The last day of September. Does not seem possible on one hand yet, if I were still in a classroom, I would be able to tell you exactly how I had spent the last seven weeks. Two of those weeks would have likely involved almost daily, long stays in my classroom, readying all of the materials for the start-up of the school year and the other five would have been spent with students, in the usual fall rush of preparing for a parade just barely over two weeks into the year and concerts for four bands four weeks after the parade. In addition to this, a teacher would be able to tell you that mid-terms are either due or very close to being due. A teacher can mark the progression of school days by what is approaching and what has transpired.
The weather is having little difficulty announcing what time of year it is. A portion of the upper Midwest was ensnared in high winds beginning yesterday afternoon and continuing through much of today. I am looking at a downed tree across the street, one of many felled in my area from high-wind breakage. I noted on the NOAA marine forecast for South Haven, Michigan, which is located on the southwestern edge of Lake Michigan, that twenty-one foot waves were forecast for today. Those are waves that will stir up some lake sediment!
Along with the predictable fall winds, the cooler days and nights have arrived. Yes, there will be pockets of warmth sprinkled here and there but, for the most part, the scorching heat and humidity that plagued us all summer will be a thing of the past........until next summer. There are now nights where I will voluntarily pull up the comforter over my body and reluctantly crawl out from underneath the following morning.
Area apple orchards are teeming with fresh apples and people of all ages. Pumpkin patches and splashes of bright, chrysanthemum colors peek out from every corner, reminding us that pumpkin pies and apple cider doughnuts are ready to be eaten. Soon I'll be driving to my favorite apple orchard to consume my allotment of one apple-cider doughnut per year.
I can taste that doughnut already.
Ancora imparo
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Full Of Surprises
Today was full of surprises - self-made and life-made. The day began with a last-minute decision to renew my driver's license this morning. Although I had mentally planned to put it on a to-do list for next week, I awakened this morning, looked at my errand list, and thought it would be a good use of Suburban-sucking gas to add a local stop in a predetermined area loop. As I readied myself, I found my hands taking extraordinary care in my appearance. While I've depended on a summer tan to mask uneven skin tones and other skin anomalies, with my rapidly disappearing tan, I reached for a bottle of foundation. "What is this?", I thought. Then when I began rifling through my make-up bag for mascara, I knew I was over-the-top in my desire to fool that ugly little Secretary of State camera that makes one look like a fugitive from justice who has just been apprehended. The care I took with my face was surprise enough but when I grabbed my curling iron and plugged it in. "What has the world come to?", thought I to myself.
I then turned yet another page in my book of surprises and gave careful thought to what I would wear, knowing full well that the wicked take-no-prisoners-Secretary-of-State-camera-capable-of-only-taking-mug-shot pictures would capture my image only from the neck up. "But,", thought I to myself, "I must make my self look ten years younger and ten pounds smaller. This is one camera that has never heard the sentence, "images appear smaller than they really are". Flipping through the hangers, my eyes settled on my "skinny" jeans. Remember those? I wrote about them months ago. After I selected the sweater and top that I would add to the ensemble, I began carefully dressing myself. I got my jeans on, followed by the sleeveless sweater-top and sweater then looked in the mirror, satisfied with the illusion that I had created. As I took my hands to smooth the back of my sweater down my backside, I felt a large lump at the base of my left derriere. Alarmed, I felt it again, fearing the worst, as if some dreadful tumor had grown overnight and attached itself to my rear. Taking the time to investigate, you might imagine my relief at finding a missing bulky Smartwool sock that had stuck to the inside of the denim from the drying cycle. I had a good laugh at the good fortune of not having a tumor on me bum.
Surprises. They come when you least expect them.
Ancora imparo
Ancora imparo
I then turned yet another page in my book of surprises and gave careful thought to what I would wear, knowing full well that the wicked take-no-prisoners-Secretary-of-State-camera-capable-of-only-taking-mug-shot pictures would capture my image only from the neck up. "But,", thought I to myself, "I must make my self look ten years younger and ten pounds smaller. This is one camera that has never heard the sentence, "images appear smaller than they really are". Flipping through the hangers, my eyes settled on my "skinny" jeans. Remember those? I wrote about them months ago. After I selected the sweater and top that I would add to the ensemble, I began carefully dressing myself. I got my jeans on, followed by the sleeveless sweater-top and sweater then looked in the mirror, satisfied with the illusion that I had created. As I took my hands to smooth the back of my sweater down my backside, I felt a large lump at the base of my left derriere. Alarmed, I felt it again, fearing the worst, as if some dreadful tumor had grown overnight and attached itself to my rear. Taking the time to investigate, you might imagine my relief at finding a missing bulky Smartwool sock that had stuck to the inside of the denim from the drying cycle. I had a good laugh at the good fortune of not having a tumor on me bum.
Surprises. They come when you least expect them.
Ancora imparo
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
We're Not Dead Yet
I was born with the not-always-welcomed trait of being the one person in a class to ask the difficult question everyone else wants to ask but is afraid to ask because of possible consequences. To this day I will, more than likely, be the one person in a meeting who names "the elephant in the room". I have handled so many elephants over my lifetime that I should be employed by The Ringling Brothers-Barnum and Bailey Circus Corporation. Handling one more elephant in the room is like breathing out and breathing in.
The elephant is now entering.
There are winds beginning to blow, in several different directions that, to me, signal a disturbing shift in cultural thought, acceptance, and practice. One of these wind shears is blowing from the direction of religion. I would have referred to this as a wind gust but what I am feeling and (more importantly) experiencing is not a gust but a shear.
I just received a reprint from a USA Today article, authored by Veronica Bravo. No publication date is visible on the re-print. The title of this article is "More Americans Customize Religion To Fit Their Personal Needs". The purpose of giving me - and others - this article is probably to justify a major shift in worship styles, content, and focus. The author does bring to light many important point to ponder, but, like any report, her bias shouted to me from the mountain tops: "It's OK to do what you want, when you feel like it, in any manner that makes you happy."
Here is a quote from Bravo's article:
"Sociologist Robert Bellah first saw this phenomenon (the phenomenon of connecting through culture and history in a meaning full way without necessarily religiously practicing) emerging in the 1980"s. In a book he co-authored, Habits of the Heart, he introduces Sheila, a woman who represents this.
Sheila says: I can't remember the last time I went to church. My faith has carried me a long way. It's Sheilaism. Just my own little voice.....It's just try to love yourself and be gentle with yourself. You know, I guess, take care of each other. I think God would want us to take care of each other."
Yes, I understand that with each generation, changes are introduced and adopted, that may be totally opposite from the previous generation's mores, ethics, and morals. This is nothing new and has been happening from the beginning of time. But there seems to be something more insistent about this generation - or those championing it - that says, "Either get on the boat, or we'll leave you onshore. And, oh by the way, we're taking the lifeboat and paddles with us."
Members of my generation and those slightly before mine and those slightly after mine, number in the millions. We have disposable income at our discretion, we have our faculties, and we exist. We deserve to have our opinions not only heard but respected, acknowledged, and - when appropriate - acted upon. We are not deaf, dumb, nor blind. We can read, spell, know our grammar, and are capable of intelligent and cogent thought.
We are not dead yet.
Ancora imparo
The elephant is now entering.
There are winds beginning to blow, in several different directions that, to me, signal a disturbing shift in cultural thought, acceptance, and practice. One of these wind shears is blowing from the direction of religion. I would have referred to this as a wind gust but what I am feeling and (more importantly) experiencing is not a gust but a shear.
I just received a reprint from a USA Today article, authored by Veronica Bravo. No publication date is visible on the re-print. The title of this article is "More Americans Customize Religion To Fit Their Personal Needs". The purpose of giving me - and others - this article is probably to justify a major shift in worship styles, content, and focus. The author does bring to light many important point to ponder, but, like any report, her bias shouted to me from the mountain tops: "It's OK to do what you want, when you feel like it, in any manner that makes you happy."
Here is a quote from Bravo's article:
"Sociologist Robert Bellah first saw this phenomenon (the phenomenon of connecting through culture and history in a meaning full way without necessarily religiously practicing) emerging in the 1980"s. In a book he co-authored, Habits of the Heart, he introduces Sheila, a woman who represents this.
Sheila says: I can't remember the last time I went to church. My faith has carried me a long way. It's Sheilaism. Just my own little voice.....It's just try to love yourself and be gentle with yourself. You know, I guess, take care of each other. I think God would want us to take care of each other."
Yes, I understand that with each generation, changes are introduced and adopted, that may be totally opposite from the previous generation's mores, ethics, and morals. This is nothing new and has been happening from the beginning of time. But there seems to be something more insistent about this generation - or those championing it - that says, "Either get on the boat, or we'll leave you onshore. And, oh by the way, we're taking the lifeboat and paddles with us."
Members of my generation and those slightly before mine and those slightly after mine, number in the millions. We have disposable income at our discretion, we have our faculties, and we exist. We deserve to have our opinions not only heard but respected, acknowledged, and - when appropriate - acted upon. We are not deaf, dumb, nor blind. We can read, spell, know our grammar, and are capable of intelligent and cogent thought.
We are not dead yet.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Googoled
Have you Googled today? Have you googoled today? Do you know what a Googleplex is? Can you identify a googolplex? Could you explain the difference between Google - which can be a noun or a verb these days - and a googol, which is only a noun as far as I can determine.
Today is Google's thirteenth birthday and, consequently, the Google Doodle reflects Google, Inc's birthday celebration. Google's corporate headquarters, affectionately known as Googleplex, is in Mountain View, Santa Clara County, California. A googolplex, on the other hand, is a completely different animal, although given time, Google, Inc. may strive to become as big as a googolplex.
Mathematical lore has it that in 1938 one Edward Kasner's nine-year old nephew, Milton Sirotta, coined the term "googol", then proposed the term googolplex to be "the numeral one, followed by writing zeros until you get tired. This seems a bit sophisticated for a nine-year old, but what the heck! This could have been a very precocious nine-year old. Considering that "googol" and "googolplex" are mathematical terms, then it seems logical that what Carl Sagan said about a "googolplex" would be a verifiable definition of the concept. The esteemed Mr. Sagan estimated that "writing a googolplex in numerals would be physically impossible since doing so would require more space than the known universe provides."
Now this, readers, would be an enormous amount of zeros following a one. I certainly not can fathom a number so large, nor can I imagine my hand holding a writing instrument for the amount of time it would take to create a number so large that the known universe could no longer accommodate it. A googolplex is an infinite number that I cannot imagine, nor wrap my non-mathematical brain around.
When my family was still a nuclear unit, mealtimes were sometimes spent in mathematical-speak with discussions surrounding differential equations - also known to mathematical types as "diffy Q's" and it was not uncommon for the children to recite the numbers following a million; i.e. billion, trillion, quadrillion, quintillion, etc. right up to decillion, which then always prompted the question, "What is the largest number possible?" (Yes, we had mealtime conversations like this.) Back then, Google wasn't even a gleam in the creator's eye, so googol was the only game in town. Now I would wager a guess that most kids would never know what a "googol" is and would simply assume whomever wrote the word down misspelled "Google".
Happy Birthday, Google. Perhaps you will have a googol years of existence.
Ancora imparo
Today is Google's thirteenth birthday and, consequently, the Google Doodle reflects Google, Inc's birthday celebration. Google's corporate headquarters, affectionately known as Googleplex, is in Mountain View, Santa Clara County, California. A googolplex, on the other hand, is a completely different animal, although given time, Google, Inc. may strive to become as big as a googolplex.
Mathematical lore has it that in 1938 one Edward Kasner's nine-year old nephew, Milton Sirotta, coined the term "googol", then proposed the term googolplex to be "the numeral one, followed by writing zeros until you get tired. This seems a bit sophisticated for a nine-year old, but what the heck! This could have been a very precocious nine-year old. Considering that "googol" and "googolplex" are mathematical terms, then it seems logical that what Carl Sagan said about a "googolplex" would be a verifiable definition of the concept. The esteemed Mr. Sagan estimated that "writing a googolplex in numerals would be physically impossible since doing so would require more space than the known universe provides."
