Forty One Years Ago
At approximately 11:20 in the morning of December 21, 1968, Kathryn McDarby and William Edward Corcoran were joined in the Holy Bonds of Matrimony. A reception followed at the Stockport Fire House, catered by Mrs. Harold McDarby and attended by a host of friends and relatives. The couple honeymooned in downtown Sidney, New York.
So history records the event. Here are some of the little known facts (or perhaps all too well known facts).
On September 12, 1967 Phi Delta Rho Fraternity hosted a party with Pi Chi Sorority at the old City Hall in Oneonta. I went, danced with some Phi Chi chicky and graciously waited around for her while she was in the bathroom franticly trying to figure out a way to dump the dork outside the door. But I did have a car, and we were having a date party the following Saturday and that was a hard ticket to score, so all in all she would tolerate me for one date.
One thing led to another and before long we were seeing each other quite a bit -- for exactly 41 days. After that, we never spent more than three days in the same place until we were married. First I went student teaching and was in Oneonta only on the weekends, then she went student teaching and was only in town on the weekends, then summer, then Kay went back to school and I started teaching at JC.
What cemented our relationship was all the time we spent in a car – a moving car. I was her only transportation between student teaching assignments and Oneonta. I had an old green Chevy 2 without a radio. On the long trips from Oneonta to Illion or Balston Spa there was nothing to do but talk. And in the talking was the sharing and in the sharing was the love.
By New Years of 1968 I was sure I wanted to spend a lot of time with someone who I knew would always tell me the truth, no matter what and would still love me no matter what the truth was.
My big plan was to get engaged at our Date weekend in May of 1968. I had it all worked out. While we were horseback riding through the forest, I would give her the ring and make a great speech. What a dumb ass idea!!!. As I turned to propose, her horse decided lunch at the barn was much more important and clearly the person on his back couldn’t do much to stop him. I rounded up the horse and got her back on the trail, but the moment was lost.
We did get engaged, and we built a wonderful plan. I would get a job, she would finish college and the following summer we would get married. I would have saved a good deal of money, she would have a job and we would be on easy street. Only that meant being apart another year. In July, I was at her house in Columbiaville for the weekend. On Sunday I went to Mass and as I was sitting there it just came over me that I didn’t want to wait another year. I went back to the house and we all sat around the kitchen table with most votes being , “ not the most practical idea” but the two that counted being “Yes”
So, we decided to get married over Christmas break of 1968. That meant we had to find a place half way between Oneonta and Johnson City. That should be easy!! Except my take home pay was $362 a month. Telephone, electric and heat would run us $56 a month, gas for the cars cost us about $40 a month, and insurance cost us another $54 a month. College tuition and expenses sucked $30 a month from our budget and paying for living room furniture cost $23 a month. We could eat for $60 a month, but that would leave only $120 for rent and extras. That meant the lovely apartments available were out of our price range and the ones we could afford we couldn’t live in.
We looked at some amazing dumps. Finally, we answered the very last add. It was for a garage apartment on River Street in Sidney. It was an ugly, asbestos shingled building that sat way back on the river. But when we saw the inside, it was gorgeous. The floor was immaculate, the appliances were modern and spotless and it had lots of room. We grabbed it at $100 a month.
Kay’s mother planned the catering, the showers were held and finally it was December. We had a faculty meeting at school Thursday December 19th. They gave me a $50 check as a wedding present. I used it to fill up the car and to buy our first Christmas tree. I got to Sidney, set up the tree, decorated it and drove on to Columbiaville. We spent Friday cleaning the Fire House with help from Kay’s cousins, had a nice party at Kay’s parents house and I spent the night with my brother and parents in a motel outside of Hudson.
The next morning we were married, much to the objection of the Priest who felt marrying someone not of the Catholic faith was not a real wedding anyway. Bob Stark hid my car in a parking lot up the street so it would not be “decorated” I hope he knew how much I appreciated it. I had a great time at the reception; we were nearly the last to leave. We stopped at a hotel on Windham Mountain for the first night. I remember we were the only ones there and all through dinner we were entertained by a black cat that was playing on the stage. ( or hunting dinner which I chose not to think about)
The next morning I woke up with the most romantic thought in the world going through my head, “ What the hell have I done? I’m not ready for any of this.” Ten years later Kay told me she woke up thinking exactly the same thing.
I was excited to get back to Sidney and see the surprised expression on Kay’s face when she saw my Christmas tree. I got the surprised look, but I had one as well. During the three days I had been gone, every single needle on the tree had fallen off, dumping them and the decorations in a big pile under the tree. Never buy your Christmas tree in a gas station.
We unpacked our wedding presents. Bob Stark gave us three stainless steel mixing bowls which we still use nearly every day but most people gave us money. That money saved our lives. We spent most of the honeymoon buying the essentials for starting up a home. I remember how exciting it was to be together and to buy things that would be “ours”. Most of what we bought, we still use or we used it until it just wore out. The one casualty I still feel bad about was a set of salt and peppershakers. The salt was a little girl owl and the pepper was a boy owl. We had them on the counter in the kitchen. One night the cabinet fell off the wall and crushed the pepper shaker beyond repair. We still have the widowed salt shaker, but I miss her buddy to this day. It was one of the first things we bought together.
Time moved and shifted and life forced us to move on to new times. Most have been good, but I think, if heaven allows you to relive parts of your life, the nine months we spent in Sidney would be one part I would visit again and again.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The great crisis of life is not that we are unaware of our faults, but that we are all too aware of them. There came a time when I was so consumed by my failings I sunk into self hatred and self loathing. How could I be responsible for such harm to people I cared about? How could I be the great betrayer, the great enemy? I reached a level of such ebony despair I lost all laughter.
And then, between one step and another, I felt a great cosmic hug. With it came this perfect peace. And I knew things. I knew I would never be judged for what I was not, but cherished for what I was. I knew that “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” meant that we would be forgiven in the exact way, with the exact mercy, compassion and understanding we extended others. I knew that “what you have done for the least of your brothers” did not refer only to the poor or downtrodden, but the people in our lives we are the angriest at. I knew that “you cannot serve two masters” included the choice between hate and love.
I knew that God was not some great scorekeeper sending childhood cancer or car wrecks or floods to teach humanity some lesson, but that God would use those natural tragedies to work great miracles within us ---- if we would only listen. But, God never shouts, he whispers in the gentlest ways, and if you are not attentive, you will miss his words. Fear not, he will try again and again.
I knew that if God could love as disreputable, broken, and sinful a person as me, what arrogance for me to not see every other creature on earth in that light. I knew I would spend the rest of my life whittling down the log in my eye and ignoring the speck in others eyes.
And then, between one step and another, I felt a great cosmic hug. With it came this perfect peace. And I knew things. I knew I would never be judged for what I was not, but cherished for what I was. I knew that “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” meant that we would be forgiven in the exact way, with the exact mercy, compassion and understanding we extended others. I knew that “what you have done for the least of your brothers” did not refer only to the poor or downtrodden, but the people in our lives we are the angriest at. I knew that “you cannot serve two masters” included the choice between hate and love.
I knew that God was not some great scorekeeper sending childhood cancer or car wrecks or floods to teach humanity some lesson, but that God would use those natural tragedies to work great miracles within us ---- if we would only listen. But, God never shouts, he whispers in the gentlest ways, and if you are not attentive, you will miss his words. Fear not, he will try again and again.
I knew that if God could love as disreputable, broken, and sinful a person as me, what arrogance for me to not see every other creature on earth in that light. I knew I would spend the rest of my life whittling down the log in my eye and ignoring the speck in others eyes.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
How often do we pass by a spot, a street corner, a house, an old building and give it no thought, only to have that place become a center point in our lives at a later date?
When I was a wee lad, still confined to a stroller, my father would take my brother and I into an empty field to fly kites. At the time we were living on the corner of Margaret and Floral Avenue in a second floor apartment. At the other end of Margaret Street, the old Kilmer farm lands were empty fields. The only structure in the area was the National Armory. Now, I was all of three years old, so all I know is what I was told, but apparently I sat in my stroller and watched clouds float or grass grow, because it seems the kites rarely flew. But once the kite disappeared, or crashed beyond repair, I would be freed, and the three of us would cavort all over the empty space. Incredibly, at some juncture of space, the three year old me wandered over the exact spot my someday three year old grandchild will wander over. Only it will be his living room.
How many times did I walk through the halls of Lincoln School as a child with no idea I would end a career there? Or when I sat in Mrs. Latta’s sixth grade class, could I have imagined that one day I would be in charge of that same room?
One year, we took a field trip to Cooperstown. On the way there the bus stopped in Oneonta at this dumpy diner on Chestnut Street. Nine years later, I would live a few yards from Nick’s and would spend a lot of hours there.
While at Oneonta, I would often hitchhike home for a weekend. Most of the time, I would be deposited someplace near Hillcrest. I would walk to the old Grand Union ( Now Laura’s Luncheonette ) and call home. Dad would jump in the car and come to fetch me; I would start walking down Chenango Street watching for the old Crown Victoria. How many times did I walk by 719 Chenango Street with no idea I would spend most of my life there?
In the summer of 1965, my mother, father and I drove around the state of Vermont. Dad and I spent several weeks pouring over maps, planning our route. We wanted nothing to do with driving through a gigantic city like Albany so we decided to cross the Hudson River at Catskill and take route 9 north. After passing through Hudson, we must have driven through a little wide spot in the road named Columbiaville. In one of those houses we flew by without much thought there was a young lady. What was she doing that day? Was she in the yard, glancing up as our car whizzed past, totally unaware that she would spend three quarters of her life with the driver?
How many unnoticed , unthought-of places did I pass today?
When I was a wee lad, still confined to a stroller, my father would take my brother and I into an empty field to fly kites. At the time we were living on the corner of Margaret and Floral Avenue in a second floor apartment. At the other end of Margaret Street, the old Kilmer farm lands were empty fields. The only structure in the area was the National Armory. Now, I was all of three years old, so all I know is what I was told, but apparently I sat in my stroller and watched clouds float or grass grow, because it seems the kites rarely flew. But once the kite disappeared, or crashed beyond repair, I would be freed, and the three of us would cavort all over the empty space. Incredibly, at some juncture of space, the three year old me wandered over the exact spot my someday three year old grandchild will wander over. Only it will be his living room.
How many times did I walk through the halls of Lincoln School as a child with no idea I would end a career there? Or when I sat in Mrs. Latta’s sixth grade class, could I have imagined that one day I would be in charge of that same room?
One year, we took a field trip to Cooperstown. On the way there the bus stopped in Oneonta at this dumpy diner on Chestnut Street. Nine years later, I would live a few yards from Nick’s and would spend a lot of hours there.
While at Oneonta, I would often hitchhike home for a weekend. Most of the time, I would be deposited someplace near Hillcrest. I would walk to the old Grand Union ( Now Laura’s Luncheonette ) and call home. Dad would jump in the car and come to fetch me; I would start walking down Chenango Street watching for the old Crown Victoria. How many times did I walk by 719 Chenango Street with no idea I would spend most of my life there?
In the summer of 1965, my mother, father and I drove around the state of Vermont. Dad and I spent several weeks pouring over maps, planning our route. We wanted nothing to do with driving through a gigantic city like Albany so we decided to cross the Hudson River at Catskill and take route 9 north. After passing through Hudson, we must have driven through a little wide spot in the road named Columbiaville. In one of those houses we flew by without much thought there was a young lady. What was she doing that day? Was she in the yard, glancing up as our car whizzed past, totally unaware that she would spend three quarters of her life with the driver?
How many unnoticed , unthought-of places did I pass today?
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Just For Fun
I got great pictures of myself yesterday. Usually my pictures look like a wanted poster in Terrorist Central, but this one was clear, pink and healthy looking. You couldn’t see my face, but the inside of my colon looked great.
The whole adventure started about a month ago, when one of the regular health tests showed a “slight” chance of a problem. Since this was the exact phrase used six years ago about my PSA results, it was not reassuring. Three years ago, I would have freaked out, worried myself sick about it and been a wreck. This time, I did what I have come to believe. I scheduled the “Big Exploration” and refused to worry about it until the Monday morning I would need to “prepare”. Oddly, (or is it that miracle world that surrounds us, but we fail to notice) the Saturday before “lift off” we listened to Sister Bridget do a three hour talk on “ Discerning God” , a talk that deserves a writing all its own. Anyway, one of the ways God talks to us is through dreams. Sunday night I must have had a dream. Since the Prostate operation I have lost the ability to remember any dreams I have, but, I woke up Monday morning with total peace that everything was fine.
So the entire event was kind of interesting. And fasting for the entire day revealed some things about myself. For one thing, I could never be a contestant on Survivor. Physical Challenge? I’m ready. A few bugs, dirt, same cloths for forty days? Just like home. Miss breakfast? No morning coffee? Not a chance!!! By the end of the first day I would be actively campaigning for legalized cannibalism. “ Jeff! Vote food off the Island? Are you nuts? Throw them in the pot!” That attitude might hurt my “social” game.
On Monday, I made it until 1 in the afternoon before I started to stare at the cat. Don’t ever think cats are dumb. Frankie took one look at me and disappeared. The “pre” directions said to start drinking the solution at 6 PM. I was ready to start at 5:30. Anything would have been welcome. Most people complain about the solution but, I have drunk worse stuff at Phi Delt Rush parties.
Tuesday morning we went to Lourdes for the big event. I must note that the nurses there were great. They all have a sense of humor and were pleasant beyond belief. After donning the latest fashion gown, they stuck a big needle in my hand and wheeled my cart to the procedure room where I was wired into a monitoring machine. Every five minutes my blood pressure, oxygen content and heart rate were checked. I tried to bio feedback the readings with pretty good results. I got the heart rate from 65 to 58 and the blood pressure from 176/ 107 to 160/ 97. OK , so maybe I wasn’t as relaxed as I thought.
Anyway, the doctor came over, said a few words to me, turned to the nurse and said, “ We will start initiating anesthesia now. You will feel a warm sensation and perhaps a little ------ “
and I was telling Kay I wanted poached eggs for dinner -- apparently for the sixth or seventh time. She agreed and told me the test was perfectly clear --- apparently for the sixth or seventh time. We came home, I had a great afternoon nap and poached eggs for dinner. Life is good!!
I got great pictures of myself yesterday. Usually my pictures look like a wanted poster in Terrorist Central, but this one was clear, pink and healthy looking. You couldn’t see my face, but the inside of my colon looked great.
The whole adventure started about a month ago, when one of the regular health tests showed a “slight” chance of a problem. Since this was the exact phrase used six years ago about my PSA results, it was not reassuring. Three years ago, I would have freaked out, worried myself sick about it and been a wreck. This time, I did what I have come to believe. I scheduled the “Big Exploration” and refused to worry about it until the Monday morning I would need to “prepare”. Oddly, (or is it that miracle world that surrounds us, but we fail to notice) the Saturday before “lift off” we listened to Sister Bridget do a three hour talk on “ Discerning God” , a talk that deserves a writing all its own. Anyway, one of the ways God talks to us is through dreams. Sunday night I must have had a dream. Since the Prostate operation I have lost the ability to remember any dreams I have, but, I woke up Monday morning with total peace that everything was fine.
