain why.  To this day, I cannot eat canned tomatoes, bananas, bone-in chicken, bone-in meat of any kind - for that matter, venison, popcorn, radishes with a salt shaker, Spy apples, peanut-butter milk shakes, black walnuts, dandelion-green salad, or hominy without visioning my dad right next to me, eating the same thing. 

My dad never met a piece of bone-in meat that he didn't like.  He never left any bone - whether fowl, beef, pork or venison - with a scrap of meat, fat, sinew, tendon or joint on it.  His meat bones were hardly fit to toss to the family dog without the dog ignoring the bone simply because there was nothing left to gnaw upon. 

Food - it connects us to the present and to the past in ways that little else does.  Family recipes, family gatherings, family traditions.......they all involve food of some sort.  Food makes the good times better and the sad times a little less fragile. 

Let's all get cookin'!

Ancora imparo

I Blame My Misfired Synapses For This Posting

As I sit here, at my own laptop (finally), I am aware of my cat's snoring, the thunder loudly rumbling, the torrential rain hitting our roof, and the return of my sneezing due to Cranky Kitty.  The car is unloaded, suitcases unpacked, junque put away, laundry started, audio book finished, and plans finalized for tomorrow.  Lists are prepared to take me into the next two weeks because I know that my logical thinking time will come into short supply soon enough.  The mail that collected while Capt. SO and I were gone is sitting on my desk, silently berating me for not yet sorting through it and chastising me for checking out Facebook before I turned my attention to my snail mail.

My snail-mail pile is about six inches thick, due mostly to two packages that arrived whilst I was away.  The rest of the accumulated correspondence seems to be advertising in nature......mostly catalogues, requests for donations, and department store fliers, complete with those tempting coupons that are supposed to inspire one to spend some money in order to save money.  Is this not a financial oxymoron? 

I just Googled the word "catalogue" because my  text monitor is indicating a misspelling.  What I found made me somewhat indignant.  I confirmed that "catalogue" is correct, but "catalog" has now become "acceptable". So, does this mean that if enough John Q. Publics misspell a word long enough and enough collective times, that the incorrect spelling will eventually become "acceptable"?  I find this a bit incomprehensible.  When did a misspelling become not a misspelling?  Perhaps I should begin a world-wide crusade to change the spelling of "indignant" to "indignent"?  If enough people spell "indignent" incorrectly, then, perhaps, we can "change the world" one misspelled word at a time.  For that matter, why not begin with "mispelling" misspell?

Ancora imparo readers:  Accepteth not incorrect spellings.  Standeth up for correct spelling.  We cannot alow the world to becum lax about speling.  Just bcuz we text w/ abbreviations duz not mean we hav 2 stoop 2 low speling standards, duz it?

Ancora imparo

The Nicest People

Occasionally I open myself up, either deliberately or circumstantially, to conversations with people whom I have never met before.  Most of the time, when this occurs, I come away thankful that I took the time to visit.  I am not an airplane conversationalist, preferring instead to read my book, snooze, or gaze out the window - should I be fortunate enough to have a window seat.  However, placed in a situation where not chatting would be rude, I can keep up with the best of gabbers. 

There are few places more conducive to tete-a-tetes than Bed and Breakfast establishments.  Because few B and B's can accommodate large numbers of guests, guests are most frequently seated at one large dining room table.  Since all guests are literally eyeball-to-eyeball with each other, talking is a natural phenomenon - or should be - to avoid the impression of being a total jerk.  Capt. SO and I have met the most delightful people at B and B's, conversing with residents of states spanning both coasts of the United States.  Every guest's reason for traveling to the B and B's particular address varies from an intentional vacation destination to gathering due to family situations such as weddings, reunions, or funerals.  Most B and B guests have stayed at least one prior B and B so they are familiar with the de rigueur of chatting.  Discussions can run the gamut from the sublime to the ridiculous, from the banal to the weird, to the humorous or the tender.  B and B morning conversations are seldom quiet, more often lively and highly interesting. 

And so it has been with the B and B stay.  Friendly people, delicious food, pleasant and comfortable surroundings. 

Not tried a Bed and Breakfast?  I'd heartily recommend it!

Ancora imparo

Oh, For Cryin' Out Loud

This is ridiculous.  The winter storm warning did truly dump snow on my area and it is still snowing - wet, heavy and sloppy flakes that I would describe as a nuisance snowfall.  The surprise spring storm forced us to cancel dinner plans last night that we had been looking forward to for several weeks and the snow may just cause yet another dinner-plan cancellation for tonight.  Mother Nature just had to have one last laugh. 

The snow that befell the area was about six to seven inches in depth and, where not plowed but driven over, is melting quickly.  But.......there is nowhere for the melted snow to drain, consequently parking lots and streets' curb-sides are filled with water between tire tracks that is about four to five inches deep.  Truly a mess, resulting in wet shoes, boots and pantleg bottoms.  I'm sorely testing the last application of boot water repellent that I applied to my winter boots some months ago. 

Last weekend was prom weekend here and on prom night there was quite the snowfall.  Girls, resplendent in their skimpy, strapless gowns, complete with Cinderella-type slipper-shoes, froze their size-two tushes and feet.  Stores' inventories on winter-style wraps were low-to-non-existent so the girls were forced to wear cumbersome winter parkas or forgo coats in favor of protecting their fragile egos on such an important evening.  No reports have been heard on what the cold weather did to the expensive corsages that cost the guys their hard-earned cash. 