Now this, readers, would be an enormous amount of zeros following a one. I certainly not can fathom a number so large, nor can I imagine my hand holding a writing instrument for the amount of time it would take to create a number so large that the known universe could no longer accommodate it. A googolplex is an infinite number that I cannot imagine, nor wrap my non-mathematical brain around.
When my family was still a nuclear unit, mealtimes were sometimes spent in mathematical-speak with discussions surrounding differential equations - also known to mathematical types as "diffy Q's" and it was not uncommon for the children to recite the numbers following a million; i.e. billion, trillion, quadrillion, quintillion, etc. right up to decillion, which then always prompted the question, "What is the largest number possible?" (Yes, we had mealtime conversations like this.) Back then, Google wasn't even a gleam in the creator's eye, so googol was the only game in town. Now I would wager a guess that most kids would never know what a "googol" is and would simply assume whomever wrote the word down misspelled "Google".
Happy Birthday, Google. Perhaps you will have a googol years of existence.
Ancora imparo
Monday, September 26, 2011
Time For New Standards
Our American political scene is rather sad these days. Another government shut-down is being threatened because our elected politicians cannot reach consensus on anything. Democrats cannot agree with each other, The Great Illusionist is discussed in hush tones, around Capital Hill, about being "one and done" and the Republicans, well let's just say the entire party suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder. The Pachyderm Party cannot identify a leader and wouldn't recognize one if seen.
I would like to propose establishing a new and radical system for identifying political leaders. Why not assess potential Congressional, Senate or Presidential candidate by first evaluating their abilities to perform simple, every-day tasks?
Take, for example, the art of ironing. When a person irons they smooth out the wrinkles. A little steam may be required for more stubborn wrinkles, but, in the end, you end up with a wrinkle-free garment, much like situations that require removing wrinkles before reaching a smooth conclusion.
How about baking? In order to bake successfully, a person much follow a recipe to the letter. No fudging or adding or subtracting a little of this or that. Baking demands adhering, to-the-letter, to a set of prescribed instructions.
Another simple, every-day task that could be a determining factor for leadership ability is balancing a checkbook. Juggling household accounts involves making certain that there is enough "real" money with which to purchase food, gasoline, and clothing - basic necessities. When I balance my checking account, I must tally each and every zero because, to a household, recording every zero behind a number is paramount to success or disaster. I cannot just notate 12 billion in my checkbook ledger. I have to physically write out each zero or I will not balance.
Lastly, and perhaps, most importantly, hailing a taxi should be on any list of top-five appraisal tools. Hailing a taxi denotes the ability to pre-plan, to execute, and demonstrates hardiness when the elements are harsh and physically demanding. No wusses are successful in taxi-hailing. It takes a pioneer spirit to hail a taxi. The Little Lord Fauntleroys are the ones riding about in the stretch limos.
I want my leaders to know how to iron, grocery shop, hail a taxi, follow a recipe, balance a checkbook, assemble a Christmas present, and unplug a toilet. Not necessarily in that order. Find one for me - male or female - and I'll vote for that person.
Ancora imparo
I would like to propose establishing a new and radical system for identifying political leaders. Why not assess potential Congressional, Senate or Presidential candidate by first evaluating their abilities to perform simple, every-day tasks?
Take, for example, the art of ironing. When a person irons they smooth out the wrinkles. A little steam may be required for more stubborn wrinkles, but, in the end, you end up with a wrinkle-free garment, much like situations that require removing wrinkles before reaching a smooth conclusion.
How about baking? In order to bake successfully, a person much follow a recipe to the letter. No fudging or adding or subtracting a little of this or that. Baking demands adhering, to-the-letter, to a set of prescribed instructions.
Another simple, every-day task that could be a determining factor for leadership ability is balancing a checkbook. Juggling household accounts involves making certain that there is enough "real" money with which to purchase food, gasoline, and clothing - basic necessities. When I balance my checking account, I must tally each and every zero because, to a household, recording every zero behind a number is paramount to success or disaster. I cannot just notate 12 billion in my checkbook ledger. I have to physically write out each zero or I will not balance.
Lastly, and perhaps, most importantly, hailing a taxi should be on any list of top-five appraisal tools. Hailing a taxi denotes the ability to pre-plan, to execute, and demonstrates hardiness when the elements are harsh and physically demanding. No wusses are successful in taxi-hailing. It takes a pioneer spirit to hail a taxi. The Little Lord Fauntleroys are the ones riding about in the stretch limos.
I want my leaders to know how to iron, grocery shop, hail a taxi, follow a recipe, balance a checkbook, assemble a Christmas present, and unplug a toilet. Not necessarily in that order. Find one for me - male or female - and I'll vote for that person.
Ancora imparo
Friday, September 23, 2011
Blowing Kisses
Have you ever noticed that the world becomes easily out-of-sync when cosmic speeds do not match?
My first indication of speeds being out of synchronization came early just this morning when I arose to continue my obsessive and incessant list-making. Since I had laid in bed making mental lists throughout the night, I thought I might as well haul my derriere out of my warm and cozy bed and start putting pen to paper. This should have worked well, but the speed of my brain did not match the speed of my sight and within moments of being upright, my mind had darted through about a dozen tasks just because my eyes spied an item that lead my brain on a scavenger hunt. Why, even as I am typing this posting, my hand has grabbed my pen multiple times and scribbled more notes on my agenda page for today.
This is not cosmic karma.
The second indication of mismatched speeds came when I was logging in to Blogger. I breezed through my email address - thankfully - but just a micro-second later when my cursor began blinking for my password, instead of my normal Blogger password I found myself typing a sentence that needed to go on my task list for the day.
This is not cosmic karma.
There could be many factors to blame for mis-matching cosmic speeds. The financial markets went bananas yesterday and media markets outdid themselves to declare to the world that the Dow fell five-hundred points, sending "doom, gloom, and agony - all three" (Thank you, Hee Haw!) spreading like wildfire throughout the world. Thrift stores will be doing a burgeoning business today. Another factor to the cosmic chaos must surely be Facebook's new surgical enhancements that few seem to have embraced. After reading all of the Facebook comments and even seeing a picture posted with a traffic sign decrying the Facebook changes, I am left with the suspicion that, perhaps, all of us Facebook "users" use it a little bit too much?????
Thusly, in an effort to realign my cosmic karma, I am back to the theme of yesterday's posting, which now reminds me of a 1950's song, covered by many famous singing artists titled "Little Things Mean A Lot". "Blowing a kiss across the room" is just one example of how the song's lyrics demonstrate how little things do mean a lot, maybe even bringing order back to the cosmos.
Today, I blow kisses to any and all who could use one. I will bet there are many of you. Maybe send one back my way, if you have time?
Ancora imparo
My first indication of speeds being out of synchronization came early just this morning when I arose to continue my obsessive and incessant list-making. Since I had laid in bed making mental lists throughout the night, I thought I might as well haul my derriere out of my warm and cozy bed and start putting pen to paper. This should have worked well, but the speed of my brain did not match the speed of my sight and within moments of being upright, my mind had darted through about a dozen tasks just because my eyes spied an item that lead my brain on a scavenger hunt. Why, even as I am typing this posting, my hand has grabbed my pen multiple times and scribbled more notes on my agenda page for today.
This is not cosmic karma.
The second indication of mismatched speeds came when I was logging in to Blogger. I breezed through my email address - thankfully - but just a micro-second later when my cursor began blinking for my password, instead of my normal Blogger password I found myself typing a sentence that needed to go on my task list for the day.
This is not cosmic karma.
There could be many factors to blame for mis-matching cosmic speeds. The financial markets went bananas yesterday and media markets outdid themselves to declare to the world that the Dow fell five-hundred points, sending "doom, gloom, and agony - all three" (Thank you, Hee Haw!) spreading like wildfire throughout the world. Thrift stores will be doing a burgeoning business today. Another factor to the cosmic chaos must surely be Facebook's new surgical enhancements that few seem to have embraced. After reading all of the Facebook comments and even seeing a picture posted with a traffic sign decrying the Facebook changes, I am left with the suspicion that, perhaps, all of us Facebook "users" use it a little bit too much?????
Thusly, in an effort to realign my cosmic karma, I am back to the theme of yesterday's posting, which now reminds me of a 1950's song, covered by many famous singing artists titled "Little Things Mean A Lot". "Blowing a kiss across the room" is just one example of how the song's lyrics demonstrate how little things do mean a lot, maybe even bringing order back to the cosmos.
Today, I blow kisses to any and all who could use one. I will bet there are many of you. Maybe send one back my way, if you have time?
Ancora imparo
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Life's Simple Pleasures
Just when it feels as if the world is topsy-turvy with seemingly skewed actions and diatribe, life has a way of reminding us that there is good, there can be inner peace, and that happiness is truly in the details. At times, these tiny revelations are reminiscent of lines in Robert Frost's poem, "Fog": The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. Perhaps it is the pause in the morning's rush when one sits with chilly hands wrapped around a warm mug filled with hot liquid - its steam filling the nostrils and wafting upward towards the ceiling. Maybe a small voice that says "Mommy (or Daddy), I love you." as the little arms wrap around your neck before you dash out the door for another day in paradise. It might come in your fingertips as they gently stroke the fur of your pet or the act of just sitting in your favorite chair - even if just for sixty seconds as you gather your thoughts and energy before plowing into the universe we all know as 'work'. For others the peace comes in the quiet contemplation of prayer and reading the Bible or some other spiritually-renewing resource.
Environmentalists speak of renewable energy. Millions - no - billions are spent on this, yet possibly, the most powerful and important need for renewable energy comes from within each of us. The internal force that may whisper or, if ignored for too long, scream "Stop, drop and roll!", which will have nothing to do with fire safety but, rather, with the body's and psyche's need to momentarily regroup and recharge.
Renewing one's self can also come in the form of visible yet nearly imperceptible changes like removing a tie before leaving the workplace for home, the changing of clothes from public attire into your favorite jeans or sweats, washing your face, or sitting on a swing with legs dangling. Any or all of these acts can bring about a mental adjustment that relieves stress or wipes away confusion, frustration or even sadness.
Life's simple pleasures can truly be free of charge and they do wait like little cat feet. We cannot hear them but they are real. We just have to look.
Ancora imparo
Environmentalists speak of renewable energy. Millions - no - billions are spent on this, yet possibly, the most powerful and important need for renewable energy comes from within each of us. The internal force that may whisper or, if ignored for too long, scream "Stop, drop and roll!", which will have nothing to do with fire safety but, rather, with the body's and psyche's need to momentarily regroup and recharge.
Renewing one's self can also come in the form of visible yet nearly imperceptible changes like removing a tie before leaving the workplace for home, the changing of clothes from public attire into your favorite jeans or sweats, washing your face, or sitting on a swing with legs dangling. Any or all of these acts can bring about a mental adjustment that relieves stress or wipes away confusion, frustration or even sadness.
Life's simple pleasures can truly be free of charge and they do wait like little cat feet. We cannot hear them but they are real. We just have to look.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
I Kid You Not
Good coffee and friends seem to bring out unique conversations, regardless of the age or sex of the conversation participants. No matter the time of day, words among friends flow freely - sometimes serious, at times silly and frivolous and yet, at other times trivial yet side-splitting. Such was an impromptu conversation over coffee yesterday afternoon. The coffee-maker - our self-proclaimed coffee snob, connoisseur, and barista - is a highly educated gentleman with a keen intellect and wicked sense of humor. His infectious laugh inspires laughter from those around him and, you can be certain, there will never be a dull moment.