So the entire event was kind of interesting. And fasting for the entire day revealed some things about myself. For one thing, I could never be a contestant on Survivor. Physical Challenge? I’m ready. A few bugs, dirt, same cloths for forty days? Just like home. Miss breakfast? No morning coffee? Not a chance!!! By the end of the first day I would be actively campaigning for legalized cannibalism. “ Jeff! Vote food off the Island? Are you nuts? Throw them in the pot!” That attitude might hurt my “social” game.
On Monday, I made it until 1 in the afternoon before I started to stare at the cat. Don’t ever think cats are dumb. Frankie took one look at me and disappeared. The “pre” directions said to start drinking the solution at 6 PM. I was ready to start at 5:30. Anything would have been welcome. Most people complain about the solution but, I have drunk worse stuff at Phi Delt Rush parties.
Tuesday morning we went to Lourdes for the big event. I must note that the nurses there were great. They all have a sense of humor and were pleasant beyond belief. After donning the latest fashion gown, they stuck a big needle in my hand and wheeled my cart to the procedure room where I was wired into a monitoring machine. Every five minutes my blood pressure, oxygen content and heart rate were checked. I tried to bio feedback the readings with pretty good results. I got the heart rate from 65 to 58 and the blood pressure from 176/ 107 to 160/ 97. OK , so maybe I wasn’t as relaxed as I thought.
Anyway, the doctor came over, said a few words to me, turned to the nurse and said, “ We will start initiating anesthesia now. You will feel a warm sensation and perhaps a little ------ “
and I was telling Kay I wanted poached eggs for dinner -- apparently for the sixth or seventh time. She agreed and told me the test was perfectly clear --- apparently for the sixth or seventh time. We came home, I had a great afternoon nap and poached eggs for dinner. Life is good!!
Friday, October 23, 2009
I hate changing my cloths!!
I always thought firemen had it nice. Wake up, throw both legs in pants and boots, pull up the suspenders, slam a hat on your head and out the door ready for business. No fuss , no muss and no, “ Those socks don’t match your shirt!” nonsense.
Even as a kid I was mystified by the whole “Proper attire” concept. For a brief time I played with paper dolls. These were semi naked versions of Dagwood and Blondie accompanied by paper outfits that were held in place with paper tabs that fit over the figures shoulders.
My father must have been appalled by the idea his son was playing with paper dolls, but he would have been somewhat relieved to know I was much more interested in the semi naked Blondie than the semi naked Dagwood.
Anyway , there were also little back up scenes included in the sets. Dagwood chopping wood, Blondie baking ham, The Party, Church etc. etc.
I never “got” why Dagwood couldn’t split wood in a suit, or why the ham would not have tasted just as good if Blondie wore an evening dress to cook it. For that matter, if Dagwood was so worried about the ham, why didn’t he hand Blondie the ax and get his rear end in the kitchen.
Well, you can see the social havoc I would have unleashed on the world.
Over the years I have tried valiantly to live out my desires. It has not turned out well.
I once transplanted a large shrub from one part of the yard to another. This involved heavy labor and much water. Fully expecting “ Good job” from my lovely spouse, I was surprised to hear consternation in her voice , “ those are your good shoes!!” In her defense the damn things were never worth much after that. The toes curled up and the insides got really rough.
Then there was the hall painting. “ Why is your good shirt polka dotted?” And where is it written that there are “good jeans” in which we should refrain from applying polyurethane? Are there “bad jeans” worn only to clean sheds ??
Nor is it only work. Countless times I have arrived at the door wallet packed, watch wound, keys clutched in hand only to be greeted with, “ Not in that your not!”
This makes no sense. We are invited to celebrate the special events of others lives, their most happy, sacred and emotional moments. Why does this require us to shove our bodies into stiff cloths, drape a rope around our necks and encase our feet in hunks of dead cow?
In fact I believe it is a female conspiracy. Every secretary at school thought it was their job to check if I was appropriately attired. Even my favorite female students took on the job. They would greet me at the door, give me the once over and either nod approvingly or comment, “So the light was out in the closet again.” Or “ So your wife left before you got up this morning.”
Finally I have drawn a line in the sand. I bought a pair of dress up sneakers that perfectly match my suit. Shoes are a thing of the past.
I always thought firemen had it nice. Wake up, throw both legs in pants and boots, pull up the suspenders, slam a hat on your head and out the door ready for business. No fuss , no muss and no, “ Those socks don’t match your shirt!” nonsense.
Even as a kid I was mystified by the whole “Proper attire” concept. For a brief time I played with paper dolls. These were semi naked versions of Dagwood and Blondie accompanied by paper outfits that were held in place with paper tabs that fit over the figures shoulders.
My father must have been appalled by the idea his son was playing with paper dolls, but he would have been somewhat relieved to know I was much more interested in the semi naked Blondie than the semi naked Dagwood.
Anyway , there were also little back up scenes included in the sets. Dagwood chopping wood, Blondie baking ham, The Party, Church etc. etc.
I never “got” why Dagwood couldn’t split wood in a suit, or why the ham would not have tasted just as good if Blondie wore an evening dress to cook it. For that matter, if Dagwood was so worried about the ham, why didn’t he hand Blondie the ax and get his rear end in the kitchen.
Well, you can see the social havoc I would have unleashed on the world.
Over the years I have tried valiantly to live out my desires. It has not turned out well.
I once transplanted a large shrub from one part of the yard to another. This involved heavy labor and much water. Fully expecting “ Good job” from my lovely spouse, I was surprised to hear consternation in her voice , “ those are your good shoes!!” In her defense the damn things were never worth much after that. The toes curled up and the insides got really rough.
Then there was the hall painting. “ Why is your good shirt polka dotted?” And where is it written that there are “good jeans” in which we should refrain from applying polyurethane? Are there “bad jeans” worn only to clean sheds ??
Nor is it only work. Countless times I have arrived at the door wallet packed, watch wound, keys clutched in hand only to be greeted with, “ Not in that your not!”
This makes no sense. We are invited to celebrate the special events of others lives, their most happy, sacred and emotional moments. Why does this require us to shove our bodies into stiff cloths, drape a rope around our necks and encase our feet in hunks of dead cow?
In fact I believe it is a female conspiracy. Every secretary at school thought it was their job to check if I was appropriately attired. Even my favorite female students took on the job. They would greet me at the door, give me the once over and either nod approvingly or comment, “So the light was out in the closet again.” Or “ So your wife left before you got up this morning.”
Finally I have drawn a line in the sand. I bought a pair of dress up sneakers that perfectly match my suit. Shoes are a thing of the past.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Shenandoah National Park
We just spent a glorious week at Shenandoah National Park. When we arrived Monday, the forest was pretty green, but by Thursday it was in spectacular attire. On the first day we hiked up to the summit of Compton Gap. This meant about a mile and a half on the Appalachian Trail and then another mile on a side trail. The view was nice, but not much different than the Drive itself.
We checked into Skyland and settled down to celebrate out arrival with a bottle of wine on our veranda. Dinner that night was surprisingly good.
After breakfast Tuesday, we hiked into Rose Canyon. It was a very nice walk down, but we had to be back at Skyland by 12:30 so we tried to set a speed record for climbing 1200 feet in 30 minutes. This did not feel at all enjoyable, but we made it back in time to jump on horses and head into White Oak Canyon. Kay really enjoyed herself and wanted to go Wednesday.
Unfortunately, the wind was so bad on Wednesday, that the horses were not allowed to come out and play, so we headed into Luray for breakfast at Uncle Buck’s. Very nice. Once we got back on the mountain we decided to chance the wind and at least start down White Oak. This canyon was on the lee side of the mountain and once we dropped below the ridge, the wind was manageable. The hike was absolutely perfect. There was an Autumn scent in the air, bright blue sky, 60 degree temperatures and just spectacular scenery. A hike of about three miles brought us to the top of the falls. We seriously thought about going the rest of the way down, but several signs warned that the going was very hard and we should rethink it. So we went back up, with the idea of going out of the park and coming up to the falls from the bottom on Thursday.
Once we were back to Skyland, we decided to drive up to Big Meadow and look for bears. I’m still a little confused as to why this was a good idea, but since no bear felt the need to expose himself, it didn’t matter. But Big Meadow was an interesting place to see.
After packing Thursday we, decided to go down Dark Hollow Falls, then hike out onto Big Meadow and then on the way home, try and go up White Oak from the bottom. Instead, we were so captivated by Dark Hollow falls we stayed there for a long time. Then when we got to Big Meadow we took a two mile forest trail and eventually walked into the Meadow.
Sadly, we needed to head for home. We made Carlisle Pa that night and found a delightful English Pub. (Don’t tell my ancestors)
Of course our trip back to Binghamton was made in a rain storm!!. Our journey ended at 2:30 Friday. The cats were thrilled to see us, but the rest of the Village seemed to have survived quite nicely without us.
It was a great trip, with beautiful scenery, sparkling company and surprisingly good food. I would actually go to Skyland just for the dinners.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
This is the entertainment system that we did for our friend's cottage. It took awhile to finish but I'm pleased with how it turned out.
We worked the Brew at the Zoo last night. I always enjoy that event. We were passing out drinks and coffee and were located right near the music. The guitar player is a "morning Man" for a local radio station and runs another one called "the bear". 107.5 I think. He and the girl that sang with him were very good. Considering the weather, it was a pretty good turn out. I think they met their goal. I must say I thought it was much better organized than some other years. Today was just a blah day, although the giants won pretty easily so that was good.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Just a Nice Day
I have a confession to make. I Love to work. I like the challenge, I like the feeling of doing something useful, I even enjoy being honestly tired and knowing why. I get a little frustrated when I can’t accomplish as much as I used to, but I bet I can hold my own with other 60 year olds. Today was one of those great days where work was plentiful, the weather was perfect and the company was enjoyable. What more could you ask for?
After my morning walk, we had a nice breakfast, and then headed to the zoo to tear down the old Ed cage and put up the new one.
Two very pleasant young men helped I enjoyed working with them and I enjoyed their company. I was able to keep up with them, but by two thirty I was pretty tired. We finished the job, and it does look good.
We headed home, I read a little, practiced guitar and relaxed. It was a beautiful day, good company and wonderfully fun work. Tonight I will sleep well and feel like I have earned it. Doesn’t get much better than that.
I have a confession to make. I Love to work. I like the challenge, I like the feeling of doing something useful, I even enjoy being honestly tired and knowing why. I get a little frustrated when I can’t accomplish as much as I used to, but I bet I can hold my own with other 60 year olds. Today was one of those great days where work was plentiful, the weather was perfect and the company was enjoyable. What more could you ask for?
After my morning walk, we had a nice breakfast, and then headed to the zoo to tear down the old Ed cage and put up the new one.
Two very pleasant young men helped I enjoyed working with them and I enjoyed their company. I was able to keep up with them, but by two thirty I was pretty tired. We finished the job, and it does look good.
We headed home, I read a little, practiced guitar and relaxed. It was a beautiful day, good company and wonderfully fun work. Tonight I will sleep well and feel like I have earned it. Doesn’t get much better than that.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Where did summer go?
Where has the summer gone??
Actually, I know the answer. For me, much of it was spent doing something I really enjoy. Building things I have no idea how to build. To be honest, if I already know how to do it, it hosts little passion for me. Sure I can do it, but it generates about as much interest as taking out the trash, mowing the lawn or washing dishes, jobs I can also do quite well.
So this summer was wonderful. I finished up an entertainment center that involved some intricate angle cuts, did some shelves that required a number of half laps, and then the fun really began.
This looks like a simple installation of a cellar door. The correct way to install it was to have a perfectly flat and square entrance, with room on each side. The bottom of the door is supposed to lie flat on the ground, with the triangular sides raising the door about 25 degrees. As you can see, we had a door that fit in the corner of the house, was everything but square and needed to be angled at about 60 degrees. When I first saw the door at Foland’s, I asked if they had one designed for my house. The reply, “ No, and this one can’t be made to fit.” Just set me thinking. So, here we are.
The next pictures are of the zoo cages. The rectangular one, was not a challenge, but I had to do that one to get a shot at the second one. A six sided bird cage, built as a kit, so it can be taken apart and moved from our house to the zoo sight, and perhaps moved again later. I can’t describe how many fun filled nights I have laid awake trying to figure all the angles and cuts out.
So where did summer go? It was spent having a ball.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Don’t Forget to Say Grace!
The other day I was motoring along, windows down, top open, radio turned up way too high, listening to 60’s music. It occurred to me that the music of the 60’s was so innocent, so positive and hopeful. Of course the cosmic force could not let that pass, so the next song that played was Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction” That song contains one of the great ethical lines of all time.
“Hate your next door neighbor, but don’t forget to say grace.”
Joyful little tune!!
But it set the stage for what was to happen next. I opened my E Mail and there was one more hate filled harangue against Obama. This was the usual “He hates whites, He’s a Moslem, He wasn’t born in the USA.” What made it so offensive was the person who sent it. He is a passing acquaintance who deserves great credit for the care he showed a family member when that person was in dire straits. This gentleman went far beyond anything expected or required of him. From time to time he has sent us uplifting, loving messages and has often spoken of his great Christian belief. So how does he , or any other so called “good person” pass on filth like this?
I have a friend who complained that the right wing liberal media was out to get President Bush. I always argued that the media was not right or left wing, it was simply prostituting itself to the highest bidder. That the American public gets exactly what it wants, and it has been told it wants conspiracy and evil people in government and the sky is falling etc. Told by who? That is the amazing thing to me. The Rush Limbaughs and Rusty Skullcaps of the Radio world – ( And I fully apologize for not being able to name any liberal radio idiots- they exist, I just don’t know any names) are making millions of dollars by keeping the idiot fringe scared and angry. Father Coughlin* was an early version of this, but at least he could claim a legitimate hatred for England as his motivating factor. Today’s “experts” can only claim greed.
This is never to say, don’t disagree with ideas you don’t agree with. You think the cost of Health care is too high? Good for you. You want the thing paid for? I agree. You are nervous about “ a faceless government official making medical decisions about you? Me to, although I am happier with them than a faceless Insurance official making the same decision. But instead of valuable discussions that might bring us together, we have turned the discussion over to the morons.
Remember Sarah Palan’s Death Panels? Seems one of the big legislative initiatives of Sarah’s governor career was to get end of life counseling for Alaskans. I would highly commend her for that. Oren Hatch thought it was such a good idea he introduced Legislation into the Senate several times trying to get it covered by Medicaid. Suddenly, when suggested by a Democratic President, it’s a horrible idea. How do you spell Hypocrite?
There are still “Birthers” out there waiting to join the “Plug Uglies “ and “No Nothing Party” stalwarts. America has survived ignorance before, but not all of its members have. The last time we had this level of hate out in the open was during John Kennedy’s Presidency. While all the hate spewing fools may not pull the trigger, they most certainly are loading the gun.
And the latest outcry because the President of the United States wants to speak to the school children and tell them to work hard and stay in school? Rush decided that was a plot to indoctrinate the poor children because one idea was for children to write to the President with ideas of how they might help him. DUH!! President George Herbert Bush sat in front of an elementary classroom and suggested they might write to him with their ideas of how to help him.
