I really wanted to title today's posting "Morons, Idiots and Imbeciles" but then thought better of it. That does not, however, preclude me from thinking it or writing about it.
You see, Capt. SO and I have had the Aqua RV out of her slip for two nights and two days. We ran away from home and would still be on the lam but Mother Nature foiled our long-range plans and the captain said it was time to take her home and tie her up. (The boat.....not me.)
Are you familiar with the phenomenon that occurs when parking in a parking lot......far away from any other cars? The unspoken rule that says if you park way out, by yourself, some other person will undoubtedly park a vehicle RIGHT NEXT TO YOURS. Yes, you can tell by my capital letters that this annoys me. It must be that the mere sight of a car parked far away acts as an inspiration to others to join it. Well, the same rule seems to apply to boat anchoring. If you are the only boat - or one of very few - it is inevitable that another boat will anchor close to your boat. Today was no exception except that this pontoon boat anchored REALLY close to us. Under normal circumstances, this would have just been uber annoying and we would have just had to keep an eye on the other boat to make sure that its anchor held properly, but there was a brisk little wind as we prepared to pull anchor and here sat this pontoon boat, with ten people on it, mostly teenagers, right tight to our port.
Our customary practice, when dropping or pulling anchor, it that Capt. SO handles the anchor and I take the helm. It came time to leave and I started the engines, which caught the attention of the two adults on the pontoon who should have known better than to anchor quite as close as they did. When Capt. SO strode up to the bow, the two adults kind of gave him the eagle and evil eye and, said I to myself, "You are the ones who were foolish enough to anchor where you did. What do you expect us to do?" Pulling anchor went just fine - we probably came closer to the pontoon than they would have preferred, but when you are pulling anchor and it is windy, you do the best you can. Did the pontoon people ever start their engine and move the pontoon? Noooooo, they did not. Then, just as we were in our final movements to leave, still close to the pontoon, a two-person kayak decided to paddle between our bow and the pontoon.....further proof that the world is full of moron, idiots, and imbeciles.
I apologize for the unflattering remarks about my fellow humans, but remember this, when anchoring your boat, car, bicycle, bathtub, bed or kitchen table, remember to give the boat next to you a little space.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
The Old Gray Mare.......
Are you familiar with the children's song, "The Old Gray Mare"? The words are as follows:
The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be - aint't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be, many long years ago. The old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree, the old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, many long years ago.
Today, I feel like the old gray mare who ain't what I used to be. There was a time when I could stay up all night long or sleep for a few hours at night and wake up refreshed the next day. Apparently those days have disappeared from sight, or at least, significantly diminished. This revelation came to me over the past thirty-two hours as I have discovered that, of my eight cylinders, I am only firing on six, at best.
Yesterday, Capt. SO and I made a marathon, labor-of-love trip to pay our respects to a wonderful human being whose life was cut short by health issues. As an eighty-year-old, he had lived a good life and left this world as a highly respected and much beloved individual. We should all be so fortunate. We wanted to attend his funeral but could not leave any earlier than the day of the ritual. We set our alarm for "o-dark-hundred", as a former military friend describes early risings, and were on the road at 4:00 a.m. for a four-plus hour car ride. Having elected to return in the same day, we knew the ride back would be challenging but with the help of a book CD and LOTS of munchies, apple slices, carrots, and popcorn, we ate our way back and arrived at the Aqua RV about 7:30 p.m. Needless to say, we had little trouble sleeping last night.
Today, it rather feels as if a fleet of semis has rolled over us. We have remarked several times that if this were thirty or forty years ago, yesterday would have never phased us. I cannot speak for Capt. SO, but I am quite certain that "the old gray mare"......she ain't quite what she used to be.
Ancora imparo
The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be - aint't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be, many long years ago. The old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree, the old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, many long years ago.
Today, I feel like the old gray mare who ain't what I used to be. There was a time when I could stay up all night long or sleep for a few hours at night and wake up refreshed the next day. Apparently those days have disappeared from sight, or at least, significantly diminished. This revelation came to me over the past thirty-two hours as I have discovered that, of my eight cylinders, I am only firing on six, at best.
Yesterday, Capt. SO and I made a marathon, labor-of-love trip to pay our respects to a wonderful human being whose life was cut short by health issues. As an eighty-year-old, he had lived a good life and left this world as a highly respected and much beloved individual. We should all be so fortunate. We wanted to attend his funeral but could not leave any earlier than the day of the ritual. We set our alarm for "o-dark-hundred", as a former military friend describes early risings, and were on the road at 4:00 a.m. for a four-plus hour car ride. Having elected to return in the same day, we knew the ride back would be challenging but with the help of a book CD and LOTS of munchies, apple slices, carrots, and popcorn, we ate our way back and arrived at the Aqua RV about 7:30 p.m. Needless to say, we had little trouble sleeping last night.
Today, it rather feels as if a fleet of semis has rolled over us. We have remarked several times that if this were thirty or forty years ago, yesterday would have never phased us. I cannot speak for Capt. SO, but I am quite certain that "the old gray mare"......she ain't quite what she used to be.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Happy Avians
There is a very popular game sweeping through cyberspace - Angry Birds. Apparently, the game can be downloaded to computers, laptops, tablets and as an "app" to cell phones. It's appeal runs from the very young to adults of many ages.
My first introduction to "Angry Birds" was in a McDonald's play area recently. A three-year old, her teenage sister, and mother were already there when Capt. SO and I went in with Princess Leia. Having never been in a McDonald's play area before, I found it odd and annoying that the teenage sister and her three-year old sis were running completely unsupervised while their mom fed an infant and browsed her laptop. The running was bad enough but the yelling and screaming they were doing was highly distracting to all three of us. Princess Leia didn't know what to make of all the commotion and was content to watch the two siblings. The three-year old soon became bored with the game and ran yelling to her mother that she wanted to play "Angry Birds". I had no idea what "Angry Birds" was but after watching the little girl, I assumed it was some bizarre family game she played at home. A few days later I read a newspaper article about the "app" and understood what she was asking for. Just last week, a sixty-plus year old friend announced she had it on her Android.
To the maker of "Angry Birds": I understand that your game is immensely popular, but couldn't you have given it a different name? It just seems to me that by giving the game a name with the word "angry" in it sends a message to children that I am uncomfortable with. Call me old-fashioned, but I think there is enough anger in the world without enticing our children to play any game that extols the virtues of "angry".
That makes me angry.
Ancora imparo
My first introduction to "Angry Birds" was in a McDonald's play area recently. A three-year old, her teenage sister, and mother were already there when Capt. SO and I went in with Princess Leia. Having never been in a McDonald's play area before, I found it odd and annoying that the teenage sister and her three-year old sis were running completely unsupervised while their mom fed an infant and browsed her laptop. The running was bad enough but the yelling and screaming they were doing was highly distracting to all three of us. Princess Leia didn't know what to make of all the commotion and was content to watch the two siblings. The three-year old soon became bored with the game and ran yelling to her mother that she wanted to play "Angry Birds". I had no idea what "Angry Birds" was but after watching the little girl, I assumed it was some bizarre family game she played at home. A few days later I read a newspaper article about the "app" and understood what she was asking for. Just last week, a sixty-plus year old friend announced she had it on her Android.
To the maker of "Angry Birds": I understand that your game is immensely popular, but couldn't you have given it a different name? It just seems to me that by giving the game a name with the word "angry" in it sends a message to children that I am uncomfortable with. Call me old-fashioned, but I think there is enough anger in the world without enticing our children to play any game that extols the virtues of "angry".
That makes me angry.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
It Looked Like Playtime
I've watched "them" from a distance for some time now - little gray heads (well, mostly gray) bobbing up and down in the water. I had been invited to join them repeatedly but I never thought I had time to add water exercise to my day. "Besides," I always said to myself, "it doesn't look like much of a workout." Daily, I would walk past, the women would wave, and I would go about my business.
Last week, I received yet another invitation to join the women for water exercise and, unexpectedly, I heard the words, "I'll be there tomorrow." pop out of my mouth. This morning was my third time in the pool and, let me tell you, that is one uber workout. We are either jogging in place, doing jumping jacks, bicycling, - kicking in some form - for forty-five minutes. I do not know how I'll feel later this afternoon, but I can tell you that my two sessions last week left me wiped out and tired by the afternoon. When I stop to think about how much movement I am doing with my feet, legs, and arms, I realize it is no wonder that my energy level gets zapped from these workouts. Then, when I listen to some of these women talk about doing yoga after water exercise and playing tennis after lunch I think that they are built of titanium or steel, or maybe even they are bionic. One of them even bikes twenty miles every Saturday and Sunday. All I do know is that these little gray-haired ladies must be readying themselves for a bi or tri-athelon.
And I thought it looked like playtime.
Ancora imparo
Last week, I received yet another invitation to join the women for water exercise and, unexpectedly, I heard the words, "I'll be there tomorrow." pop out of my mouth. This morning was my third time in the pool and, let me tell you, that is one uber workout. We are either jogging in place, doing jumping jacks, bicycling, - kicking in some form - for forty-five minutes. I do not know how I'll feel later this afternoon, but I can tell you that my two sessions last week left me wiped out and tired by the afternoon. When I stop to think about how much movement I am doing with my feet, legs, and arms, I realize it is no wonder that my energy level gets zapped from these workouts. Then, when I listen to some of these women talk about doing yoga after water exercise and playing tennis after lunch I think that they are built of titanium or steel, or maybe even they are bionic. One of them even bikes twenty miles every Saturday and Sunday. All I do know is that these little gray-haired ladies must be readying themselves for a bi or tri-athelon.
And I thought it looked like playtime.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
The Flame-Out
I had been predicting that my hair blow-dryer was on its last leg. Why I thought it was necessary to tell Capt. SO this tidbit of information, one day last week, is beyond me. I guess it is one of those inane threads of conversation that married people have. Well, let me rephrase this: I guess it is one of those inane threads of conversation that women have to the air. I seriously doubt that any man would include a remark about his blow dryer in a conversation anywhere other than being alone with himself in a car or other secluded place. But, as we humans know, initiated conversations are different depending on whether it is a male or female that utters the first sentence.
For two weeks now, my blow dryer has (now had) been making very very unhappy motor noises, but......it kept working so I kept using it. Today's personal attention was going as planned. I was in a hurry, trying to be ready to join the others for a day-outing and I came to the critical point where my hair was ready to dry and I would attempt my daily, futile effort to tame my wayward locks. I turned on the blow dryer to high, as is my normal practice, and was mindlessly moving the brush here and there, up and down, struggling to get just the right curl, when I became aware that the motor was noisier than the previous string of noisy days. I kept going, when suddenly, and simultaneously, the motor screamed to an instant crescendo, something redish emerged from the end, a black-smoke plume shot out and the smell of intense heat emanated from the little blow dryer. I immediately threw down the dryer and unceremoniously yanked the electrical chord from the outlet. Of course, as soon as I disconnected the power to the dryer, the tortured sound ceased and so did the flames, but smoke continued to emerge for a second or two and the smell lasted for several minutes. I noted that, in my excitement, I could have fried myself because when I threw down the dryer, it landed in the sink, which just moments before, had been filled with water.........I then gathered up my vanity, and marched off to the marina office where they keep courtesy hair blow-dryers for other people, like me, who have flame outs.