As most lively conversations go, the path of dialogue was unpredictable - the kind of conversation where one comment leads to another and another and another until the topic at hand is at a 180 degree from whence it began. Somewhere in the repartee, the comment turned to my childhood, where Capt. SO shared that my family routinely ate roadkill. (Yes, it is true. My dad worked for both the state and county road commissions and if the carcass was warm, he would bring it home and my mother would cook it for dinner.) I was regaling the group with all the different animal meat I had eaten as a kid and when I said the word, "opossum", our barista immediately said, "You mean 'possum'". I replied, "No, opossum". The I-Pad immediately came out of hiding and "we" looked up opossum versus possum. After all, one is never too old to learn.
As it turns out, this American marsupial is a transient creature - one that answers to many names. Didelphis virginiana, order Didelphimorphia, family Didelphidae , or Virginian opossum. It is an omnivore that also answers to the name "possum" for short or "O'possum" if the mammal hailed from Ireland. If you have been wounded by snipers and you feign death, then it can be said that you are "playing possum". And I have now shared the knowledge that we all gained yesterday.
This blog topic was born from a coffee conversation. No alcohol was involved, although I recognize that might be a tad bit hard to believe. I kid you not.
Ancora impossumaro
As most lively conversations go, the path of dialogue was unpredictable - the kind of conversation where one comment leads to another and another and another until the topic at hand is at a 180 degree from whence it began. Somewhere in the repartee, the comment turned to my childhood, where Capt. SO shared that my family routinely ate roadkill. (Yes, it is true. My dad worked for both the state and county road commissions and if the carcass was warm, he would bring it home and my mother would cook it for dinner.) I was regaling the group with all the different animal meat I had eaten as a kid and when I said the word, "opossum", our barista immediately said, "You mean 'possum'". I replied, "No, opossum". The I-Pad immediately came out of hiding and "we" looked up opossum versus possum. After all, one is never too old to learn.
As it turns out, this American marsupial is a transient creature - one that answers to many names. Didelphis virginiana, order Didelphimorphia, family Didelphidae , or Virginian opossum. It is an omnivore that also answers to the name "possum" for short or "O'possum" if the mammal hailed from Ireland. If you have been wounded by snipers and you feign death, then it can be said that you are "playing possum". And I have now shared the knowledge that we all gained yesterday.
This blog topic was born from a coffee conversation. No alcohol was involved, although I recognize that might be a tad bit hard to believe. I kid you not.
Ancora impossumaro
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
There Is A Season........
Franz Joseph Haydn was a composer during the Classical Period's mid-to-late 1700's. He had a great sense of humor and one bit of musical evidence of his humor is his Farewell Symphony. During the performance of the Farewell Symphony for Prince Esterhazy, a Hungarian royal to whom Haydn was employed, Haydn had his musicians leave the stage one at a time. The reason? The musicians were tired and needed a vacation and this was Haydn's way of informing the Prince who, incidentally, did let the musicians have their much-needed respite.
Why am I relating this story about a long-dead composer and his quirky Farewell Symphony? Because, at this time of year, the scenario of leaving one-by-one is what happens to the boats in a marina. Unless a boat from your dock area departs, leaving both an auditory clue and a visual clue via an open slip, you are not likely to notice the gradual decline in the number of boats, until one day you look out over the docks and realize that there are more open slips than occupied spaces.
With a rapidly approaching autumn, the evidence of boaters' departures is everywhere - from the overloaded dock carts, brimming with blankets, comforters, and pillows to the vehicles with their trunks and side doors open while people cram their summer belongings into the interior spaces, hoping that everything will fit one way or the other. Other signs are trash receptacles stuffed to over-flowing and the unused-food bin filled to the top, waiting to be emptied and delivered to the local food pantry.
Packing up any home or RV (land or otherwise), at the culmination of a season, signals the end of fun and the return to reality. Just as students decry the end of summer and the beginning of the school's calendar year or snowbirds mourn the closure of fun-filled winter months with friends, so do summer's players feel a similar sense of gloom as Labor Day comes and goes and with its passage, the arrival of Canadian air and the departure of Canada geese.
There is a season for everything and I now now turn, turn the calendar pages toward fall.
Ancora imparo
Why am I relating this story about a long-dead composer and his quirky Farewell Symphony? Because, at this time of year, the scenario of leaving one-by-one is what happens to the boats in a marina. Unless a boat from your dock area departs, leaving both an auditory clue and a visual clue via an open slip, you are not likely to notice the gradual decline in the number of boats, until one day you look out over the docks and realize that there are more open slips than occupied spaces.
With a rapidly approaching autumn, the evidence of boaters' departures is everywhere - from the overloaded dock carts, brimming with blankets, comforters, and pillows to the vehicles with their trunks and side doors open while people cram their summer belongings into the interior spaces, hoping that everything will fit one way or the other. Other signs are trash receptacles stuffed to over-flowing and the unused-food bin filled to the top, waiting to be emptied and delivered to the local food pantry.
Packing up any home or RV (land or otherwise), at the culmination of a season, signals the end of fun and the return to reality. Just as students decry the end of summer and the beginning of the school's calendar year or snowbirds mourn the closure of fun-filled winter months with friends, so do summer's players feel a similar sense of gloom as Labor Day comes and goes and with its passage, the arrival of Canadian air and the departure of Canada geese.
There is a season for everything and I now now turn, turn the calendar pages toward fall.
Ancora imparo
Monday, September 19, 2011
Glorious, Yet Strange
Capt. SO and I just returned from a ride out on Lake Michigan with the Aqua RV. At this time of year, the opportunities afforded by Mother Nature for reasonably comfortable cruising are limited and unpredictable. The marine weather forecast can say one thing for the next day and by the time the "next day" arrives, she can have totally changed her mind. Shoot, she can change her mind from hour to hour.
Today's ride was about two hours in length and, Capt. SO reports, we went about twenty nautical miles. Mid-afternoon turned out to be a glorious example of a fall day and I am thankful we were able to take advantage of the sun and relatively tame wind. Of course, cruising down the channel to the Lake is not representative of what one will encounter on Lake Michigan so you had better have done your homework before you stick your boating toe into the Big Pond too far.
I am left with two indelible memories of the afternoon's outing. First, the sun was at just the right angle to see the varying depths and accompanying coloration associated with differing depths. It was like looking at long hair floating on the surface of the water, with lighter-colored aqua tendrils mixed throughout the deeper blue. The contrast was striking and stunningly beautiful - like jewels reflecting in the sunlight.
The second memory of the afternoon's ride is a bit more unsettling for me. The combination of the effect of two days of Lake Michigan wind left the lake with an interesting effect. On the surface, you would say that there was a one-to-two foot chop.....but, underneath that chop were great swells. OK, great to me, but not great by lake measure, I know. The swells were about four feet in height and from my vantage point of the back deck, it looked like even greater height when the bow of the Aqua RV would dip down to the bottom of a void in swells. This was a truly tame ride, on one hand, yet on another hand, it was the first time I was ever aware of how I could be intimidated by a Great Lake and the force behind the water combined with wind. I was aware that it would not take much increase in wind for the swells and chop to quickly turn to outright five-to-six footers - which is not dangerous by any means - but not fun, either.
I don't know if Mother Nature will afford us one more ride on Das Boot before the end of our season, but if not, it was a glorious ride.
Ancora imparo
Today's ride was about two hours in length and, Capt. SO reports, we went about twenty nautical miles. Mid-afternoon turned out to be a glorious example of a fall day and I am thankful we were able to take advantage of the sun and relatively tame wind. Of course, cruising down the channel to the Lake is not representative of what one will encounter on Lake Michigan so you had better have done your homework before you stick your boating toe into the Big Pond too far.
I am left with two indelible memories of the afternoon's outing. First, the sun was at just the right angle to see the varying depths and accompanying coloration associated with differing depths. It was like looking at long hair floating on the surface of the water, with lighter-colored aqua tendrils mixed throughout the deeper blue. The contrast was striking and stunningly beautiful - like jewels reflecting in the sunlight.
The second memory of the afternoon's ride is a bit more unsettling for me. The combination of the effect of two days of Lake Michigan wind left the lake with an interesting effect. On the surface, you would say that there was a one-to-two foot chop.....but, underneath that chop were great swells. OK, great to me, but not great by lake measure, I know. The swells were about four feet in height and from my vantage point of the back deck, it looked like even greater height when the bow of the Aqua RV would dip down to the bottom of a void in swells. This was a truly tame ride, on one hand, yet on another hand, it was the first time I was ever aware of how I could be intimidated by a Great Lake and the force behind the water combined with wind. I was aware that it would not take much increase in wind for the swells and chop to quickly turn to outright five-to-six footers - which is not dangerous by any means - but not fun, either.
I don't know if Mother Nature will afford us one more ride on Das Boot before the end of our season, but if not, it was a glorious ride.
Ancora imparo
Reality Schmality
Begging your pardon, but I feel compelled to say that "reality" television is one of the truest oxymorons.......ever. Is the viewing public really so gullible to think that what we see on the tiny screen is actually what happens? I at least give reality "star" Kendra Wilkinson credit for admitting on morning television that some scenes have to be "re-staged" in order to properly represent the scene.
First of all, who creates these shows? Secondly, why do producers decide to take on these projects and, thirdly, where do the producers come up with the individuals to be the "starz" of the shows? When I heard that the "Real Housewives" franchise might be in trouble, I was nearly brought to my knees with tears, thinking about the national tragedy that will occur if we, the viewing public, cannot see inside the lives of these vapid, witchy, self-aggrandizing, selfish, and conceited women. I said, "Oh, no!", and threw my forearm across my forehead in bereft frustration.
Just for one moment, I wish that television-show creators would take on the project for the kind of woman that the Beatles sang about in the 1968 recording of "Lady Madonna".
Lady Madonna, children at your feet,
Wonder how you manage to make ends meet?
Who will find the money when you pay the rent?
Did you know that money was heaven sent?
Lady Madonna, baby at your breast,
Wonder how you manage to feed the rest?
Tuesday afternoon is never-ending,
Wednesday morning papers never come
Thursday night your stocking needed mending,
See how they run.
Obviously, I've picked through the lyrics but the generalization is still clear. "Lady Madonna" represents reality for so many more women than the starz of reality television shows. Starz that are pampered, spoiled and possess a sense of entitlement that would make liberals blush.
My goodness, my soapbox was a bit elevated today. Please accept my apologies.
Ancora impoligetico
First of all, who creates these shows? Secondly, why do producers decide to take on these projects and, thirdly, where do the producers come up with the individuals to be the "starz" of the shows? When I heard that the "Real Housewives" franchise might be in trouble, I was nearly brought to my knees with tears, thinking about the national tragedy that will occur if we, the viewing public, cannot see inside the lives of these vapid, witchy, self-aggrandizing, selfish, and conceited women. I said, "Oh, no!", and threw my forearm across my forehead in bereft frustration.
Just for one moment, I wish that television-show creators would take on the project for the kind of woman that the Beatles sang about in the 1968 recording of "Lady Madonna".
Lady Madonna, children at your feet,
Wonder how you manage to make ends meet?
Who will find the money when you pay the rent?
Did you know that money was heaven sent?
Lady Madonna, baby at your breast,
Wonder how you manage to feed the rest?
Tuesday afternoon is never-ending,
Wednesday morning papers never come
Thursday night your stocking needed mending,
See how they run.
Obviously, I've picked through the lyrics but the generalization is still clear. "Lady Madonna" represents reality for so many more women than the starz of reality television shows. Starz that are pampered, spoiled and possess a sense of entitlement that would make liberals blush.
My goodness, my soapbox was a bit elevated today. Please accept my apologies.
Ancora impoligetico
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Walk A Mile In My Shoes
You know the old saying, "Walk a mile in my shoes" ......... before passing judgement on me and what I do. I know that it is true that it makes little sense to place blame or point fingers at someone until you have, well, walked a mile in his or her shoes, boot, sandals, sliders, wedgies, slippers, flip flops, crocs, or Vibram Fivefingers. (The latter footwear is poorly named because it is not fingers, but rather toes, that go in each appendage space. They should be called Vibram Fivetoes.)