So for me, enough. If good people stay quiet, evil will get a grip. If you want to make fun of Obama’s ears, or chide him about a specific program or hang him for something he actually does, fine, that’s part of being President. But the vicious, filthy hate mongering scare tactics being hyped by many of our “leaders”? All that shows is how frightened they are of ideas. Spare me!
*Father Coughlin was an Irish Canadian Priest who coined the term Social Justice. Unfortunately, while an early supporter of Franklin Roosevelt, when Roosevelt cozied up to Winston Churchill, Coughlin could not overcome the hatred many Irish felt for the founder of the Black and Tan in Ireland and started to apologize for Hitler. It seemed in his mind that anyone who bombed England couldn’t be all bad!! Coughlin commanded a gigantic radio audience and used it to be a thorn in Roosevelt’s side until Pearl Harbor.
The other day I was motoring along, windows down, top open, radio turned up way too high, listening to 60’s music. It occurred to me that the music of the 60’s was so innocent, so positive and hopeful. Of course the cosmic force could not let that pass, so the next song that played was Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction” That song contains one of the great ethical lines of all time.
“Hate your next door neighbor, but don’t forget to say grace.”
Joyful little tune!!
But it set the stage for what was to happen next. I opened my E Mail and there was one more hate filled harangue against Obama. This was the usual “He hates whites, He’s a Moslem, He wasn’t born in the USA.” What made it so offensive was the person who sent it. He is a passing acquaintance who deserves great credit for the care he showed a family member when that person was in dire straits. This gentleman went far beyond anything expected or required of him. From time to time he has sent us uplifting, loving messages and has often spoken of his great Christian belief. So how does he , or any other so called “good person” pass on filth like this?
I have a friend who complained that the right wing liberal media was out to get President Bush. I always argued that the media was not right or left wing, it was simply prostituting itself to the highest bidder. That the American public gets exactly what it wants, and it has been told it wants conspiracy and evil people in government and the sky is falling etc. Told by who? That is the amazing thing to me. The Rush Limbaughs and Rusty Skullcaps of the Radio world – ( And I fully apologize for not being able to name any liberal radio idiots- they exist, I just don’t know any names) are making millions of dollars by keeping the idiot fringe scared and angry. Father Coughlin* was an early version of this, but at least he could claim a legitimate hatred for England as his motivating factor. Today’s “experts” can only claim greed.
This is never to say, don’t disagree with ideas you don’t agree with. You think the cost of Health care is too high? Good for you. You want the thing paid for? I agree. You are nervous about “ a faceless government official making medical decisions about you? Me to, although I am happier with them than a faceless Insurance official making the same decision. But instead of valuable discussions that might bring us together, we have turned the discussion over to the morons.
Remember Sarah Palan’s Death Panels? Seems one of the big legislative initiatives of Sarah’s governor career was to get end of life counseling for Alaskans. I would highly commend her for that. Oren Hatch thought it was such a good idea he introduced Legislation into the Senate several times trying to get it covered by Medicaid. Suddenly, when suggested by a Democratic President, it’s a horrible idea. How do you spell Hypocrite?
There are still “Birthers” out there waiting to join the “Plug Uglies “ and “No Nothing Party” stalwarts. America has survived ignorance before, but not all of its members have. The last time we had this level of hate out in the open was during John Kennedy’s Presidency. While all the hate spewing fools may not pull the trigger, they most certainly are loading the gun.
And the latest outcry because the President of the United States wants to speak to the school children and tell them to work hard and stay in school? Rush decided that was a plot to indoctrinate the poor children because one idea was for children to write to the President with ideas of how they might help him. DUH!! President George Herbert Bush sat in front of an elementary classroom and suggested they might write to him with their ideas of how to help him.
So for me, enough. If good people stay quiet, evil will get a grip. If you want to make fun of Obama’s ears, or chide him about a specific program or hang him for something he actually does, fine, that’s part of being President. But the vicious, filthy hate mongering scare tactics being hyped by many of our “leaders”? All that shows is how frightened they are of ideas. Spare me!
*Father Coughlin was an Irish Canadian Priest who coined the term Social Justice. Unfortunately, while an early supporter of Franklin Roosevelt, when Roosevelt cozied up to Winston Churchill, Coughlin could not overcome the hatred many Irish felt for the founder of the Black and Tan in Ireland and started to apologize for Hitler. It seemed in his mind that anyone who bombed England couldn’t be all bad!! Coughlin commanded a gigantic radio audience and used it to be a thorn in Roosevelt’s side until Pearl Harbor.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Cellar Door
“Writers Write.” I was told that by an accomplished author many years ago. His point was that the human mind needs to create. If a person is to remain in balance they must feed that creative need. The outlet can come in a multitude of ways. Music, art, cooking, building, theatrics and so on to the ends of imagination. For writers, they need to write so they write.
I always wanted to “be” a writer, but each time I started to take it seriously, a dark part of me escaped into the writing and then into my life. Plus, it was hard work. The stories came easily, but each story required rewriting, rewriting and more rewriting to get every word “working”. Then the inevitable realization that your best was not yet good enough. OUCH!! Now I see another truth. I might want to write, but I didn’t need to write.
All my creative needs were being met in other ways. Teaching was a gigantic outlet, until I went to C Fred. As a teacher, I was loud, messy and often kept a dull subject interesting by outlandish presentations. If jumping on a table and doing a dance livened up verb formation, so much the better. Since much of History is about insanity, it requires insane action to make it live. My classes “claimed” the New World by planting a flag and claiming a part of the classroom. When several claims to the exact same set of desks became evident, we solved the problem. Given the fact that Governments have the same patience and tolerance of fifth graders, the solution was pretty evident. Who hits who the hardest has the most legitimate claim to the desks {land} .
Want to get kids attention? Rip a dollar bill into quarters, another into tenths and a third into twentieths and have a discussion about fractions and money. You’ve just invested three dollar, and yes, some of the kids remember the destruction of money and miss the point, but a lot more have a sudden interest in learning.
At any rate, my need for creativity was expressed through teaching until we were all moved to C. Fred. The lack of walls made my methods annoying to everyone else.
Which made me miserable.
Which made me crave writing.
Which made me a serious writer for about a year. My rejection slips went from preprinted “ You’ve got to be kidding!!” to handwritten “ Sorry we can’t use this piece of writing, but please send us more.” But by that time, I had found the shop a C Fred and basketball at C Fred and a way to get back to my old methods and I no longer needed to write.
When I retired, I assumed part of my time would be spent writing. Instead, I tried insanity for several years. The cure for that, rather than a bottle of pills, was to spend a long time with Dr. Hall learning why I was nuts in the first place. Remarkably, ( or not surprisingly) it also sent my lifetime dark companion someplace far away. One of the few old friends I do not miss.
At present, when I am in the middle of doing boring, mundane chore type jobs, my creative needs are met by writing. Part of that writing is this -- whatever this is--. But often creative needs are met in building projects that capture my interest. This summer it was an entertainment center, a set of shelves, a cage for the zoo and my cellar door. I know the title of this is cellar door and it’s what this started to be about, but sometimes things don’t turn out the way we planned. The cellar door story will come later. So, if a period of time passes without a new entry, rejoice because it just means the balance of life is being met in another fashion.
And I cannot claim to be a writer because “Writer’s write.”
“Writers Write.” I was told that by an accomplished author many years ago. His point was that the human mind needs to create. If a person is to remain in balance they must feed that creative need. The outlet can come in a multitude of ways. Music, art, cooking, building, theatrics and so on to the ends of imagination. For writers, they need to write so they write.
I always wanted to “be” a writer, but each time I started to take it seriously, a dark part of me escaped into the writing and then into my life. Plus, it was hard work. The stories came easily, but each story required rewriting, rewriting and more rewriting to get every word “working”. Then the inevitable realization that your best was not yet good enough. OUCH!! Now I see another truth. I might want to write, but I didn’t need to write.
All my creative needs were being met in other ways. Teaching was a gigantic outlet, until I went to C Fred. As a teacher, I was loud, messy and often kept a dull subject interesting by outlandish presentations. If jumping on a table and doing a dance livened up verb formation, so much the better. Since much of History is about insanity, it requires insane action to make it live. My classes “claimed” the New World by planting a flag and claiming a part of the classroom. When several claims to the exact same set of desks became evident, we solved the problem. Given the fact that Governments have the same patience and tolerance of fifth graders, the solution was pretty evident. Who hits who the hardest has the most legitimate claim to the desks {land} .
Want to get kids attention? Rip a dollar bill into quarters, another into tenths and a third into twentieths and have a discussion about fractions and money. You’ve just invested three dollar, and yes, some of the kids remember the destruction of money and miss the point, but a lot more have a sudden interest in learning.
At any rate, my need for creativity was expressed through teaching until we were all moved to C. Fred. The lack of walls made my methods annoying to everyone else.
Which made me miserable.
Which made me crave writing.
Which made me a serious writer for about a year. My rejection slips went from preprinted “ You’ve got to be kidding!!” to handwritten “ Sorry we can’t use this piece of writing, but please send us more.” But by that time, I had found the shop a C Fred and basketball at C Fred and a way to get back to my old methods and I no longer needed to write.
When I retired, I assumed part of my time would be spent writing. Instead, I tried insanity for several years. The cure for that, rather than a bottle of pills, was to spend a long time with Dr. Hall learning why I was nuts in the first place. Remarkably, ( or not surprisingly) it also sent my lifetime dark companion someplace far away. One of the few old friends I do not miss.
At present, when I am in the middle of doing boring, mundane chore type jobs, my creative needs are met by writing. Part of that writing is this -- whatever this is--. But often creative needs are met in building projects that capture my interest. This summer it was an entertainment center, a set of shelves, a cage for the zoo and my cellar door. I know the title of this is cellar door and it’s what this started to be about, but sometimes things don’t turn out the way we planned. The cellar door story will come later. So, if a period of time passes without a new entry, rejoice because it just means the balance of life is being met in another fashion.
And I cannot claim to be a writer because “Writer’s write.”
Thursday, August 20, 2009
JUST SOME SILLY LITTLE NOTES
1. We bought an umbrella last week. Every choice listed “waterproof” as its top selling point. Really? What would the market be for non waterproof umbrellas?
2. Each morning, as soon as they are done eating, the cats demand access to the back porch where they each grab a post and sharpen their claws, readying themselves for another ferocious day of stalking. I just don’t have the heart to tell them they were declawed as kittens.
3. Are all you summer worshippers happy now?
4. Tuesday night we had an incredible storm. It was the heaviest rain I have seen in years. Early on a large branch fell from our tree into the road. I called the police as a safety precaution, then stood on the front porch to watch. The wind was bending the tree left and right and I really feared the rest would come down. Meanwhile cars were getting by both sides of the branch without much difficulty. Along come an old beater and out jumps a young guy. He was beyond soaked in ten seconds, but he still pulled the limb from the street to the sidewalk. Now, was this a very nice thing to do, sacrificing your dryness for the common good, or was this incredibly stupid because a really gigantic tree could have flattened him at any second?
5. While we are on the topic of the street. Each Sunday night into Monday morning we put our garbage out. This includes a big yellow recycling bin. Why am I always picking up discarded beer bottles from the front lawn? Someone has to either throw the bottle over the recycling bin to reach the lawn, or if they are walking, they need deliberately turn right to chuck the bottle, instead of dropping it in the bin. How come?
6. If we just spent 60 trillion dollars on a stimulus, how come there is no money to repair roads or do infrastructure “stuff”?
7. I have a “to read” bookshelf that sags badly. I made up my mind to start doing some serious reading and get that shelf level. Last week I read 4 books. Why did I add six more to the shelf?
8. Last week I went to the doctor for my checkup. My blood pressure was 122/70. My blood work showed I have the risk factors of a 17 year old, and when I did my yearly timed mile, I completed it in 13:46 which is only 16 seconds longer than twenty years ago. I still wear 34/30 slacks, which is exactly the same size I wore in high school. I must admit they don’t fit as well. It is not that the waist is too small, they are too long. Somehow I am shorter than I used to be.
9. The big result of the DR. visit was that I have not had a colonoscopy. But since I have no family history and no problems, we could do a Fecal blood sample test. This involved three consecutive days of -- well you can figure it out. But apparently I couldn’t because I got a call from the Dr. saying I had screwed up the test and I needed to repeat it.
And finally 10 Why is it that as soon as I say someone is going to be a big hit in the NFL this year they A) blow a tendon and are out for the season (Giant’s rookie running back) or B) Revert back to being a tackling dummy during games (David Carr)?
1. We bought an umbrella last week. Every choice listed “waterproof” as its top selling point. Really? What would the market be for non waterproof umbrellas?
2. Each morning, as soon as they are done eating, the cats demand access to the back porch where they each grab a post and sharpen their claws, readying themselves for another ferocious day of stalking. I just don’t have the heart to tell them they were declawed as kittens.
3. Are all you summer worshippers happy now?
4. Tuesday night we had an incredible storm. It was the heaviest rain I have seen in years. Early on a large branch fell from our tree into the road. I called the police as a safety precaution, then stood on the front porch to watch. The wind was bending the tree left and right and I really feared the rest would come down. Meanwhile cars were getting by both sides of the branch without much difficulty. Along come an old beater and out jumps a young guy. He was beyond soaked in ten seconds, but he still pulled the limb from the street to the sidewalk. Now, was this a very nice thing to do, sacrificing your dryness for the common good, or was this incredibly stupid because a really gigantic tree could have flattened him at any second?
5. While we are on the topic of the street. Each Sunday night into Monday morning we put our garbage out. This includes a big yellow recycling bin. Why am I always picking up discarded beer bottles from the front lawn? Someone has to either throw the bottle over the recycling bin to reach the lawn, or if they are walking, they need deliberately turn right to chuck the bottle, instead of dropping it in the bin. How come?
6. If we just spent 60 trillion dollars on a stimulus, how come there is no money to repair roads or do infrastructure “stuff”?
7. I have a “to read” bookshelf that sags badly. I made up my mind to start doing some serious reading and get that shelf level. Last week I read 4 books. Why did I add six more to the shelf?
8. Last week I went to the doctor for my checkup. My blood pressure was 122/70. My blood work showed I have the risk factors of a 17 year old, and when I did my yearly timed mile, I completed it in 13:46 which is only 16 seconds longer than twenty years ago. I still wear 34/30 slacks, which is exactly the same size I wore in high school. I must admit they don’t fit as well. It is not that the waist is too small, they are too long. Somehow I am shorter than I used to be.
9. The big result of the DR. visit was that I have not had a colonoscopy. But since I have no family history and no problems, we could do a Fecal blood sample test. This involved three consecutive days of -- well you can figure it out. But apparently I couldn’t because I got a call from the Dr. saying I had screwed up the test and I needed to repeat it.
And finally 10 Why is it that as soon as I say someone is going to be a big hit in the NFL this year they A) blow a tendon and are out for the season (Giant’s rookie running back) or B) Revert back to being a tackling dummy during games (David Carr)?
Saturday, August 15, 2009
My World Explained
If I had only known it was this simple. On Tuesday we went to Dr. Hall for our monthly tune up. While waiting in his office, I read a Financial Magazine that revealed the mysteries of the world. “We are hardwired to make stupid mistakes.”