At least the attendant in the office didn't point and laugh.
Ancora imparo
For two weeks now, my blow dryer has (now had) been making very very unhappy motor noises, but......it kept working so I kept using it. Today's personal attention was going as planned. I was in a hurry, trying to be ready to join the others for a day-outing and I came to the critical point where my hair was ready to dry and I would attempt my daily, futile effort to tame my wayward locks. I turned on the blow dryer to high, as is my normal practice, and was mindlessly moving the brush here and there, up and down, struggling to get just the right curl, when I became aware that the motor was noisier than the previous string of noisy days. I kept going, when suddenly, and simultaneously, the motor screamed to an instant crescendo, something redish emerged from the end, a black-smoke plume shot out and the smell of intense heat emanated from the little blow dryer. I immediately threw down the dryer and unceremoniously yanked the electrical chord from the outlet. Of course, as soon as I disconnected the power to the dryer, the tortured sound ceased and so did the flames, but smoke continued to emerge for a second or two and the smell lasted for several minutes. I noted that, in my excitement, I could have fried myself because when I threw down the dryer, it landed in the sink, which just moments before, had been filled with water.........I then gathered up my vanity, and marched off to the marina office where they keep courtesy hair blow-dryers for other people, like me, who have flame outs.
At least the attendant in the office didn't point and laugh.
Ancora imparo
Monday, August 22, 2011
Chocolate, the Chameleon
Chocolate. It comes in many forms. Powdered as in Ovaltine - good in milk; powdered as in cocoa - used as an ingredient for hot chocolate or as a baking ingredient for brownies, chocolate cake or cookies; liquid as in Hershey's Chocolate syrup - good over ice cream; chunks - as in chocolate chips in chocolate chip cookies; melted into forms - as in candy bars; an additive for ice cream; oh the list could go on and on.
Chocolate has found itself into cereal, coffee, candy, cigarettes, lip gloss, cheese, envelope glue, soda, and fingernail polish. It comes in cheap forms and also high-end gourmet handmade candies. It goes well with pickles, fruit, wine, peanut butter, dairy products, pancakes, caffeine, nuts, and beef.
Chocolate is recognized as an aphrodisiac, an energy source, and an additive - perhaps one of the most versatile foods ever discovered. In ancient times and in more recent centuries, the cocoa bean was a highly sought after trading commodity. Chocolate is recognized by some as a separate food group, finding a need to consume various amounts daily. It's versatility allows it to be a snack, a comfort food and a desert.
A true culinary chameleon, chocolate has found its way into lunch boxes, desk drawers, pockets, purses, briefcases, band instrument cases, fishing tackle boxes, and Easter baskets.
Chocolate - it's what for dinner.
Ancora imparo
Chocolate has found itself into cereal, coffee, candy, cigarettes, lip gloss, cheese, envelope glue, soda, and fingernail polish. It comes in cheap forms and also high-end gourmet handmade candies. It goes well with pickles, fruit, wine, peanut butter, dairy products, pancakes, caffeine, nuts, and beef.
Chocolate is recognized as an aphrodisiac, an energy source, and an additive - perhaps one of the most versatile foods ever discovered. In ancient times and in more recent centuries, the cocoa bean was a highly sought after trading commodity. Chocolate is recognized by some as a separate food group, finding a need to consume various amounts daily. It's versatility allows it to be a snack, a comfort food and a desert.
A true culinary chameleon, chocolate has found its way into lunch boxes, desk drawers, pockets, purses, briefcases, band instrument cases, fishing tackle boxes, and Easter baskets.
Chocolate - it's what for dinner.
Ancora imparo
"Caveat Eator"
News, this morning, of a tiff between the Queen of Southern Cooking and the Prince of All-Things-Food, caught my attention. The Prince is asserting that the Queen is "the most dangerous person in America". A war of words is ensuing and the result is great publicity for both of them. The cynic in me thinks that, mayhap, this just might be a collaborative effort between the two "foodies" - as the press calls them - and their publicists. Early morning news shows were all over this spat and the viral coverage will only serve to advance both of their careers, I'm certain.
Now, to the assertion that the Queen of Southern Cooking is "the most dangerous person in America". So, she promotes cooking with butter (and lots of it) and consistently serves up the most scrumptious-looking fried food ever seen on television and in print media.
I'll say again, "So?"
How is this dangerous to me? It is only dangerous if I choose to: Number One - try her recipe and, Number Two - consume all of what I cooked. Furthermore, am I not a consulting adult, free to eat what I want, how I want, and where I want? Is it not my choice to eat fried foods?
Casting aside the health issue of fried foods and uber amounts of butter for the moment, allow me to examine the taste issue of what The Queen cooks. Hands down, I'll wager that her recipes taste better than some of the other Food Network stars who promote cooking with canned goods and lefteovers from last Thanksgiving and Holly Daze. When I watch The Queen make her deep-fried macaroni and cheese squares, I think, to myself, that if she were to accidentally drop one of those mac and cheese deep-fried gobs right in front of me, I'd arm wrestle the nearest person to scoop the food off the floor and gobble it up as quickly as possible.
Is this dangerous to America? Only if arm-wrestling produces broken bones. Otherwise, "caveat eator", which is fractured Latin for "let the eater beware". If I choose to eat The Queen's fat-laden but very tasty food, then I should simply make sure that my life insurance premiums are paid on time and in full!
Ancora imparo
Now, to the assertion that the Queen of Southern Cooking is "the most dangerous person in America". So, she promotes cooking with butter (and lots of it) and consistently serves up the most scrumptious-looking fried food ever seen on television and in print media.
I'll say again, "So?"
How is this dangerous to me? It is only dangerous if I choose to: Number One - try her recipe and, Number Two - consume all of what I cooked. Furthermore, am I not a consulting adult, free to eat what I want, how I want, and where I want? Is it not my choice to eat fried foods?
Casting aside the health issue of fried foods and uber amounts of butter for the moment, allow me to examine the taste issue of what The Queen cooks. Hands down, I'll wager that her recipes taste better than some of the other Food Network stars who promote cooking with canned goods and lefteovers from last Thanksgiving and Holly Daze. When I watch The Queen make her deep-fried macaroni and cheese squares, I think, to myself, that if she were to accidentally drop one of those mac and cheese deep-fried gobs right in front of me, I'd arm wrestle the nearest person to scoop the food off the floor and gobble it up as quickly as possible.
Is this dangerous to America? Only if arm-wrestling produces broken bones. Otherwise, "caveat eator", which is fractured Latin for "let the eater beware". If I choose to eat The Queen's fat-laden but very tasty food, then I should simply make sure that my life insurance premiums are paid on time and in full!
Ancora imparo
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Is Tone The Only Difference?
Is there a difference between whining and complaining? Is complaining more effective than whining? Is the tone of the voice the only difference between the two?
I've been asked to attend a meeting of concerned citizens who, ostensibly, want to lay out the issues concerning their concerns. (Nice redundancy, don't you think?) Since this is a somewhat spontaneous get-together, I realize that I need to gather my thoughts into a cogent form, in the unlikely event that I would speak up. My cynicism has been running rather deep as of late, and I am highly conflicted about the efficacy of "speaking up".
Is it not a shame that a person can become so cynical as to suppose and assume that sharing a thought or concern would be ignored, at best and publicly mocked at worst? Yet, I have witnessed and experienced this very phenomenon first-hand and I can say, with the deepest of sincerity, that it is a humiliating and demeaning feeling. Which leads me back to my cynicism towards speaking frankly and openly. It seems, at times, to be better for the psyche to simply keep the duct tape on one's mouth, literally and figuratively.
Being open and honest is just not what it is cracked up to be. As for me, I'll opt for obfuscation and cloudy, complicated replies, much like a politician would give.
Honesty? Nah. Been there, done that. Not all that effective.
Ancora imparo
I've been asked to attend a meeting of concerned citizens who, ostensibly, want to lay out the issues concerning their concerns. (Nice redundancy, don't you think?) Since this is a somewhat spontaneous get-together, I realize that I need to gather my thoughts into a cogent form, in the unlikely event that I would speak up. My cynicism has been running rather deep as of late, and I am highly conflicted about the efficacy of "speaking up".
Is it not a shame that a person can become so cynical as to suppose and assume that sharing a thought or concern would be ignored, at best and publicly mocked at worst? Yet, I have witnessed and experienced this very phenomenon first-hand and I can say, with the deepest of sincerity, that it is a humiliating and demeaning feeling. Which leads me back to my cynicism towards speaking frankly and openly. It seems, at times, to be better for the psyche to simply keep the duct tape on one's mouth, literally and figuratively.
Being open and honest is just not what it is cracked up to be. As for me, I'll opt for obfuscation and cloudy, complicated replies, much like a politician would give.
Honesty? Nah. Been there, done that. Not all that effective.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, August 20, 2011
It's All About Perspective
Query For The Day:
Can one ever, truly, have enough space?
Minimalists will reply with a resounding "yes!" Maximalists would say "no!" every time the question is posed. (I note that minimalist comes up as a word but maximalist does not. Can someone answer why? I'm staying with the word, which is a perfect opposite to minimalist.)
But, I digress. Back to my topic at hand.
The need for space is a personal and subjective desire that will be different for every person on the planet. For the super-riche, the house that I heard about last night, totalling seventeen thousand square feet, would feel tiny and cramped for sure. For the homeless, a seventeen-thousand-square foot home might be overwhelming. Is there a compromise amount of square feet needed per person?
I know, from being involved with the planning of two, new, public school buildings, that there are federal and state guidelines for how many square-feet per pupil must be allowed in the design of the structure. I am aware that laboratory studies on rats and mice have demonstrated that happy, contented rodents can change virtually overnight into depressed, stressed, and aggressive animals. Too many mice in a shoebox has been proven to be a bad idea.
What about we humans? Some of us can live in tight quarters and survive, even thrive. Look at how the military trains soldiers to co-exist in very restricted space quarters. Other cultures have long lived with many people of all ages crammed into spaces so small one cannot imagine how they learn to live with one another.....but they do and successfully.
"Space, the final frontier", as the voice says on "Star Trek". Is it more space or less space?
Time will tell.
Ancora imparo
Can one ever, truly, have enough space?
Minimalists will reply with a resounding "yes!" Maximalists would say "no!" every time the question is posed. (I note that minimalist comes up as a word but maximalist does not. Can someone answer why? I'm staying with the word, which is a perfect opposite to minimalist.)
But, I digress. Back to my topic at hand.
The need for space is a personal and subjective desire that will be different for every person on the planet. For the super-riche, the house that I heard about last night, totalling seventeen thousand square feet, would feel tiny and cramped for sure. For the homeless, a seventeen-thousand-square foot home might be overwhelming. Is there a compromise amount of square feet needed per person?
I know, from being involved with the planning of two, new, public school buildings, that there are federal and state guidelines for how many square-feet per pupil must be allowed in the design of the structure. I am aware that laboratory studies on rats and mice have demonstrated that happy, contented rodents can change virtually overnight into depressed, stressed, and aggressive animals. Too many mice in a shoebox has been proven to be a bad idea.