It is past the middle of April, for cryin' out loud.  Easter Bunne' is due soon and children here must be scared that E.B. will not be able to make an appearance due to deep snow or freezing temperatures.  Easter-egg hunts may be curtailed or totally cancelled, depending on Mother Nature's mood come Easter morning. 

As for me, I am prepared with my winter boots, which, heretofore, have not leaked.  I can report that my socks are still warm and dry so it must be that the former application of water repellent is still working.  Soon I'll make my way carefully to my car,testing the waterproofing one more time as I wade through ankle-high cold water. 

I also realize that it will not be long before I am complaining about heat and humidity.......for cryin' out loud!

Ancora imparo

Minor and Major

Musicians live with the concept of major and minor.  Major tonality reflects a happy, upbeat mood, while minor tonality reflects a sombre, perhaps melancholy setting.  Major and minor tonalities are not necessarily connected to tempo, with each easily accomodating both fast and slow tempi.

Life experiences can be similar to major/minor keys and modalities.  There can be happy, upbeat or joyous periods or there can be moments of abject sadness and misery.  Sometimes these most opposite of emotional frameworks can occur within minutes, hours, days, or even years of each other.

What is evident is that, at times, minor "issues" can seem major, even though, in the grand scheme of life, the present problem or problems are absolutely trivial in nature.  What truly brings minor into the focus of true minor is being reminded of another's suffering, misfortune, or predicament. 

I am there, right now, understanding that my own reasons for whining are truly minimal and miniscule.  I am looking in the mirror and, presently, feeling foolish - cognizant of the fact that I have much to be thankful for and grateful about. 

I am humbled.

Ancora imparo   

Misstep In Meaning

Today's Rockford Register Star, "Illinois Roundup" section, featured this headline from Decatur, "Officer injured in foot chase".  The article went on to explain that a Decatur police officer ran into a moving squad car while chasing a suspect on foot.

When I first read the headline, my initial thought was that a police officer was injured while being chased by a foot.  Realizing that particular scenario was improbable and impossible, I decided to read a bit of the first paragraph, which was not much better written.  The first sentence, presented in print layout as the first paragraph, gave details that could lead the reader to believe that a moving squad car was chasing a suspect on foot, when, in reality, a police officer was chasing the suspect on foot and, during the chase, ran into a moving squad car.

These are picayune points, but if I were a foreigner whose knowledge of the very complicated English language was weak, I would have a difficult time understanding the storyline and could be left utterly confused.  Foreigner not withstanding, it was still confusingly written and I had to read the story slowly and carefully in order to comprehend what really happened.

Another article, in the same "Illinois Roundup" section, had a headline that could be taken in two ways.  From Chicago, the headline read:  "Mail carrier unhurt in armed robbery".  Well, does the headline indicate that the mail carrier was injured while taking part in an armed robbery, or, does the headline indicate that the mail carrier was the victim of an armed robbery and suffered a subsequent injury?

Maybe I just read too much that "could" fall between the lines.  Perhaps, the general public reads these headlines and understands quickly and completely what the gist of the headline means.

Mayhap, I am just too literal.  What thinkest thou?

Ancora imparo 

 

The Power of Silence

What is it about silence that is so powerful?  Why is silence an attention-grabber? Is that we simply don't have enough silence in our lives or is it that there is an inner chamber in our psyche that craves silence- perhaps even requires a certain amount of sound cessation? 

We all have differing levels of "sound" tolerance, both in what we hear and when we hear it.  My sound tolerance is such a dichotomy.  On one hand, my avocation and vocation of playing in bands and orchestras certainly prepared me for a higher tolerance of sound.  It is physiologically impossible to be intolerant of sound and be a part of a large performing group.  Then, my career path of teaching public-school instrumental music further elevated my tolerance for sound.  Some naysayers would call what I did listening to "noise", but to me, the sounds of a band - whether beginning or more advanced - warming up was true "music" to my ears, to use a trite phrase.  Having to prepare bands for parade marching developed yet another level of tolerance.  After I learned not to stand right next to the bass drummers, I grew to love the pulsating and primal sounds of a drum line rehearsing their parts, either for a parade march or the parade cadence.  There is little more energizing in this world, for moi, with perhaps, the exception of good, loud rock music, or a thundering pipe organ . 

On the other hand, for someone who loves loud cadences and music, I am unable to tolerate noise from almost any source when I am attempting to sleep.  The slightest sounds, even the faintest of lights, will preclude me from attaining that most elusive of primal needs - sleep.   

I came to realize the power of silence in regards to classroom discipline.  Silence proved to be so much more effective than any verbal posturing, wheedling, whining, or yammering that I might have done.  Nothing will get and keep a group's collective attention like silence.  My pastor used silence so brilliantly this morning, when he intentionally ceased speaking, only gazing over the congregation, in an effort to make a theological point.  Our congregation has been used to silence in the past, only the silence we were accustomed to was a speech pattern of pausing to find a word or collect thoughts.  Today's sermon silence spoke so much more than any words ever could have done.

Do you find it odd that I wrote this posting while listening to my favorite classical FM station AND listening for the washing machine to finish its cycle.  Mendelssohn and Maytag - what strange bedfellows.

Ancora imparo 

Abundant Incongruity

I am not an economist - nowhere near.  My idea of  "the economy" is shopping at a Macy's sale.  If my personal economist, Capt. SO, is unable to fulfill his duties, then that is why "I got people" - people whose names are on business cards - people who I can call up and get an appointment with. This is not incongruous.  This is prepared. 