Anyway, it can be challenging to view a situation from afar or even close-up and not feel the urge to comment. But, there do seem to be some situations that shout " logical choice" and not "multiple choice". One such situation might be when to give up driving. Admittedly, this is a decision that can be fraught with drama, trauma, and hurt feelings - especially on the part of the one being asked to surrender the car keys forever.
Legally, there is not much clarity nor consistency. In some states, (where I am aware of the procedure) the process of the cessation of driving can begin with a complaint being lodged, with law enforcement officials, against said driver. The complaint then results in a mandatory behind-the-wheel driving test with state motor-vehicle officials. If the controversial driver passes this exam then questioning ability is a moot point and the person can continue to drive with no restrictions.
Setting aside the legal ramifications, there is always the plea from family members and friends to the questionable driver, hoping that approach will bring common sense to the person. My observation with this scenario is that it is rarely effective. Giving up the keys to the Grand Am is akin to surrendering independence, which is anathema to most individuals. The resulting consequence is that Uncle Joe or Aunt Matilda can continue to ply the highways and byways until such time that they either stop of their own volition or some event causes them to be forced to give up the steering wheel and four tires.
I can only hope that I sell my wheels long before my friends and loved ones find it necessary to begin hinting, refusing to ride with me, or making anonymous phone calls to the authorities.
We all may be wearing these shoes some day. I hope that more of us choose voluntary surrender that involuntary grounding.
Ancora imparo
Anyway, it can be challenging to view a situation from afar or even close-up and not feel the urge to comment. But, there do seem to be some situations that shout " logical choice" and not "multiple choice". One such situation might be when to give up driving. Admittedly, this is a decision that can be fraught with drama, trauma, and hurt feelings - especially on the part of the one being asked to surrender the car keys forever.
Legally, there is not much clarity nor consistency. In some states, (where I am aware of the procedure) the process of the cessation of driving can begin with a complaint being lodged, with law enforcement officials, against said driver. The complaint then results in a mandatory behind-the-wheel driving test with state motor-vehicle officials. If the controversial driver passes this exam then questioning ability is a moot point and the person can continue to drive with no restrictions.
Setting aside the legal ramifications, there is always the plea from family members and friends to the questionable driver, hoping that approach will bring common sense to the person. My observation with this scenario is that it is rarely effective. Giving up the keys to the Grand Am is akin to surrendering independence, which is anathema to most individuals. The resulting consequence is that Uncle Joe or Aunt Matilda can continue to ply the highways and byways until such time that they either stop of their own volition or some event causes them to be forced to give up the steering wheel and four tires.
I can only hope that I sell my wheels long before my friends and loved ones find it necessary to begin hinting, refusing to ride with me, or making anonymous phone calls to the authorities.
We all may be wearing these shoes some day. I hope that more of us choose voluntary surrender that involuntary grounding.
Ancora imparo
Friday, September 16, 2011
Cookies, The Universal Cure
I am a firm believer that cookies have many uses other than tasty orbs for masticating and swallowing and today's "Zits" comic strip confirms my belief. To summarize, the gangly teenage son comes home, presumably from school, where he has had a horrible day. He pronounces his hate for the world and everyone in it, then ends his tirade by telling his mother that the cookie she put in his lunch really was a nice touch.
My case in point - cookies can and do assuage even the most upset of individuals. I have previously written about my belief in the power of food as both a sustaining and placating force. We humans know we need food in order to exist and, many times, we need food in order to exist peacefully - both with others and within ourselves.
Cookies seem to be small, yet mighty motivators for people of all ages and stages. Cookies can be enjoyed by the very young and the very old, the very poor and the well-to-do as well as the influential and the uninfluential. Cookies seem to be a universal "Balm in Gilead" for a variety of situations in which tears might flow or tempers might flare.
Thusly, on this, the sixteenth day of September, in the year of our Lord, two thousand and eleven, I propose to throw away all pharmaceuticals and headache remedies associated with stress and anger and, instead, freely pass out homemade cookies to all whose day (or days) went badly. This shift from chemical dependency to cookie dependency could prove to be just what the doctor ordered!
Ancora imparo
My case in point - cookies can and do assuage even the most upset of individuals. I have previously written about my belief in the power of food as both a sustaining and placating force. We humans know we need food in order to exist and, many times, we need food in order to exist peacefully - both with others and within ourselves.
Cookies seem to be small, yet mighty motivators for people of all ages and stages. Cookies can be enjoyed by the very young and the very old, the very poor and the well-to-do as well as the influential and the uninfluential. Cookies seem to be a universal "Balm in Gilead" for a variety of situations in which tears might flow or tempers might flare.
Thusly, on this, the sixteenth day of September, in the year of our Lord, two thousand and eleven, I propose to throw away all pharmaceuticals and headache remedies associated with stress and anger and, instead, freely pass out homemade cookies to all whose day (or days) went badly. This shift from chemical dependency to cookie dependency could prove to be just what the doctor ordered!
Ancora imparo
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Deconstruction, Anyone?
I'm a Food Network fan. Not quite a junkie, but a fan. I enjoy watching certain Food Network shows because I learn food preparation techniques, cooking techniques, find recipes, observe food presentation techniques, and just learn more about all types of foods. I have become more receptive to trying different ingredients and spices simply because I've seen them prepared and listened to how they should be treated.
I especially enjoy the shows, "Chopped", "Restaurant Impossible", and "Iron Chef". The time challenge that is always present in these three shows intrigues me and I am amazed how the contestants deal with the clock-issue constantly looming over their heads. Of the three aforementioned shows, two deal with secret ingredients and how to tantalizingly cook them in an unbelievably short amount of time.
One of the culinary terms I have become familiar with is "deconstructed". At first I did not understand the concept of deconstructing food but now that I do, I am aware that it used frequently in cooking programs. On a recent encore performance of "Chopped", one of the contestants made a deconstructed sweet potato pie, which, as far as I could tell, simply took the main aspects of the pie and treated them as separate entities. The result must have impressed the judges, because the deconstructed sweet potato pie helped the woman earn the title of "Chopped Champion" and $10,000.00.
Consequently, I have been toying with deconstructing recipes. Please note that I said "deconstructing", not destroying. There have been three notably destroyed recipes in my adult-cooking life: Rhubarb "limp" as it was coined, green creamed asparagus for St. Patrick's Day which I was asked to never make again, and dandelion-green salad that I made with substituted low-fat ingredients and turkey bacon which I threw away and asked myself to NEVER make that way again.
If I had to make my own version of deconstructed anything I think it could be dandelion-green salad, though, because the separate ingredients are so tasty and delicious. Just thinking about fried bacon, boiled potatoes, sour cream, scrambled eggs and dandelion greens in a vinegar sauce does sound tempting.......at least to moi.
There just aren't too many recipes where you can deconstruct the ingredients and still have edible and delicious food. Perhaps baked chocolate-chip cookies would qualify. After all, the main, separate ingredient in chocolate chip cookies is raw chocolate-chip cookie dough and there is not much tastier than that, now is there?
I'm open to suggestions.
Ancora imparo
I especially enjoy the shows, "Chopped", "Restaurant Impossible", and "Iron Chef". The time challenge that is always present in these three shows intrigues me and I am amazed how the contestants deal with the clock-issue constantly looming over their heads. Of the three aforementioned shows, two deal with secret ingredients and how to tantalizingly cook them in an unbelievably short amount of time.
One of the culinary terms I have become familiar with is "deconstructed". At first I did not understand the concept of deconstructing food but now that I do, I am aware that it used frequently in cooking programs. On a recent encore performance of "Chopped", one of the contestants made a deconstructed sweet potato pie, which, as far as I could tell, simply took the main aspects of the pie and treated them as separate entities. The result must have impressed the judges, because the deconstructed sweet potato pie helped the woman earn the title of "Chopped Champion" and $10,000.00.
Consequently, I have been toying with deconstructing recipes. Please note that I said "deconstructing", not destroying. There have been three notably destroyed recipes in my adult-cooking life: Rhubarb "limp" as it was coined, green creamed asparagus for St. Patrick's Day which I was asked to never make again, and dandelion-green salad that I made with substituted low-fat ingredients and turkey bacon which I threw away and asked myself to NEVER make that way again.
If I had to make my own version of deconstructed anything I think it could be dandelion-green salad, though, because the separate ingredients are so tasty and delicious. Just thinking about fried bacon, boiled potatoes, sour cream, scrambled eggs and dandelion greens in a vinegar sauce does sound tempting.......at least to moi.
There just aren't too many recipes where you can deconstruct the ingredients and still have edible and delicious food. Perhaps baked chocolate-chip cookies would qualify. After all, the main, separate ingredient in chocolate chip cookies is raw chocolate-chip cookie dough and there is not much tastier than that, now is there?
I'm open to suggestions.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday Has Passed And Yet I Whine
"Get with the program!" "Yer either fer us or agin us." "You're either part of the problem or part of the solution." "Either get on board or get left at the station." "You're either in or out." "If you think you cannot handle the heat, get out of the kitchen."
All of these idiomatic expressions leave you with one thought, don't they? "Get with the program!" Well, what if I do not like the program? People cannot and will not "get with" programs they do not agree with nor cannot buy in to. So, what is the recourse?
I have been associated with a group that, for well over thirty adult years, has a source of refuge, solace, joy, creativity, and motivation. Suddenly, I am finding myself surrounded by autocratic decisions, with seemingly little desire for input from people like me - the "little" people. Perhaps this group is becoming to large, too unwieldy, too unable to connect with us insignificant folk who have neither millions nor influential jobs.
Really, I am trying desperately to "like" the program, so I can "get with it" but until my force-feeding ceases, until I am convinced that my voice, and the voices of others like me, will be heard and not just given a perfunctory nodding acknowledgement followed by blatant dismissal, I will be unable to buy into the program. If voices are not going to be listened to, then give us the courtesy of letting us know right up front.
I am looking for the exit sign from the kitchen.
Ancora disenfranchised imparo
All of these idiomatic expressions leave you with one thought, don't they? "Get with the program!" Well, what if I do not like the program? People cannot and will not "get with" programs they do not agree with nor cannot buy in to. So, what is the recourse?
I have been associated with a group that, for well over thirty adult years, has a source of refuge, solace, joy, creativity, and motivation. Suddenly, I am finding myself surrounded by autocratic decisions, with seemingly little desire for input from people like me - the "little" people. Perhaps this group is becoming to large, too unwieldy, too unable to connect with us insignificant folk who have neither millions nor influential jobs.
Really, I am trying desperately to "like" the program, so I can "get with it" but until my force-feeding ceases, until I am convinced that my voice, and the voices of others like me, will be heard and not just given a perfunctory nodding acknowledgement followed by blatant dismissal, I will be unable to buy into the program. If voices are not going to be listened to, then give us the courtesy of letting us know right up front.
I am looking for the exit sign from the kitchen.
Ancora disenfranchised imparo
Whining About Whining
Yesterday's television - both cable and network news - carried the news "flash" that Fosamax, a drug used to fight osteoporosis, had studied whining and discovered that Mondays are the "whiniest" of all the days of the week. Really? Someone needed to research this, spending who-knows-how-much money on the study? As if anyone in the workplace, home, or any other space that draws people together knows. It is no wonder that a pharmaceutical company was the deep-pockets that had money with which the study could be funded. I do hope that our tax dollars did not subsidize this trivial study in any way, but my cynicism tells me otherwise.
Admittedly, there are some of us humans who know no day-of-the-week boundaries for whining. If you are a toddler, you are predisposed to whine. If you are a Hollywood star or starlet, it is expected that you will be a whiner of the highest order. Many of us adults are no stranger to whining and, in fact, can whine with the best of them.