That explains so much about my life. When I was four, we moved into the “new” house on Baldwin Street. While everyone else worked hard at getting settled in, they stuck me in the big wooden bed, right next to the lamp featuring Little Boy Blue. Since no one else was paying any attention to me, I figured I might as well get some attention from Little Blue. I pulled the lamp into bed with me, fascinated myself unscrewing the bulb, played with the on off switch and then stuck my finger into the opening. I don’t remember the reaction, just the jolt up the arm.
A few years later, I decided to stick my finger into the wringer washing machine and was most surprised when the washer did not treat me with any more respect than the wet sheets. Now while one might think that would put an end to sticking my fingers where they didn’t belong, one would be badly mistaken.
While Kenny Mack furiously tredled on my mother’s old sewing machine, once again my finger found its way into trouble, this time going under the needle and getting stuck there. The needle passed through the back of my finger and left a dent on the underside of my finger nail. At the time I questioned how I could be so dumb. Now I understand. “We are hardwired to make stupid mistakes.”
As a young, highly responsible college student, how did I decide sophomore Billy Hilbert would make a much better faculty adviser than the guy with twenty years on the faculty? Why, when Vinnie Wagnor crawled into a gigantic truck tire and rolled it down the hill, did I decide tackling it would be a good idea? Why wear the cast for three weeks? Two days is good enough. Ripple? What paper? I missed that class. Library or downtown?
The list goes on, but you get the idea. We are hardwired to make stupid mistakes.
When we finally did get into Dr. Hall, we wound up discussing how people choose to be numb. The incessant noise from entertainment, cell phone, texting, and so on makes it impossible to be alone with your thoughts. To be aware of who you are. So, the next day we went to New York to see Wicked. One of the first lines was ,”Life is painless, when your brainless.” I loved it. As to the show, forget great music, great singing, great staging. Concentrate on what a spectacular story line and message this show has.
If I had only known it was this simple. On Tuesday we went to Dr. Hall for our monthly tune up. While waiting in his office, I read a Financial Magazine that revealed the mysteries of the world. “We are hardwired to make stupid mistakes.”
That explains so much about my life. When I was four, we moved into the “new” house on Baldwin Street. While everyone else worked hard at getting settled in, they stuck me in the big wooden bed, right next to the lamp featuring Little Boy Blue. Since no one else was paying any attention to me, I figured I might as well get some attention from Little Blue. I pulled the lamp into bed with me, fascinated myself unscrewing the bulb, played with the on off switch and then stuck my finger into the opening. I don’t remember the reaction, just the jolt up the arm.
A few years later, I decided to stick my finger into the wringer washing machine and was most surprised when the washer did not treat me with any more respect than the wet sheets. Now while one might think that would put an end to sticking my fingers where they didn’t belong, one would be badly mistaken.
While Kenny Mack furiously tredled on my mother’s old sewing machine, once again my finger found its way into trouble, this time going under the needle and getting stuck there. The needle passed through the back of my finger and left a dent on the underside of my finger nail. At the time I questioned how I could be so dumb. Now I understand. “We are hardwired to make stupid mistakes.”
As a young, highly responsible college student, how did I decide sophomore Billy Hilbert would make a much better faculty adviser than the guy with twenty years on the faculty? Why, when Vinnie Wagnor crawled into a gigantic truck tire and rolled it down the hill, did I decide tackling it would be a good idea? Why wear the cast for three weeks? Two days is good enough. Ripple? What paper? I missed that class. Library or downtown?
The list goes on, but you get the idea. We are hardwired to make stupid mistakes.
When we finally did get into Dr. Hall, we wound up discussing how people choose to be numb. The incessant noise from entertainment, cell phone, texting, and so on makes it impossible to be alone with your thoughts. To be aware of who you are. So, the next day we went to New York to see Wicked. One of the first lines was ,”Life is painless, when your brainless.” I loved it. As to the show, forget great music, great singing, great staging. Concentrate on what a spectacular story line and message this show has.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Twenty Dollar Theology
I have come to believe that all life is a journey in which we are supposed to learn certain things. If we don’t get it the first, or second, or third time, it will come to us a fourth and fifth and so on. I quickly admit that I spent the first 57 years of my life not realizing this, then I spent 3 years of my life insane, but once I “woke up” the last three years have been filled with miracles. Sometimes, like the Lobster Hat Man in Maui, it was a big deal, sometimes, like last week it has been a gentle reminder of the path I need to stay on.
So anyway, here is the story. Last week we went to Philadelphia for a concert and some museum time. We stayed in South Philadelphia and very early one morning I went down to the lobby for free coffee. Sitting next to the pot, was a crumpled up newspaper section that seemed to be published only in South Philly. Desperate for reading material to rinse down the coffee, I grabbed the remnant of paper and sat down to read, but quickly discovered it contained only one complete article. It was a column apparently written by a local minister. With a large amount of paraphrasing, this is the article.
How many people out there would like me to give them a crisp new twenty dollar bill? I bet most of you. But what if I wrinkle it up? Step on it? Get some mud on it? Wear down the corners? What if I get it soaking wet and when it dries out it looks all worn and beat up?
Still want it? Of course, because no matter how hard it was used, it still has a value of twenty dollars. It doesn’t lose its value.
But how many of you feel like you have lost your value? How many of you feel “not good enough”? Maybe you have been “used hard and put away wet”. Maybe “friends” or coworkers have told you, you weren’t good enough. Maybe family members have thrown you away.
As you read this, remember that twenty dollar bill. In God’s eyes you were born with great value. Nothing that has happened to you, no matter how beaten up, no matter how bent, no matter how unworthy you feel can ever lesson your value. And if God sees you that way, guess what? All those other people are just wrong. Go and celebrate the value that is you.
I have come to believe that all life is a journey in which we are supposed to learn certain things. If we don’t get it the first, or second, or third time, it will come to us a fourth and fifth and so on. I quickly admit that I spent the first 57 years of my life not realizing this, then I spent 3 years of my life insane, but once I “woke up” the last three years have been filled with miracles. Sometimes, like the Lobster Hat Man in Maui, it was a big deal, sometimes, like last week it has been a gentle reminder of the path I need to stay on.
So anyway, here is the story. Last week we went to Philadelphia for a concert and some museum time. We stayed in South Philadelphia and very early one morning I went down to the lobby for free coffee. Sitting next to the pot, was a crumpled up newspaper section that seemed to be published only in South Philly. Desperate for reading material to rinse down the coffee, I grabbed the remnant of paper and sat down to read, but quickly discovered it contained only one complete article. It was a column apparently written by a local minister. With a large amount of paraphrasing, this is the article.
How many people out there would like me to give them a crisp new twenty dollar bill? I bet most of you. But what if I wrinkle it up? Step on it? Get some mud on it? Wear down the corners? What if I get it soaking wet and when it dries out it looks all worn and beat up?
Still want it? Of course, because no matter how hard it was used, it still has a value of twenty dollars. It doesn’t lose its value.
But how many of you feel like you have lost your value? How many of you feel “not good enough”? Maybe you have been “used hard and put away wet”. Maybe “friends” or coworkers have told you, you weren’t good enough. Maybe family members have thrown you away.
As you read this, remember that twenty dollar bill. In God’s eyes you were born with great value. Nothing that has happened to you, no matter how beaten up, no matter how bent, no matter how unworthy you feel can ever lesson your value. And if God sees you that way, guess what? All those other people are just wrong. Go and celebrate the value that is you.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
New York Giants
Three days after Christmas of 1958, I was playing with all my new Christmas toys, of which I remember none. What I do remember was that playing on the radio was a football game. During that season I had watched most of the Giants football games on TV because we got one channel and that was what was on. I don’t remember being particularly inspired or fascinated. For whatever reason, the Championship game was not carried on local TV, at least on the channel we got. So, I listened to the radio. The results are well known. The Colt’s Allen Ameche plunged over from the one yard line to win the first overtime Championship game in NFL history. Oddly enough, it was the Gaints that gained a lifetime fan..
So today the blog that no one asked for, no one wants and has a value exactly worth what you are paying for it. The 2009 evaluation of the New York Giants. (Truth in advertising time. For the last forty years I have predicted the Giants would be in the Super Bowl. I have been right four times. Oddly, that makes me one of the most accurate predictors in the business.)
When I first wrote this, I found I used the phrase “barring injuries” 17 times. So let’s just assume barring injuries. Oddly the one place I think the Giants might be stronger with an injury is quarterback. Not that Manning is doing badly, but now that Carr is not a high paid punching bag, he is playing very, very well. At this position the giants are set.
At running back, Jacobs has conditioned himself to 5% body fat and has spent the winter using boxing training for conditioning. He is quicker, more coordinated and better conditioned than ever. I still think he will miss at least half the season with injuries. That means whoever emerges as the back up will be very important. So far, by consistently missing blitz pickups, Bradshaw has shown he can make Carr an instant starter. Ware may be the answer because everyone is thrilled with his potential, but many “great potential” Giants wind up selling used cars in Newark. I think by the season end, the just drafted Rookie will be the back up/starter.
The Offensive Line is set and can withstand one or two short term injuries. More than that an start looking at 2010.
I know the biggest concern is with receivers. I think the biggest concern should be can the coaches use the receivers they have intelligently? Last year, teams had to be aware of Buress all the time.
That made everybody else’s job easier. When he went out, others did not step up. One of the problems is that a team spends all year putting in plays to capitalize on the strengths of players. An entire play book was built around Burress as a receiver or a decoy. To be fair, no team could rewrite their book in the last 6 weeks of the season, so they tried to substitute people without Burress’s skill to fill in. They couldn’t do that. This year they have had time to rewrite the book and let the receivers they have do the things they do best. I am especially interested in seeing Ramse Barden, their 6’6’’ rookie. Imagining him lined up in the slot, covered by a second string corner just makes me warm all over.
Over on Defense, the line is set and should be a nightmare for other teams, the secondary is as strong as I can ever remember. (Full apologies to Patterson who I was ready to run out of town at the start of last year.) The problem will be at linebacker. How long will Pierce hold up? Can Clark play better in coverage this year, and until Boley is ready to step in, who plays the other side? This is the position to watch the closest, as it will be a tough fight all year. I think it is safe to say the Giants season will be just as good as this group.
On special teams, the Giants should be strong, except I think their field goal kicker will lose at least one close game for them. If he wins one close one then it is all equal in the end.
So there you have a totally inexpert, worthless evaluation. As to the prediction, big surprise, the Giants will be in the Super Bowl.
Three days after Christmas of 1958, I was playing with all my new Christmas toys, of which I remember none. What I do remember was that playing on the radio was a football game. During that season I had watched most of the Giants football games on TV because we got one channel and that was what was on. I don’t remember being particularly inspired or fascinated. For whatever reason, the Championship game was not carried on local TV, at least on the channel we got. So, I listened to the radio. The results are well known. The Colt’s Allen Ameche plunged over from the one yard line to win the first overtime Championship game in NFL history. Oddly enough, it was the Gaints that gained a lifetime fan..
So today the blog that no one asked for, no one wants and has a value exactly worth what you are paying for it. The 2009 evaluation of the New York Giants. (Truth in advertising time. For the last forty years I have predicted the Giants would be in the Super Bowl. I have been right four times. Oddly, that makes me one of the most accurate predictors in the business.)
When I first wrote this, I found I used the phrase “barring injuries” 17 times. So let’s just assume barring injuries. Oddly the one place I think the Giants might be stronger with an injury is quarterback. Not that Manning is doing badly, but now that Carr is not a high paid punching bag, he is playing very, very well. At this position the giants are set.
At running back, Jacobs has conditioned himself to 5% body fat and has spent the winter using boxing training for conditioning. He is quicker, more coordinated and better conditioned than ever. I still think he will miss at least half the season with injuries. That means whoever emerges as the back up will be very important. So far, by consistently missing blitz pickups, Bradshaw has shown he can make Carr an instant starter. Ware may be the answer because everyone is thrilled with his potential, but many “great potential” Giants wind up selling used cars in Newark. I think by the season end, the just drafted Rookie will be the back up/starter.
The Offensive Line is set and can withstand one or two short term injuries. More than that an start looking at 2010.
I know the biggest concern is with receivers. I think the biggest concern should be can the coaches use the receivers they have intelligently? Last year, teams had to be aware of Buress all the time.
That made everybody else’s job easier. When he went out, others did not step up. One of the problems is that a team spends all year putting in plays to capitalize on the strengths of players. An entire play book was built around Burress as a receiver or a decoy. To be fair, no team could rewrite their book in the last 6 weeks of the season, so they tried to substitute people without Burress’s skill to fill in. They couldn’t do that. This year they have had time to rewrite the book and let the receivers they have do the things they do best. I am especially interested in seeing Ramse Barden, their 6’6’’ rookie. Imagining him lined up in the slot, covered by a second string corner just makes me warm all over.
Over on Defense, the line is set and should be a nightmare for other teams, the secondary is as strong as I can ever remember. (Full apologies to Patterson who I was ready to run out of town at the start of last year.) The problem will be at linebacker. How long will Pierce hold up? Can Clark play better in coverage this year, and until Boley is ready to step in, who plays the other side? This is the position to watch the closest, as it will be a tough fight all year. I think it is safe to say the Giants season will be just as good as this group.
On special teams, the Giants should be strong, except I think their field goal kicker will lose at least one close game for them. If he wins one close one then it is all equal in the end.
So there you have a totally inexpert, worthless evaluation. As to the prediction, big surprise, the Giants will be in the Super Bowl.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Philadelphia
Early Tuesday morning, we ran a few errands, then hit the road for a four day vacation to culminate in a Billy Joel/ Elton John Concert at Philadelphia’s Baseball Field. We had booked a hotel within walking distance of the concert and planned to spend a day wandering through the Museums downtown, a day at the Aquarium in Camden, New Jersey and a day just touring downtown.
Despite forecasts of 90 degrees of heat and ferility, we decided to visit the Philadelphia Zoo on the way to the hotel. Of course I had Google mapped the entire place fifty times before we left, so I had a parking spot all picked out. We spent a lot of time visiting with docents who recognized animal lovers at first sight. We were clued in to all the newly born and some of the special peculiarities of each animal.
We left around 5:30 figuring the worst of the traffic was over. What I had not counted on was the inability to go directly across the street and get back on 76. A red light would have made it sooooo easy!. Instead, we had to go east on Girard Street ( never a good idea) and make a major illegal U turn. Then, once on 76 we breezed through downtown and were in great shape. All we needed to do was reach exit 350 and pull into the parking lot.
Did we do that?? Well of course not! Suddenly we are on an exit into South Philly, with no idea where we are or the Bubba Quotient of the neighborhood we are about to join.
Thank goodness, Philadelphia is laid out in a simple grid pattern and I had done enough homework to have a sense of where I was and what to do. We eventually worked our way over to the hotel.
The Art Museum in Philly is one of the best in the world. We took 76 in, got off at the right spot and found our way to the parking garage at the Art Museum. We spent a good three hours there, then bought tickets for the Phlash system that runs a regular loop to all the sights in Philly. We stopped at the Franklin Institute and toured the Star Trek Exhibit. Great fun.