What about we humans? Some of us can live in tight quarters and survive, even thrive. Look at how the military trains soldiers to co-exist in very restricted space quarters. Other cultures have long lived with many people of all ages crammed into spaces so small one cannot imagine how they learn to live with one another.....but they do and successfully.
"Space, the final frontier", as the voice says on "Star Trek". Is it more space or less space?
Time will tell.
Ancora imparo
Friday, August 19, 2011
Small and Tiny
Erosion is not something one normally associates with beauty, but in the case of Cave Point County Park - Door County, Wisconsin - Mother Nature is hard at work. She does have this habit of using her erosive powers towards positive ends, as in the Grand Canyon - Arizona. While Cave Point County Park is a long, long way from the depth and immenseness of the Grand Canyon, it is fascinating to watch the power of the wind and the waves on a much smaller scale. Since I am no geologist, I cannot adequately explain the process that has happened over millions of years at Cave Point. I can only describe what I saw and heard yesterday.
Years ago, when I visited Cave Point for the first time, it was a ghastly day, with high winds left over from a mighty storm that my family and I had camped in. Lake Michigan had built herself up to a giant roil and the waves were eight-to-ten footers, which is a perfect condition in which to experience Cave Point because the waves come crashing into the caves that are below the rocky mini-cliffs and you can feel the spray right beneath your feet and hear and feel the pounding of the waves. Yesterday, Lady Lake was much calmer - only three-to-four footers - so much of the sensory experience of Cave Point was reduced, but the impression of strength and power was still very much present and obvious.
Cave Point showcases how Mother Nature applies her energy to create a natural beauty that is, at once, awe-inspiring yet daunting when I think of how erosion can be so damaging when captured in a place that is sensitive to its effects. At Cave Point County Park, on the shore of the western side of Lake Michigan, the wind and waves work in tandem to continue to cause further exaggeration of an already beautiful effect that has created caves under the rocky mini-cliffs. The fact that the public can walk over breaches in the rocks and can also peer over the cliffs to see the caves below them is an added bonus.
I was in the presence of awesomeness yesterday. I felt small, tiny, and insignificant in relation to the sensory magnification that I felt. Raw nature has its own appeal and attraction. I was in the right place, at the right time. Thank you, Mother Nature.
Ancora imparo
Years ago, when I visited Cave Point for the first time, it was a ghastly day, with high winds left over from a mighty storm that my family and I had camped in. Lake Michigan had built herself up to a giant roil and the waves were eight-to-ten footers, which is a perfect condition in which to experience Cave Point because the waves come crashing into the caves that are below the rocky mini-cliffs and you can feel the spray right beneath your feet and hear and feel the pounding of the waves. Yesterday, Lady Lake was much calmer - only three-to-four footers - so much of the sensory experience of Cave Point was reduced, but the impression of strength and power was still very much present and obvious.
Cave Point showcases how Mother Nature applies her energy to create a natural beauty that is, at once, awe-inspiring yet daunting when I think of how erosion can be so damaging when captured in a place that is sensitive to its effects. At Cave Point County Park, on the shore of the western side of Lake Michigan, the wind and waves work in tandem to continue to cause further exaggeration of an already beautiful effect that has created caves under the rocky mini-cliffs. The fact that the public can walk over breaches in the rocks and can also peer over the cliffs to see the caves below them is an added bonus.
I was in the presence of awesomeness yesterday. I felt small, tiny, and insignificant in relation to the sensory magnification that I felt. Raw nature has its own appeal and attraction. I was in the right place, at the right time. Thank you, Mother Nature.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, August 18, 2011
No Common Sense
I hear this phrase not infrequently (nice double negative, don't you think?): "He/She/They have no common sense." I can be heard to utter (or mutter), "a total lack of common sense".
Just what is "common sense"?
As I examined the term in my head, I realized that those two particular words put together stand for something far different than the two words viewed separately, which is not uncommon in our English language. Merriam-Webster's online dictionary gives the following definition for common sense: Sound and prudent judgement based on a simple perception of the situation or facts. Even though I set my alpha and omega by Merriam-Webster, I have serious reservations about this definition. Just the inclusion of the words judgement and perception throw doubt about the veracity of the definition into the realm of opinion and everyone's opinion will be different regarding just what common sense is or should be.
Furthermore, if you examine the collective phrase as two separate words, you are left with an impression that leaves you wondering how the two words ever became connected in the first place. Common: different definitions, among which are the meanings ordinary and to belong collectively. The closest association I can get to common sense is the meaning of "to belong collectively". So does that mean that the term common sense has something to do with a collective sense of what is prudent? I do not see that happening anytime soon. The word sense has several meanings, among which are the concepts of realizing that a situation is not as it should be - i.e. sense danger or the five senses of the body: sight, sound, touch, smell and taste. But that does not make any sense, either. In this case, the term common sense would mean a collective (common) sense of sight, sound, touch, smell or taste.
Very confusing - at least to this blogger. What about a sense of decency? When we say the term "common sense", are we really referring to a common sense of something - such as decency or fairness or camaraderie or teamwork or rapport? Perhaps if our nation - or humans in general - had more of a common sense of decency, fairness, camaraderie, teamwork, or rapport there would be more common sense about how we treated one another or reacted in certain situations.
Confused? Join the club.
Ancora imparo
Just what is "common sense"?
As I examined the term in my head, I realized that those two particular words put together stand for something far different than the two words viewed separately, which is not uncommon in our English language. Merriam-Webster's online dictionary gives the following definition for common sense: Sound and prudent judgement based on a simple perception of the situation or facts. Even though I set my alpha and omega by Merriam-Webster, I have serious reservations about this definition. Just the inclusion of the words judgement and perception throw doubt about the veracity of the definition into the realm of opinion and everyone's opinion will be different regarding just what common sense is or should be.
Furthermore, if you examine the collective phrase as two separate words, you are left with an impression that leaves you wondering how the two words ever became connected in the first place. Common: different definitions, among which are the meanings ordinary and to belong collectively. The closest association I can get to common sense is the meaning of "to belong collectively". So does that mean that the term common sense has something to do with a collective sense of what is prudent? I do not see that happening anytime soon. The word sense has several meanings, among which are the concepts of realizing that a situation is not as it should be - i.e. sense danger or the five senses of the body: sight, sound, touch, smell and taste. But that does not make any sense, either. In this case, the term common sense would mean a collective (common) sense of sight, sound, touch, smell or taste.
Very confusing - at least to this blogger. What about a sense of decency? When we say the term "common sense", are we really referring to a common sense of something - such as decency or fairness or camaraderie or teamwork or rapport? Perhaps if our nation - or humans in general - had more of a common sense of decency, fairness, camaraderie, teamwork, or rapport there would be more common sense about how we treated one another or reacted in certain situations.
Confused? Join the club.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Fowl Language
The chatter is constant. Maybe it is more like complaining, it is hard to tell....but I have never heard the geese and ducks make so much conversational communication. Even the seagulls, this morning, wouldn't stop their incessant dialogue.
This truly is out-of-the-ordinary, in my experience. Usually the ducks will squawk occasionally, but for the past few days, the ducks have been organized like a flash mob. Even the juveniles are swimming around, making the little chirping noises that never stop. Now the juveniles move in sibling packs, each sibling chirping to the others to make a GPS coordinate available to all the other related ducks nearby. There do not seem to be emergency sounds moving through the duck population, just non-stop chitchat.
Even the geese got into the act a little early this year, doing a massive fly-over so low this morning that I feared I might need a shovel to clear out the geese droppings when the noisy gaggle had cleared. The squawking and honking was louder than usual because the gaggle chose to fly just over the boats' tops. Even the flapping of their wings sounded a clarion call of snapping and crackling as the gaggle flew over in a somewhat disorganized formation. I could not decide if what I was hearing was a cacophony of chaos or a chorus in a concert. If all the squawking was a chorus in a concert, then some of the participants have not learned the finer art of mezzo piano and piano. All of this was forte, fortissimo and forte-fortissimo. The last time I heard this much noise was in a school lunchroom!
I object to all of this fowl language!
Ancora imparo
This truly is out-of-the-ordinary, in my experience. Usually the ducks will squawk occasionally, but for the past few days, the ducks have been organized like a flash mob. Even the juveniles are swimming around, making the little chirping noises that never stop. Now the juveniles move in sibling packs, each sibling chirping to the others to make a GPS coordinate available to all the other related ducks nearby. There do not seem to be emergency sounds moving through the duck population, just non-stop chitchat.
Even the geese got into the act a little early this year, doing a massive fly-over so low this morning that I feared I might need a shovel to clear out the geese droppings when the noisy gaggle had cleared. The squawking and honking was louder than usual because the gaggle chose to fly just over the boats' tops. Even the flapping of their wings sounded a clarion call of snapping and crackling as the gaggle flew over in a somewhat disorganized formation. I could not decide if what I was hearing was a cacophony of chaos or a chorus in a concert. If all the squawking was a chorus in a concert, then some of the participants have not learned the finer art of mezzo piano and piano. All of this was forte, fortissimo and forte-fortissimo. The last time I heard this much noise was in a school lunchroom!
I object to all of this fowl language!
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Two Big Deals: One Real and One Imagined
I will start with the imagined "big deal". Mind you, that no one will die as a result of this imagined "big deal", although my pride did take a big hit....at McDuck's no less.
It's that whole God's-2-X-4 thing again. For several years now, I've gloated and chuckled - perhaps a bit too heartily - because Capt. SO could order coffee at McDuck's and always get charged the lesser amount for a "senior" coffee - without asking for a senior price. (An aside - for those of you who are not familiar with that of which I speak - If you look old and order a "senior" coffee, they will sell you a small coffee for fifty cents (or sixty - depending on which McDuck's you are at). After a while, he simply asked for a "senior coffee" each time. I, on the other hand, would order a small and get charged whatever the full-price was/is for a McDuck's small. This I took as a true sign that I still looked thirty......until last weekend, when I went into a McDuck's and the teenage twit didn't even ask me and charged me fifty cents for a senior coffee! Now I have taken this as a real sign that I officially look "old"......which leads me to the real big deal.
My first grandchild - the eldest of the Three Musketeers - will go to kindergarten in a few days. I am so thrilled for him that you would think he had been accepted into the NASA program for five-year olds. But, this is a big deal. His whole world will expand in a matter of weeks, days, hours - if not minutes. The universe will become his oyster and I cannot wait to see what kind of pearl his oyster shell creates over the years. When I asked him what most excited him about going to school, he replied, "Learning to read." and he is so right. Learning to read is like opening up Pandora's Box just a crack. It is like peering into the Magna Carta or running through the halls of the Smithsonian. By learning to read, he will have access to new horizons as well as time-tested thoughts, theories and facts. He will learn to discern and he will learn to search. For his first chapter, his school has been a carefully protected cocoon of family, home and friends. Now his second chapter begins and I can hardly wait to read his book of life - his story.
Chapter two, page one......a very big deal, indeed.
