Caveat: I do not believe in ghosts. I do believe, however, that it is possible to feel the spirit of a person or persons who have gone before. I also believe I experienced that feeling a few days ago in a "ghost" town that I visited recently and spent the night in. (No, I did not have any trouble sleeping with the friendly ghosts.)
This ghost town's name is Fayette, located in Michigan's Upper Peninsula on a finger of land between Big Bay DeNoc and Little Bay DeNoc. The location is a Michigan State Park and has been for a number of years. Situated high on bluffs, with great scenic views, life in this mid-nineteenth century town would have been very hard.
Fayette was built by an iron ore company (talk about a company town1) and only actively existed for twenty-four years before the smelting operation closed down and the country began shifting from ore to steel. Smelting was hot, dirty and dangerous work. Existing photographs affirm this with the soot-covered faces staring at the camera. Few smiles can be seen, at least by the workers. They all look filthy and exhausted. A number of the original buildings still exist and have been lovingly restored for public viewing. Many foundations of buildings no longer standing can be seen so it is possible to see the size of the dwellings and imagine what life might have been like inside them.
This was my fifth trip to Fayette and, for some reason - perhaps because I would spend the night and had more time to walk about and mull over, in my mind, daily life for the workers and their families - I could feel the presence of the souls who lived, loved, worked and died in Fayette. Call me fey, weird, crazy - even, but there were times when I could envision activities and tasks. Perhaps it is because the Friends of Fayette have done such a superior job of describing what took place in each building or ruined foundation. It was as if the voices of the past were adding their own words to the placards posted in front of each display or building.
I guess my final thought for this posting is one of irony recognition. The workers, who lived a very rough life and lived in tiny cottages, had the best real estate in Fayette. Unlike today, where beaches, bluffs and views command top-dollar prices, it was the workers cottages that dotted the bluffs in a straight line formation. This may be because the winter winds were too harsh and, therefore, the Company superintendent, doctor, foreman and other professionals were given more protected real estate locations. But in their protection and seclusion they missed the spectacular views that this narrow, little peninsula affords.
Score one for the little guy.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
The "Perplexation" of Parenting
The concept of parenting is enigmatic. Yes, there have been thousands of how-to books written on the topic of parenting, most by people who are actually parents, some by people who purport to know about parenting without having ever parented a single child. (Now tell me - whose book would you prefer to buy?) But the fact remains, I believe, that parenting is a non-exact science that simply cannot be structured as a one-size-fits-all concept. For every child on this earth, there must be a 504 plan for that one child, a plan that cannot nor should not fit another child.
Parenting is so mysterious that parents don't speak too much about it. After all, if parents really told the truth about the act of parenting, the world's pro-creation just might come to a screeching halt. Rather, parents simply nod their heads a lot and smile these little knowing smiles when around people who are not parents. After all, people in the parenting "club" want more people to join the club.
I became a parent with little or no knowledge of what it would be like. I had only my own upbringing upon which to build my parenting skills and my childhood was about as unconventional as they come. I was born to older parents who already had two children - 15+ and 13+ years old when I was born. I was an "oops" baby who was supposed to be a boy but emerged as a girl to join two other sisters. Poor dad. My two siblings admitted that I felt more like a little cousin than a sister. My nieces and nephews were close enough in age to me that they were more like siblings than my two sisters.
When my children were young, I mistakingly thought those were the hardest years, then came the teen years when that idea was shot down. Later the twenties proved that the toddler years were the easiest. All this knowledge comes from the school of experience as a parent.
Now that my children are adults in their thirties, one with children, one would think that parenting-type thoughts would disappear but I've discovered they do not. I still worry about them and their families, I still find the need to pray for them daily, I still wonder what they might be doing at a particular time of day, and I still find myself in a variety of fun situations and say aloud, "I wish _______ could be here!"
I understand that the parenting instinct, once awakened, will last 'til my last breath. I wouldn't want it any other way.
Ancora imparo
Parenting is so mysterious that parents don't speak too much about it. After all, if parents really told the truth about the act of parenting, the world's pro-creation just might come to a screeching halt. Rather, parents simply nod their heads a lot and smile these little knowing smiles when around people who are not parents. After all, people in the parenting "club" want more people to join the club.