We rode the trolley around downtown while a true gully washer hit Philly. About the time we reached the Art Museum to retrieve our car both the rain and the rush hour were over. We fired up the chariot and headed out to find 76 again and with it another adventure. I did have a plan but it quickly soured and we wound up on Roosevelt Avenure heading the exact opposite direction we wanted. After about an 8 mile detour we were able to make another of those U turns and find our way back to 76 headed the right direction this time.
Then of course the gods had one final little trick up their sleeves. Just as we reached the area I had gotten lost in the night before, the skys opened up and visibility dropped to the rear bumper of the car in front of us. At a ripping speed of 12 miles an hour we made our way to exit 350 and just as we got off, out came the sun.
One of the nicest things about our trip was the people working at the hotel. After I shared our first adventure about getting lost on the way there, they waited to hear our latest tribulations each night. I thought they were going to die laughing when I explained our trip up Roosevelt Ave. They all took great pains to explain how we should go to the Aquarium the next day and warned us several times to not get lost in Camden, as that was not a “nice place”
So warned we followed directions exactly and had a very uneventful trip to the Aquarium and back. The place itself was delightful and one of the best I have been in.
That night, we walked to the baseball stadium, found our seats in the next to top row of the ballpark and enjoyed a great concert. It began at 7:30 and continued nonstop until 11. Wonderful evening. As entertaining as the concert was the view was equally outstanding. From where we sat, we looked all the way downtown. We could see the steeple of Independence Hall and the Statue of Ben Franklin on City Hall.
The whole trip was as nearly perfect as we could have asked for.
Early Tuesday morning, we ran a few errands, then hit the road for a four day vacation to culminate in a Billy Joel/ Elton John Concert at Philadelphia’s Baseball Field. We had booked a hotel within walking distance of the concert and planned to spend a day wandering through the Museums downtown, a day at the Aquarium in Camden, New Jersey and a day just touring downtown.
Despite forecasts of 90 degrees of heat and ferility, we decided to visit the Philadelphia Zoo on the way to the hotel. Of course I had Google mapped the entire place fifty times before we left, so I had a parking spot all picked out. We spent a lot of time visiting with docents who recognized animal lovers at first sight. We were clued in to all the newly born and some of the special peculiarities of each animal.
We left around 5:30 figuring the worst of the traffic was over. What I had not counted on was the inability to go directly across the street and get back on 76. A red light would have made it sooooo easy!. Instead, we had to go east on Girard Street ( never a good idea) and make a major illegal U turn. Then, once on 76 we breezed through downtown and were in great shape. All we needed to do was reach exit 350 and pull into the parking lot.
Did we do that?? Well of course not! Suddenly we are on an exit into South Philly, with no idea where we are or the Bubba Quotient of the neighborhood we are about to join.
Thank goodness, Philadelphia is laid out in a simple grid pattern and I had done enough homework to have a sense of where I was and what to do. We eventually worked our way over to the hotel.
The Art Museum in Philly is one of the best in the world. We took 76 in, got off at the right spot and found our way to the parking garage at the Art Museum. We spent a good three hours there, then bought tickets for the Phlash system that runs a regular loop to all the sights in Philly. We stopped at the Franklin Institute and toured the Star Trek Exhibit. Great fun.
We rode the trolley around downtown while a true gully washer hit Philly. About the time we reached the Art Museum to retrieve our car both the rain and the rush hour were over. We fired up the chariot and headed out to find 76 again and with it another adventure. I did have a plan but it quickly soured and we wound up on Roosevelt Avenure heading the exact opposite direction we wanted. After about an 8 mile detour we were able to make another of those U turns and find our way back to 76 headed the right direction this time.
Then of course the gods had one final little trick up their sleeves. Just as we reached the area I had gotten lost in the night before, the skys opened up and visibility dropped to the rear bumper of the car in front of us. At a ripping speed of 12 miles an hour we made our way to exit 350 and just as we got off, out came the sun.
One of the nicest things about our trip was the people working at the hotel. After I shared our first adventure about getting lost on the way there, they waited to hear our latest tribulations each night. I thought they were going to die laughing when I explained our trip up Roosevelt Ave. They all took great pains to explain how we should go to the Aquarium the next day and warned us several times to not get lost in Camden, as that was not a “nice place”
So warned we followed directions exactly and had a very uneventful trip to the Aquarium and back. The place itself was delightful and one of the best I have been in.
That night, we walked to the baseball stadium, found our seats in the next to top row of the ballpark and enjoyed a great concert. It began at 7:30 and continued nonstop until 11. Wonderful evening. As entertaining as the concert was the view was equally outstanding. From where we sat, we looked all the way downtown. We could see the steeple of Independence Hall and the Statue of Ben Franklin on City Hall.
The whole trip was as nearly perfect as we could have asked for.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
This, That and What??
This was a bizarre week that tried so hard to be normal. I started the week on Sunday making a schedule of all the stuff that was going on and when I could work in the little odd jobs that needed doing. It was me at my most optimistic.
By Friday, I was going to finish the upstairs room ( Remember that room that was going to be done by April 1st no sweat??) , finish the moldings for the entertainment center at Ron and Val’s cottage, complete the cutting and fitting for Nickie’s storage shelves, build a patio by the waterfall and assemble the plastic part of the new cellar door. Plus make Mass three times, Sister Bridgets on Wednesday, the Franciscans on Wednesday night , visit with Gloria, Michelle and Beth and all the kids at State Park, have breakfast with my old Principal at JC, attend the rotary lunch, go to the Toys for Tots dinner and most importantly use my spare time to go riding. Oh yes, on Thursday, Sue Fox was going on vacation so I would take care of Tootsie the dog, (Who is helping me type this at the moment) and her cats and sometime during the week I needed to get to the zoo to plan a project I was asked to do there. And don’t forget the guitar lesson on Monday and the subsequent practice.
So, I worked out a schedule that tied everything together. Cut moldings and stain, cut shelving pieces while stain dried, use the dirt from the cellar project to build the patio etc. It was like a well planed military campaign.
Then the phone rang. A lady with a water leak she had ignored for five weeks, had been warned several times and who had been mailed a very formal letter explaining that if the leak was not repaired, we would terminate her service, was shocked that we had actually turned off her water. OK minor setback, until we arrived with the intent of quickly turning the water back on, demonstrating the leak and shutting it off again. We did do this, but only after three hours of playing with a touchy valve that didn’t want to cooperate. Back home. Still confident I could beat the week into submission, I tacked the first molding board up so I could scribe the ceiling line on it.
Just a quick note of explanation for all those people who think you buy a piece of molding, measure how long it needs to be, cut it, finish it and permanently put it up. That might work in a room where directions are spoken in terms of “left of the door” , “right of the window” etc. In the room we are redoing the directions are uphill or downhill. The outside wall is three inches higher than the inside wall. That means a regular piece of molding will look really stupid unless it is scribed so that the bottom is level and the top conforms to the ceiling. Repeat on four additional walls and you see how it goes. My plan allowed two hours because of course everything would go smoothly. Four hours later, perfection.
Except a new construction sound was introduced. Now I am familiar with the whoosh and tinkle sound as my hammer slips out of my hand and does a perfect somersault through the window, or the ever popular “thud” as the hammer smacks the wall instead of the nail head, but “Crack”?? It took a while to discover the “crack” had come from the most complicated piece of molding when it – wait for it--- cracked-- as I took it down. Four hours became the next day, which of course threw off the staining and finishing schedule.
By the end of the week, I had finished the patio, done most of the wood work and made the majority of appointments, meetings and events. But the planner in me still thinks I could have gotten it all done if that phone had not rung.
This was a bizarre week that tried so hard to be normal. I started the week on Sunday making a schedule of all the stuff that was going on and when I could work in the little odd jobs that needed doing. It was me at my most optimistic.
By Friday, I was going to finish the upstairs room ( Remember that room that was going to be done by April 1st no sweat??) , finish the moldings for the entertainment center at Ron and Val’s cottage, complete the cutting and fitting for Nickie’s storage shelves, build a patio by the waterfall and assemble the plastic part of the new cellar door. Plus make Mass three times, Sister Bridgets on Wednesday, the Franciscans on Wednesday night , visit with Gloria, Michelle and Beth and all the kids at State Park, have breakfast with my old Principal at JC, attend the rotary lunch, go to the Toys for Tots dinner and most importantly use my spare time to go riding. Oh yes, on Thursday, Sue Fox was going on vacation so I would take care of Tootsie the dog, (Who is helping me type this at the moment) and her cats and sometime during the week I needed to get to the zoo to plan a project I was asked to do there. And don’t forget the guitar lesson on Monday and the subsequent practice.
So, I worked out a schedule that tied everything together. Cut moldings and stain, cut shelving pieces while stain dried, use the dirt from the cellar project to build the patio etc. It was like a well planed military campaign.
Then the phone rang. A lady with a water leak she had ignored for five weeks, had been warned several times and who had been mailed a very formal letter explaining that if the leak was not repaired, we would terminate her service, was shocked that we had actually turned off her water. OK minor setback, until we arrived with the intent of quickly turning the water back on, demonstrating the leak and shutting it off again. We did do this, but only after three hours of playing with a touchy valve that didn’t want to cooperate. Back home. Still confident I could beat the week into submission, I tacked the first molding board up so I could scribe the ceiling line on it.
Just a quick note of explanation for all those people who think you buy a piece of molding, measure how long it needs to be, cut it, finish it and permanently put it up. That might work in a room where directions are spoken in terms of “left of the door” , “right of the window” etc. In the room we are redoing the directions are uphill or downhill. The outside wall is three inches higher than the inside wall. That means a regular piece of molding will look really stupid unless it is scribed so that the bottom is level and the top conforms to the ceiling. Repeat on four additional walls and you see how it goes. My plan allowed two hours because of course everything would go smoothly. Four hours later, perfection.
Except a new construction sound was introduced. Now I am familiar with the whoosh and tinkle sound as my hammer slips out of my hand and does a perfect somersault through the window, or the ever popular “thud” as the hammer smacks the wall instead of the nail head, but “Crack”?? It took a while to discover the “crack” had come from the most complicated piece of molding when it – wait for it--- cracked-- as I took it down. Four hours became the next day, which of course threw off the staining and finishing schedule.
By the end of the week, I had finished the patio, done most of the wood work and made the majority of appointments, meetings and events. But the planner in me still thinks I could have gotten it all done if that phone had not rung.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Midsummer Night’s Dream
While studying the Middle Ages, one of the strangest ideas for me to comprehend was that the “starving time” was not in the cold of February or March, but in late June. During a normal year, enough wheat would be milled and stored away in big wooden barrels that modest husbandry skills would get the family through the darkest part of winter.
Late April would usher in spring crops like peas or leaf vegetables. These would last until early June. Then things would get tough. The term “scraping the bottom of the barrel” comes from this period. Cooks would literally be scraping the barrels to get enough to make a meal.( Of course the simplest thing would have been to hunt the forests or fish the streams, but that would result in military target practice with you being the target. )
Then sometime in “Mid Summer” the village Reeve would declare harvesting of wheat could begin the following Monday. This would set off the Mid Summer Night Festival. Everyone would use up all the leftover food and create a gigantic party. The alcohol consumption was probably lower than during most festivals, yet the woods would be filled with bizarre behavior, visions, reported spirit sightings, and more than one very “good” young lady would wake up with more than a hangover. The best description would be a 1967 Hippie party with unlimited free LSD.
AND
There was a good reason it resembled those parties. It WAS one of those parties. It seems that if wheat is stored in a wooden barrel it produces a chemical reaction in which a compound nearly identical to LSD is produced. The longer in the barrel and the more pressure the purer the product. In addition it tends to migrate to the bottom of the barrel. SO --- when mama scraped the last of the wheat for the party bread, she was mixing high quality mind altering drugs right in. The more consumed, the wackier the sights.
So, once again Shakespeare was telling the truth.
While studying the Middle Ages, one of the strangest ideas for me to comprehend was that the “starving time” was not in the cold of February or March, but in late June. During a normal year, enough wheat would be milled and stored away in big wooden barrels that modest husbandry skills would get the family through the darkest part of winter.
Late April would usher in spring crops like peas or leaf vegetables. These would last until early June. Then things would get tough. The term “scraping the bottom of the barrel” comes from this period. Cooks would literally be scraping the barrels to get enough to make a meal.( Of course the simplest thing would have been to hunt the forests or fish the streams, but that would result in military target practice with you being the target. )
Then sometime in “Mid Summer” the village Reeve would declare harvesting of wheat could begin the following Monday. This would set off the Mid Summer Night Festival. Everyone would use up all the leftover food and create a gigantic party. The alcohol consumption was probably lower than during most festivals, yet the woods would be filled with bizarre behavior, visions, reported spirit sightings, and more than one very “good” young lady would wake up with more than a hangover. The best description would be a 1967 Hippie party with unlimited free LSD.
AND
There was a good reason it resembled those parties. It WAS one of those parties. It seems that if wheat is stored in a wooden barrel it produces a chemical reaction in which a compound nearly identical to LSD is produced. The longer in the barrel and the more pressure the purer the product. In addition it tends to migrate to the bottom of the barrel. SO --- when mama scraped the last of the wheat for the party bread, she was mixing high quality mind altering drugs right in. The more consumed, the wackier the sights.
So, once again Shakespeare was telling the truth.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Memory Morning
The other morning was one of those April mornings where the chill in the air will soon give way to temperatures in the 70’s. There is an energy, a promise, scents that fills the head with random memories. (The fact that the “April” morning happened in July does not detract much from the day.)
Early that morning, I walked along the trail at Otsiningo. The combination of wet, decaying vegetation and the cool air produced a smell exactly like my favorite place on earth.
Many years ago, we packed the kids and mother in law in a car and drove to Disney World. Being summer in Florida, the end of the trip was hot, sticky and miserable. We bailed out of the car and hauled our luggage up to the front of the Polynesian Hotel. The outside was filled with spectacular flowers, lovely streams, wooden walkways, bridges and heat. It felt exactly like my imagined Tahiti. Then we entered the hotel.
Instantly we were in cool temperatures, engulfed with the scent from the central display of jungle vegetation. As strange as it seems to write this, the smell of decaying vegetation was lovely, refreshing and relaxing.
Each night, when we returned aboard monorail red, tired and miserable from so much fun, we were met at the door by the same experience. Today whenever I go to Disney World, I always make time to walk through that same door and breath deeply.
The next memory-scent that day was totally different, yet equally pleasant. I got home from my walk and sat down by our waterfall. The perfect combination of temperature and air currents produced a journey back to – I don’t really know when.
All of us have frozen moments of shared culture -- where was I when Kennedy was shot, when the first moon landing took place, when Elvis popped that one extra Vicoden. We have some memories that are personal but understandable – When I got my first bike, when a parent died, when I stuck my finger in the wringer washing machine. But we also have “flash” memories. Those times, when for no apparent reason, we can recreate a “perfect moment” in our heads.
One of mine was an early crystal clear morning in Johnson City. I was sitting in the back yard swing on Baldwin Street, looking north toward the old EJ smoke stack. What I sense is total joy and peace. I know it is early morning. The air is alive with an energy and promise that is gone by 8. I must have been about 8 years old or so it feels. I am guessing that it was at or near the last day of school. That might account for the joy, although at that age school was still a wonderful part of life. It may have been earlier, maybe the first nice day after a dull winter.