Why do we whine? Is there a difference between whining and complaining? Perhaps in tone? I think one of the best "whining" voices I've ever heard is from the actress who played Janice on the "Friends" television show. For those of you familiar with her voice.....is that not the perfect whining voice?
Perhaps we whine because we are unhappy, dissatisfied, despondent, in pain, recovering from being dumped or shafted, or feeling disenfranchised. There are probably as many reasons to whine as there are people who voice their complaints. In a discussion last night, this case study was mentioned and we all chuckled at the idea of not only studying whining but studying which day of the week had the highest degree of whining. As the conversation concluded, we laughed even harder when we realized that we were whining about whining.
I think I will compile a list of things about which I'd like to whine. It never hurts to have some readily available topics upon which to draw.
Ancora imparo
Admittedly, there are some of us humans who know no day-of-the-week boundaries for whining. If you are a toddler, you are predisposed to whine. If you are a Hollywood star or starlet, it is expected that you will be a whiner of the highest order. Many of us adults are no stranger to whining and, in fact, can whine with the best of them.
Why do we whine? Is there a difference between whining and complaining? Perhaps in tone? I think one of the best "whining" voices I've ever heard is from the actress who played Janice on the "Friends" television show. For those of you familiar with her voice.....is that not the perfect whining voice?
Perhaps we whine because we are unhappy, dissatisfied, despondent, in pain, recovering from being dumped or shafted, or feeling disenfranchised. There are probably as many reasons to whine as there are people who voice their complaints. In a discussion last night, this case study was mentioned and we all chuckled at the idea of not only studying whining but studying which day of the week had the highest degree of whining. As the conversation concluded, we laughed even harder when we realized that we were whining about whining.
I think I will compile a list of things about which I'd like to whine. It never hurts to have some readily available topics upon which to draw.
Ancora imparo
Monday, September 12, 2011
Chapters Closed So Others Can Open
They were fascinating to watch - these two guys who have been around the block a time or time-and-a-half, yet could still leap up onto tractor seats as if they were teenagers. And leap they did, time after time at the auctioneer's request, to start up the antique tractors and other farm machinery with engines that needed to be started to prove to the crowd of prospective buyers that the equipment worked.
The auctioneer, a seasoned gentleman who has seen lots of seasons, was a burly sort of fellow, kind of like the wagon-master character Ward Bond played in the old television series, "Wagon Train". He was a straight-shooting, dryly humorous Republican-who-told-it-like-he-sees-it, and clearly very good at what he does. He and his team, which included auction wranglers, a trailer specifically for registering and paying, and a food wagon, were a finely-tuned operation. The auctioneer and his assistant were perched atop a pickup bed, in a specially made camper-top that had open windows on all sides and a public address system that worked consistently - unlike other, much more expensive systems in public places.
The crowd - mostly men - was attired, for the most part, in jeans and work-type shirts, with a few chinos and dress shirts thrown in. There were some women, a few children from time to time, and one darling puppy, who - as far as I was concerned - was the star of the whole day! Most of the vehicles parked were of the working, heavy-duty-pick-up type, many of which were pulling large trailers, capable of hauling away tractors and other large equipment. These guys came to buy, and buy they did, although as a group, I thought they were a cagey lot who kept the prices low and came away with mostly "steal-type" deals.
Because it had been a very long time since I had been at a sale of this type, I had forgotten about the flow of an auction. Start with the junque, the small stuff, then move progressively through the rest, saving the more expensive items for last. Few people left as the hours progressed, as I guess most present knew the drill and what to expect. Mother Nature, for her part, did a magnificent job, keeping the sun out, a pleasant breeze going, the bees to a minimum, and the ground bone dry so that grass was not destroyed as people tramped over it and wheels bearing thousands of pounds rolled across it.
The equipment, save for a few pieces of advertised "non-working" status, was washed, polished, spit-shined, gassed and tuned up, ready to start at a moment's notice. Only two vehicles, an old International and a Model T, voiced any displeasure at being asked to perform their start-up routine. But, after a bit of coaxing, start-up they did and proved they could still muster their cylinders to get the job done.
While the sale probably cleared out three or four barns, in two different locations, and could be deemed a success on a certain level, it had to be poignant for the two sellers, to say the least. Equipment that had long-term emotional ties was sold. Equipment that these two once rode on as kids, working family farms, will now reside at other farms.
Chapters closed so others can open. Is that not the way life works?
Ancora imparo
The auctioneer, a seasoned gentleman who has seen lots of seasons, was a burly sort of fellow, kind of like the wagon-master character Ward Bond played in the old television series, "Wagon Train". He was a straight-shooting, dryly humorous Republican-who-told-it-like-he-sees-it, and clearly very good at what he does. He and his team, which included auction wranglers, a trailer specifically for registering and paying, and a food wagon, were a finely-tuned operation. The auctioneer and his assistant were perched atop a pickup bed, in a specially made camper-top that had open windows on all sides and a public address system that worked consistently - unlike other, much more expensive systems in public places.
The crowd - mostly men - was attired, for the most part, in jeans and work-type shirts, with a few chinos and dress shirts thrown in. There were some women, a few children from time to time, and one darling puppy, who - as far as I was concerned - was the star of the whole day! Most of the vehicles parked were of the working, heavy-duty-pick-up type, many of which were pulling large trailers, capable of hauling away tractors and other large equipment. These guys came to buy, and buy they did, although as a group, I thought they were a cagey lot who kept the prices low and came away with mostly "steal-type" deals.
Because it had been a very long time since I had been at a sale of this type, I had forgotten about the flow of an auction. Start with the junque, the small stuff, then move progressively through the rest, saving the more expensive items for last. Few people left as the hours progressed, as I guess most present knew the drill and what to expect. Mother Nature, for her part, did a magnificent job, keeping the sun out, a pleasant breeze going, the bees to a minimum, and the ground bone dry so that grass was not destroyed as people tramped over it and wheels bearing thousands of pounds rolled across it.
The equipment, save for a few pieces of advertised "non-working" status, was washed, polished, spit-shined, gassed and tuned up, ready to start at a moment's notice. Only two vehicles, an old International and a Model T, voiced any displeasure at being asked to perform their start-up routine. But, after a bit of coaxing, start-up they did and proved they could still muster their cylinders to get the job done.
While the sale probably cleared out three or four barns, in two different locations, and could be deemed a success on a certain level, it had to be poignant for the two sellers, to say the least. Equipment that had long-term emotional ties was sold. Equipment that these two once rode on as kids, working family farms, will now reside at other farms.
Chapters closed so others can open. Is that not the way life works?
Ancora imparo
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Silent Reminders
My mind has been operating at Warp Speed today, dealing with what seems like a million items all at once. The orange shirts for tomorrow's traffic direction are finished, a Farmer's Market trip to pick up ingredients for gazpacho was completed earlier today, other errands finished, important emails sent, potatoes and eggs boiled in preparation for making potato salad. Composing an extra blog posting today, knowing how jammed up tomorrow will be, is now in the process of being completed and clean sheets are waiting to be put back on the bed. Next will be more work on preparing the music to hand out to the members of the choir I direct. Now that I have made the decision on which selections to program on the Sundays that we sing, the remaining tasks will be simple and relaxing.
As all of this high degree of accomplishment has been swirling around me, I have been trying to squeeze in everyday mundane tasks, like pick up the clutter on the kitchen counters, entering debit slips into my checking account register, and thinking about getting out to the mailbox.
It is actually the last task I listed that was the most difficult to accomplish. About an hour ago, I finally opened up the front door and stepped out into the muted sunshine and relatively quiet street to go fetch the mail. As is the norm these days, all of the mail was junque mail so I was able to peruse through it quickly and look about at other "things".......namely, my neighbors' yards, which I noticed were looking highly patriotic. As far as I could see, my neighborhood homeowners had placed miniature American flags inside their common areas. Then I looked at our barren place and realized that, in my busyness today, I had forgotten about that which few Americans can "forget" over the next twenty-four hours. 9-11. I scrambled down the steps to our lower level, remembering that I had - tucked away somewhere - small American flags. With little effort, I located them and promptly placed them outside in our common mulched areas.
All these little flags do get the message across. A silent reminder of unity - what our country endured, and the hope that we have in the future of this great nation. May no one or any country - even from within - tarnish, diminish, or destroy the freedom that our forefathers fought for and our brave soldiers continue to uphold.
Stay strong, America.
Ancora imparo
As all of this high degree of accomplishment has been swirling around me, I have been trying to squeeze in everyday mundane tasks, like pick up the clutter on the kitchen counters, entering debit slips into my checking account register, and thinking about getting out to the mailbox.
It is actually the last task I listed that was the most difficult to accomplish. About an hour ago, I finally opened up the front door and stepped out into the muted sunshine and relatively quiet street to go fetch the mail. As is the norm these days, all of the mail was junque mail so I was able to peruse through it quickly and look about at other "things".......namely, my neighbors' yards, which I noticed were looking highly patriotic. As far as I could see, my neighborhood homeowners had placed miniature American flags inside their common areas. Then I looked at our barren place and realized that, in my busyness today, I had forgotten about that which few Americans can "forget" over the next twenty-four hours. 9-11. I scrambled down the steps to our lower level, remembering that I had - tucked away somewhere - small American flags. With little effort, I located them and promptly placed them outside in our common mulched areas.
All these little flags do get the message across. A silent reminder of unity - what our country endured, and the hope that we have in the future of this great nation. May no one or any country - even from within - tarnish, diminish, or destroy the freedom that our forefathers fought for and our brave soldiers continue to uphold.
Stay strong, America.
Ancora imparo
Friday, September 9, 2011
Oh, Boy. Here I Go Again
Volunteer - can be either a noun or a verb- which is kind of ironic because they both sort of mean the same thing. And, you cannot be a volunteer volunteer because that would be redundant. You cannot say, "I am a volunteer volunteer.", without someone looking at you strangely.
I volunteered to come up with something that was supposed to be easy.....which is why I said yes to finding those vests that parking lot attendants wear. You know - the ones that are either cornea-burning orange, lime- green or lemon-yellow in color. Capt. SO's friend is having a big auction in two days and Capt. SO is selling some of his antique tractors in this sale. I have been listening to him talk about how much work getting ready for the sale is and has been and I have seen, first-hand, how much work has gone into the preparation of the machinery, grounds, and buildings where the auction will take place. Consequently, when the subject came up of how to handle all of the vehicles that will need to be parked, I thought that is something I would be good at: Telling people where to go......as in pointing and gesturing......not verbally. Then the topic came up of how best to be visible from all the people who may be milling about. I guess because I am short of stature, Capt. SO suggested for moi, and the others who will be helping moi, these neon-colored vests.
Which brings me to the point in this posting where I explain that I did go searching for the vests and I did locate them at a big-box home improvement store - for way too much money, not to mention that they were scratchy and there is no way, on a hot or cold day, that I will wear a scratchy garment. On my way out of the store I spied some bright, neon-colored t-shirts at $3.99 a piece. Sold, thought I to myself and came home with four, 2X neon orange short-sleeved tees.
Now I have to cut them apart and design vests.....without the aid of a pattern. I am not good sans pattern, but I keep thinking to myself, "How hard can this be?" I'll find out tomorrow.
Until then, I must ask myself, "What part of 'not volunteer' do I not understand?"
Ancora imparo
I volunteered to come up with something that was supposed to be easy.....which is why I said yes to finding those vests that parking lot attendants wear. You know - the ones that are either cornea-burning orange, lime- green or lemon-yellow in color. Capt. SO's friend is having a big auction in two days and Capt. SO is selling some of his antique tractors in this sale. I have been listening to him talk about how much work getting ready for the sale is and has been and I have seen, first-hand, how much work has gone into the preparation of the machinery, grounds, and buildings where the auction will take place. Consequently, when the subject came up of how to handle all of the vehicles that will need to be parked, I thought that is something I would be good at: Telling people where to go......as in pointing and gesturing......not verbally. Then the topic came up of how best to be visible from all the people who may be milling about. I guess because I am short of stature, Capt. SO suggested for moi, and the others who will be helping moi, these neon-colored vests.