I do know that I am programmed to not like debt - personal or national.  It is inconceivable to me that since 1837, when our country was debt-free for only one year, the United States has amassed twelve trillion dollars in national debt.  12 trillion buckaroos.  Inconceivable and incongruous. 

I live in a state that is so far in the red that it cannot and is not attempting to pay its bills - to any of its not-for-profit entities, including its public schools......yet its governor recently announced sending millions overseas towards people affected by natural disasters.  We cannot fund our public-education obligation in the state, putting nearly every school district and its pupils at risk, yet we can send millions overseas.  Incongruous.

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday and it is snowing here.  This reminds me of a spring break of yore, when our family and dog, Max, headed up to northern climes for a two-night stay.  When the unexpected ice storm hit, the temps dropped below freezing during the night and I was unable to think about our poor dog sleeping, cold and alone, in the mini van, so Dog and I huddled together in the van at night.  Incongruous.

Capt. SO and I visited a local business this afternoon that makes and sells their own, delicious, dairy products.  Our fat-free/sugar-free raspberry yogurt and chocolate swirl concoction was delicious - even in the snow.  Incongruous.

Unqualified individuals hold positions of great influence that affect many people.  Incongruous.

Back to the "snowing here" comment.  I'm thinking that instead of sipping ice water and reading the paper this afternoon, I should be sipping on a hot Tom and Jerry.  The former is incongruous.  The latter is more appropriate for the weather and lots more fun!  If I am going to write about incongruity, the least I can do is
is try to avoid it.

Ancora imparo

Ta-Dah Decisions

Today has been such an interesting day.  Up early, exercise, remember all of the stuff I have to take with me for all of the stops I have to make.........This has been an experiment in memory retention.  Happily, I remembered ninety-six of the ninety-eight details I needed to. Fortunately, the two I forgot were not "deal-breakers".

Part of the morning's sojourn included taking some very old photographs to be professionally scanned to a business I was unfamiliar with, in an unfamiliar area.  This business came highly recommended and, while I will not have a definitive impression of its work until my photos are done, I can say that my first impression was a positive one.  I was able to chalk this errand off my list before the rain began, although the wind was already cranked up well before dawn.  No photos were blown away by the wind and do droplets of rain besmirched the finishes of the vintage photos.

As I drove all over the map, or so it seemed, I was accompanied by my favorite FM radio station, a mostly classical station out of Madison, WI.  The variety of air play was its normal mix, but there did seem to be a little heavier attention to eighteenth and nineteenth orchestral symphonies than usual.  When the second of the classical symphonies came to a conclusion, my attention was captured by the final notes of the piece.  I don't remember the composer, but I do recall the signature "Ta-Dah" of the last two notes......or what I thought was the final "Ta-Dah", only to hear it followed by dum, dum, dum.

I don't know if you are a classical music aficionado or performer, but if you are either, you will recognize the penchant that classical and romantic-era composers had for keeping the listener guessing as to which was the real "last" note - or series of "last" notes.  Dozens, if not hundreds, of compositions ended with the iconic, "Ta-Dah", giving the listener the impression of musical completion.  In a split second of auditory bliss, the listener relaxes, dropping the shoulders, beginning an exhalation of "aahh", suddenly to find him or herself jolted out of the reverie by more "Ta-Dahs", dum, dum, dums, and maybe even one more "final" final "Ta-Dah".  When you think you have listened to the final-final-final "Ta-Dah", a wariness of expectation is still present and only dissipates when the radio announcer's voice comes through the air waves, stating the name of the selection, its composer and who performed the music.

I would love to know how the decision-making process went for a composer to decide how he (mostly he's, some she's) would end a composition.  Was the single "Ta-Dah" predicated upon an urgent need to put down the quill pen and use the water closet?  Did the chap, perhaps, have a deadline for some Count or Viscount, who was demanding a finished product?  Did the composer's quill pen simply run out of ink?  On the other hand, if it was a lengthy concluding section, was the composer feeling relaxed?  Perhaps he had one too many glasses of wine, sherry, scotch, vermouth, or whatever his beverage of choice was.  Perhaps, he had a contract to write X-number of measures and could not come up with another section of development and needed to write "Ta-Dah" after "Ta-Dah" followed by the necessary number of "dum, dum, dum's" to complete the required number of measures.

Many suppositions and theories put forth on my part, none of which have one single ounce of learned deduction to back them up.  Therefore, "Ta-Dah" would be totally appropriate at this moment, before the readers add "dumb, dumb, dumb".

Ancora imparo

Not Ready For This

Have I been living under a rock?  I just saw a movie trailer for a summer release called "Cowboys and Aliens", starring two headliners - Daniel Craig and Harrison Ford.  Also featured prominently in the trailer was Olivia Wilde, formerly of Fox's "House" television show.  When the trailer first began, I was paying scant attention, as I am want to do with commercials.  Then my peripheral  vision kicked in and I noticed odd scenes that didn't make sense, so I turned my body just in time to see Craig and Ford in mortal combat with strange-looking flying demons, more out of Harry-Potter-style movies than James Bond or Indiana Jones.  As I watched with confused fascination, what I saw made less and less sense.....until the title flashed back on the screen and my bewilderment became even more pronounced.

"Cowboys and Aliens"?  Come on, Steven Spielberg, are you serious?