I became a parent with little or no knowledge of what it would be like. I had only my own upbringing upon which to build my parenting skills and my childhood was about as unconventional as they come. I was born to older parents who already had two children - 15+ and 13+ years old when I was born. I was an "oops" baby who was supposed to be a boy but emerged as a girl to join two other sisters. Poor dad. My two siblings admitted that I felt more like a little cousin than a sister. My nieces and nephews were close enough in age to me that they were more like siblings than my two sisters.
When my children were young, I mistakingly thought those were the hardest years, then came the teen years when that idea was shot down. Later the twenties proved that the toddler years were the easiest. All this knowledge comes from the school of experience as a parent.
Now that my children are adults in their thirties, one with children, one would think that parenting-type thoughts would disappear but I've discovered they do not. I still worry about them and their families, I still find the need to pray for them daily, I still wonder what they might be doing at a particular time of day, and I still find myself in a variety of fun situations and say aloud, "I wish _______ could be here!"
I understand that the parenting instinct, once awakened, will last 'til my last breath. I wouldn't want it any other way.
Ancora imparo
Friday, August 24, 2012
Whose Fault Is It?
Gosh darn it! The election cycle is ramping up and the attack ads are on the rise. The mute button on my television remote will get a workout, if not outright become disabled from overuse. If "we" are supposed to be the silent majority, then why oh why, cannot the people running for office be silent as well? I'm already jaded against both political parties and the buffoons they place before the electorate to select from. I would rather pick my elected officials by playing musical chairs than the time-honored procedure of voting.
For moi, one of the most disconcerting attributes of most, if not all, of the candidates - regardless of the office striving for - is the inability to accept blame, responsibility, culpability or whatever word you choose to assign to the political animals' penchant to finger point. Finger point in any direction other than at themselves.
Perhaps this inability to accept responsibility comes from the direction of the campaign manager? Most campaign managers or Chiefs of Staff are hard-nosed men or women who seem to specialize in jugular juggernaut. Is there a class that all politicos' handlers take called Opponent Annihilation 101? Or "Take No Prisoners, Levels I, II and III"?
It seems that there are almost daily examples of individuals refusing to accept responsibility for something. Some of these examples are sad, causing John Q. Public to rethink his devotion or adoration to a certain person or group. Today, I cannot help but think about Lance Armstrong and his long-term battle against those who accuse him of doping during his reign as a frequent Tour de France cycling winner. I've done some extensive reading about Armstrong, the charges, and the cycling community's common practices then as compared to now. From my lay perspective, I do not believe this is a cut-and-dried controversy, but rather one with a whole spectrum of gray landscape from which to sketch a decision.
Where does fault lay?
At the end of the day, the person looking in the mirror is in charge of her or his fault. The finger-pointing must end at the end of my index finger.
The fault stops here.
Ancora imparo
For moi, one of the most disconcerting attributes of most, if not all, of the candidates - regardless of the office striving for - is the inability to accept blame, responsibility, culpability or whatever word you choose to assign to the political animals' penchant to finger point. Finger point in any direction other than at themselves.
Perhaps this inability to accept responsibility comes from the direction of the campaign manager? Most campaign managers or Chiefs of Staff are hard-nosed men or women who seem to specialize in jugular juggernaut. Is there a class that all politicos' handlers take called Opponent Annihilation 101? Or "Take No Prisoners, Levels I, II and III"?
It seems that there are almost daily examples of individuals refusing to accept responsibility for something. Some of these examples are sad, causing John Q. Public to rethink his devotion or adoration to a certain person or group. Today, I cannot help but think about Lance Armstrong and his long-term battle against those who accuse him of doping during his reign as a frequent Tour de France cycling winner. I've done some extensive reading about Armstrong, the charges, and the cycling community's common practices then as compared to now. From my lay perspective, I do not believe this is a cut-and-dried controversy, but rather one with a whole spectrum of gray landscape from which to sketch a decision.
Where does fault lay?
At the end of the day, the person looking in the mirror is in charge of her or his fault. The finger-pointing must end at the end of my index finger.
The fault stops here.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
If The Internet Says So.........