Ancora imparo
It's that whole God's-2-X-4 thing again. For several years now, I've gloated and chuckled - perhaps a bit too heartily - because Capt. SO could order coffee at McDuck's and always get charged the lesser amount for a "senior" coffee - without asking for a senior price. (An aside - for those of you who are not familiar with that of which I speak - If you look old and order a "senior" coffee, they will sell you a small coffee for fifty cents (or sixty - depending on which McDuck's you are at). After a while, he simply asked for a "senior coffee" each time. I, on the other hand, would order a small and get charged whatever the full-price was/is for a McDuck's small. This I took as a true sign that I still looked thirty......until last weekend, when I went into a McDuck's and the teenage twit didn't even ask me and charged me fifty cents for a senior coffee! Now I have taken this as a real sign that I officially look "old"......which leads me to the real big deal.
My first grandchild - the eldest of the Three Musketeers - will go to kindergarten in a few days. I am so thrilled for him that you would think he had been accepted into the NASA program for five-year olds. But, this is a big deal. His whole world will expand in a matter of weeks, days, hours - if not minutes. The universe will become his oyster and I cannot wait to see what kind of pearl his oyster shell creates over the years. When I asked him what most excited him about going to school, he replied, "Learning to read." and he is so right. Learning to read is like opening up Pandora's Box just a crack. It is like peering into the Magna Carta or running through the halls of the Smithsonian. By learning to read, he will have access to new horizons as well as time-tested thoughts, theories and facts. He will learn to discern and he will learn to search. For his first chapter, his school has been a carefully protected cocoon of family, home and friends. Now his second chapter begins and I can hardly wait to read his book of life - his story.
Chapter two, page one......a very big deal, indeed.
Ancora imparo
Monday, August 15, 2011
How Did We Ever Manage?
When I was a child, so many things we took for granted, experienced on a daily basis, or accepted as routine would now be considered unmanageable, unsafe, unacceptable and unseemly.
For instance, children of my generation routinely walked one mile or more, unsupervised, to and from school. We rode our bicycles short and long distances by ourselves and we played in areas that, today, would be seen as unfit and unsafe......yet somehow we survived and even thrived.
Somehow the world seemed safer then than now.
When I was a child, cars did not have seat belts like our modern-day vehicles have. Our seat belt, which worked just fine, was the long and strong arm of our mother, suddenly thrust in front of our bodies, like a train-track arm on steroids. To this day, my arm involuntarily swings out from time to time, protecting an invisible child seated next to me.
Somehow we survived and even thrived. Were we any less safe then than now?
On a sillier note, tonight Capt. SO and I ate some sweetcorn that we had purchased at a local farmers' market. A thorough search of Das Boot's drawers revealed zero corn-cob-yellow holders that get stuck in the ends of the cob so your fingers don't get as dirty. At first we looked at our cobs and both had the same thought: "How can we ever eat our corn now?" Then we simultaneously realized that we could simply pick up the cob.....with our bare hands and still enjoy the flavorful maize morsels.
Somehow we survived eating corn-on-the-cob with only our fingers.
I wonder if my life should be lived as if I was eating sweetcorn with my fingers? You know.....buttery, salted, slippery, flavorful and noisy!
Yes, yes.....a thousand times yes!
Ancorna imparo
For instance, children of my generation routinely walked one mile or more, unsupervised, to and from school. We rode our bicycles short and long distances by ourselves and we played in areas that, today, would be seen as unfit and unsafe......yet somehow we survived and even thrived.
Somehow the world seemed safer then than now.
When I was a child, cars did not have seat belts like our modern-day vehicles have. Our seat belt, which worked just fine, was the long and strong arm of our mother, suddenly thrust in front of our bodies, like a train-track arm on steroids. To this day, my arm involuntarily swings out from time to time, protecting an invisible child seated next to me.
Somehow we survived and even thrived. Were we any less safe then than now?
On a sillier note, tonight Capt. SO and I ate some sweetcorn that we had purchased at a local farmers' market. A thorough search of Das Boot's drawers revealed zero corn-cob-yellow holders that get stuck in the ends of the cob so your fingers don't get as dirty. At first we looked at our cobs and both had the same thought: "How can we ever eat our corn now?" Then we simultaneously realized that we could simply pick up the cob.....with our bare hands and still enjoy the flavorful maize morsels.
Somehow we survived eating corn-on-the-cob with only our fingers.
I wonder if my life should be lived as if I was eating sweetcorn with my fingers? You know.....buttery, salted, slippery, flavorful and noisy!
Yes, yes.....a thousand times yes!
Ancorna imparo
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Am I One Of Them?
Never.
Never in a million years.
Why, I would never think of......
My kids will never......
Have you ever uttered one of these? I certainly have - probably thousands of times across the years of my life. I suppose my "nevers" began somewhere in my teens, although I cannot say with any certainty. I have "never" kept track.
Some of my favorite "nevers" would be regarding children. BK - before kids - I know I uttered the word "never" and, quite possibly, not infrequently. "My kids will never....." "My kids will never be allowed to....." "Children should not......." "You'll never see my kids......" Then, at least in my case, my words flew out the window in a puff of smoke as reality entered the room and the experience of actually being a parent settled over my spouse and I. If I had a recording of all the definitive statements I made regarding parenthood and children, I'd be eating my words from now until doomsday.
I've uttered the word "never" in other life-instances as well. Quite a number of years ago, I underwent a surgical procedure and, prior to the surgery, I declared that I would "never do" something post-surgery. Well, God had different ideas and He humbled me mightily to the point that I was grateful to "do" that would I swore, up and down, that I would NEVER "do". I am also positive that, when I was less long-in-the-tooth, I made other utterances to the effect that when I got older, I would "never"......yada, yada, yada and ha ha ha.
Well, here I am and, just today - in the wee hours of pre-dawn, as I lay sleepless yet one more morning at 4:30 a.m. - I thought to myself, "OMG, I'm one of them!" - the person who is becoming longer-in-the-tooth that cannot sleep and awakens each day at some "o'dark-hundred" hour. I was positive I would "never" do that.
It is so very ironic that, all to often, we do become that which we pledged we would NEVER become. The conversion may come gradually, with the realization slowly edging into our consciousness, or, as in my case, come as a sudden whack to the side of the head with that 2 X 4 that God uses with such effective and accurate aim and accompanying force.
Will I never cease saying never?
Probably never.
Ancora imparo
Never in a million years.
Why, I would never think of......
My kids will never......
Have you ever uttered one of these? I certainly have - probably thousands of times across the years of my life. I suppose my "nevers" began somewhere in my teens, although I cannot say with any certainty. I have "never" kept track.
Some of my favorite "nevers" would be regarding children. BK - before kids - I know I uttered the word "never" and, quite possibly, not infrequently. "My kids will never....." "My kids will never be allowed to....." "Children should not......." "You'll never see my kids......" Then, at least in my case, my words flew out the window in a puff of smoke as reality entered the room and the experience of actually being a parent settled over my spouse and I. If I had a recording of all the definitive statements I made regarding parenthood and children, I'd be eating my words from now until doomsday.
I've uttered the word "never" in other life-instances as well. Quite a number of years ago, I underwent a surgical procedure and, prior to the surgery, I declared that I would "never do" something post-surgery. Well, God had different ideas and He humbled me mightily to the point that I was grateful to "do" that would I swore, up and down, that I would NEVER "do". I am also positive that, when I was less long-in-the-tooth, I made other utterances to the effect that when I got older, I would "never"......yada, yada, yada and ha ha ha.
Well, here I am and, just today - in the wee hours of pre-dawn, as I lay sleepless yet one more morning at 4:30 a.m. - I thought to myself, "OMG, I'm one of them!" - the person who is becoming longer-in-the-tooth that cannot sleep and awakens each day at some "o'dark-hundred" hour. I was positive I would "never" do that.
It is so very ironic that, all to often, we do become that which we pledged we would NEVER become. The conversion may come gradually, with the realization slowly edging into our consciousness, or, as in my case, come as a sudden whack to the side of the head with that 2 X 4 that God uses with such effective and accurate aim and accompanying force.
Will I never cease saying never?
Probably never.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Was It A Llifetime Ago?
Vacations are a curious phenomenon. Actually, vacations are a bit like Christmas. You plan, organize and then plan some more - hoping to make the vacation the best ever! The planning phase is often fun, yet it can be stressful as deadlines loom and must be met in order to pull off the execution of the vacation.
The actual experience of the vacation is prominently dependent on the first phase - planning. If enough and thorough preparation has taken place, the odds of a successful vacation are greatly improved. Yet, there are those earnest and convincing individuals who feel that planning a vacation is the antithesis of what a vacation should be. These people often refuse to plan or structure their vacations, preferring, instead, to be completely flexible and spontaneous in all aspects of the get-a-way. A vacation for both camps will occur, both individuals will, more than likely, enjoy their experience and come away from the respite refreshed, renewed, and re-energized. Each to his or her own.
It is amazing, however, that once the vacation is over, it can be almost as if the event never happened. After a week or so, do you ever look back at the vacation and say, "It is as if we never went on vacation!" or, "That vacation seems like it was a lifetime ago."? Fortunately, memories do remain, hopefully indelibly etched in the part of our brains that can recall at will, with "Kodachrome" and the best in pixel strength we can muster.
I am at the memory place. It does seem like a lifetime ago that Capt. SO and I took our Aqua RV into a Canadian water wilderness and lived like gypsies.
I'm ready to go back....not just in my memory but in the flesh.
Ancora imparo
The actual experience of the vacation is prominently dependent on the first phase - planning. If enough and thorough preparation has taken place, the odds of a successful vacation are greatly improved. Yet, there are those earnest and convincing individuals who feel that planning a vacation is the antithesis of what a vacation should be. These people often refuse to plan or structure their vacations, preferring, instead, to be completely flexible and spontaneous in all aspects of the get-a-way. A vacation for both camps will occur, both individuals will, more than likely, enjoy their experience and come away from the respite refreshed, renewed, and re-energized. Each to his or her own.
It is amazing, however, that once the vacation is over, it can be almost as if the event never happened. After a week or so, do you ever look back at the vacation and say, "It is as if we never went on vacation!" or, "That vacation seems like it was a lifetime ago."? Fortunately, memories do remain, hopefully indelibly etched in the part of our brains that can recall at will, with "Kodachrome" and the best in pixel strength we can muster.
I am at the memory place. It does seem like a lifetime ago that Capt. SO and I took our Aqua RV into a Canadian water wilderness and lived like gypsies.
I'm ready to go back....not just in my memory but in the flesh.
Ancora imparo
Friday, August 12, 2011
Where Have All The Jingles Gone?
I will be revealing my age and stage in life with this posting but I have an inner compulsion to write about today's television advertising practices.
Please bring back the jingles and the readily recognizable characters and brand names. You know, the ones that were product-specific and that had a tune that you could hum and that stuck with you or had a character (take Tony the Tiger, for instance.) Obviously, for me, there was something catchy about those jingles, characters, and silly product names because I can still hear and see many of them in my head.