Which brings me to the point in this posting where I explain that I did go searching for the vests and I did locate them at a big-box home improvement store - for way too much money, not to mention that they were scratchy and there is no way, on a hot or cold day, that I will wear a scratchy garment. On my way out of the store I spied some bright, neon-colored t-shirts at $3.99 a piece. Sold, thought I to myself and came home with four, 2X neon orange short-sleeved tees.
Now I have to cut them apart and design vests.....without the aid of a pattern. I am not good sans pattern, but I keep thinking to myself, "How hard can this be?" I'll find out tomorrow.
Until then, I must ask myself, "What part of 'not volunteer' do I not understand?"
Ancora imparo
Approach With Caution
Cautious - a good trait to have, especially when it is tempered with a heavy dose of common sense. If you observe young children, you can see examples of caution that range from terrified to momentary. Even the same child can be apparently terrified of some things and yet throw caution and common sense to the wind regarding others. Adults are no different.
While walking at 6:00 a.m. today, in the first light of dawn, I observed a small dog trot down from "its" driveway in one of my cul-de-sacs. I was far enough away that the dog had not yet sensed me, so I became instantly cautious about my approach to the end of the cul-de-sac. During early morning hours, it is not atypical of dog owners to simply let their pet(s) out, unleashed and unsupervised. The owners are likely in their sleepwear - whatever form that may be - so they open the door, tell Fido to "go do your business" and stumble to the kitchen to begin brewing that first, life-saving cup of coffee. As I watched Small Fido, still from a somewhat safe distance, the dog became of aware of my presence and began barking and growling, which was my cautionary clue to abort the plan to walk to the end of the cul-de-sac. Instead, midway up the cul-de-sac, I did an about-face, deciding to miss the opportunity for Small Fido to nip at my heels, or worse.
Even McDonalds has had to place cautionary statements on their coffee "cups", as if any reasonable and intelligent human being would not assume that the hot beverage just ordered would come in any desirable form other than HOT. Would we really enjoy tepid java?
My computer gives me cautionary prompts multiple times during the course of a day. Thank you, Microsoft.
My car's "idiot center" will give me a cautionary prompt if I get a flat tire, which has happened. Thank you, Volvo.
The Aqua RV has cautionary sensors for many marine contraptions, such as holding tank overflow, engine overheat, and bilge high-water alarms. Thank you, Chris Craft.
Yes, life is full of cautionary prompts - some overt and others covert. Some obvious and others subtle. Our cautionary sense is even helpful when dealing with our fellow human beings. Some humans leave our cautionary prompts in the "off" mode, while other humans send our cautionary alarms screaming and on high alert. Thank you, God.
And now, my internal cautionary prompt is telling me that it is time to end this blog posting.
Ancora imparo
While walking at 6:00 a.m. today, in the first light of dawn, I observed a small dog trot down from "its" driveway in one of my cul-de-sacs. I was far enough away that the dog had not yet sensed me, so I became instantly cautious about my approach to the end of the cul-de-sac. During early morning hours, it is not atypical of dog owners to simply let their pet(s) out, unleashed and unsupervised. The owners are likely in their sleepwear - whatever form that may be - so they open the door, tell Fido to "go do your business" and stumble to the kitchen to begin brewing that first, life-saving cup of coffee. As I watched Small Fido, still from a somewhat safe distance, the dog became of aware of my presence and began barking and growling, which was my cautionary clue to abort the plan to walk to the end of the cul-de-sac. Instead, midway up the cul-de-sac, I did an about-face, deciding to miss the opportunity for Small Fido to nip at my heels, or worse.
Even McDonalds has had to place cautionary statements on their coffee "cups", as if any reasonable and intelligent human being would not assume that the hot beverage just ordered would come in any desirable form other than HOT. Would we really enjoy tepid java?
My computer gives me cautionary prompts multiple times during the course of a day. Thank you, Microsoft.
My car's "idiot center" will give me a cautionary prompt if I get a flat tire, which has happened. Thank you, Volvo.
The Aqua RV has cautionary sensors for many marine contraptions, such as holding tank overflow, engine overheat, and bilge high-water alarms. Thank you, Chris Craft.
Yes, life is full of cautionary prompts - some overt and others covert. Some obvious and others subtle. Our cautionary sense is even helpful when dealing with our fellow human beings. Some humans leave our cautionary prompts in the "off" mode, while other humans send our cautionary alarms screaming and on high alert. Thank you, God.
And now, my internal cautionary prompt is telling me that it is time to end this blog posting.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Patagonia
Have you heard of Patagonia? Some of you will recognize the name as a country somewhere on Earth that you have heard of. Others will recognize the name as an upscale clothing line, specializing in outdoor/adventure wear. I first heard the name "Patagonia" in relation to the clothing line, back in the early 1980's when, in another life, I was a fitness instructor for the YWCA. I led aerobic dance and fitness classes and came to know the participants in my classes very well. One of the women often brought her young children to the "Y" and they always had the most gorgeous mittens, hats, and scarves. She liked to talk about where she bought clothing and that is when I learned about Patagonia, the label. Over the years, I, too, purchased Patagonia clothing and began receiving Patagonia catalogs.
A Patagonia catalog not only displays what you can purchase from the company but the pages are also filled with spectacular photography of hikers, climbers, skiers, etc. doing amazing feats of uber-adventure with the backdrop of remote regions of the world where we non-adventurers would quake in our boots even thinking about going. It matters not if the region is filled with snowy and freezing weather or filled with dense forests and unbelievable humidity that encourages crawling and creeping creatures - someone will want to hike, climb, traverse, ski, or rappel through, over or across it. I never throw out a Patagonia catalog without first thumbing very slowly through each page, paying little or no attention to what is for sale, but, rather, studying the pictures and reading the descriptions and locations of each image. Consequently, I have learned about regions of the world that I had never, heretofore, seen - much less heard of.
Patagonia, the geographic location, is a region located in Argentina and Chile that integrates the southern-most section of the Andes mountain range, along with deep valleys, vast lakes and rain-forest-like vegetation. Patagonia, the company, has made one of its basic tenets to educate the world and its peoples on conservation measures to help preserve the planet, including the Patagonia region. Each catalog contains one or more editorials on the plight of certain world areas that are struggling to maintain their eco-structures and avoid environmental collapse. The most recent catalog contains an article titled, "End of a River?" by Jonathan Waterman, and is about the dire straights that the Colorado River is in. The article discusses "the challenge of balancing human water needs with those of animals and plants......as well as the water cost of doing business and 'our' efforts to reduce water (sic) use." Waterman goes on to say "The Colorado River has been engineered to death. Each year, seven western states and northern Mexico take 16.5 million acre-feet (enough water to supply 33 million American households) of river water. Amid the 12th year of drought in the southwest, climate models show that conditions will continue to dry the snowmelt-fed river. Add explosive population growth, increasing the demand for water, and the river's future becomes a ticking time bomb."
I think that my showers should, perhaps, be a bit shorter. I had no idea........
An enlightened Ancora imparo
A Patagonia catalog not only displays what you can purchase from the company but the pages are also filled with spectacular photography of hikers, climbers, skiers, etc. doing amazing feats of uber-adventure with the backdrop of remote regions of the world where we non-adventurers would quake in our boots even thinking about going. It matters not if the region is filled with snowy and freezing weather or filled with dense forests and unbelievable humidity that encourages crawling and creeping creatures - someone will want to hike, climb, traverse, ski, or rappel through, over or across it. I never throw out a Patagonia catalog without first thumbing very slowly through each page, paying little or no attention to what is for sale, but, rather, studying the pictures and reading the descriptions and locations of each image. Consequently, I have learned about regions of the world that I had never, heretofore, seen - much less heard of.
Patagonia, the geographic location, is a region located in Argentina and Chile that integrates the southern-most section of the Andes mountain range, along with deep valleys, vast lakes and rain-forest-like vegetation. Patagonia, the company, has made one of its basic tenets to educate the world and its peoples on conservation measures to help preserve the planet, including the Patagonia region. Each catalog contains one or more editorials on the plight of certain world areas that are struggling to maintain their eco-structures and avoid environmental collapse. The most recent catalog contains an article titled, "End of a River?" by Jonathan Waterman, and is about the dire straights that the Colorado River is in. The article discusses "the challenge of balancing human water needs with those of animals and plants......as well as the water cost of doing business and 'our' efforts to reduce water (sic) use." Waterman goes on to say "The Colorado River has been engineered to death. Each year, seven western states and northern Mexico take 16.5 million acre-feet (enough water to supply 33 million American households) of river water. Amid the 12th year of drought in the southwest, climate models show that conditions will continue to dry the snowmelt-fed river. Add explosive population growth, increasing the demand for water, and the river's future becomes a ticking time bomb."
I think that my showers should, perhaps, be a bit shorter. I had no idea........
An enlightened Ancora imparo
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The Eyes Have It
This is a posting from August 29, 2011.
Capt. SO and I have long known that boats sitting at anchor, in a state park bay, are definite objects of curiosity. Kayakers, canoeists, and swimmers all have been known to stop and ask "questions of interest" to boat operator/owners. It is also not unusual to field question from campers on land as we tie up the dinghy at the campground boat-launch dock. We have suspected that people on land may often have binoculars trained on boats at anchor in the bay, but it was only a suspicion......until today.
Capt. SO and I decided to go for an afternoon dinghy ride. Before we took off, we made a trip to shore to take up a small bag of lunch garbage. As we approached shore, I noticed a man with binoculars aimed right at us. Not wanting to be as obvious as he was, I turned my head but kept him in my peripheral vision. Sure enough, those binocs had not moved an inch. As we got closer and my angle of shore vision changed, I observed a woman seated next to Vision Man on the bench. When she saw me see them, she began vigorously elbowing his side. When that became obviously ineffective, she reached over and grabbed the binoculars from his hands. By now, Capt. SO is noting all of this and we both started to laugh. After we had secured the dinghy, we had to walk right past the couple, who were still seated on the park bench.......but neither would make eye contact with us.
My theory is that they had already seen enough.
It goes without saying: "You better not shout, you better not cry, you better not pout, I'm telling you why...."
Ancora imparo
Capt. SO and I have long known that boats sitting at anchor, in a state park bay, are definite objects of curiosity. Kayakers, canoeists, and swimmers all have been known to stop and ask "questions of interest" to boat operator/owners. It is also not unusual to field question from campers on land as we tie up the dinghy at the campground boat-launch dock. We have suspected that people on land may often have binoculars trained on boats at anchor in the bay, but it was only a suspicion......until today.
Capt. SO and I decided to go for an afternoon dinghy ride. Before we took off, we made a trip to shore to take up a small bag of lunch garbage. As we approached shore, I noticed a man with binoculars aimed right at us. Not wanting to be as obvious as he was, I turned my head but kept him in my peripheral vision. Sure enough, those binocs had not moved an inch. As we got closer and my angle of shore vision changed, I observed a woman seated next to Vision Man on the bench. When she saw me see them, she began vigorously elbowing his side. When that became obviously ineffective, she reached over and grabbed the binoculars from his hands. By now, Capt. SO is noting all of this and we both started to laugh. After we had secured the dinghy, we had to walk right past the couple, who were still seated on the park bench.......but neither would make eye contact with us.
My theory is that they had already seen enough.
It goes without saying: "You better not shout, you better not cry, you better not pout, I'm telling you why...."
Ancora imparo
Sunset In Nicolet Bay
This is a posting written from August 28, 2011.
During the peak of the summer season, Nicolet Bay would be teaming with overnight boaters at this time of evening. The sand beach would still have the noisy and happy sounds of Peninsula State Park campers, and shrieks and hoops would be heard from shoreside campsites.