Television commercials. You either gotta love 'em or hate 'em. Most of the time I walk away to do a task or push the "mute" button because the majority of commercials are a waste of the human brain. Occasionally, a company will release a memorable commercial where the viewer can remember BOTH the content of the commercial AND the product being advertised. For moi, Farmers Insurance gets high marks - not sure why - but it does.
There is another commercial - not sure what product is being advertised - that portrays a woman speaking to a man about something and he asks her where she got her information from. She replies "from the internet". He replies something to the effect, "and everything you read on the internet is true" and she says, "Yes, because the internet says so.". Then the woman tells the man she has to go because here comes her boyfriend...........whom she met on the internet. This Neanderthal-looking goon walks on camera and the woman tells the man to whom she's been speaking, "He's a French model."
Yes, the internet is full of information, some true and much erroneous. There is current chatter about the next "blue moon" coming on August 31, 2012. Various internet sites do cite the next blue moon's appearance as August 31, 2012, but little accurate information on where it will appear geographically seems available. But.................it must be true. The internet says so.
Do you ever feel as if "The Internet" has taken on a life of its own, complete with a name (The Internet) and a personality? We speak of "The Internet" with almost hushed, reverent tones, as if it is a genius person with a doctoral degree in every discipline known to mankind. Kind of an Einstein, Salk, and Mother Theresa rolled into one.
I admit that I do turn to "The Internet" when I get some body ache or anomaly. For instance, the plantar fascia on my right heel is VERY angry at the moment. So angry, for so long now, that it keeps me awake at night. Last night was no exception so what did I do? I turned to my friend, mentor and teacher, "The Internet" for information and advice. At 1:30 a.m. I was glued to my laptop's screen, with my fingers clicking here and there, desperately trying to find information that would lead me to the conclusion that I already carried in my brain. I only searched the sites that agreed with my preconceived self-diagnosis. Today finds me worn out and exhausted. Maybe I should turn to "The Internet" for help on how to alleviate tiredness?
I do not need "The Internet" to tell me that what I need is a nap. Common sense 101!
Ancora imparo
There is another commercial - not sure what product is being advertised - that portrays a woman speaking to a man about something and he asks her where she got her information from. She replies "from the internet". He replies something to the effect, "and everything you read on the internet is true" and she says, "Yes, because the internet says so.". Then the woman tells the man she has to go because here comes her boyfriend...........whom she met on the internet. This Neanderthal-looking goon walks on camera and the woman tells the man to whom she's been speaking, "He's a French model."
Yes, the internet is full of information, some true and much erroneous. There is current chatter about the next "blue moon" coming on August 31, 2012. Various internet sites do cite the next blue moon's appearance as August 31, 2012, but little accurate information on where it will appear geographically seems available. But.................it must be true. The internet says so.
Do you ever feel as if "The Internet" has taken on a life of its own, complete with a name (The Internet) and a personality? We speak of "The Internet" with almost hushed, reverent tones, as if it is a genius person with a doctoral degree in every discipline known to mankind. Kind of an Einstein, Salk, and Mother Theresa rolled into one.
I admit that I do turn to "The Internet" when I get some body ache or anomaly. For instance, the plantar fascia on my right heel is VERY angry at the moment. So angry, for so long now, that it keeps me awake at night. Last night was no exception so what did I do? I turned to my friend, mentor and teacher, "The Internet" for information and advice. At 1:30 a.m. I was glued to my laptop's screen, with my fingers clicking here and there, desperately trying to find information that would lead me to the conclusion that I already carried in my brain. I only searched the sites that agreed with my preconceived self-diagnosis. Today finds me worn out and exhausted. Maybe I should turn to "The Internet" for help on how to alleviate tiredness?
I do not need "The Internet" to tell me that what I need is a nap. Common sense 101!
Ancora imparo
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Fundamentally Curious About.......
I am a fundamentally intrinsically curious person about all things related to the human condition and a few things related to how things work mechanically. Why we humans do what we do, how we come to choose how we do what we do and how we come to choose who we do with what we do is fascinating.
On a recent road trip, my brain was seized with the question of how did each state come to be named? (I'd really like to know who selected the name of each state.......probably a committee????) I was noting the state license plates of passing cars and was struck with how many state names end with the letter "a". When Capt. SO and I reached our destination, we had some time to kill before our meet-up-with party arrived, so I began making a list of the states and what letter each state name ended with. As I had suspected, long before my list-making began, the letter "a" wins hands down for the most common letter to end with. Understanding that few readers will share my penchant for this kind of trivial knowledge, I publish my findings below with some temerity (but not too much).