Here's some: "Bryl-creem....a little dab'll do ya." Dippety-do Setting Gel: The pinkish red color was regular and the green was extra-hold. I can still remember setting my hair in curlers - at first the pink plastic and foam kind and later the brush curlers that were murder to sleep on - and slathering on the Dippety-do, in the hopes that it would somehow make my hair more manageable. The old Chevrolet commercial (Now the company only wants to be known as "Chevy".) that had the jingle, "See the USA, in your Chevrolet". What about Alka-Seltzer? "Pop, pop, fizz, fizz, Oh what a relief it is!" and the goofy little character with the little stick and the big, flat-topped hat. The original Mr. Clean jingle. The memories go on and on.
Today's commercials can be memorable but not in the same way as the "oldies". The products, for the most part, are different, which says a lot about our society, but consumers are also vastly different. Our tastes have changed, our wants and desires have changed and our attention spans have been greatly reduced from thirty, forty and fifty years ago. Now we require pizzaz, glitz, glitter and glam to keep our minds focused on the product-commercial before us. Heck, now we devalue commercials so much that special machines and software have been developed to extract the commercials so we never see them. Or, if we do not have the software, subscription or machine with which to "discard" the commercial, we then simply hit the "mute" button until the regular program resumes.
Even if a person does suffer through multiple television commercials, they are devoid of the catchy tunes, jingles, phrases and characters that could make them memorable. Often, the background music is a copyright-protected rock or pop song, not a jingle that was written just for the product. This makes me think that the "jingle-writing" industry has seen its bottom drop out and float away.
For now, I will close. I have to go eat "the incredible, edible egg". OK, "the incredible, edible egg-white."
It's just so not the same.
Ancora imparo
Please bring back the jingles and the readily recognizable characters and brand names. You know, the ones that were product-specific and that had a tune that you could hum and that stuck with you or had a character (take Tony the Tiger, for instance.) Obviously, for me, there was something catchy about those jingles, characters, and silly product names because I can still hear and see many of them in my head.
Here's some: "Bryl-creem....a little dab'll do ya." Dippety-do Setting Gel: The pinkish red color was regular and the green was extra-hold. I can still remember setting my hair in curlers - at first the pink plastic and foam kind and later the brush curlers that were murder to sleep on - and slathering on the Dippety-do, in the hopes that it would somehow make my hair more manageable. The old Chevrolet commercial (Now the company only wants to be known as "Chevy".) that had the jingle, "See the USA, in your Chevrolet". What about Alka-Seltzer? "Pop, pop, fizz, fizz, Oh what a relief it is!" and the goofy little character with the little stick and the big, flat-topped hat. The original Mr. Clean jingle. The memories go on and on.
Today's commercials can be memorable but not in the same way as the "oldies". The products, for the most part, are different, which says a lot about our society, but consumers are also vastly different. Our tastes have changed, our wants and desires have changed and our attention spans have been greatly reduced from thirty, forty and fifty years ago. Now we require pizzaz, glitz, glitter and glam to keep our minds focused on the product-commercial before us. Heck, now we devalue commercials so much that special machines and software have been developed to extract the commercials so we never see them. Or, if we do not have the software, subscription or machine with which to "discard" the commercial, we then simply hit the "mute" button until the regular program resumes.
Even if a person does suffer through multiple television commercials, they are devoid of the catchy tunes, jingles, phrases and characters that could make them memorable. Often, the background music is a copyright-protected rock or pop song, not a jingle that was written just for the product. This makes me think that the "jingle-writing" industry has seen its bottom drop out and float away.
For now, I will close. I have to go eat "the incredible, edible egg". OK, "the incredible, edible egg-white."
It's just so not the same.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Some Decisions Are Just Easier Than Others
Politics and economics.....two hot-button topics these days and most any day. I try to stay away from blatant political rants in this blog and the discussion of economics. Well, who wants to be depressed?
BUT.....
There are two political issues that I just do not get and I cannot embrace, condone, identify with nor agree with.
Recall elections.
I'll go out on a limb, hopefully not insulting too many people with whom I am acquainted, and say that I find recall elections insulting - especially when they are generated by sore losers. I can understand a recall election to attempt to oust some idiotic politician who has committed some egregious act, but to try to recall a politician just because that person does not agree with my political views? Shame on me. Is that not what this country was built upon......elections that were for the people and by the people? Just because my political persuasion is different from yours does not mean that I should attempt to have you recalled from office. THAT IS WHAT REGULARLY SCHEDULED ELECTIONS ARE FOR. My political views are no more or less moronic than yours. If you do not agree with my views then rally your troops and vote me out of office.....during the next regularly scheduled election process.
The State of Illinois just released one hundred and forty one million dollars in escrow money to the state's horse racing business. Now, this is all very well and good, if you are a horse, or a horse's #%&*, but if you are one of the state's school-aged children and your district cannot find the cash or borrow the funds to buy textbooks, repair your schools, pay your student's staff, or operate your buses, then the imbecilic act of releasing money to subsidize horse racing is moronic at best.
As for the sorry state of our nation's economics and all things related.......you cannot tell me that this crisis is not just another example of market manipulation by those who can manipulate the stock market and who laugh all the way to the bank with the money they earn from bringing the rest of us to our economic knees. Someone, somewhere or somebodies, somewhere are making a lot of money from our misery. It is just not right.
End of whining.
Ancora imparo
BUT.....
There are two political issues that I just do not get and I cannot embrace, condone, identify with nor agree with.
Recall elections.
I'll go out on a limb, hopefully not insulting too many people with whom I am acquainted, and say that I find recall elections insulting - especially when they are generated by sore losers. I can understand a recall election to attempt to oust some idiotic politician who has committed some egregious act, but to try to recall a politician just because that person does not agree with my political views? Shame on me. Is that not what this country was built upon......elections that were for the people and by the people? Just because my political persuasion is different from yours does not mean that I should attempt to have you recalled from office. THAT IS WHAT REGULARLY SCHEDULED ELECTIONS ARE FOR. My political views are no more or less moronic than yours. If you do not agree with my views then rally your troops and vote me out of office.....during the next regularly scheduled election process.
The State of Illinois just released one hundred and forty one million dollars in escrow money to the state's horse racing business. Now, this is all very well and good, if you are a horse, or a horse's #%&*, but if you are one of the state's school-aged children and your district cannot find the cash or borrow the funds to buy textbooks, repair your schools, pay your student's staff, or operate your buses, then the imbecilic act of releasing money to subsidize horse racing is moronic at best.
As for the sorry state of our nation's economics and all things related.......you cannot tell me that this crisis is not just another example of market manipulation by those who can manipulate the stock market and who laugh all the way to the bank with the money they earn from bringing the rest of us to our economic knees. Someone, somewhere or somebodies, somewhere are making a lot of money from our misery. It is just not right.
End of whining.
Ancora imparo
Monday, August 8, 2011
Cooking With Princess Leia
"Would you like to help Granny make some brownies?", I asked Princess Leia. A head-nod was all that I needed and she and I set out to make it happen. Now, being a whiskered Granny, I know that one way to keep a child occupied, while ingredients and other items are readied, is to let the child play with water in the kitchen sink. As luck would have it, Princess Leia is one of those children.
I fetched the stool - the first time - that would give her safe access to the counter and sink. After our baking experience, she has found multiple reasons to get "her" stool and place it right up to the kitchen sink/counter area. We had a great time preparing the brownie batter. She proved to be quite skilled at dumping the water, oil, dry ingredients and chocolate syrup into the mixing bowl. She also displayed superb fine-motor skills when it came to stirring the batter, but, I would have to say, she showed her extreme talent when it came to testing the brownie batter with a small teaspoon. With a toothy grin and battered (in this case, literally battered.....not beaten) face, she proclaimed that the batter was very tasty. She then "helped" rinse all of the baking utensils and bowls, using a number of paper towels, all the while being "supervised" by her two babies, seated on either side of the sink.
After our baking time together, she became even more eager to "help" and was quite obliging to assist in preparing dinner. She brought her stool to the counter and became an assistant chef, helping to put some of the broccoli in a baggie and the rest in a colander, which she then rinsed very capably with water. Next she discovered that I had sliced up an apple to eat during dinner. She brought her stool back to the counter and proceeded to "help" place the apple slices in a baggie.....but then she thought better of that, dumped the apple slices back onto the cutting board, and put all of the slices in the colander, which she then pronounced should be taken out to Gramps, who was grilling on the deck. With her little purple "jellies" clicking away on the hardwood floor, she marched out onto the deck, placed the colander down on the deck and offered herself and Gramps a few apple slices before dinner. As the resident granny on premise, I decided that a few apple slices before dinner was not the worst thing in the world with which to "spoil" her dinner.
After dinner, Gramps washed the dishes, ably assisted by Princess Leia, who used her paper towels to wash and rinse everything, accompanied by both Gramps and Princess Leia saying, over and over, "Scrubby, scrubby, scrubby."
Now she has been "scrubbied, scrubbied, scrubbied" and has delighted Gramps with her water-pouring skills in the bathtub. I honestly do not know who sounds like they are having more fun.....Princess Leia in the tub or Gramps, watching her.
Priceless.
Ancora imparo
I fetched the stool - the first time - that would give her safe access to the counter and sink. After our baking experience, she has found multiple reasons to get "her" stool and place it right up to the kitchen sink/counter area. We had a great time preparing the brownie batter. She proved to be quite skilled at dumping the water, oil, dry ingredients and chocolate syrup into the mixing bowl. She also displayed superb fine-motor skills when it came to stirring the batter, but, I would have to say, she showed her extreme talent when it came to testing the brownie batter with a small teaspoon. With a toothy grin and battered (in this case, literally battered.....not beaten) face, she proclaimed that the batter was very tasty. She then "helped" rinse all of the baking utensils and bowls, using a number of paper towels, all the while being "supervised" by her two babies, seated on either side of the sink.
After our baking time together, she became even more eager to "help" and was quite obliging to assist in preparing dinner. She brought her stool to the counter and became an assistant chef, helping to put some of the broccoli in a baggie and the rest in a colander, which she then rinsed very capably with water. Next she discovered that I had sliced up an apple to eat during dinner. She brought her stool back to the counter and proceeded to "help" place the apple slices in a baggie.....but then she thought better of that, dumped the apple slices back onto the cutting board, and put all of the slices in the colander, which she then pronounced should be taken out to Gramps, who was grilling on the deck. With her little purple "jellies" clicking away on the hardwood floor, she marched out onto the deck, placed the colander down on the deck and offered herself and Gramps a few apple slices before dinner. As the resident granny on premise, I decided that a few apple slices before dinner was not the worst thing in the world with which to "spoil" her dinner.
After dinner, Gramps washed the dishes, ably assisted by Princess Leia, who used her paper towels to wash and rinse everything, accompanied by both Gramps and Princess Leia saying, over and over, "Scrubby, scrubby, scrubby."
Now she has been "scrubbied, scrubbied, scrubbied" and has delighted Gramps with her water-pouring skills in the bathtub. I honestly do not know who sounds like they are having more fun.....Princess Leia in the tub or Gramps, watching her.
Priceless.
Ancora imparo
A Point To Consider For Budget Balancing
There is something that has me bamboozled me this morning and I wanted to take the time to share my puzzlement with others. As Yul Brenner said, in his "King and I" role as the King of Siam, "Tis a puzzlement!"