First of all, I am flabbergasted that Craig and Ford signed on to star in such cinematic nonsense.  There can be only one answer.......bucks - BIG bucks.  I'm positive the producers are banking (pun intended) on Craig and Ford being giant pulls to the box office all the way to their Swiss accounts.  Spielberg, et al. will probably have the last laugh but I can tell you this is one movie I wouldn't pay to see in the theater.  The combination of cowboys and aliens seems so incongruous that, perhaps, only Steven Spielberg can pull this off.....of course aided with the star-power of Daniel Craig and Harrison Ford. 

What's next?

Firefighters and Kindergarten Teachers?  Whale Sharks and Kittens?  Museum Docents and Raptors?  Mutants and Choir Directors?  Sumo Wrestlers and Butterflies?

Only in Hollywood.

Ancora imparo

Smothers Brothers' Lesson

I will happily date myself with this blog about the Smothers Brothers - a brilliant comedy act that cut its teeth in the uproar of the 1960's and early 1970's.  Real siblings, not faux sibs for performance purposes, they were unafraid, much to their television network executives' chagrins, to voice their displeasure with the political issues and politicos of the time.  Often in trouble with the network censors, the Smothers Brothers had a cult-like following that crossed many boundaries of socio-economic strata.  I was a big then and would be now if they came to a town in my county.

Many of their jokes have remained as staple references between Capt. SO, myself, and even our offspring.  An oft-quoted joke of theirs seems to be applicable, in many pockets of current existence.  Please indulge me as I attempt to give life to the joke/story in this posting.  Paraphrased, of course, this joke can be applied to any work or volunteer area where a person chooses to spend time.

"In Washington D.C., there are two types of people.  One group of people wears very little clothing.  Why, we do not know.  We call them the "less-ons".  The other type of people wears a lot of clothing.  Perhaps they are always cold.  We do not know.  We call them the "more-ons".  Hence, two types of people:  less-ons and more-ons."

Tommy and Dickie, thank you for your observations about humankind.  I find myself going back and forth between the two groups, although, thankfully, my body is very warm-blooded so I prefer wearing fewer clothes to piling on the layers.

The less, the better.

Ancora imparo

Just Plain Speak

Someone told me today that Ancora imparo postings do not seem to have any theme to them, other than the Three Musketeers, chocolate, puppies or dogs, coffee (occasionally), my Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary - Eleventh Edition, and the Aqua RV (when in season).

OK, that is a fair and accurate assessment.  I follow a number of blogs and most of them do, I guess,  contain certain themes, like  happiness, Godliness, humor, weird happenings, gardening......to name a few.  If I were to try to maintain a leitmotif (good term, since I am a musician), I would probably get bored and run out of subject material.  Once upon a time, I thought I would like to, and could, write a book.  I even went so far as to outline the chapters, then the desire sort of became a puff of air and disappeared.  Subsequent to starting the book, I attended a book-writin' workshop where I learned that first books sometimes take a while to incubate and materialize.  I guess I didn't ruminate long enough to incubate anything other than frustration.

In this same conversation, the person asked me where I found sources of inspiration about which to blog.  I'm not certain that "inspiration" is quite the right word since it is unlikely that I inspire anyone who reads Ancora imparo.  Do I hope that Ancora imparo encourages laughter?  Yes!  Do I aim to influence anyone?  Heavens, no!  Do I send messages to those who know it is "them" to whom I am speaking?  Yes, yes....a thousand times "yes"!  I write for personal satisfaction, to keep my mind working, to maintain my vocabulary, to improve my vocabulary and writing skills, and to have a dialogue with some faceless visage that I feel needs to hear what I have to say - for that day and on a specific topic.  Nothing I write will change the world, nor should it, but maybe, just maybe, it might tweak a conscious here and there, evoke a chuckle or two, or present a new word to someone else other than me. 

I simply write in "plain speak" - a language that most will recognize, remember, and recall.  If I use a word that you don't recognize, you know what to do - consult your Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary - Eleventh Edition.  Works for me every time!

Ancora imparo

WWYD?

I had a most interesting conversation with a friend this morning.  This friend has spent dozens of volunteer hours working on a project for a non-profit organization over the past few months.  I've followed his outstanding work, admiring his dedication and enthusiasm to work tirelessly for the purpose of making the non-profit a better place for all. This project has had the "blessing" of the powers that be, including the ubiquitous Committee-To-Approve-All-Things.  In spite of numerous papal blessings, he has encountered stone-walling, road blocks, non-compliance, non-cooperation, and other frustratingly inexcusable actions and interactions......yet he is willing to persevere, committed to the task and confident that he is making a difference - which he is.

I've admired this Herculean undertaking, not only for the scope of the project, but for his steadfastness and loyalty to the organization and his belief that even the best mousetrap can be improved.  What I further respect is his ability to withstand the fairly constant absence of cooperation from the "organization".  In my advancing old age and encroaching senility, I know I do not have the patience or the desire to tolerate what he has experienced.  Life is simply just too short to persist and prevail under circumstances where my volunteer efforts are thwarted on a somewhat regular basis.

And so I ask you, the reader, WWYD?  (What would you do?)  I hope that most of you would be "bigger" people than I and do what my friend has done - stay the course and see the project to its conclusion.  At times, I disappoint myself with my attitude of unwillingness to put up with......let's just say, "stuff", which is exactly why I need to begin building the framework of a process of attitude adjustment:  A dog, chocolate, the wind in my face, Cheese-Its, yoga, and a tender piece of venison, cooked to rare perfection on a slice of Great Harvest white bread.  With all that, I, too, could withstand.......stuff. 

WWYD?

Ancora imparo

"Excuse Me, But I Should Be There, Too!"