At any rate, one writer suggested that these flash moments remain with us because they are times when we were totally present in that moment. We had no other distractions, no deep worries , no plans. We just -- were. If we could consciously live our lives totally in every moment, then every moment would become perfectly filled with joy. Perhaps that is why so many flash moments are from childhood.
The other morning was one of those April mornings where the chill in the air will soon give way to temperatures in the 70’s. There is an energy, a promise, scents that fills the head with random memories. (The fact that the “April” morning happened in July does not detract much from the day.)
Early that morning, I walked along the trail at Otsiningo. The combination of wet, decaying vegetation and the cool air produced a smell exactly like my favorite place on earth.
Many years ago, we packed the kids and mother in law in a car and drove to Disney World. Being summer in Florida, the end of the trip was hot, sticky and miserable. We bailed out of the car and hauled our luggage up to the front of the Polynesian Hotel. The outside was filled with spectacular flowers, lovely streams, wooden walkways, bridges and heat. It felt exactly like my imagined Tahiti. Then we entered the hotel.
Instantly we were in cool temperatures, engulfed with the scent from the central display of jungle vegetation. As strange as it seems to write this, the smell of decaying vegetation was lovely, refreshing and relaxing.
Each night, when we returned aboard monorail red, tired and miserable from so much fun, we were met at the door by the same experience. Today whenever I go to Disney World, I always make time to walk through that same door and breath deeply.
The next memory-scent that day was totally different, yet equally pleasant. I got home from my walk and sat down by our waterfall. The perfect combination of temperature and air currents produced a journey back to – I don’t really know when.
All of us have frozen moments of shared culture -- where was I when Kennedy was shot, when the first moon landing took place, when Elvis popped that one extra Vicoden. We have some memories that are personal but understandable – When I got my first bike, when a parent died, when I stuck my finger in the wringer washing machine. But we also have “flash” memories. Those times, when for no apparent reason, we can recreate a “perfect moment” in our heads.
One of mine was an early crystal clear morning in Johnson City. I was sitting in the back yard swing on Baldwin Street, looking north toward the old EJ smoke stack. What I sense is total joy and peace. I know it is early morning. The air is alive with an energy and promise that is gone by 8. I must have been about 8 years old or so it feels. I am guessing that it was at or near the last day of school. That might account for the joy, although at that age school was still a wonderful part of life. It may have been earlier, maybe the first nice day after a dull winter.
At any rate, one writer suggested that these flash moments remain with us because they are times when we were totally present in that moment. We had no other distractions, no deep worries , no plans. We just -- were. If we could consciously live our lives totally in every moment, then every moment would become perfectly filled with joy. Perhaps that is why so many flash moments are from childhood.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Aging Gracefully
“ True peace comes with the discovery that we can respect the seasons of life with a spacious and undefended heart. In it we learn to trust, to rest in the truth of the way things are, to willingly accept the measure of joy and sorrow we are given.”
What a lovely thought. What a lovely sentiment. The above had to be written by a very old saint or a twenty year old with big muscles.
Because --- getting old just
sucks.
For example, when I was a young college student, during the winter, calisthenics were something Jack La Lane was doing on TV and the closest I came to weights was rolling a keg into the correct location. Yet at the end of school, I would arrive home, drop my luggage off and head over to the Grand Union where a large freight truck was waiting for me to unload. I was a little tired the first day, but by the end of the week I was in peak condition.
Now, I spend the winter stretching my rigid extremities into places they were never intended to go and lifting really stupid things just to prove I can overcome gravity. By April, I am doing 30 pushups every morning, bounding up from that to do 10 chin ups, racing upstairs to bench press 130 pounds 45 times, then lacing up my walking shoes for a brisk 5 mile walk. God do I feel good!
Spring arrives and I abandon the calisthenics and weights for garden tools. I am in the garden all day almost every day. Clearly, I am maintaining my great conditioning. Then by July 4th the outside work is done, it is time to tighten up the little bit of conditioning I might have lost.
On the third push up, my arms give out and I hit my nose so hard the cats panic and run into the wall. Somehow, getting up from the floor strained my back, so I am now limping badly. I jump up to grab the chinning bar and miss it completely. On the second attempt I grab it with both hands, but can only hang there like a fresh caught tuna strung up for sale. OK, now limping, gasping for breath and using the “ Wall bars we will need when we get old” I drag myself up to the weight machine.
Clearly, I may have lost a little conditioning, so I’ll start at 100 pounds and move up quickly. As it turns out, it is very difficult to breath with a hundred pound bar pressed directly across your neck because when you pushed it up, it went straight down. Dumping the weights to one side, I rebuild my oxygen levels above black out and crawl down to the recliner in the living room. I reach over and pick up the book on Spiritual Peace I am reading and it falls open to the previous quote.
Now I like the concept, I want to be able to accept my limitations, to gracefully yield to the ravages of age, the natural decline that slows us down and weakens our bodies.
NO I DON’T!!!!
If the slide is greased, I am going to kick and crawl and claw every step of the way. Nothing will be graceful.
I’ll be in playing shape by September’s kickoff.
“ True peace comes with the discovery that we can respect the seasons of life with a spacious and undefended heart. In it we learn to trust, to rest in the truth of the way things are, to willingly accept the measure of joy and sorrow we are given.”
What a lovely thought. What a lovely sentiment. The above had to be written by a very old saint or a twenty year old with big muscles.
Because --- getting old just
sucks.
For example, when I was a young college student, during the winter, calisthenics were something Jack La Lane was doing on TV and the closest I came to weights was rolling a keg into the correct location. Yet at the end of school, I would arrive home, drop my luggage off and head over to the Grand Union where a large freight truck was waiting for me to unload. I was a little tired the first day, but by the end of the week I was in peak condition.
Now, I spend the winter stretching my rigid extremities into places they were never intended to go and lifting really stupid things just to prove I can overcome gravity. By April, I am doing 30 pushups every morning, bounding up from that to do 10 chin ups, racing upstairs to bench press 130 pounds 45 times, then lacing up my walking shoes for a brisk 5 mile walk. God do I feel good!
Spring arrives and I abandon the calisthenics and weights for garden tools. I am in the garden all day almost every day. Clearly, I am maintaining my great conditioning. Then by July 4th the outside work is done, it is time to tighten up the little bit of conditioning I might have lost.
On the third push up, my arms give out and I hit my nose so hard the cats panic and run into the wall. Somehow, getting up from the floor strained my back, so I am now limping badly. I jump up to grab the chinning bar and miss it completely. On the second attempt I grab it with both hands, but can only hang there like a fresh caught tuna strung up for sale. OK, now limping, gasping for breath and using the “ Wall bars we will need when we get old” I drag myself up to the weight machine.
Clearly, I may have lost a little conditioning, so I’ll start at 100 pounds and move up quickly. As it turns out, it is very difficult to breath with a hundred pound bar pressed directly across your neck because when you pushed it up, it went straight down. Dumping the weights to one side, I rebuild my oxygen levels above black out and crawl down to the recliner in the living room. I reach over and pick up the book on Spiritual Peace I am reading and it falls open to the previous quote.
Now I like the concept, I want to be able to accept my limitations, to gracefully yield to the ravages of age, the natural decline that slows us down and weakens our bodies.
NO I DON’T!!!!
If the slide is greased, I am going to kick and crawl and claw every step of the way. Nothing will be graceful.
I’ll be in playing shape by September’s kickoff.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
ADIRONDACKS -- 2009 June 27 – July 4
We arrived at the “tree house” just in time to see the most important person of the week – Rosie the Golden retriever. I think John and Linda were there also. After greeting everyone, John put me right to work figuring out how to mount a rotisserie in a way that would allow us to cook our pig. On the surface this seemed like a good idea, but it meant we would be left unsupervised for three days with access to tools. This could not end well!!
Within a few minutes Fox and Debbie arrived with Michelle, Rack and Karen in the back seat. That evening was the traditional Pasta, meatball and sausage dinner. As usual it was outstanding. Dessert was the best tasting chocolate cake I ever ate. This was concocted in the test kitchens of Linda Bucci.
Bright and early Sunday Rack, Rosie, John and I set off to conquer Bear Mountain. Normally this would be an easy trek with only one wet spot. The past week’s rain made this trip like the movie, “The African Queen”. Along the way I must have walked through an Adirondack Black Fly Convention.
After watching a beautiful view of the top side of a cloud, we (Rack) decided to take a short cut down the blue trail. Apparently blue means mountain goat, but we lived and rewarded ourselves with breakfast in Inlet and then picked up the party boat. I had to pose as John Bucci and pretend to understand and actually care about a bunch of safety info, then sign my name Ed Corcoran , which didn’t phase the guy giving the directions.
We spent a lovely day and cooked hamburgers and hotdogs outside that night. Sadly, John, Linda and Rosie left us for a three day work session at home.
On Monday, Rack and I walked into Inlet. Along the way we noticed that many camps had really neat, descriptive signs identifying them, and poor John did not. As a group we spent all our spare time trying to fix this shortcoming.
Fox picked us up so Rack could get back to make a Frittata breakfast for us. Great job! We appointed Fox house President and gave him a gigantic amount of money to feed us. Later we drove into Old Forge and searched for material to construct a “nice” sign for John. God we are thoughtful!!
That evening we boarded the SS Minnow for a short cruise to Daker’s for dinner. The presence of Guinness on tap testified to the high culinary standing of this establishment. Ignore the 9 thousand steps leading up to the deck and the two beer drinking dogs in the corner. As the sun sunk in the Lake, we traveled home with Captain Michelle at the helm. We finished the evening torturing marshmallows and debating the ethics of pre-forming smores in aluminum foil or creating them on the fly.
Tuesday saw us all walk into Inlet for breakfast and clams. Then on to Eagle Bay to buy groceries with that gigantic wad of money. We also bought sure fired lottery winners. ( They turned out to be blanks!!) The rest of the day was spent creating signs. At night we had our first clam and speidie cook out.
Our finished signs! The Restaurant would not loan us a toilet seat, so we had to buy one!!
Wednesday was Rack’s Birthday. We started the festivities with an English Muffin, ham, egg and cheese combo that was great. Following was a coordinated attack on the Bald Mountain Fire Tower. Early on Debbie took a head wound and retreated to the staging area, where she became an official greeter. While most of us were concerned about not falling off the mountain, Kay had the added burden of not getting her good sneakers muddy.
The celebration continued when Rack and Michelle went swimming. Not a very noteworthy event except they were the only two humans in the four lake area who thought it was a good day for a dip. We spent the afternoon at the Red Dog, testing every appetizer on the menu. The vision of Kay sucking down a chicken wing will remain with me forever.
After three days of “work” john and Linda were happy to join in the party. We continued the evening with a spectacular boat ride down the lake and a sprint up the lake to beat—you guessed it- a rainstorm.
After receiving numerous very expensive gifts, Rack concluded his Day with homemade Peach Pie and ice cream.
We called Doug and Nancy and had a toast to Rack’s son John, who left us far too early eight years ago.
Thursday was our annual walk into Old Forge. Rack and I met everyone else at Walt’s for breakfast, then headed back to camp just in front of the rain. Doug and Nancy arrived around noon. Nancy had lost her Sister- in- law last week and we did not think they could join us. It was good to see them and I hope being there did a little to ease their loss.
The group split up with Fox, Doug, Rack and Shelly (note the name change) heading into someplace to buy $120 worth of lottery tickets.
(“ See, if we all put in twenty bucks apiece we are SURE to get a part of that $113,000,000- just common sense!”) They also got more clams.
John and I did the hard work and got a roaring fire going. Since it had rained for forty days, that was harder than it seemed. But we did it. By the time people returned we were ready to cook – The PIG. ( a whole pig ran into several minor problems – like where do you find a consenting pig and once you have him, where exactly do you store him until ready to cook.) We settled for a large pork something or other. Whatever it was it did not cooperate with the spit idea. We tinkered, fooled and played for about three hours. Rosie seemed very concerned and did her best to help out. In the end it was spectacular tasting as were the clams and everything else.
Some of the group headed into Inlet to introduce Linda to Panda Paws, something we came to regret. It is sad to see an addiction take hold. We all called Flake and Andy. Flake could not join us because of job conflicts. Andy sounded pretty ill with the flu, but it was nice to hear from them.
On Friday, Kay, Debbie, Karen, Linda and Shelly went to Wild Things Nature Museum. The rest of us enjoyed steady rain outside by playing cards inside. At noon, we drove to Racquet Lake for soup and sandwiches.
Once we all reunited, we made one last clam run, put some things away, dropped the boat off and settled in for “left over night” which meant in addition to the clams, any leftover food had to be consumed. This included dessert. It was a hard task, but we were up to the challenge .
Doug and Nancy left at 7, the rest of us visited until the wee hour of 11.
Saturday morning was packing, saying good bye, dodging the steady downpour and being on the road by 9:30. One final note. Like any good Government program, we managed to convert $120 into $6. But don’t worry- we reinvested it in the next Lottery drawing.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
FORGIVENESS
It was suggested to me that rather than give up something for Lent, I should spend the forty days reading about, meditating on and trying to really comprehend one of the virtues. Forgiveness seemed a natural for me.
For the first few days it was pretty frustrating. Everything was a bumper sticker like , “Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.” Now bumper stickers are ok. They wouldn’t be bumper stickers if there wasn’t some truth to them. But not very deep.
There were suggestions of action, such as writing everything down and burning it. Sense “release as your words are carried to Heaven”. I actually did that and it helped a little, but I couldn’t figure out who in Heaven would want my ugly words.
But Lent lasts forty days, so I persisted. Gradually seemingly unrelated ideas started to fit together. And it started to make sense. Forgiveness isn’t a life choice, it is life.
The Lord’s prayer says it best. “Forgive me my trespasses as I forgive those who trespass against me.” The “as” in that section is not a conjunction but a conditional. Someday, I will be judged with the exact compassion, mercy and understanding I grant others.
Pretty simple, but not easy.
On the last day, I will supposedly be asked “What have you done for the least in my Kingdom.” So we all think of the starving, homeless and persecuted people we encounter. But I have come to believe the question is much deeper. The “least in my Kingdom” are the very people we are most angry at. The people who betrayed us, discarded us, told us we were not good enough those who have hurt us in the most profound ways. Did we truly forgive them or did we rejoice at their misfortunes? Did we engage in petty little revenges?
Still simple, but getting there.
Twenty days gone, twenty days left. Half way to understanding?
A rich man approaches Christ and asks to follow him. He is told to go and sell all his “stuff” and return. Sadly, the man turns away. It is just too hard. Again we assume this is about I Pods and dishwashers, --- and it is. But it may also be about the emotional goods we hold onto so strongly. To truly be a Christian is to release the things that we hold dearest – our grudges – our hurts- our need to “get even”. Those are the hardest things to give up.
BUT
You cannot serve two masters. To be a follower of Christ you must give up those most cherished hatreds, and see your enemy as they are-- fellow creations of God who are feeling the same hurt, the same rejection, the same fear you are.
Still simple, but nearly impossible to live.
Hence
“Many are called but few are chosen.” I have always thought that last may be a mistranslation. I think it should read, Many are called but few choose. To be a true follower of Christ requires a choice to surrender our human nature and replace it with divine nature, something we are organically unable to do. So, we must follow Christ to the very best of our abilities, with the assurance it is the effort, the desire that matters. We will never fully reach the goal, but it is the journey that matters.