Have you ever wondered what businesses and commercial establishments do with the left-over, partial rolls of toilet tissue? Does this keep you awake at night, contemplating just what happens to them? Is there a depository for these unwanted and discarded items? Men may not share any interest in this quandry because women probably visit public restrooms on a far-greater basis than men. Still, this does not negate the importance of my query.
I have noted that there seem to be three basic methods for dealing with partial rolls of toilet tissue. One is that the business simply waits, until the roll is empty, and replaces it with a full roll. It does not matter than any number of potty patrons will go into this restroom, desperately in need of its facilities, only to find the toilet- tissue dispenser bare. Perhaps it is collusion between the paper company divisions that causes this method to be utilized. No toilet tissue encourages scrounging in purses or pockets for facial tissues.......often all made by the same corporation.
Another method - one of my personal favorites - is to wait until the little roll is almost out, replace it with a full roll, then leave behind the partial roll. Sometimes these partial rolls can really add up - having as many as eight to ten rolls lying about, waiting to either be used up or thrown out. My guess is that the business owner/managers hope that potty patrons will actually use up the ten-to-twenty inches of toilet tissue remaining on each cardboard roll.
The third method is really an assumption on my part because I have no visual proof......but I think some businesses and commercial properties change out the roll (either huge, large, or small) before the roll is empty and then take the partial with them. I want to know where these almost-used-up rolls go? Are there rooms, across this great nation, that are filling - floor to ceiling - with partial rolls of toilet tissue? Are they simply discarded? Are they donated to organizations that don't have enough funds to buy full rolls of toilet tissue?
I believe that solving this mystery could lead to more economic health in this country. Answering the query about what happens to partial rolls of toilet tissue could be a key to restoring an attitude of respect towards our embattled politicians. Why, soon the halls of Congress may not be able to afford to supply toilet tissue in their public and private restrooms and these little leftover rolls might bring a sense of comfort and confidence back to our nation's capital.
Something needs to.
Ancora impotty
Have you ever wondered what businesses and commercial establishments do with the left-over, partial rolls of toilet tissue? Does this keep you awake at night, contemplating just what happens to them? Is there a depository for these unwanted and discarded items? Men may not share any interest in this quandry because women probably visit public restrooms on a far-greater basis than men. Still, this does not negate the importance of my query.
I have noted that there seem to be three basic methods for dealing with partial rolls of toilet tissue. One is that the business simply waits, until the roll is empty, and replaces it with a full roll. It does not matter than any number of potty patrons will go into this restroom, desperately in need of its facilities, only to find the toilet- tissue dispenser bare. Perhaps it is collusion between the paper company divisions that causes this method to be utilized. No toilet tissue encourages scrounging in purses or pockets for facial tissues.......often all made by the same corporation.
Another method - one of my personal favorites - is to wait until the little roll is almost out, replace it with a full roll, then leave behind the partial roll. Sometimes these partial rolls can really add up - having as many as eight to ten rolls lying about, waiting to either be used up or thrown out. My guess is that the business owner/managers hope that potty patrons will actually use up the ten-to-twenty inches of toilet tissue remaining on each cardboard roll.
The third method is really an assumption on my part because I have no visual proof......but I think some businesses and commercial properties change out the roll (either huge, large, or small) before the roll is empty and then take the partial with them. I want to know where these almost-used-up rolls go? Are there rooms, across this great nation, that are filling - floor to ceiling - with partial rolls of toilet tissue? Are they simply discarded? Are they donated to organizations that don't have enough funds to buy full rolls of toilet tissue?
I believe that solving this mystery could lead to more economic health in this country. Answering the query about what happens to partial rolls of toilet tissue could be a key to restoring an attitude of respect towards our embattled politicians. Why, soon the halls of Congress may not be able to afford to supply toilet tissue in their public and private restrooms and these little leftover rolls might bring a sense of comfort and confidence back to our nation's capital.
Something needs to.
Ancora impotty
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Observations From A Soon-To-Be Landlubber
North Channel Blog for Monday August 1 2011
Observations From A Soon-To-Be Landlubber
- I have never seen so much granite. My imagination can only take me so far in conjuring up how much upheaval took place millions of years ago to form the geologic formations I have been floating among. It is as if God must have been a cat who had frequent hairballs. You know how cats spit up their hairballs in the most inconvenient places, with no regard to where or when or how many? Where I have been is more like a little water among granite mountains, boulders, and rocks. I wish I had some of this granite in my kitchen.
- Seagulls are very persistent creatures. There is this one seagull that has literally been lurking on our starboard stern since we anchored late this morning. It mostly floats about twenty feet from the Aqua RV but when Capt. SO grilled tonight on the back deck, the hopeful seagull moved in to with about eight feet from the swim platform. He hasn’t squawked one bit…..he just lurks….hoping for a toss-out of some kind. Somewhere, in “his” past, someone fed him something and he has never forgotten it.
- Some Aqua RV’ers are not very good at anchoring. Just like many trailering boaters like to watch other people back their boat trailers up – kind of like aqua entertainment – we like to watch other people anchor their boats. Many are highly skilled and efficient, others are marginally good at it, and, as we witnessed this afternoon, some people just should never be allowed to anchor at all and should simply always be tied to a dock.
- I have become very fond of bathing in cold water when it is beastly hot, as it is tonight. I will surely miss the convenience of simply jumping into a large “tub” of water to cool off.
- Vacations are great……until they end.
Ancora imparo
Firsts and Lasts
North Channel Blog Sunday July 31 2011
Firsts and Lasts
Two important “firsts” happened today. First, (pun intended) I actually remembered how to tie the modified half-cow fender knot that I learned yesterday. I should have been able to handily remember how to tie it because trying to keep the pattern in my brain kept me awake most of the night. I am certain that I must have tied it, in my head, over a hundred times. Whatever technique I employed, it did the trick. I am so proud of my knot-tying prowess that I may actually ask to be taught a second knot. Already, yesterday, Capt. SO was rattling off a list of other knots he would like me to learn and, here, I was excited to learn just one!
Secondly, the other “first” that happened was actually part of a “last”. Capt. SO and I knew this would be our last anchorage out “on the hook” for our 2011 North Channel trip so we found the most beautiful cove in which to spend the night on our Aqua RV. The cove does not have a name on any map but it is known, in North-Channel-travelers’ circles as “Longpoint Cove”. This little gem is tucked away, surrounded by granite on all sides, as is the entire North Channel, where boaters are protected nicely from winds of all directions. This particular cove has channels that lead to another “spit” that leads to another “spit” and so on. As soon as we were set, Capt. SO got the kayaks down and we prepared to have our last kayak ride of our aqua vacation. Yesterday, when we were kayaking in John Harbour, we had remarked that it would have been fun to pack a lunch and eat out on a granite boulder somewhere. This afternoon, we loaded our kayaks with bottled water and a tasty lunch hidden away in the front stowage compartments of the kayaks. Off we paddled, in search of a flat rock and a sandy spot in which to beach the kayaks – just like we encountered yesterday.
Today that sandy spot was not to be found. Instead, while paddling, we found only rocky shores or granite cliff-like edges – not suitable for tying up a kayak next to. So, instead, we paddled out of a craggy waterway that lead to a bay that lead to open North Channel water. The wind was in our favor and we knew it would push us back the way we had come. Capt. SO tied our kayaks together so we could float as one and we dined on our plastic-sack lunches while the wind carried us from whence we’d come. It was a delightful “drift” lunch, letting the wind do all the work while we happily munched away.
Firsts and lasts – poignantly together.
Ancora imparo
Hoarding, Hookers, Swingers and Half-Cows
North Channel Blog Saturday July 30 2011
Hoarding, Hookers, Swingers and Half-Cows
Not too long ago, a regular Ancora Imparo reader told me, ever so kindly, that my posting titles were getting a bit…..ahem…..boring. Today’s posting title should remedy any boredom out there in Ancora-Imparo-Readerland.
Since we’ve now been running away from home, in our Aqua RV, for eleven days, certain terminology has been cemented in my mind and I thought I would share some terms with you, the reader. Please note that three of these terms are un-“official”. Only the term, half-cow, has any officiality (my word) to it.
Hoarding: What boaters commonly do when out on the hook. “Hoarding” usually refers to favorite foods, liquor, ice, treats such as ice cream and candies, fresh vegetables, and, in our case, Vidalia onions. Once you determine that you will stay “on the hook” for some extended period of time, your food usage must become very measured. For instance, Capt. SO and I get four baby carrots, a half of a tomato and one half of an apple every day…..without fail.
Hookers: This is a term that I never heard before I recently met a wonderful Canadian couple, Pat and Bill. This particular night there were four couples together for a beverage and snack time on one of the boats, with Pat and Bill being one of the four couples. Talk naturally centered on who had anchored out where and which anchorages were the favorites and differing anchoring techniques. In our case, I handle the helm and Capt. SO does the anchor setting, otherwise known as “hooking”. In the case of Pat and Bill, he handles the helm and she does the hooking. She proudly proclaimed herself to be the best “hooker” in all of the North Channel.
Swingers: There are two basic ways to anchor. One method favored by many boaters is to nestle the stern right up to shore, with the typical bow-anchor placement and a stern anchor attached to something on shore – either a large tree base or a rock. I think this is referred to as “tropical style” or something like that. The other common method of anchoring out is to drop only a bow anchor and let the boat swing in an arc, controlled by the direction of the wind. When Pat announced that she was the best “hooker” in the North Channel, I announced that Capt. SO and I were swingers.
Lastly , the Half-Cow: This is not referring to eating massive amounts of beef. This term refers to a knot called “the half-cow”. For six years, since Capt. SO and I have owned our Aqua RV, he has been trying to get me to learn to tie knots. I have tried a time or two but it does not come too naturally and his and my learning styles are radically different so learning to tie knots has not (pun intended) been at the top of my to-do list……..until today. I KNOW that I need to learn to tie the knot that holds the fenders to the rail. When we know we will be out in rough waters, we take our fenders off, meaning that when we arrive at our destination, the fenders must be put back on for purposes of docking.
This afternoon the waters in our protected bay were whipped up by a sustained, twenty-plus knot blow and we found ourselves with an extra hour or two of down time. “Self”, I said to myself, “there is no reason why you should not learn to tie a knot.” Unbelievably, I opened up my mouth and asked Capt. SO if he would teach me how to tie a fender knot, otherwise known as a “half-cow”. For the next hour-plus, we proceeded to work on teaching me to do just that. I should correct my terminology right now and add that the knot he taught me is actually a modified “half cow”. While I’d rather eat beef, this half-cow is much safer for cholesterol levels and knot half as fattening. (Misspelling intended.)
Ancora imparo
This, I Could Get Used To
North Channel Blog for Friday July 29 2011
This, I Could Get Used To
Day Eleven of The Great Adventure and Capt. SO and I finally slept in. Slept in, that is, according to OF terms. There are many who could sleep waaaaaay later on a consistent basis, but we are not them. (Note how my grammar and spelling are slipping whilst I have been afloat.)