Yesterday was such an odd day, on so many levels.  Capt. SO and I spent about ten hours at a regional hospital with our eldest, whilst she had out-patient surgery on her vocal chords.  The surgery went smoothly, as expected.  Praise God!

But - yes, there is a but - the day was still a reminder that a hospital is a hospital, no matter whether you are an "out" patient or an "in" patient.  This regional hospital is a nationally-known, university-operated, teaching institution associated with a medical school.  The level of care is recognized as premier and top-notch and, from our point of view, that is what we observed......if one can pass judgment on what we observed in out-patient surgery.  The staff was outwardly friendly, courteous, caring and went out of their way to inform, sooth, "treat" and care for our patient.  The surgeon was equally friendly and caring and most definitely went out of his way to inform and reassure our patient about what would be done (before the surgery) and what he did (after the surgery).  Family and friends were kept informed and also reassured, on a regular basis, on how our patient was doing.  It was a very long day for those of us with our patient and for the patient, herself.

For moi, the most surprising "take-a-way" from the day came when it was time to wheel her away for the procedure.  She and I had spent about two hours together, in her little cubby, while multiple medical staff came by to do their pre-surgical  "thing".  Between staffers, we had the opportunity to chat, giggle, and stay companionably quiet together.  The anesthesiologist was one of the medical personnel who came to prep her, inserting the IV needle, and starting the drip of what I assumed was a simple, saline solution.  Later, when it was time for surgery, another professional came along and added a drip of some substance that would "chill" her out, prior to the actual anesthetic administered during surgery.  One this last "chill" agent was started, it was time for her to be moved out of her cubical and down the hallway to the surgical room. 

Mind you, my daughter is an adult woman, yet it was strangely disquieting, disturbing and distressing to see her "taken" away, even though it was by seemingly competent and trained medical staffers.  Suddenly, I, her protector for all of those years when she was young and needed protecting, was left standing alone, watching the procession of nurses, bed, daughter, and IV roll in a direction opposite of mine.  Granted, this was a relatively simple procedure, yet the pomp and circumstance was the same as all of the other patients she and I had heard go by and been able to view as they, too, were wheeled away to surgery.  I wanted to say, "Excuse me, but I should be with her, too!"  Of course, I could not and she was in good hands, "Yada, yada, yada."

I'm learning more about this parenting "thing" as my offspring get older.  The role of the parent changes - due to age, distance, circumstances, etc., but the instinct to parent never leaves.......kind of like the postal carrier.......Not the dead of night, nor miles between us, right nor wrong, big deal or small deal....I am your parent and will be until my final exhalation.  

Ancora imparo

Ontologically Confused

This seldom happens to me.......I'm having trouble remembering what day this is.  Do you ever feel like that?  It doesn't take much any more.  Just a couple of days where routines are altered and, Voila! My days become mixed up in my head.

For instance, change my routine of doing the laundry and a Sunday feels like a Saturday.  Grocery shop on a day other than the "usual" shopping day and suddenly my inner chronology is all mixed up.  Today I mixed up  Thursday, Saturday and Sunday activities and suddenly I can't figure what day of the week this feels like.  Even tomorrow will add to the confusion because my normal Monday routine will be altered and then I'll really feel baffled and bewildered.  If I'm not careful, I'll be dressing up in my Sunday best on Tuesday and heading off to church early in the morning.

All of this, plus something my pastor said this morning, combined to make me see that my need for a puppy, more caffeine, chocolate, or all three is increasing.  My pastor kind of mumbled something this morning about "ontological".  I had never heard this word before, so I wrote down what I thought I heard and decided to look it up later.  I wasn't sure if I heard him correctly so I also wrote down "ornithological", "oncological", and "analogical".  Because this was a sermon about the last twenty-four hours of Christ, I was pretty sure I had not heard him say "gynecological" or "urological", since those two words didn't seem to have any relevance to the topic at hand.

I came home and researched the word "ontological" in my favorite tome, "Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Eleventh Edition" and found the following:

Ontological  is from the Greek, "ov" - that which is and "logia" - science, study or theory.  Ontological is the philosophical study of the nature of being, existence or reality.  In analytical philosophy, ontology concerns the determining of whether some categories of "being" are fundamental. 

Whew!  And, to think I simply thought I was confused about what day of the week it was.  I had no idea that my ontological gyroscope was in jeopardy!  This could be serious, folks.  Beware of your own ontological confusion.

Ancora imparological

Certain, Inalienable Responbilities

I am in the most important career of my life now - that of grandparent.  I take my responsibilities very seriously.  So does Grandpa Capt. SO.  No one prepares you for grandparenting and there are no books, brochures, manuals, graduate courses, workshops or webinars available on "How To Be A World-Class Grandparent".  Literally, one minute you are not a grandparent and the next minute you are and, Voila!, the instinct kicks in, as if you had been in training your entire life for this very important job.

Now, actual parenting - that job that helped raise the very individuals who enabled one to become a grandparent - that is another matter.  The training to become a parent should take about as many years as it takes to become a neurosurgeon, but life doesn't work that way.  Again, literally, one minute you are not a parent and the next minute you are....except the instinct doesn't necessarily kick in right away.  New parents are generally exhausted from the birthing experience, reeling from feelings of inadequacy and trepidation but about twenty-four hours after the birth of the child, the family unit is sent home to fend for itself and figure out, by trail and much error, just how to be a parent.  Many new parents already have a child or children at home, so some experimentation regarding parenting has already taken place, hopefully to the advantage of both parents and kids. Somehow these children, who grew up healthy and strong, in spite of the shortcomings of the parents, manage to become the adults who give their parents grandchildren. 