In the end the bumper sticker I fell in love with was
“ Forgiveness is giving up all hope for a better past and using that energy to build a better future.”
So Lent has ended, and I think I have the WHY down. I hope to have the HOW down someday soon.
***** Just a footnote for anyone who stumbles on this and is not Christian. I think the failure here is all mine. I am simply not well enough versed in other beliefs to relate the ideas here in meaningful; ways. But I think the ideas are still valid.
It was suggested to me that rather than give up something for Lent, I should spend the forty days reading about, meditating on and trying to really comprehend one of the virtues. Forgiveness seemed a natural for me.
For the first few days it was pretty frustrating. Everything was a bumper sticker like , “Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.” Now bumper stickers are ok. They wouldn’t be bumper stickers if there wasn’t some truth to them. But not very deep.
There were suggestions of action, such as writing everything down and burning it. Sense “release as your words are carried to Heaven”. I actually did that and it helped a little, but I couldn’t figure out who in Heaven would want my ugly words.
But Lent lasts forty days, so I persisted. Gradually seemingly unrelated ideas started to fit together. And it started to make sense. Forgiveness isn’t a life choice, it is life.
The Lord’s prayer says it best. “Forgive me my trespasses as I forgive those who trespass against me.” The “as” in that section is not a conjunction but a conditional. Someday, I will be judged with the exact compassion, mercy and understanding I grant others.
Pretty simple, but not easy.
On the last day, I will supposedly be asked “What have you done for the least in my Kingdom.” So we all think of the starving, homeless and persecuted people we encounter. But I have come to believe the question is much deeper. The “least in my Kingdom” are the very people we are most angry at. The people who betrayed us, discarded us, told us we were not good enough those who have hurt us in the most profound ways. Did we truly forgive them or did we rejoice at their misfortunes? Did we engage in petty little revenges?
Still simple, but getting there.
Twenty days gone, twenty days left. Half way to understanding?
A rich man approaches Christ and asks to follow him. He is told to go and sell all his “stuff” and return. Sadly, the man turns away. It is just too hard. Again we assume this is about I Pods and dishwashers, --- and it is. But it may also be about the emotional goods we hold onto so strongly. To truly be a Christian is to release the things that we hold dearest – our grudges – our hurts- our need to “get even”. Those are the hardest things to give up.
BUT
You cannot serve two masters. To be a follower of Christ you must give up those most cherished hatreds, and see your enemy as they are-- fellow creations of God who are feeling the same hurt, the same rejection, the same fear you are.
Still simple, but nearly impossible to live.
Hence
“Many are called but few are chosen.” I have always thought that last may be a mistranslation. I think it should read, Many are called but few choose. To be a true follower of Christ requires a choice to surrender our human nature and replace it with divine nature, something we are organically unable to do. So, we must follow Christ to the very best of our abilities, with the assurance it is the effort, the desire that matters. We will never fully reach the goal, but it is the journey that matters.
In the end the bumper sticker I fell in love with was
“ Forgiveness is giving up all hope for a better past and using that energy to build a better future.”
So Lent has ended, and I think I have the WHY down. I hope to have the HOW down someday soon.
***** Just a footnote for anyone who stumbles on this and is not Christian. I think the failure here is all mine. I am simply not well enough versed in other beliefs to relate the ideas here in meaningful; ways. But I think the ideas are still valid.
Friday, June 19, 2009
GRAND JURY
So here is one more good reason to not drink and drive. Not only might you wreck your car, injure yourself or kill someone else, you will bore a Grand Jury to death!!
Since each case must be presented as if it were the only case in the world, the Prosecutor must introduce evidence that the suspect was given a field sobriety test, that the officer was qualified to give it, how it was conducted and how the defendant performed. They then must give evidence that a breath test was administered and again, what were the conditions how does the test work, what are the procedures and how did the defendant do.
I am sworn to secrecy about any proceedings that have taken place in the grand Jury room, so blogging about it might call into question how seriously I took all that. But it is safe to say that after the third case, it becomes boring, after the tenth case I began to understand why the windows on the sixth floor do not open. It is not to keep people out, but to keep jurors from leaping before one more Police Officer gets op with his pen and shows how he moves it left to right in front of a suspects eyes.
So here is one more good reason to not drink and drive. Not only might you wreck your car, injure yourself or kill someone else, you will bore a Grand Jury to death!!
Since each case must be presented as if it were the only case in the world, the Prosecutor must introduce evidence that the suspect was given a field sobriety test, that the officer was qualified to give it, how it was conducted and how the defendant performed. They then must give evidence that a breath test was administered and again, what were the conditions how does the test work, what are the procedures and how did the defendant do.
I am sworn to secrecy about any proceedings that have taken place in the grand Jury room, so blogging about it might call into question how seriously I took all that. But it is safe to say that after the third case, it becomes boring, after the tenth case I began to understand why the windows on the sixth floor do not open. It is not to keep people out, but to keep jurors from leaping before one more Police Officer gets op with his pen and shows how he moves it left to right in front of a suspects eyes.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
WE WAS ROBBED!!!!!
No, this was not a bad call in a baseball game, not a spoiled quart of milk, not a faulty new toy, this was a real, honest to goodness, Holy Cow === We was robbed!!!
At about 1:20 we threw our things in the car and went down to the park to meet a teacher and her class to plant in the park. Took about 20 minutes, then we hung around and watered the plants. Maybe another 10 minutes, then home. We had a whole list of afternoon things we were going to do, but when we got home, Kay saw that the desk had been gone through. She grabbed her purse which had been setting on the desk and sure enough the cash was gone. Her camera was also missing. I thought perhaps someone had looked in a window and used the opportunity to grab a free purse, but when I went upstairs, our bedroom had been trashed. All her mother’s jewelry and her own had been stolen. Nothing of great value, but irreplaceable in sentimental value. They had also found some silver dollars, Kennedy half dollars and 2 dollar bills I had been saving for years. Again, no great value, but MINE!!!!
The cretins had continued up the stairs into the attic and gone through a bunch of stuff, finding that our attic was full of --- well, junk.
The Police responded quickly and were probably more upset than we were. A neighborhood canvas was carried out, but fact is people were no more observant than I am.
The “watch” cats are not talking so I don’t know what they know or don’t know, but I will say when they finally showed up, they were pretty freaked out. Big Cat’s eyes were 6 times normal size. Frankie just stood in the middle of the floor and shed.
So now I am in the market for a home security system that works and is impervious to cats.
No, this was not a bad call in a baseball game, not a spoiled quart of milk, not a faulty new toy, this was a real, honest to goodness, Holy Cow === We was robbed!!!
At about 1:20 we threw our things in the car and went down to the park to meet a teacher and her class to plant in the park. Took about 20 minutes, then we hung around and watered the plants. Maybe another 10 minutes, then home. We had a whole list of afternoon things we were going to do, but when we got home, Kay saw that the desk had been gone through. She grabbed her purse which had been setting on the desk and sure enough the cash was gone. Her camera was also missing. I thought perhaps someone had looked in a window and used the opportunity to grab a free purse, but when I went upstairs, our bedroom had been trashed. All her mother’s jewelry and her own had been stolen. Nothing of great value, but irreplaceable in sentimental value. They had also found some silver dollars, Kennedy half dollars and 2 dollar bills I had been saving for years. Again, no great value, but MINE!!!!
The cretins had continued up the stairs into the attic and gone through a bunch of stuff, finding that our attic was full of --- well, junk.
The Police responded quickly and were probably more upset than we were. A neighborhood canvas was carried out, but fact is people were no more observant than I am.
The “watch” cats are not talking so I don’t know what they know or don’t know, but I will say when they finally showed up, they were pretty freaked out. Big Cat’s eyes were 6 times normal size. Frankie just stood in the middle of the floor and shed.
So now I am in the market for a home security system that works and is impervious to cats.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Final Exams - 2009
No matter how long I am retired I still have the rhythm of a teacher. The New Year is September 1, Final exams are always in June.
So, how did I do this year??
In the area of rebuilding our upstairs, well we did a nice job on the bathroom, 90% of the new room is completed, but we have not touched the hallway. So I guess that would be a C
A big goal for the winter was to master the computer. I did try a little on and off, but I still want to hit the thing with a large hammer. As to learning anything, F-
Outdoors, we have fish in our pond and the initial look of the gardens is beautiful. The early season of tulips and daffodils has been spectacular. Rebuilding the front lawn was a goal and it looks very healthy and happy. A
We had several nice trips and did some really relaxing, enjoyable things. I zip lined, toured the Panama Canal, spent a great week in Kiawah Island, toured Charleston, saw several good concerts and in general enjoyed much of the winter. We attended BU Basketball games and had some great dinners and conversations with a host of people. A+
Physically, it was a tough year. I walked a lot of miles, but when I started to lift weights or do any kind of strength training, something pulled, twisted or gave out. The only cure was rest the body part, but frustrating is mild. Stretching and Yoga and Pilates took time and at best I was hit and miss. Probably if I had been more religious about the stretching, the little naggers would not have occurred. C
When the year began, I felt like I had made a lot of progress in the area of spirituality but there was a lot of room to grow. I think I made a lot of progress, but it is a journey that never ends. You just hit plateaus.
A big step was the forty days spent contemplating Forgiveness and its role in our journey. I am trying to turn that event into writing, but it has been one of the most difficult writing pieces I have ever done. It is either trite, or New Age, and neither is what it deserves. INCOMPLETE
Finally, in September I never expected to be where I am in the world of hobbies. Through the great kindness of a school friend I have been riding horses a lot. I was an expert at taking care of the rear end of a horse, was competent at getting a saddle on one, but the tooth end was a mystery. Progress is being made. And in the world of music, I started taking guitar lessons. I’ve played for years, but never really well. In the last few weeks I have made some progress.
In general, this has been a very good year, a year of growth and wonderful memories =- So overall I think this past year is an A.
No matter how long I am retired I still have the rhythm of a teacher. The New Year is September 1, Final exams are always in June.
So, how did I do this year??
In the area of rebuilding our upstairs, well we did a nice job on the bathroom, 90% of the new room is completed, but we have not touched the hallway. So I guess that would be a C
A big goal for the winter was to master the computer. I did try a little on and off, but I still want to hit the thing with a large hammer. As to learning anything, F-
Outdoors, we have fish in our pond and the initial look of the gardens is beautiful. The early season of tulips and daffodils has been spectacular. Rebuilding the front lawn was a goal and it looks very healthy and happy. A
We had several nice trips and did some really relaxing, enjoyable things. I zip lined, toured the Panama Canal, spent a great week in Kiawah Island, toured Charleston, saw several good concerts and in general enjoyed much of the winter. We attended BU Basketball games and had some great dinners and conversations with a host of people. A+
Physically, it was a tough year. I walked a lot of miles, but when I started to lift weights or do any kind of strength training, something pulled, twisted or gave out. The only cure was rest the body part, but frustrating is mild. Stretching and Yoga and Pilates took time and at best I was hit and miss. Probably if I had been more religious about the stretching, the little naggers would not have occurred. C
When the year began, I felt like I had made a lot of progress in the area of spirituality but there was a lot of room to grow. I think I made a lot of progress, but it is a journey that never ends. You just hit plateaus.
A big step was the forty days spent contemplating Forgiveness and its role in our journey. I am trying to turn that event into writing, but it has been one of the most difficult writing pieces I have ever done. It is either trite, or New Age, and neither is what it deserves. INCOMPLETE
Finally, in September I never expected to be where I am in the world of hobbies. Through the great kindness of a school friend I have been riding horses a lot. I was an expert at taking care of the rear end of a horse, was competent at getting a saddle on one, but the tooth end was a mystery. Progress is being made. And in the world of music, I started taking guitar lessons. I’ve played for years, but never really well. In the last few weeks I have made some progress.
In general, this has been a very good year, a year of growth and wonderful memories =- So overall I think this past year is an A.
Monday, May 18, 2009
PICTURES FROM THE WEEK
I have two really clear pictures from the past week. Neither is life changing but the images are fixed in my mind.
The first one involves our two great hunting cats. Our Big Cat is pretty incompetent as a cat. The good news is she knows it and doesn’t seem to worried about it. Our little cat, Frankie, thinks she is the greatest hunter/ warrior to ever grace the earth.
One night last week I looked out on the glass enclosed back porch where they were both enjoying some sunny weather. Big Cat was upside down in the recliner, feet straight to heaven engaged in some feline meditation. Frankie is ferociously attacking a fly in the middle of the porch rug. The bug had no chance.
Now the funny part! Looking in at them was a neighborhood cat that keeps our neighborhood short of rabbits and groundhogs. He is exactly what you think of when you envision a hunting animal. He sat there for several minutes watching The two fake cats, did the equivalent of a cat head shake and walked away. Needless to say, neither Frankie or Big Cat even knew he was there.
The second picture is even funnier to my mind. I was at Val and Ron’s cottage for lunch. Normally I am not a great fan of venison, but Val had these smelling wonderful, so I tried one. Tasted very good, but just as I dug in, I noticed I was being watched by a stuffed deer head on the wall. There was just something odd about the whole experience.
I have two really clear pictures from the past week. Neither is life changing but the images are fixed in my mind.
The first one involves our two great hunting cats. Our Big Cat is pretty incompetent as a cat. The good news is she knows it and doesn’t seem to worried about it. Our little cat, Frankie, thinks she is the greatest hunter/ warrior to ever grace the earth.
One night last week I looked out on the glass enclosed back porch where they were both enjoying some sunny weather. Big Cat was upside down in the recliner, feet straight to heaven engaged in some feline meditation. Frankie is ferociously attacking a fly in the middle of the porch rug. The bug had no chance.
Now the funny part! Looking in at them was a neighborhood cat that keeps our neighborhood short of rabbits and groundhogs. He is exactly what you think of when you envision a hunting animal. He sat there for several minutes watching The two fake cats, did the equivalent of a cat head shake and walked away. Needless to say, neither Frankie or Big Cat even knew he was there.
The second picture is even funnier to my mind. I was at Val and Ron’s cottage for lunch. Normally I am not a great fan of venison, but Val had these smelling wonderful, so I tried one. Tasted very good, but just as I dug in, I noticed I was being watched by a stuffed deer head on the wall. There was just something odd about the whole experience.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Star Projectors
While we were at the South Carolina Aquarium in Charleston, we found a star projector we gave our granddaughter. I have no idea what she thought of it, but I remember when I was in sixth grade I built my own.
Back in those days, you could actually sit outside at night and see the Milky Way from my backyard. I spent hours watching the stars and imagining other worlds. Naturally I was a big Science Fiction fan. I devoured anything Robert Heinlein wrote, searched used book stores for paperback Sci Fi copies and scoured the TV listings for anything remotely related to “the unknown”.
I saved up $31. 78 and mailed it to Edmund Scientific Company for a 3 inch reflecting telescope. From my backyard I watched Saturn, Jupiter, Mercury, Venus and Mars. I rigged a projector screen that allowed me to track sunspots crossing the surface of the sun. But the “Great Idea” was yet to come.
While studying the Edmund Catalogue, I was tempted by a projector that would shine constellations on the ceiling of the room. Now I could have the telescope, or the projector, but not both. Or could I??