Sixty-two percent of state names end in a vowel, with a breakdown as follows:
a: 21
e: 4
o: 4
i: 3 (Hawaii wins for ending with two "i's".)
y: 2 (You know - a,e,i,o,u and sometimes "y")
Thirty eight percent of state names, therefore, end in a consonant, with a breakdown as follows:
n: 4
s: 5
h: 1
k: 1
t: 2
d: 2
g: 1
Two other items that I am fundamentally curious about:
1. Why, if a person says, "Please pass the salt?", do most people pass both the salt and pepper?
2. Why a local radio station doesn't pay more attention to whose voice is being used on back-to-back commercials. A recent ad segment was played, using the same voice, using this sequence: An ad for a funeral home promoting all of its services, followed immediately - with little or no pause - by an ad for a furniture store's scratch, dent, overstock and as-is sale. At first I was stunned to think that the funeral home would advertise in such an insensitive way until I realized that the business promotion had changed.
Change the voice, for heaven's sake, so the listener knows that who-knows-what at the funeral home is not scratched, dented, overstocked, or as-is!
Ancora imparo - still curious
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Heels and Healing, Herbs and Herb
As readers of Ancora Imparo may know, I am fascinated with words. How foreigners ever learn our language is beyond me. Well, actually......it is not beyond me. I have spoken, over the phone, with plenty of customer service representatives whose origins are elsewhere, that have no clue on how to speak our language.
I'll begin with words that sound the same (heel and heal) but are spelled differently and have different meanings. These two words have been at the forefront of my internal thesaurus as of late because we have way too many good friends who need prayers for healing and I have a tendon in a heel that desperately needs healing. However, a little heel pain is nothing compared to what others are battling in terms of bodies that are fighting health battles. Although my heel speaks to me constantly, sometimes screaming and other times whispering, wearing tape on my arch and massaging my foot with a golf ball twice a day is nothing when compared to constant trips to the hospital and experimental chemotherapy drugs, which when administered, require the nurses to wear full protective gear.
Then there is the matter of words that are spelled the same but have different meanings and are pronounced differently. Let's take herb and Herb. One is a plant sometimes grown in a garden and the other may be your next door neighbor or a former president. "Why", I ask myself not infrequently, "do we leave off the "h" sound when talking about thyme and marjoram (among others), but we pronounce the "h" when we talk about the guy down at the car wash?" Why was was it not "Erbert Oover" or why do we cook with "h"erbs and spices?
As you can see, my mind is all over the place today.
I'd also like to know why female beach volleyball players are required to wear bikinis? It is no wonder it is such a popular spectator sport.
I'd also like to know how gymnasts can perform such great leaps, jumps, and "sticks" while needing to have a foot or ankle taped up.
And so, you have the complete list of thoughts from my brain today. Be thankful there was nothing else of little import to write about.
Ancora imparo
I'll begin with words that sound the same (heel and heal) but are spelled differently and have different meanings. These two words have been at the forefront of my internal thesaurus as of late because we have way too many good friends who need prayers for healing and I have a tendon in a heel that desperately needs healing. However, a little heel pain is nothing compared to what others are battling in terms of bodies that are fighting health battles. Although my heel speaks to me constantly, sometimes screaming and other times whispering, wearing tape on my arch and massaging my foot with a golf ball twice a day is nothing when compared to constant trips to the hospital and experimental chemotherapy drugs, which when administered, require the nurses to wear full protective gear.
Then there is the matter of words that are spelled the same but have different meanings and are pronounced differently. Let's take herb and Herb. One is a plant sometimes grown in a garden and the other may be your next door neighbor or a former president. "Why", I ask myself not infrequently, "do we leave off the "h" sound when talking about thyme and marjoram (among others), but we pronounce the "h" when we talk about the guy down at the car wash?" Why was was it not "Erbert Oover" or why do we cook with "h"erbs and spices?
As you can see, my mind is all over the place today.