This miraculous life-cycle, ending with grandparenting, does bring with it certain, inalienable grandparenting responsibilities.  For instance, grandparenting means teaching the grandkids how to pound a nail.....hopefully in something that a nail hole won't destroy; teaching the youngsters how to fish; letting the little chaps help by handing tools to Gramps; baking cookies so the grandchildren have something to help the milk go down a little easier; providing comfy laps in which to sit while listening to a book; attending concerts, recitals, and sporting events.  Perhaps the most important role of the grandparent is to pray for the grandchildren and to be earth angels for them, when they are little and when they are not-so-little. 

I get to see the Three Musketeers tomorrow.  Life is good.  :-)

Ancora imparo

Note To Self: Whineth Not

This weather does not lend itself to personal glee, mirth, frivolity, guffawing, chortling, or celebrating.  Rather, it lends itself to dourness, momentary depression, gloom, despair, agony ("All three".....Hee Haw song), and other introverted, introspective thoughts that do little other than further one's glum and morose perspective.  Indeed, the sun does need to peek through sooner than later here or doctors' offices will be filled with people demanding anti-depressants! 

I do not, however, have to look very far past the end of my nose in order to find others' situations that are far, far more distressing and worrisome than my temporary situation regarding lack of sunlight.  In fact, to even whine about no sun would be so far down the list of whinable (my word) topics for some that I should be chided for shallowness. 

It is remarkable to me how much resilience some people posses, for there are those that carry burdens so great that their middles names should all be Atlas.  Surrounding me are instances of pain, grief, worry, illness, sadness, anger, poor health, medical/personal/emotional emergencies that make any hint of whining I might consider pale in comparison.

Is this how God reminds us of what we have and should celebrate?  Is this how God teaches us to be grateful and thankful for our health, our families, our good fortunes, our loved-ones, etc.?  I think, perhaps, it is how He points out to me that, but for the grace of Him, go I.

"The fact that it is cloudy and overcast is meaningless in the grand scheme of life.  Get over it!",  saith I to myself.   

Ancora imparo

What Lies Beneath

Today I frequented what has become one of my favorite topics about which to write:  The grocery store.  The grocery store (including the parking lot), with its employees and its customers, is a microcosm of the world around the store, wherever it is located.  Rural, urban, inner city, suburban.....life in the store reflects life outside the store.

I have favorite check-out clerks and baggers and, as I've stated before, I will stand in a certain line behind many customers, just to have my groceries properly handled.  Yes, I admit to being very fussy about how my tomatoes, bananas, avacados, white-corn Tostados, apples, grapes, bread, and bags (not boxes) of cat litter are handled.  This morning, when my cart came up next to have my food items scanned, the check-out clerk, smiled wanly when I greeted her and said, "Good morning.  I'm trying to keep a smile on my face."  I responded that I understood that "we-the-public" could be demanding and ill-tempered.  She simply said, "Yes". 

Here was a woman whose eyes told one story but the smile on her face told another.  When she looked me in the eyes, I could see the stress in hers, and I felt for her.  What thoughts and feelings laid beneath her smile and greeting? 

With every trip I make to the store, I give myself a challenge to smile at as many individuals who will look me in the eye and return a smile.  Every shopping day is unique, with different results from each visit to the store.  Today, I'd say about fifty percent returned my smile and thusly looking me in the eye.  It is amazing to me the number of people who are unable to look another in the eye.  I realize that some cultures discourage or disallow certain segments of their societies to look other segments in the eye and I also realize that some demographics of our society are not comfortable looking the opposite sex in the eye.  This attitude of deference is as old as the proverbial hills.  Yet, what lies beneath, in terms of thoughts and feelings, can only be surmised and guessed at. 

Some of us are more highly skilled than others at keeping the mask perfected at all times.  The weary lines around the check-out clerk's eyes told me that maintaining her smile was taking its toll.  Some of us smile a lot, others laugh a lot......everyone's "mask" manifests itself differently, yet the end result is the same. 

What lies beneath is not always what matches the surface. 

Ancora imparo

Why?

In my state, yesterday was election day for, I guess you'd say, municipal races.  Cities, towns, townships, villages, school boards, library governing bodies......all had their elected officials determined by the electorate's choices at the ballot box.  Sadly, voter turn-out numbers were, predictably, small-to-embarrassingly tiny in scope.  This is a phenomenon that disappoints and discourages me.  These are races that are no less important than national elections, yet we, the voting public, treat these as ho-hum to non-event happenings.

Why?

Take for instance, school board elections. School board positions are vitally important in communities, yet these thankless positions are given less attention by the public than who was voted off "Dancing With The Stars."  School boards determine the course, cost, and scope of our country's children's educations and we can barely summon the energy to drive or walk to our polling place.  One local, voting precinct posted its results this morning and the totals for the school-board's three winners were depressingly low.  The three winners had totals of 58, 48 and 45, or something close to that.  It is shameful that so few people helped determine who will sit in judgment on the direction that our local high school will take over the course of the next three years.  

Whatever happened to civic duty?  We don't take the time to vote, yet we complain vociferously, citing our First Amendment rights to speak our minds but, yet, we can't get our fannies to the polls?  I would propose that the only people who should have their First Amendment rights protected, under the constitution, are those who vote......in every election.  As long as "we" keep voting, then we maintain our right to speak freely.  Not voting?  No problem, just do not plan on being protected under the First Amendment between elections.