Not so, tonight. It is decidedly quiet in Nicolet Bay. Few sounds are coming from the campground, the beach is deserted with all of the assorted water toys neatly lined up on shore - waiting, perhaps, to be rented out tomorrow, the night fishermen are leaving from the boat ramp and a few, scattered campfires can be been with smoke wafting upward through the trees.
There are six of us tonight. Three lone boats on anchor and three boats rafted together.
Mother Nature is beginning her seasonal wardrobe change. You can see, hear, and feel the seasonal march from summer to fall. Small, yet significant telltale signs are everywhere. High atop the green, rolling hills of Door County, Wisconsin, one can catch a glimpse of rust-colored treetops. The sun sets earlier each evening. Two months ago, at this time of day, the sun would still be streaming onto the landscape, instead of sliding quickly beneath the horizon. The geese surely know what the future holds, because they are slowly gathering into larger and larger gaggles - both on land and in the water - with more and more airborne V-formations taking shape, as if in dress rehearsal for their upcoming migration.
Tonight the water surface is tranquil and the temperature has dropped exponentially as the sun has slipped below the line of sight. It feels really good.....this sunset in Nicolet Bay.
Ancora imparo
During the peak of the summer season, Nicolet Bay would be teaming with overnight boaters at this time of evening. The sand beach would still have the noisy and happy sounds of Peninsula State Park campers, and shrieks and hoops would be heard from shoreside campsites.
Not so, tonight. It is decidedly quiet in Nicolet Bay. Few sounds are coming from the campground, the beach is deserted with all of the assorted water toys neatly lined up on shore - waiting, perhaps, to be rented out tomorrow, the night fishermen are leaving from the boat ramp and a few, scattered campfires can be been with smoke wafting upward through the trees.
There are six of us tonight. Three lone boats on anchor and three boats rafted together.
Mother Nature is beginning her seasonal wardrobe change. You can see, hear, and feel the seasonal march from summer to fall. Small, yet significant telltale signs are everywhere. High atop the green, rolling hills of Door County, Wisconsin, one can catch a glimpse of rust-colored treetops. The sun sets earlier each evening. Two months ago, at this time of day, the sun would still be streaming onto the landscape, instead of sliding quickly beneath the horizon. The geese surely know what the future holds, because they are slowly gathering into larger and larger gaggles - both on land and in the water - with more and more airborne V-formations taking shape, as if in dress rehearsal for their upcoming migration.
Tonight the water surface is tranquil and the temperature has dropped exponentially as the sun has slipped below the line of sight. It feels really good.....this sunset in Nicolet Bay.
Ancora imparo
Sock It To Me!
If you have followed Ancora imparo for any length of time, you will know that I (a) long for a puppy (b) have little use for politicians of any party (c) adore the Three Musketeers (d) have trouble sleeping (e) miss my teaching job (f) am highly cynical (g) like coffee and chocolate (h) read the funnies (i) am learning how to live without my beloved daily newspaper (j) spent much of the summer being hot (k) disliked this summer's higher temperatures and humidity levels (l) and recently have determined that I am a dinosaur.
Knowing what you do about moi, you will understand that for me to be cold is a "Haley's-Comet" kind-of-moment for me, but that is exactly what I was this morning. Oh no......make no mistake.....I got cold.
After meeting with a friend and her husband for an early breakfast, I ventured out of the comfortable confines of the restaurant and immediately determined that the outside temperature seemed lower than when I had entered the restaurant at o'dark hundred - to quote a friend. (No matter that I was dressed in strapped sandals, capris and no coat.) It only took me a split-second to decide that one way to thaw out my feet and ankles was to pick up a hot coffee-to-go from another, nearby restaurant whose coffee I am always looking for an excuse to drink. The coffee offered a temporary relief from the cold, but by the time I reached my car, fitness-parked faaaar away, the cold had seeped back into my bones and under my skin.
I actually activated my car's heated seat.
Next I drove to a friend's home that is relatively close to the restaurant. She and I chatted and laughed for well over an hour......all the while my bare feet felt like frozen ice cream treats. Walking around the refrigerated sections of the grocery store didn't help the frozen-footsie situation and by the time I returned home, my feet and toes hurt.
I actually donned socks to warm my feet.
Socks, now. What next?
Knowing what you do about moi, you will understand that for me to be cold is a "Haley's-Comet" kind-of-moment for me, but that is exactly what I was this morning. Oh no......make no mistake.....I got cold.
After meeting with a friend and her husband for an early breakfast, I ventured out of the comfortable confines of the restaurant and immediately determined that the outside temperature seemed lower than when I had entered the restaurant at o'dark hundred - to quote a friend. (No matter that I was dressed in strapped sandals, capris and no coat.) It only took me a split-second to decide that one way to thaw out my feet and ankles was to pick up a hot coffee-to-go from another, nearby restaurant whose coffee I am always looking for an excuse to drink. The coffee offered a temporary relief from the cold, but by the time I reached my car, fitness-parked faaaar away, the cold had seeped back into my bones and under my skin.
I actually activated my car's heated seat.
Next I drove to a friend's home that is relatively close to the restaurant. She and I chatted and laughed for well over an hour......all the while my bare feet felt like frozen ice cream treats. Walking around the refrigerated sections of the grocery store didn't help the frozen-footsie situation and by the time I returned home, my feet and toes hurt.
I actually donned socks to warm my feet.
Socks, now. What next?
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
A Great Day...A Great Day, Indeed!
This morning has brought many changes, among the most obvious is the change in weather temperature. While Capt. SO and I walked this morning, we actually appreciated the sweatshirts and long pants we had earlier donned. Now as I sit at my desk, barefooted, I can gleefully report that my feet are cold. This pleasant sensation has not occurred for months now. I realize that some heat and humidity will surely return before the coolness of fall descends upon my area, but this is a momentary treat that I will relish. This may even call for socks on the feet!
When I turned on my computer today, I saw the Google Doodle and, curious, clicked on the picture. What, to my surprise, did I discover but the trivia that today would have been Freddie Mercury's sixty-fifth birthday. If you are not familiar with Freddie Mercury, he was the front-man and lead singer of the rock group, Queen. I was a big fan of Queen, in its heyday, and still am. Whatever your opinion of Freddie's life-style choice, his singing and showmanship talent was more blatantly obvious than his sexual orientation. Freddie could sing and Freddie knew how to entertain. I'm only sorry that I was never able to experience a live, Queen concert.
When I was teaching as a public, middle school band director, I came across an arranged medley of Queen tunes that laid perfectly within the skill range of a good middle school band. At that point in my career, I was a devotee of a concept called "Teaching Music Through Performance". The beauty of this idea is that by teaching what the music is about, as well as the technique, the result will be a higher level of performance skill and enjoyment for the musicians. Imagine my excitement when I found - and purchased - a DVD of a live, Queen concert. I just knew that watching Queen would inspire my young charges to bring the Queen medley to a whole new performance level! Fortunately - for my career, the school district, my principal, the students and their families, I previewed the DVD BEFORE I showed it in the band room. "Seedless to nay", as my good high school friends and I used to say, it was a providential save for me.
Freddie died the young and senseless death of demise by substance abuse and the world lost a great singer, musician, and showman. Happy Birthday, Freddie. The music world misses you.
Ancora imparo
When I turned on my computer today, I saw the Google Doodle and, curious, clicked on the picture. What, to my surprise, did I discover but the trivia that today would have been Freddie Mercury's sixty-fifth birthday. If you are not familiar with Freddie Mercury, he was the front-man and lead singer of the rock group, Queen. I was a big fan of Queen, in its heyday, and still am. Whatever your opinion of Freddie's life-style choice, his singing and showmanship talent was more blatantly obvious than his sexual orientation. Freddie could sing and Freddie knew how to entertain. I'm only sorry that I was never able to experience a live, Queen concert.
When I was teaching as a public, middle school band director, I came across an arranged medley of Queen tunes that laid perfectly within the skill range of a good middle school band. At that point in my career, I was a devotee of a concept called "Teaching Music Through Performance". The beauty of this idea is that by teaching what the music is about, as well as the technique, the result will be a higher level of performance skill and enjoyment for the musicians. Imagine my excitement when I found - and purchased - a DVD of a live, Queen concert. I just knew that watching Queen would inspire my young charges to bring the Queen medley to a whole new performance level! Fortunately - for my career, the school district, my principal, the students and their families, I previewed the DVD BEFORE I showed it in the band room. "Seedless to nay", as my good high school friends and I used to say, it was a providential save for me.
Freddie died the young and senseless death of demise by substance abuse and the world lost a great singer, musician, and showman. Happy Birthday, Freddie. The music world misses you.
Ancora imparo
Monday, September 5, 2011
Oxymoractions
I have just coined a new word: Oxymoraction, which is derived from the word and concept of oxymoron, which, according to my Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Eleventh Edition, is defined as a combination of contradictory or incongruous words. My new word - oxymoraction - would be defined as a combination of contradictory on incongruous actions, and I have plenty of those.
Let's take the concept and action of cleaning. There is no greater oxymoraction associated with cleaning than all of the cleaning that takes place BEFORE the cleaning lady arrives. You know what I mean. It is "Cleaning Lady" day and you are running around, picking up this, putting away that, sweeping up the crumbs from under the kitchen table so the cleaning lady can't see what your family left from all the previous meals since she had last visited, cleaning up the bathroom floors and counters......all because the cleaning lady is coming. This oxymoraction never made any sense to me and was one of the reasons, a number of years ago, that I stopped hiring a person to clean. I did so much cleaning prior to her arrival that there was truly little for her to do.
Another oxymoraction that continues to amaze, daze and confuse me is my irrepressible urge to thoroughly clean the condo upon arriving home from a time away. Theoretically speaking, if Capt. SO and I are gone, then there should be nothing getting dirty whilst we are away. But it seems that Cranky Kitty must hold parties - which I guess is where the old adage comes from: While the cat's away, the mice will play....except this is in reverse. "While the mice are away, the cat will play." There is cat litter EVERYWHERE, giant cat-hair fuzzballs, occasional stray Tootsie Rolls, and once in a while she will leave me "discarded" hairballs to clean up. Cranky Kitty can trash the place faster than "cat", otherwise known as "scat", and she leaves that, too. I even feel compelled to wash the unused towels before Capt. SO and I use them.
These are the oxymoractions that I am admitting to. The rest - and there are many more - will go with me to my grave.
Ancora imparo
Let's take the concept and action of cleaning. There is no greater oxymoraction associated with cleaning than all of the cleaning that takes place BEFORE the cleaning lady arrives. You know what I mean. It is "Cleaning Lady" day and you are running around, picking up this, putting away that, sweeping up the crumbs from under the kitchen table so the cleaning lady can't see what your family left from all the previous meals since she had last visited, cleaning up the bathroom floors and counters......all because the cleaning lady is coming. This oxymoraction never made any sense to me and was one of the reasons, a number of years ago, that I stopped hiring a person to clean. I did so much cleaning prior to her arrival that there was truly little for her to do.
Another oxymoraction that continues to amaze, daze and confuse me is my irrepressible urge to thoroughly clean the condo upon arriving home from a time away. Theoretically speaking, if Capt. SO and I are gone, then there should be nothing getting dirty whilst we are away. But it seems that Cranky Kitty must hold parties - which I guess is where the old adage comes from: While the cat's away, the mice will play....except this is in reverse. "While the mice are away, the cat will play." There is cat litter EVERYWHERE, giant cat-hair fuzzballs, occasional stray Tootsie Rolls, and once in a while she will leave me "discarded" hairballs to clean up. Cranky Kitty can trash the place faster than "cat", otherwise known as "scat", and she leaves that, too. I even feel compelled to wash the unused towels before Capt. SO and I use them.