I'd also like to know why female beach volleyball players are required to wear bikinis? It is no wonder it is such a popular spectator sport.
I'd also like to know how gymnasts can perform such great leaps, jumps, and "sticks" while needing to have a foot or ankle taped up.
And so, you have the complete list of thoughts from my brain today. Be thankful there was nothing else of little import to write about.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, August 4, 2012
In Love
Love is a funny concept. The Bible says that "love is patient, love is kind......." - we've probably all heard that scripture read many times at weddings.
Love is mostly intangible - the concept, that is. Most humans know what love has felt like, either on the giving or receiving end. "In love" has a certain connotation that most people would understand. "In love" generally means loving another person, although pet owners might have a serious disagreement with that statement. I have known and do know plenty of people who love their pets as they would love another human and, why not? Pets tend to love selflessly in return - expecting nothing but relishing every kind moment or act that comes their way. Pets (most) don't talk back and pets are totally understanding of their humans' bad days.
Some people "love" inanimate objects, concepts, or "things". We probably all know someone who loves a car, house, money, clothes, prestige, power, influence, a position, and, even him or herself, more than a human(s).
And, so, in the spirit of disclosure, I must admit to loving an intangible concept more than I should: This summer, in particular, I love air conditioning, especially air conditioning units in places I inhabit. This brutal heat that is causing people, pets, livestock, and crops to suffer is really taking its toll on my productivity. As long as I have continued access to air condition, I feel ambitious, creative, and fruitful. Take away external cooling, such as AC or a brisk breeze, and I turn into this zombie-like character who resembles a half-dead garden slug. Each week our condo association's grounds are tended by a large group of grounds-keepers and I do not know from whence their motivation comes. True, they get a paycheck and perhaps that is their total motivation. Still, I don't know how they survive the heat.
Now you know my secret. I am in love with air conditioning. I used to live without it years ago but now that I am old and spoiled, I would not care to exist without it for my living quarters. Not only do I not get anything done when I am overheated but my crankiness ratchets up to the red-warning level. Then I behave in a manner that only my beloved dog, Max, would be able to overlook.
Capt. SO.......not so much.
Ancora imparo
Love is mostly intangible - the concept, that is. Most humans know what love has felt like, either on the giving or receiving end. "In love" has a certain connotation that most people would understand. "In love" generally means loving another person, although pet owners might have a serious disagreement with that statement. I have known and do know plenty of people who love their pets as they would love another human and, why not? Pets tend to love selflessly in return - expecting nothing but relishing every kind moment or act that comes their way. Pets (most) don't talk back and pets are totally understanding of their humans' bad days.
Some people "love" inanimate objects, concepts, or "things". We probably all know someone who loves a car, house, money, clothes, prestige, power, influence, a position, and, even him or herself, more than a human(s).
And, so, in the spirit of disclosure, I must admit to loving an intangible concept more than I should: This summer, in particular, I love air conditioning, especially air conditioning units in places I inhabit. This brutal heat that is causing people, pets, livestock, and crops to suffer is really taking its toll on my productivity. As long as I have continued access to air condition, I feel ambitious, creative, and fruitful. Take away external cooling, such as AC or a brisk breeze, and I turn into this zombie-like character who resembles a half-dead garden slug. Each week our condo association's grounds are tended by a large group of grounds-keepers and I do not know from whence their motivation comes. True, they get a paycheck and perhaps that is their total motivation. Still, I don't know how they survive the heat.
Now you know my secret. I am in love with air conditioning. I used to live without it years ago but now that I am old and spoiled, I would not care to exist without it for my living quarters. Not only do I not get anything done when I am overheated but my crankiness ratchets up to the red-warning level. Then I behave in a manner that only my beloved dog, Max, would be able to overlook.
Capt. SO.......not so much.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Magnet For Unwanted Attention
I'll admit this straight up: I'm not entirely fond of nor comfortable with strangers - at least on a social level. Put strangers in front of me that I need to teach and instruct and I'm fine - in my element - otherwise I prefer to smile, nod, and move along.
This past Monday it seemed as if I had a neon sign over my head (or car, as the case was) that said, "Feel free to weird out this person.", and it happened.