I think this could work.  Any takers on the idea?

Ancora imparo

In Awe

I am in awe of people who pursue their passions.  People who persevere and succeed despite their shortcomings, limitations, or roadblocks.  People who shoulder through pain, adversity, trauma, frustration, nay-sayers, detractors' comments, and set-backs to go on to achieve excellence, success, personal satisfaction and a greater sense of self-worth.

Pursuing one's passion(s?) is not easy nor uncomplicated and is often accompanied by stress, sacrifice, occasional defeat, unrecognized achievement and the porcine protestations of people who would diminish the scope of the accomplishments simply out of jealousy, ignorance and dimwittedness.  But, there are those individuals who are seemingly unfazed by the digs, innuendo, snide comments, outright rude remarks, and needling of others and go on to attain recognized proficiency, triumph, and mastery pertaining to whatever endeavor(s) they have attempted.

What provides the fortitude to excel in spite of?  Preparation, practice, high degrees of well-honed skill(s), thick skin, the ability to tune out the "noise" of the crowd......all of these traits and characteristics exist in achievers, either in concert or one at a time.

Much can be learned from people who press the envelope, run a little faster, train a little harder, march to the beat of a different drummer, turn their backs on the crowd, etc.  Simplistically, I guess it is those very qualities that settled the West, put humans on the moon, broke Olympic records, or overcame physical limitations to become great, such as Helen Keller.

I am not one of "those" people......I can only  think about and write about them.

Sign me as in awe and filled with admiration.

Ancora imparo

Geriatric Modifications

Signs of getting older are all around me.

My cat, otherwise known as Cranky Kitty, needs a series of rising steps in order to get into her chair.  Now, this is not all bad because she doesn't jump easily any more and that has prevented quite a bit of cat-hair accumulation on the furniture.  Some part (or parts) of my body and/or brain tell me on a daily basis that I am no longer anywhere near the decade of being in my thirties.  I might as well take out a giant billboard on Times Square, in New York City, on which to chronicle the little and not-so-little ways I hear my body speaking to me.....mostly in complaints.  The good news about the brain not being quite so able to do mental gymnastics is that I can easily forget where my last "twinge-in-the-hinge" was.

Lately, I've realized that certain geriatric modifications around the condo could be useful to my body.  I'm already accustomed to having step-stools in many rooms so that my vertical shortcomings (pun intended!) can be overcome by me instead of calling out to Capt. SO.  These little stools come in handy on a daily basis.

The irony of geriatric modifications is evident, however, in the construction of the condo.  Our condo's builder prides himself on including, as standards, specific construction characteristics that are desirable for a certain age-range.  These standards include, but are not limited to, door handles that have a lever to push down instead of the turn-the-knob type of handle; wider-than-standard door frames that will accommodate wheelchairs, grab-bars in each shower/bath area, and slightly higher bathroom and kitchen countertop heights.

It is the slightly-higher-than-standard countertop heights that are the current source of irony in the life of my complaining body.  Granted, these bathroom countertops are ideal for not having to bend down to pick up the necessary tools for getting a person ready, whether in the morning or going out for the evening.  But.......I don't believe any designer who suggested the countertop height for people over sixty took into consideration the need to get a foot up on the countertop in order to do any podiatric work on my lowest extremity.

This conundrum is further confounded by the fact that my eyes do not quite work as well as they once did.  My contacts are great for seeing far away, but they do not work well for close-up work.  In fact, in order to read text, I need either really large print, exceptionally bright light, ungainly long arms, a personal assistant who will hold a book about two feet away from my eyes, or all of the aforementioned.  If I want to do close-up work, I must remove my contacts and don my eyeglasses. But.....since my eyeglasses have the blended lenses for bifocals, I usually end up looking under my lenses, which is the same as wearing no corrective lenses at all, which, then, necessitates having my foot very near my eyes if I want to trim a nail or see where to apply nail polish.  Simply bending over from the waist does not get my eyes near enough to my feet, hence the need to hoist my foot up on the bathroom countertop.

This is not as easy as it once was.

There was a time when I could will my leg to move, from the hip, in an upward motion that would actually get my foot to the counter.  Now I have to grab the foot by one hand,  physically pick it up and place the foot wherever I need it to be in order for my eyes to see so I can work on the foot.  My hips still cooperate with this process but the day may come when the hips are not happy to comply, either, in which case I would have to install a specially-designed, hydraulic foot lift, or hire a personal foot-assistant........or a cabana boy......or a puppy that would grow into a large, service dog.

Which one would Capt. SO prefer?  Hydraulic foot-lift, personal foot-assistant, cabana boy or puppy?

Ancora imparo

Hey, I've Heard That Before

WYSIWYG (wih-see-wig):  A computer term used to describe a system in which content displayed during editing is very similar to the final output, which might be a printed document, web page or slide presentation......otherwise known as "What you see is what you get."

In case you're wondering why the phrase, "What you see is what you get.", sounds familiar, it was first made "famous" by the comedian, Flip Wilson, and his floozy character, Geraldine from the 1960's television show, "Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In".  Geraldine would frequently utter the phrase, "What you see is what you get." as she strutted her ample stuff.  This is the same show that gave rise to the careers of Henry Gibson, Lily Tomlin (Edith Ann), Ruth Buzzi, Jo Anne Worley (Who can forget her crazed and loony laugh?), and Arte Johnson (the man who always hid behind a palm-type tree and would utter the phrase, "Veeeery Eeenteresting".)  Later, the same phrase turned up in a pop song which had the refrain and title of "What you see is what you get!" 