Sleeping well can be a casualty of hanging out on anchor. The captain sleeps with one eye open and one ear on alert – every night. Because the seagulls can be so noisy, beginning about 4:30 a.m., I sleep with my custom ear plugs but I find that my other senses are then on super-alert. I then become highly aware of movement of any kind so when Capt. SO sits up or gets up, for any reason (usually to check the anchor position on the anchor alarm), my ear plugs are out and I am listening intently. Hence, not the greatest for soundly sleeping through the night.
An aside: Here is my first texting “oh-oh” – that I know of. I just spelled “night” as “nite”. Guess I’d better keep my mind in third gear when spelling – especially when my spellcheck did not highlight “nite”.
I see that I have now digressed on two points away from my title’s intention – to write about what I could get used to having been afloat for the most nights, ever, since the Aqua RV came to live with us.
I love swimming and bathing in the North Channel of Lake Huron. The heat and humidity have not neglected this portion of the country but the cool water, and our immediate access to it, has made it manageable if not outright livable. Hot, sweaty and sticky skin? No problem. Jump in or climb down the swim ladder.
Bathing off the end of the boat has been a God-send. Washing my hair with this cool water has had the same effect as a cool ice cube on the back of my neck.
Sitting with coffee on the deck, in the early morning stillness. Going for a dinghy ride at 7:30 p.m., seeing the immense granite boulders and whole hills and mountains made of granite.
Sitting on the swim platform, just before the mosquitoes come out in full force, with total silence, able to hear the faintest of sounds – the other four sailboats well-spread out from us and totally silent, too. You can hear “nature” scurrying in the surrounding trees. The occasional loon’s plaintive call.
This, I could get used to.
Ancora imparo
These Bugs Really Bug Me
North Channel Blog for Thursday July 28 2011
These Bugs Really Bug Me
We were visited by the Bug Faerie overnight. Overnight? Who am I kidding? The little buggers (pun intended) are still with us, en masse. We’ve heard about boats being covered, in inches, by these little knats or no-see-ums, as the Canadians refer to them as, but we’ve not experienced it….yet. This morning comes close.
Capt. SO and I arose early, eagerly looking forward to dropping a hook off the back of the Aqua RV and possibly catching tonight’s perch dinner, instead of last night’s perch appetizer. He went out the door first, only to be heard whispering, “This is not good!” I came to the screen and he said, “Come out quickly.” while at the same time swinging his arms madly to and fro, up and down. I went out as fast as I could, only to find myself enmeshed in a swarming mob of tiny, flying insects, so thick that I’m certain we inhaled some with each breath. After walking just a few yards, the bottoms of our once-clean feet were covered with stuck-on carcasses that mere hand-rubbing could not dislodge.
“Icky”, I thought to myself. I might have even uttered something to that effect aloud.
Every square inch of the Aqua RV is covered – and I do mean every square inch. Where there are troughs of any kind, the dead knats lie piled together, an inch thick. That is just the deceased ones. The live ones continue to fly in swarms so thick that the swarm appears as a small, dark cloud.
“Icky”, I thought to myself……and still do.
I told Capt. SO that we need to pull anchor and take this thing up to thirty knots, letting the wind sweep them naturally away. Then the clean-up can begin.
Oh, yeah. I just killed a spider in the living area.
“Icky!”
Ancora imparo
Make Hay Whilst The Sun Shineth
North Channel Blog for Wednesday July 27 2011
Make Hay Whilst The Sun Shineth
Being “on the hook” means that when the generator runs, tasks that require electricity must be performed…..even if it is not convenient to do so.
For instance, Capt. SO and I decided to drop two bobbers in the water, off the swim platform. We had the dinghy out earlier, trying to drift fish along a rocky shore. This worked well for the first five minutes. I had some bites and the breeze was moving us along nicely. Then the bottom fell out of the frying pan. I got caught on a rock and lost my hook, sinker and, of course, bait. Capt. SO patiently replenished my tackle and I put a half of a crawler back on my hook. This took longer than it should have because the half of the worm that I was working with also had the “elimination” end and it dropped “elimination” on my foot. Now, Capt. SO told me to leave it and get my line in the water to try to capitalize on the bites that I had earlier, but I COULD NOT leave worm “elimination” on my foot. Just as soon as I had my line back in the water, both of us got caught on a rock crevice and everything just sort of fell apart from there. In attempting to free my hook, I got my line irretrievably caught up in the open-face bail spool. - caught so badly that Capt. SO had to do an amputation. He got his bait and bottom walker freed and salvaged and offered to get me back into business but I declined the opportunity and, instead, told him to continue fishing without me – a high maintenance fisherperson. Then the wind died and we could no longer drift. Capt. SO declared that we would go back to the Aqua RV, put on bobbers and fish off the swim platform, in the comfort of our deck chairs and beverages in hand.
Which is exactly what is happening at the moment, except that I darted below deck to type whilst the generator is running because my computer battery ceased to have more than ten minutes of life a couple of years ago. Fortunately, no electricity is needed to prepare dinner so I can finish typing, put away my computer, and go enjoy the great out-of-doors. The generator will need to continue to run because the AC convertor for the freezer is not working and the only time the freezer “freezes” is when the generator is running or we are hooked up to electricity at a marina slip.
The scenery is spectacular and, a while ago, we heard a tree fall. Now Capt. SO has announced he caught a nice perch so I must go attend to my bobber!
Ancora imparo
Wet, We Got!
North Channel Blog for Monday, July 25 2011
Wet, We Got!
We knew it would get choppier out in the channel. The Canadian weather forecast for the North Channel told us that. We left our idyllic anchorage about 10 a.m. and headed out the McBean Channel, which is still a highly sheltered area of water. Shielded nicely from the elements, we motored through to the western end of the McBean and entered the Whalesback Channel which, though a little choppier, was still tamely protected. As Das Boot approached the North Channel, which runs in an east/west orientation, Capt. SO said, “I see white caps.”, which turned out to be an understatement.
We seldom have to run in rough conditions because we rarely “have to”. While Capt. SO could have turned the boat around and headed back to the calm of the McBean Channel, we really did need to get to the Gore Bay Marina, rid the boat of the disgusting smelling garbage in our aft head, get a pump out, fill up the gas tanks, purchase a few more provisions, find some grandson gifts, and have one more serving each of Gore Bay’s fabulous fresh-fruit yogurt, which we traveled eleven hours to get to.
Off we went. We learned quickly that Mother Nature, while tame in comparison to her tricks on the Great Lakes or the Georgian Bay (part of northeastern Lake Huron), still had plenty of surprises for Das Boot today. I was never fearful for my safety so I was able to enjoy the aqua version of a bucking bronco. We traveled through consistent four foot waves, and more than enough five and six-footers. It was the latters (my word) that gave the boat her power-washing for the day. And a good thing it was, as she had been covered by a large, overnight die-off of “no-seeums”. Thousands of them laid down their lives on our Aqua RV throughout the night.
When the five and six-footers crashed over the bow and hardtop, it soon became apparent that there were some things that needed to be moved to more secure positions. Once we got the loose paraphernalia taken care of, it was just a matter of hanging on and not having to move anywhere without a tight grip or handhold. I had to give up finishing my coffee until we found the calmer waters of Gore Bay. Once we “landed” and went below, we found quite a few items that had moved and bounced around during our crossing. Nothing was broken, thankfully, but we did get a lesson in how to prepare the cabin below for wavy conditions the next time. And, we do know that there will be a next time.
So, until your “next time”, may your sails get you where you want to go and may your crossings be peaceful. We’ll hope for the same.
Ancora imparo
What Is That Smell?
North Channel Blog for Sunday July 24 2011
“What Is That Smell?”
To be frank, garbage stinks, no matter how you dress it up. You can hide it, spray it with floral mists, cover it up, mask it with layer after layer of plastic and still the one unsurprising fact of refuse remains: It stinks. If not immediately, then later.
Campers, boaters, RVers, hikers….all have differing methods of dealing with garbage. The rule is that you leave the area you are in just as you found it. Boaters have very stringent rules for disposing of refuse. “In the United States lakes, rivers, bays, sounds and three miles from shore, it is illegal to dump papers, rags, glass, food, metal, crockery and dunnage. For three to twelve miles from shore it is illegal to dump plastic, dunnage, lining and packing materials that float, also if not ground to less than one inch: paper, rags, glass, crockery, metal and food. For twelve to twenty-five miles it is illegal to dump plastic, dunnage, lining and packing materials that float. Outside the twenty-five mile limiti it is illegal to dump plastic. It is also illegal to any vessel to dump plastic trash anywhere in the ocean or navigable waters of the United States. Annex V of the MARPOL TREATY is an International Law for a cleaner, safer marine environment. Violation of these requirements may result in civil penalty up to $25,000.00 fine and imprisonment.” As you can read, the regulations are clear in their statement and intent.
So what are boaters to do? You carry your garbage with you until you can get back to a port/marina where you can properly dispose of your trash.
This makes for some creative solutions to containing the odors associated with trash. Larger boats are often equipped with trash compactors. We do not have one but even those that do still have to deal the trash issue when the compactor is full. We have settled on triple bagging the garbage and stowing it in the aft head. Inside the triple bags are numerous small bags, all tightly tied. Still, with all of that tying and “Ziplocing”, we are getting the faintest wafting of “ode de garbage”. Not bad, but there, nonetheless, as a silent reminder of what we ate and threw away.
There was a folk tune that I heard years ago on the NPR radio show, “Simply Folk”, entitled “Garbage, Garbage, Garbage”. I wish I had a recording of it. We have plenty of it. The composer could use ours as the inspiration for a sequel recording.
“Ancora imparo de garbage”
Could This World Get Any Smaller?
North Channel Blog for Saturday July 23 2011
Could This World Get Any Smaller?
Just when I thought we could not possibly encounter any more “coincidences” on this Aqua RV North Channel trip – more pop up. I have already blogged about having “dockmates” at the Gore Bay Marina, Manitoulin Island, Ontario that had multiple connections to both Capt. SO and I.
I was certain that this trip couldn’t possibly bring any more Kevin Bacon “points of connectivity” and then – Voila! – that is just what happened. When motoring in to anchor-harborage areas, boaters must – out of necessity – be highly aware of where other boats are anchored. There is the whole anchoring “etiquette” thing and then there is the anchoring-safety rule to avoid boats colliding with each other when the wind shifts. As usual, we scoped out the area and noted two other boats in this large, quiet and protected harbour (as the Canadians spell it). One boat was a sailboat and the other was a powerboat. Within about ten minutes of us securing our anchor, a dinghy approached us, ask a question to Capt. SO and we instantly knew that we knew each other and each others' boats……from our previous marina in northern Door County, Wisconsin. In fact, the night before, these boaters had been rafted to another boat….who used to be our dockmates at our previous marina. We chatted with them for about an hour then split to do our own things in the hot afternoon sun. Later we would gather for beverages and conversation.
Just when I thought the coincidences were over……this morning two boats motored into our anchorage “harbour”, with them instantly recognizing our rather “recognizable” boat
They are from our present marina in Door County, Wisconsin. Presently, with only our three boats here, we can say that our “home” marina is well-represented……even in the remoteness of Lake Huron’s North Channel.
It is a very, very small world. I am mindful that I must behave wherever I goeth.