I was driving through the streets of Sturgeon Bay, minding my p's and q's, as usual, and I picked up a tail of a Sturgeon Bay police car, who chose to tail me for the next ten minutes, ultimately following me into a grocery store parking lot. He/she (I do not know the sex of the officer.) never activated the car's roof lights, just simply followed me. Once I turned into the parking lot and selected a parking space, the car moved along and out of the lot, onto the public street nearby.
Weird and highly annoying.
After I completed my grocery-store shopping, I pushed my cart out to my car, which was characteristically parked far out in the lot. As is always my practice, my purse is over my head and not just hanging from one shoulder. I always remove my purse, place it in the front passenger seat, set the locks and proceed to unload my cart. In this case, I had all the doors locked but the rear passenger door open in order to place the bags on the back seat. I had just begun to pick up a bag when I was approached by a man wearing a redish shirt, which is the general color of the store's employee-uniforms. (I never noticed if the shirt actually had the store's name imprinted on it.) He said, "Here, I'll help you unload and I'll take care of your cart." I really didn't want help because I am quite fussy about how my bags are unloaded and where they are placed but I acquiesced. (Upon reflection, I'd politely refuse another time.) He just sort of barged in and start handing me bags - even placing a couple in the car. Then he took my cart and walked off. I was thoroughly annoyed and watched where he walked. He did put the cart in the cart corral, but then got into a pickup very close to the store and drove off.
Weird and discomfortingly annoying.
I got into the car, immediately locking the doors, as is my customary practice and this red pickup parked one stall over. I noticed that the male driver was looking closely at my car. I said to myself, "Oh, for Pete's sake. Stop looking." He and a female passenger got out of the pick-up and the man approached me, signaling me to roll down my window. I thought unprintable thoughts to myself and let the window down just about two inches, low enough to speak through but high enough so as not to let a hand or arm through. He wanted to know what color the car was. I was polite, even though my annoyance had ratcheted up to the red zone. He and his companion then walked off and I was left wondering if there was some sort of neon sign above my head.
Weird, just weird.
I prefer to move through this world under the radar.
Ancora imparo
This past Monday it seemed as if I had a neon sign over my head (or car, as the case was) that said, "Feel free to weird out this person.", and it happened.
I was driving through the streets of Sturgeon Bay, minding my p's and q's, as usual, and I picked up a tail of a Sturgeon Bay police car, who chose to tail me for the next ten minutes, ultimately following me into a grocery store parking lot. He/she (I do not know the sex of the officer.) never activated the car's roof lights, just simply followed me. Once I turned into the parking lot and selected a parking space, the car moved along and out of the lot, onto the public street nearby.
Weird and highly annoying.
After I completed my grocery-store shopping, I pushed my cart out to my car, which was characteristically parked far out in the lot. As is always my practice, my purse is over my head and not just hanging from one shoulder. I always remove my purse, place it in the front passenger seat, set the locks and proceed to unload my cart. In this case, I had all the doors locked but the rear passenger door open in order to place the bags on the back seat. I had just begun to pick up a bag when I was approached by a man wearing a redish shirt, which is the general color of the store's employee-uniforms. (I never noticed if the shirt actually had the store's name imprinted on it.) He said, "Here, I'll help you unload and I'll take care of your cart." I really didn't want help because I am quite fussy about how my bags are unloaded and where they are placed but I acquiesced. (Upon reflection, I'd politely refuse another time.) He just sort of barged in and start handing me bags - even placing a couple in the car. Then he took my cart and walked off. I was thoroughly annoyed and watched where he walked. He did put the cart in the cart corral, but then got into a pickup very close to the store and drove off.
Weird and discomfortingly annoying.
I got into the car, immediately locking the doors, as is my customary practice and this red pickup parked one stall over. I noticed that the male driver was looking closely at my car. I said to myself, "Oh, for Pete's sake. Stop looking." He and a female passenger got out of the pick-up and the man approached me, signaling me to roll down my window. I thought unprintable thoughts to myself and let the window down just about two inches, low enough to speak through but high enough so as not to let a hand or arm through. He wanted to know what color the car was. I was polite, even though my annoyance had ratcheted up to the red zone. He and his companion then walked off and I was left wondering if there was some sort of neon sign above my head.
Weird, just weird.
I prefer to move through this world under the radar.
Ancora imparo
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