If only that were true today.  If only we could be assured that what we do see is really what we do get......but we cannot.  PhotoShop, for one, makes reality out of illusion, trading images here and there to create deception through delusion.  Many photos are so digitized that is impossible to tell if the images were created by humans or were created from humans.  You just cannot tell.

Thusly, we have the phrase, "What you see is what you get.", that has been immortalized by the acronym, wysiwyg.  (See phonetic pronunciation above.)  I'd like to propose that for situations, television shows, and photos that are the "Real McCoy", the acronym, wysiwyg is attached somewhere in plain sight, thereby giving John Q. Public the assurance that what he is seeing, hearing, or experiencing has not been doctored in any way.  I believe the current, comparable buzzword is "transparency", a word that is vastly underutilized and, sadly, missing from our present-day vocabulary.

Yes, I have heard that before, and I'd like to hear it again!

Ancora imparo

Mr. Houdini, Can You Help, Please?

Life is curious, isn't it?  We humans make decisions - good and bad....... we humans perform deeds every minute of every day - some wise, some so-very-not-wise - sometimes forgetting that every action carries with it a consequence.....or consequences......that affect people other than the "doer" of the deed(s).   We forget that our wake-wave travels miles before it smooths out and cannot be detected.  Sometimes we act before we think.  Too bad we don't always think before we act.

And so it is with life.   

Try hard as we might, the best laid plans of mice and men do not always turn out as we envisioned or planned.  Some mess-ups are self-inflicted and some mess-ups are inflicted upon us by other people .  I'm not certain which type of mess-up is harder to deal with, although with the self-inflicted screw-ups we have no one to be disgusted with but ourselves.  Perhaps that is better, in the long run, that fuming about at someone else.

The anniversary of what would have been the 175th birthday of the late, great escapologist Harry Houdini occurred ten days ago.  Houdini was legendary in the world of illusion, kind of like our current Great Illusionist - only not with so much negative impact on our society.  Houdini was said to be able to escape any form of restraint and it was so very ironic that the one restraint that Houdini couldn't control was the restraint that his own body put upon him and he died of the effects of a ruptured appendix at the age of fifty-two.

As recent frustrations, disappointments, worries and other-inflicted mess-ups have been swirling about me as of late, I've been thinking about the genius of Harry Houdini and wished that I, too, could escape into some wooden-box with a fake bottom and just hide out for a bit.....hopefully with a good book, a better flashlight, a puppy, some great chocolate, a pooper-scooper for the puppy and a porta-potty for moi.  Upon further reflection, this probably would not work for very long because I'd want some electricity, my laptop, my two favorite pillows, a really good mattress, my cell phone, pictures of the Three Musketeers and frequent visits from my family......not to mention easy access to the Aqua RV.

I guess I won't be hiding out any time soon, but the concept of dodging other-inflicted mess-ups, other-selected bad choices, other-induced worries and disappointments does have some appeal.   With the exception of his ruptured appendix and subsequent, painful peritonitis, Mr. Houdini did have the right idea:  Let other people restrain you, break through their restraints and then go hide.....if only for a few minutes. 

Chocolate, a puppy, and a good book - now there's some incentive!

Ancora imparo

Inconsistent Ins

Capt. SO and I were outside this morning for our constitutional, luckily before the precipitative April Fool's joke from Mother Nature that now has it snowing gigantic flakes that are currently collecting on the ground.  We've changed up our routine, a bit, from past seasons of neighborhood walking and are now doing the "big hill" two or three times in a row, in an effort to improve our cardio-vascular health.  "Doing the big hill" would never elicit a Facebook "like" from either one of us but we know our hearts love the workout.  After we got to the top, on our last ascension, (Makes it sound really impressive, doesn't it?), I posed the sarcastic question to Capt. SO, "Do we feel invigorated yet?" 

As soon as the word, "invigorate" was out of my mouth I said, "Wait a minute!  If the pre-fix "in" means not or non, how it is that "in" vigorate means to infuse energy into a person or routine?"  Because Capt. SO is not nearly as fascinated with word origins as I, he smiled as if he was tracking my conversation, but I knew he really wasn't.  I silently vowed to investigate my own mystery after we ran our morning errands.  Since we'd burned so many calories with our a.m. workout, we promptly went out for breakfast and ate way more calories than we had burned earlier.  Upon returning home, of course I headed straight for my favorite tome, "Mirriam - Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Eleventh Edition".

What I found was that, over the years, I had forgotten that the prefix "in" has too dichotomous meanings.  One meaning is "not" or "non" and the other meaning is "into".  So, while inconsistent, inconsiderate, inconsolable, inefficient, inoperative, inconclusive, insensitive, incomprehensible, inviolate, ineffective, infallible, invertebrate actually mean not consistent, not considerate, not consolable, not efficient, non-operative, not conclusive, not sensitive, not comprehensible, not capable of being violated, non-efficient, not fallible, and not having backbones, the word invigorate is one example of the not-so-common use of the prefix "in" as in "into".

Is it any wonder that people trying to learn the English language - and even those who proclaim English as their primary language - find English so very difficult to learn and master?  Why shouldn't "invigorate" mean to deplete a person's energy level to that of exhaustion, rather than meaning to infuse an individual with a feeling of energy and vigor?

Yes, we are not consistent with our "ins".  How's that for obfuscation?

Ancora imparo