Ancora imparo
Spoilage In Paradise
North Channel Blog for Friday July 22 2011
Spoilage In Paradise
I must ask the reader’s forgiveness for the same-topic string of postings that I am composing. These postings are being typed whilst Capt. SO and I have our Aqua RV in Lake Huron’s North Channel and I have zero-to-limited access to the internet. I had attempted to use Capt. SO’s internet phone tether to connect to the internet but then he got “smart” and called his phone server, only to discover that the charge for using the tether in Canada was cost-prohibitive. Consequently, I am creating the postings as Word documents and will post a bundle when we return to our home-based condo…….in about two weeks from now.
In other words, I have been cut off.
As this posting’s title indicates, we are, indeed, in a remote paradise. Traveling through the North Channel is a breath-taking experience. Even being at Gore Bay’s Municipal Marina gives one the sense of being in paradise lost. The view of the harbor from the Gore Bay Marina is eye-popping and the harbor is often filled with sailboats of every variety that have chosen to anchor out rather than pay slip fees.
Yesterday we left the marina’s cocoon and went exploring, with the intent of spending at least two consecutive nights “on the hook”, if not three. We literally explored with our Aqua RV yesterday, which was fun, even though it was a little unusual for us “Point A to Point B” people. It is difficult to adequately describe with words how remote yet spectacularly beautiful this area is. When the ice fields and glaciers moved through this area thousands - perhaps millions - of years ago, they left behind unbelievable granite formations, clearly visible above ground in the form of mountains, giant boulders protruding far out of the water, and even bigger hazards lurking just below the surface of the water. At night, when the boat’s generator is turned off it is possible to hear nothing……absolutely nothing.
Even in all of this remote paradise, spoilers can come, and come they did the other morning……in the form of a seagull fly-over, with a few dropping their calling cards on the boat. One particularly accurate gull let loose over the open hatch window directly over our forward bed………”and you know the rest of the story.
Even paradise can be spoiled.
Ancora imparo
Shipping Channel
North Channel Blog Thursday July 21 2011
“Shipping Channel”
As we were motoring across Lake Michigan in the early hours of a very foggy morning, I was busy keeping my mind occupied with calm and intelligent thoughts such as: “Is our radar working?” “Where are those blasted fishing nets and buoys?” “Will the boat following us be able to keep us in their “sights”? “Where is my purse? I want it near me in case we ditch.” Once the fog lessened into a perpetual heavy haze, I was able to think creatively and enjoy the ride.
About half way into our nautical journey across Lake Michigan - ( a one-hundred-and-fifty-mile trip that would take eight hours to our first destination) - our way points take us close to and parallel with the shipping channel. Each time we near the shipping channel, I always think about a comparison with the “Shopping Channel”. We always see a variety of vessels on our journey and it would be fun to imagine a Shopping Channel that sold boats.
There would be a wide selection of power boats. Some large – in the 40 to 60 foot range, a few larger, and some smaller – in the 30 – 39 foot range. A good mix between displacement and planning hulls, which means some boats can cross lickity-split and others go putt-putt speed.
You could buy many different styles of sailboats – styles too numerous for me to mention or even know the terminology of. I can only describe a wide array of lengths and also a wide number of sails-per-boat. Some have two, some have three and the longer sloops can have four or more. These longer sloops are spectacular to see. I cannot imagine handling all the lines on these boats.
Commercial boats would be fewer in number to purchase on the “Shipping Channel”, but someone with millions to burn would find some to chose from. These behemoths appear to be moving slowly, creeping through the water, when in reality, they are moving at a fast pace. The water they push with their bows is amazing, easily reaching heights of five to six feet, with their wakes spilling out for hundreds of yards. There are two basic types of large vessels to be seen on Lake Michigan: Lakers and Salties. You can identify the lakers by their low profiles and traditional pilot houses on the bow. Ocean-traveling salties have bulbs in the bow and pilot houses astern. The fleet of ships that ply the Great Lakes continues to shrink, with most, if not all, of them being self loading and unloading. These nautical workhorses carry iron ore, grain, coal, limestone, timber and the like to and from Lake Superior through the DeTour Passage, where the ships pick up and discharge their pilots.
Then there would be the homemade “boat” – if you could call it that – that we saw slipped at one of the marinas. This contraption did float but I’d say that it had a guardian angel somewhere. Made of wood, it had more bungee chords on it than a big-box-store hardware department.
Whatever floats your boat.
Ancora imparo
Island LIfe
Thursday, July 21, 2011
This posting was composed on Wednesday, July 20, 2011.
Title: Island Life
As we are doin’ a “boot-scootin’ boogie”, trying to reach a three-hour-away destination, in the North Channel of Lake Huron, we are passing small island after small island, some large enough to be inhabited, others too long and too thin to harbor anything but seagulls. This semi-remote area of northwestern Lake Huron, with its small-island-dotted geography, is actually home to houses and cottages, accessible only by boat……and then not a short boat ride, either.
A few of these structures are lakefront and not small. I marvel at the desire and personalities of the people who seek out such secluded places in which to get away. What lures individuals to retreat into seclusion? What is their heat source? On a remote island, can they have fuel oil or propane delivered via boat? Are they limited to a wood-burning stove? It would appear there are too many trees for solar power to be viable. Do they have a satellite dish? Can they receive or send information to and from the outside world?
Perhaps their whole goal is to armor themselves even if for brief times, from the onslaught of daily connectivity. I’ll even wager that the only things “bundled” for these people are blankets or wood.
Ancora imparo
Should This Old Habit "Die"?
My newspaper.....my beloved "hardcopy" newspaper. I've been trying the idea on for size, of stopping my newspaper's daily home delivery. Thus far, this has not been difficult because we often halt the daily delivery in the summer and have regular, seven-day-a-week delivery resumed in late September. To achieve this idea, I signed up to receive a daily electronic copy of the newspaper. In the end, this may be the form I select, but for now, after nine weeks, I am still undecided.
After my nine-week experiment with electronic reading through some various online sites, my frustration has only grown - not subsided. I do find that receiving downloads of my favorite comic strips is the crown-jewel reason of "reading" online. Where I can feel my objection and reticence growing is held in two concerns: Number one - I seldom have access to the same internet "speed" that I do at home, so loading information, scrolling, and page turning can be dicey at best. Number two - reading everything online keeps me tied to my laptop's cement foundation. Granted, part of my dilemma is that my laptop's battery died long ago, hence I am forever committed to needing close proximity to an electrical power source - i.e. an outlet. My laptop has not been portable for almost two years. (Yes, my laptop is a dinosaur.) With a paper copy of whatever, I have portability. I can take what I want to read - newspaper, book, magazine - and my beverage of choice and go find a comfortable chair, sofa, bed, or bench - with no concern for finding an electrical outlet. I also realize that someday, when I get a much smaller, new laptop/tablet, my ability to become mobile with my electronic communication will make it much easier to read my newspaper online.
Until then, I keep striving to adjust to the idea of living a paper-free life......but the old habit of holding newsprint in my hands seems to be permanently imprinted in my brain.
I think I'll channel Marcel Marceau.
Ancora imparo
After my nine-week experiment with electronic reading through some various online sites, my frustration has only grown - not subsided. I do find that receiving downloads of my favorite comic strips is the crown-jewel reason of "reading" online. Where I can feel my objection and reticence growing is held in two concerns: Number one - I seldom have access to the same internet "speed" that I do at home, so loading information, scrolling, and page turning can be dicey at best. Number two - reading everything online keeps me tied to my laptop's cement foundation. Granted, part of my dilemma is that my laptop's battery died long ago, hence I am forever committed to needing close proximity to an electrical power source - i.e. an outlet. My laptop has not been portable for almost two years. (Yes, my laptop is a dinosaur.) With a paper copy of whatever, I have portability. I can take what I want to read - newspaper, book, magazine - and my beverage of choice and go find a comfortable chair, sofa, bed, or bench - with no concern for finding an electrical outlet. I also realize that someday, when I get a much smaller, new laptop/tablet, my ability to become mobile with my electronic communication will make it much easier to read my newspaper online.
Until then, I keep striving to adjust to the idea of living a paper-free life......but the old habit of holding newsprint in my hands seems to be permanently imprinted in my brain.
I think I'll channel Marcel Marceau.
Ancora imparo
Friday, August 5, 2011
From Whence Cometh Your Energy?
We are surrounded by energy. One of the more obvious forms is electricity, perhaps the form our society depends on the most. The absence of electricity makes itself known instantly if a storm knocks out power, even for an instant. Electric outages can be simply vexing by having to reset clocks, frustrating if power is not restored relatively quickly (Anyone ever had to go to work in the morning without the benefit of electric appliances or a garage door that would not open?), or life-threatening if an alternative power source is not readily available. Wind, sun and water are other natural sources of energy that man has been attempting to harness for centuries.
There are other non-elemental sources of energy and energy restoration. For some, energy and energy restoration is found from within - perhaps by reading, resting, sleeping, meditating, praying, listening to music, exercising, eating, gardening, cleaning - for those unfortunate folk who find the removal of dirt and dust relaxing. Simply sitting can be both restful and energizing - allowing the body to recharge in a quiet and calm environment.
People - the act of being around, near, or with them - can be energizing to some, while draining and exhaustive to others. Some humans draw energy from others, while others draw energy from their inner selves. A human seems to instinctively know which other humans are restorative and which other humans are septic and deadly to one's inner and outer well-being. Now if we humans would just listen to our instincts......
I continue to draw massive amounts of both energizing power and restorative power from music. There are times when I need to passively listen (Not very often, I might add.) but most of the time I draw my energy from feeling the music - either by directing, physically allowing the pulsing beat to move into and through my body, or a combination of kinesthetically experiencing the beat and listening to chordal structures and progressions. The latter is probably the most powerful of the ways I recharge.
Take some time, today, to first think about what gives you energy - and what does not. Seek out a restorative source - embrace it for as long as practically possible - and avoid at least one that drains you - even if it is another human being.
Energy is a precious commodity. Find yours and enjoy it!
Ancora imparo
There are other non-elemental sources of energy and energy restoration. For some, energy and energy restoration is found from within - perhaps by reading, resting, sleeping, meditating, praying, listening to music, exercising, eating, gardening, cleaning - for those unfortunate folk who find the removal of dirt and dust relaxing. Simply sitting can be both restful and energizing - allowing the body to recharge in a quiet and calm environment.
People - the act of being around, near, or with them - can be energizing to some, while draining and exhaustive to others. Some humans draw energy from others, while others draw energy from their inner selves. A human seems to instinctively know which other humans are restorative and which other humans are septic and deadly to one's inner and outer well-being. Now if we humans would just listen to our instincts......
I continue to draw massive amounts of both energizing power and restorative power from music. There are times when I need to passively listen (Not very often, I might add.) but most of the time I draw my energy from feeling the music - either by directing, physically allowing the pulsing beat to move into and through my body, or a combination of kinesthetically experiencing the beat and listening to chordal structures and progressions. The latter is probably the most powerful of the ways I recharge.
Take some time, today, to first think about what gives you energy - and what does not. Seek out a restorative source - embrace it for as long as practically possible - and avoid at least one that drains you - even if it is another human being.
Energy is a precious commodity. Find yours and enjoy it!
Ancora imparo
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