These are the oxymoractions that I am admitting to. The rest - and there are many more - will go with me to my grave.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Oh, Canada!
Canada. The United States' northern neighbor. Home to a beautiful and very singable national anthem, "O Canada". When I hear "O Canada", I always wonder why we adopted such a singer-unfriendly national anthem. I do not mean to be unpatriotic. I respect our national anthem, stand correctly (unlike many) when it is performed, and sing with gusto when I am supposed to sing along. But, if there was ever a devilish melody to sing, it is our national anthem. I did a little research into "The Star-Spangled Banner" and discovered that we have a Brit to blame for the disjointed melody. The Brits have long been a fly in America's ointment, since the 1700's, and now we will forever have to live with their musical legacy whenever we sing our national anthem.
It is widely known that Francis Scott Key is responsible for "The Star-Spangled Banner", but I, mistakenly, thought he wrote both the lyrics and music. The original poem, written by Key in 1814, was titled "Defence of Fort McHenry", after he witnessed the bombardment of Fort McHenry by British Royal Navy ships during the War of 1812. Key's poem was later set to the melody (by whom I could not discover) of a popular British song written by one John Stafford Smith, for the Anacreontic Society, a men's social club in London. "The Anacreontic Song" was already popular in America when it became "married" to Key's poem, "Defence of Fort McHenry". All I can say is that there had to have been a pub crawl involved somewhere in the joining of Key's poem to Smith's melody.
Back to Canada. While Canada has given the world some remarkable things, right now, what the country is sending the U.S. is some cold Canadian air. The temperature has dropped a good fifteen to twenty degrees in the last two hours AND a strong and stiff Canadian blast of wind is accompanying the cold air. While others are cursing Canada right now, I am relishing the absence of heat and humidity. Besides, were it not for Canada, the world would not have had Wayne Gretzky, fabulous chocolate, some very funny comedians, maple syrup to die for, geese, and, most importantly, bacon.
Oh, Canada! I am forever grateful!
Ancora imparo
It is widely known that Francis Scott Key is responsible for "The Star-Spangled Banner", but I, mistakenly, thought he wrote both the lyrics and music. The original poem, written by Key in 1814, was titled "Defence of Fort McHenry", after he witnessed the bombardment of Fort McHenry by British Royal Navy ships during the War of 1812. Key's poem was later set to the melody (by whom I could not discover) of a popular British song written by one John Stafford Smith, for the Anacreontic Society, a men's social club in London. "The Anacreontic Song" was already popular in America when it became "married" to Key's poem, "Defence of Fort McHenry". All I can say is that there had to have been a pub crawl involved somewhere in the joining of Key's poem to Smith's melody.
Back to Canada. While Canada has given the world some remarkable things, right now, what the country is sending the U.S. is some cold Canadian air. The temperature has dropped a good fifteen to twenty degrees in the last two hours AND a strong and stiff Canadian blast of wind is accompanying the cold air. While others are cursing Canada right now, I am relishing the absence of heat and humidity. Besides, were it not for Canada, the world would not have had Wayne Gretzky, fabulous chocolate, some very funny comedians, maple syrup to die for, geese, and, most importantly, bacon.
Oh, Canada! I am forever grateful!
Ancora imparo
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Farmers' Market - Take Five
Ancora imparo readers know that I love a good Farmers' Market and seldom miss an opportunity to check one out if I am "in range". My favorite market is on Saturday mornings in Beloit, Wisconsin. It has been a joy to see it expand and improve over the years since we discovered its existence. When we are not able to visit Beloit's market, we try to find a local one in order to purchase our favored in-season fruits and vegetables. When we are staying on our Aqua RV, there is a local, Saturday morning market that is just a short walk away.
Today, in spite of the rain, almost all of the vendors had set up shop. Shoppers were in slightly less supply than normal, but, from our perspective, that was OK because it was less crowded in front of the more popular stands. We came away with lots of tomatoes, some beets, cucumbers and three ears of sweet corn. The sweet corn will not last this day! As we were returning to the marina, others boaters, who also like to check out the Saturday Farmers' Market, would inquire "what's in your bags?" and we'd compare what each of us purchased.
Enter "Bob", I'll call him. "Bob" is a great guy, a fun-loving, hard-hitting, party-hearty kind of fellow, and a good conversationalist. "Bob" and his wife "Marge", I'll call her, have a boat-full of guests this weekend and the guys went over to the Farmers' Market. With laughter and mirth, "Bob" explained that "the guys" didn't buy a single vegetable or fruit but managed to spend $75.00 on pastries, bar-b-que ribs, and brats. These guys know how to enjoy a Farmers' Market! None of this purchasing healthy fruits and veggies. Just go for the flavor and fun of grease and sugar. My kind of guy! My palette will live vicariously through "Bob" and his "guys".
Go find a good Farmers' Market today. You will not be disappointed!
Ancora imparo
Today, in spite of the rain, almost all of the vendors had set up shop. Shoppers were in slightly less supply than normal, but, from our perspective, that was OK because it was less crowded in front of the more popular stands. We came away with lots of tomatoes, some beets, cucumbers and three ears of sweet corn. The sweet corn will not last this day! As we were returning to the marina, others boaters, who also like to check out the Saturday Farmers' Market, would inquire "what's in your bags?" and we'd compare what each of us purchased.
Enter "Bob", I'll call him. "Bob" is a great guy, a fun-loving, hard-hitting, party-hearty kind of fellow, and a good conversationalist. "Bob" and his wife "Marge", I'll call her, have a boat-full of guests this weekend and the guys went over to the Farmers' Market. With laughter and mirth, "Bob" explained that "the guys" didn't buy a single vegetable or fruit but managed to spend $75.00 on pastries, bar-b-que ribs, and brats. These guys know how to enjoy a Farmers' Market! None of this purchasing healthy fruits and veggies. Just go for the flavor and fun of grease and sugar. My kind of guy! My palette will live vicariously through "Bob" and his "guys".
Go find a good Farmers' Market today. You will not be disappointed!
Ancora imparo
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Times, They Are A-Changin'
There is so much change in the air, I feel as if I am a stationary island, with a hurricane blowing three-hundred and sixty degrees around me at a Category Five force. Places that were once stable are now wobbly and filled with vacillation. My life chess pieces feel as if they have been thrown into the space station, with zero gravity forces at play.
I need a puppy.
I have been writing about Mother Nature's impending change and how the geese are demonstrating behaviors that clearly say, "Fall is approaching." The past twenty-four hours have shown that Mother Nature can and does change her mind on a whim, with little or no advance warning. Checking the weather forecast for the next three days reveals a totally different outlook than just twelve hours ago.
I recently overheard another woman announce, "I am a very important person." She was not kidding. I thought a lot about this statement and I realized, two nights ago, that is one of the things I missed the most about being employed with a resultant paycheck.......the feeling of importance. Even now, places in my life where I once had influence are now, naturally, closing their doors to the need - or maybe even desire - for input from me. I guess this is a natural flow of life. Consequently, and conversely from the woman's statement the other night, I am becoming less important.
Even in areas where I am still involved, I can feel my importance and influence waning. New sheriffs are in town, with new and different ideas, and I am realizing that ideals and ideas that I have long held as dear and vital are no longer seen as crucial, necessary, or desirable. I feel like the last brontosaurus on earth, watching the landscape morph into one that is foreign and unfriendly to me and those of my age and ilk.
The times they are a-changin'. I would get on board the new train, but they are not selling tickets to brontosauri like me. Perhaps I should start a sanctuary for brontosauruses.
Ancora imparo
I need a puppy.
I have been writing about Mother Nature's impending change and how the geese are demonstrating behaviors that clearly say, "Fall is approaching." The past twenty-four hours have shown that Mother Nature can and does change her mind on a whim, with little or no advance warning. Checking the weather forecast for the next three days reveals a totally different outlook than just twelve hours ago.
I recently overheard another woman announce, "I am a very important person." She was not kidding. I thought a lot about this statement and I realized, two nights ago, that is one of the things I missed the most about being employed with a resultant paycheck.......the feeling of importance. Even now, places in my life where I once had influence are now, naturally, closing their doors to the need - or maybe even desire - for input from me. I guess this is a natural flow of life. Consequently, and conversely from the woman's statement the other night, I am becoming less important.
Even in areas where I am still involved, I can feel my importance and influence waning. New sheriffs are in town, with new and different ideas, and I am realizing that ideals and ideas that I have long held as dear and vital are no longer seen as crucial, necessary, or desirable. I feel like the last brontosaurus on earth, watching the landscape morph into one that is foreign and unfriendly to me and those of my age and ilk.
The times they are a-changin'. I would get on board the new train, but they are not selling tickets to brontosauri like me. Perhaps I should start a sanctuary for brontosauruses.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Headline News
Yesterday was a little heavy. Everywhere I turned, bad, sad, or frustrating news was lurking behind every corner, niche, door, and conversation. Even the roadside produce stand's cucumbers were rotten inside. By the end of the day, I just wanted to bury my head in my crime-solving, best-selling novel or watch a few episodes of Criminal Minds. Today, when I awakened, knew I was in need of lighter-fare news and the HLN morning show did not disappoint. I thought I would share three of the more important news items I heard.
Did you know that the government relies on the Waffle House nationwide chain to act as a barometer on how "bad" a natural disaster really is? According to the report, Waffle House restaurants are famous for staying open no matter how bad the weather situation is. If a Waffle House closes, then the situation is dire. No CIA, FBI or FEMA needed to determine seriousness.
It seems that if you are in the child-care industry, specifically a babysitter, then California is the place to be. California parents may soon be required to pay baby sitters overtime, workman's comp and -this is the really good tidbit of information - provide breaks. Just how fitting breaks into a babysitter's time will work remains a mystery to me. Imagine having to procure a relief babysitter to give your scheduled babysitter a break. What.....fifteen minutes every three hours? Perhaps parents can simply put a lock on a door somewhere, to keep the child safe, and the sitter can excuse him or herself for fifteen minutes of "freedom" from work?
Finally, Lancaster, Ohio has a verifiable who-done-it on its hands. Over the weekend, hundreds of womens' panties turned up along a stretch of highway in the Lancaster area. Local law enforcement officials are puzzled as to how and why this has happened and are determined, so they say, to get to the "bottom" of this. I'd say there may be many bottoms to get to! A further detail about the purloined panties was this: Some were "used" and others were new.
I am now ready to receive any and all news today. I just have to think about Waffle House restaurants, babysitters taking breaks, and panties. I'll be smiling when my head hits my pillow tonight.
Ancora imparo
Did you know that the government relies on the Waffle House nationwide chain to act as a barometer on how "bad" a natural disaster really is? According to the report, Waffle House restaurants are famous for staying open no matter how bad the weather situation is. If a Waffle House closes, then the situation is dire. No CIA, FBI or FEMA needed to determine seriousness.
It seems that if you are in the child-care industry, specifically a babysitter, then California is the place to be. California parents may soon be required to pay baby sitters overtime, workman's comp and -this is the really good tidbit of information - provide breaks. Just how fitting breaks into a babysitter's time will work remains a mystery to me. Imagine having to procure a relief babysitter to give your scheduled babysitter a break. What.....fifteen minutes every three hours? Perhaps parents can simply put a lock on a door somewhere, to keep the child safe, and the sitter can excuse him or herself for fifteen minutes of "freedom" from work?
Finally, Lancaster, Ohio has a verifiable who-done-it on its hands. Over the weekend, hundreds of womens' panties turned up along a stretch of highway in the Lancaster area. Local law enforcement officials are puzzled as to how and why this has happened and are determined, so they say, to get to the "bottom" of this. I'd say there may be many bottoms to get to! A further detail about the purloined panties was this: Some were "used" and others were new.
I am now ready to receive any and all news today. I just have to think about Waffle House restaurants, babysitters taking breaks, and panties. I'll be smiling when my head hits my pillow tonight.
Ancora imparo
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