My first attempt was an oatmeal box with a flashlight shoved in the bottom and holes punched in the top that matched the Big Dipper. Way too much light escaped from the flashlight end of the box and the flashlight flopped around a lot. But essentially ---- it worked! I painted the inside of the box with flat black paint to cut down on reflection, built a holder for the flashlight, and taped every possible opening. Only one problem left.
After watching the Big Dipper for about 12 seconds, it gets boring. I needed a way to project other constellations. I could either eat 400 boxes of oatmeal, or figure a way to interchange tops. As it happened, my Father brought home used tally cards from Endicott Johnson. These were basically 3 X 5 cards used to track boxes of shoe soles. Once used they were thrown out. There were always a bunch laying around the house, so I used them to lay out each constellation. Now how to secure to the oatmeal box? I used my erector set and constructed a metal slot that attached to the oatmeal top. Now each card could be slid over the opening in the box top and projected onto ?????
As it turned out, the wall worked only if the projector was the right distance away. Too close and the constellation was cramped, too far away and it was not crisp enough. The solution was another box, folded to resemble a screen at a drive in movie, painted white and held the exact distance from the projector by two pieces of wood that connected the projector and screen. Amazingly, the whole thing worked, and must have worked pretty well. I entered it in the Seventh Grade Science fair and won second place, which allowed me to go on to the big time Science fair at Broome Tec.
My best friend won first place with a Van De Graff Generator. This consisted of a large electrical ball on the end of a tube. Apparently it generated 4 zillion volts of useless and harmless electricity. But it did make your hair stand straight out from your head if you were silly enough to grab hold of the thing. (I had spent way too much time with Ken to touch it myself. )
Anyway, we had a delightful time, got some positive recognition and used the experience to form the Deyo Hill Science club. This consisted of myself, Ken and several other guys who were interested in “ the world beyond” It should be noted that several of these caricature might well have been from the “ world beyond” already but we had fun. In truth, the fun was mostly me giving Ken money to help buy the parts for a ten inch reflecting telescope. I built most of the tube work which was pretty simple, he ground the mirror which was incredibly difficult. This pattern continued throughout life. He is now a Doctor of Quantum Physics and I build bookcases.
We used the telescope a few times, but in truth it weighed so much and was so awkward to move, even with the motor driven tracking system, that the novelty soon wore off. Plus Saturn occasionally had three distinct rings and forty seven moons. I checked and this didn’t seem accurate.
So perhaps I owe my granddaughter an apology for all the doors of adventure I may have opened. I can’t wait to introduce her to the horses I have come to know.
While we were at the South Carolina Aquarium in Charleston, we found a star projector we gave our granddaughter. I have no idea what she thought of it, but I remember when I was in sixth grade I built my own.
Back in those days, you could actually sit outside at night and see the Milky Way from my backyard. I spent hours watching the stars and imagining other worlds. Naturally I was a big Science Fiction fan. I devoured anything Robert Heinlein wrote, searched used book stores for paperback Sci Fi copies and scoured the TV listings for anything remotely related to “the unknown”.
I saved up $31. 78 and mailed it to Edmund Scientific Company for a 3 inch reflecting telescope. From my backyard I watched Saturn, Jupiter, Mercury, Venus and Mars. I rigged a projector screen that allowed me to track sunspots crossing the surface of the sun. But the “Great Idea” was yet to come.
While studying the Edmund Catalogue, I was tempted by a projector that would shine constellations on the ceiling of the room. Now I could have the telescope, or the projector, but not both. Or could I??
My first attempt was an oatmeal box with a flashlight shoved in the bottom and holes punched in the top that matched the Big Dipper. Way too much light escaped from the flashlight end of the box and the flashlight flopped around a lot. But essentially ---- it worked! I painted the inside of the box with flat black paint to cut down on reflection, built a holder for the flashlight, and taped every possible opening. Only one problem left.
After watching the Big Dipper for about 12 seconds, it gets boring. I needed a way to project other constellations. I could either eat 400 boxes of oatmeal, or figure a way to interchange tops. As it happened, my Father brought home used tally cards from Endicott Johnson. These were basically 3 X 5 cards used to track boxes of shoe soles. Once used they were thrown out. There were always a bunch laying around the house, so I used them to lay out each constellation. Now how to secure to the oatmeal box? I used my erector set and constructed a metal slot that attached to the oatmeal top. Now each card could be slid over the opening in the box top and projected onto ?????
As it turned out, the wall worked only if the projector was the right distance away. Too close and the constellation was cramped, too far away and it was not crisp enough. The solution was another box, folded to resemble a screen at a drive in movie, painted white and held the exact distance from the projector by two pieces of wood that connected the projector and screen. Amazingly, the whole thing worked, and must have worked pretty well. I entered it in the Seventh Grade Science fair and won second place, which allowed me to go on to the big time Science fair at Broome Tec.
My best friend won first place with a Van De Graff Generator. This consisted of a large electrical ball on the end of a tube. Apparently it generated 4 zillion volts of useless and harmless electricity. But it did make your hair stand straight out from your head if you were silly enough to grab hold of the thing. (I had spent way too much time with Ken to touch it myself. )
Anyway, we had a delightful time, got some positive recognition and used the experience to form the Deyo Hill Science club. This consisted of myself, Ken and several other guys who were interested in “ the world beyond” It should be noted that several of these caricature might well have been from the “ world beyond” already but we had fun. In truth, the fun was mostly me giving Ken money to help buy the parts for a ten inch reflecting telescope. I built most of the tube work which was pretty simple, he ground the mirror which was incredibly difficult. This pattern continued throughout life. He is now a Doctor of Quantum Physics and I build bookcases.
We used the telescope a few times, but in truth it weighed so much and was so awkward to move, even with the motor driven tracking system, that the novelty soon wore off. Plus Saturn occasionally had three distinct rings and forty seven moons. I checked and this didn’t seem accurate.
So perhaps I owe my granddaughter an apology for all the doors of adventure I may have opened. I can’t wait to introduce her to the horses I have come to know.
Friday, April 24, 2009
PERFECT DAY
This was one of those perfect days that come in Spring. After Kay left for school, I walked through the park. The weather was exactly right. About 40 degrees, sunny with just enough breeze to invigorate. God and I had a wonderful discussion about joy and peace. Not surprisingly, he agreed with most of my ideas.
When I got home, I dragged the dahlias out of the cellar and planted them in the back garden, cleaned up some furniture, made a gigantic cup of Decafe coffee and sat by the waterfall. As long as I remained motionless, the birds came for their baths without seeming to mind my intrusion.
Later in the day, Bob Shields and I walked Chenango Street looking for places we could put trees. We found a surprising number of locations and everyone we spoke to seemed amenable to the idea.
By five, Kay was home and we had our first wine tasting by the stream. I started a charcoal fire, ( I must have been a pyromaniac in a past life) and we had our first BarbyQ of the season. Of course this included eating on the porch. After supper, we sat on the porch and planned out the lesson for Church on Sunday and for the Zoo on Saturday. Shortly I will retire to bed and start a new book in the Sharing Knife series, something I have fondly awaited for a year.
This was one of those perfect days that come in Spring. After Kay left for school, I walked through the park. The weather was exactly right. About 40 degrees, sunny with just enough breeze to invigorate. God and I had a wonderful discussion about joy and peace. Not surprisingly, he agreed with most of my ideas.
When I got home, I dragged the dahlias out of the cellar and planted them in the back garden, cleaned up some furniture, made a gigantic cup of Decafe coffee and sat by the waterfall. As long as I remained motionless, the birds came for their baths without seeming to mind my intrusion.
Later in the day, Bob Shields and I walked Chenango Street looking for places we could put trees. We found a surprising number of locations and everyone we spoke to seemed amenable to the idea.
By five, Kay was home and we had our first wine tasting by the stream. I started a charcoal fire, ( I must have been a pyromaniac in a past life) and we had our first BarbyQ of the season. Of course this included eating on the porch. After supper, we sat on the porch and planned out the lesson for Church on Sunday and for the Zoo on Saturday. Shortly I will retire to bed and start a new book in the Sharing Knife series, something I have fondly awaited for a year.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Forgiveness – Pre
Sometime ago, it was suggested to me that instead of giving up candy or some other surface “suffering” for Lent, it might be wiser to study, discuss and meditate on a single virtue for 48 days. For a lot a reasons, I picked forgiveness.
I read books, talked to experts, gave deep thought to the topic and each time, just when I thought I fully understood it, something would happen to make me rethink and go deeper. Finally, just before Easter, I felt I had some real understanding. I wrote a blog, ready to share it with the world. It all sounded pretty good, then the massacre at the Civic Association occurred and all those bright hopeful words seemed trite and silly. They weren’t and they aren’t and they have not lost their truth, and they will appear here soon, but I missed the most important truth of all. Forgiveness takes time and it cannot be hurried. No matter how simple or how profound the injury was, healing cannot be rushed. No outside person gets to tell you when or how you forgive the cause of the injury.
I am proud that the City of Binghamton has reached a level where forgiving the killer is at least discussed. Certainly his family should be treated with compassion even now. But there is a time for everything and there are no shortcuts- no matter how many tulips get planted, no matter how many ministers get to feel good about themselves. All that any of us can do is ask God to soften hearts so that forgiveness can one day take place.
Sometime ago, it was suggested to me that instead of giving up candy or some other surface “suffering” for Lent, it might be wiser to study, discuss and meditate on a single virtue for 48 days. For a lot a reasons, I picked forgiveness.
I read books, talked to experts, gave deep thought to the topic and each time, just when I thought I fully understood it, something would happen to make me rethink and go deeper. Finally, just before Easter, I felt I had some real understanding. I wrote a blog, ready to share it with the world. It all sounded pretty good, then the massacre at the Civic Association occurred and all those bright hopeful words seemed trite and silly. They weren’t and they aren’t and they have not lost their truth, and they will appear here soon, but I missed the most important truth of all. Forgiveness takes time and it cannot be hurried. No matter how simple or how profound the injury was, healing cannot be rushed. No outside person gets to tell you when or how you forgive the cause of the injury.
I am proud that the City of Binghamton has reached a level where forgiving the killer is at least discussed. Certainly his family should be treated with compassion even now. But there is a time for everything and there are no shortcuts- no matter how many tulips get planted, no matter how many ministers get to feel good about themselves. All that any of us can do is ask God to soften hearts so that forgiveness can one day take place.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Reflections from the Beach
We just spent a marvelous week on Kiawah Island near Charleston. We were staying in a sixth floor condo with a spectacular ocean view. My particular spot was a corner chair that overlooked the beach and faced the sunrise. Each morning I would greet the sun from this position, but it was not the sun that gave me the most joy.
Perhaps there was some airflow pattern around our building, or perhaps it was just habit, but each morning a pelican would drop over the roof and fly past our window. This placed him within ten feet of where I was sitting. He was followed in single file by about fifty other pelicans. Each looked me right in the eye in some sort of bird salute. Once clear of the building, they formed into a goose like v and continued up the beach gliding about 20 feet out to sea.
But apparently hunger would overcome the need to provide beauty. Pelicans do not “land”. They let go and gravity reunites them with ocean. I came to love these birds. They had attained the grace and wonder of effortless flight, but they never let it go to their heads.
Perhaps there was some airflow pattern around our building, or perhaps it was just habit, but each morning a pelican would drop over the roof and fly past our window. This placed him within ten feet of where I was sitting. He was followed in single file by about fifty other pelicans. Each looked me right in the eye in some sort of bird salute. Once clear of the building, they formed into a goose like v and continued up the beach gliding about 20 feet out to sea.
But apparently hunger would overcome the need to provide beauty. Pelicans do not “land”. They let go and gravity reunites them with ocean. I came to love these birds. They had attained the grace and wonder of effortless flight, but they never let it go to their heads.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Nothing to do in Binghamton???
I’ve heard that since I was young, probably said it myself several times. So let’s take a look at our last few days.
Thursday, March 12th saw us at the Anderson Center to see the National Chinese Acrobatic team. In general they were spectacular, but specifically one young girl stood out. About the size of a minute, she walked out, grabbed a pole with one hand and did a hand stand. No great effort, she was simply facing us and blink she was facing us upside down supported by one hand on the top of a pole. She then did all sorts of moves and revolutions totally supported by that one arm. When the arm got tired, she did a one, two, three switch and flipped from being supported by her right hand to being supported by her left hand. The strength required was astronomical.
Saturday morning brought us to the events center to watch the Binghamton Bearcats defeat UMBC for a place in the NCAA Tournament. The game was exciting as Binghamton managed to turn a ten point lead into a nail biter. That night we were off to the Forum to watch the Binghamton Philharmonic put on a show entitled Celtic Fire. Nor was that our only available choice. The Hooley was being held up the street at St. Catherine’s, a private party was going on in Owego that we were invited to and several other establishments were doing shows that seemed like fun.
On a much more personal adventure, we went car shopping on Monday. We thought this might be a good time to quit supporting two cars and combine into one newer chariot. We went to a local dealer where one of Kay’s X students works. Mark Hall has always treated us very well and I have never been anything but pleased with the service. Being the revolutionary thinkers we are and ready for a gigantic change in our driving lives, we traded the two green Toyota Camrys we are presently driving, for a silver, green Toyota Camry. Talk about a walk on the wild side!
Today I went over early and helped clean up stables, water horses, halter and lead them to pasture, then ride for an hour. We rode outside for part of that time and it was glorious. I simply love being around horses. But, I would never be a good horse owner because the horse would be spoiled rotten in a short time. And one thing I have learned is that they spoil really easily. It is a lot like dealing with a room full of kindergarten kids. One slip and you have lost control. Having a twelve hundred pound unruly child is a lot worse than having a 45 pound unruly child.
So anyway, my point is Binghamton seems to have quite a bit going on. Maybe people just need to get off the fat part of their anatomy and go look for it.
I’ve heard that since I was young, probably said it myself several times. So let’s take a look at our last few days.
Thursday, March 12th saw us at the Anderson Center to see the National Chinese Acrobatic team. In general they were spectacular, but specifically one young girl stood out. About the size of a minute, she walked out, grabbed a pole with one hand and did a hand stand. No great effort, she was simply facing us and blink she was facing us upside down supported by one hand on the top of a pole. She then did all sorts of moves and revolutions totally supported by that one arm. When the arm got tired, she did a one, two, three switch and flipped from being supported by her right hand to being supported by her left hand. The strength required was astronomical.
Saturday morning brought us to the events center to watch the Binghamton Bearcats defeat UMBC for a place in the NCAA Tournament. The game was exciting as Binghamton managed to turn a ten point lead into a nail biter. That night we were off to the Forum to watch the Binghamton Philharmonic put on a show entitled Celtic Fire. Nor was that our only available choice. The Hooley was being held up the street at St. Catherine’s, a private party was going on in Owego that we were invited to and several other establishments were doing shows that seemed like fun.
On a much more personal adventure, we went car shopping on Monday. We thought this might be a good time to quit supporting two cars and combine into one newer chariot. We went to a local dealer where one of Kay’s X students works. Mark Hall has always treated us very well and I have never been anything but pleased with the service. Being the revolutionary thinkers we are and ready for a gigantic change in our driving lives, we traded the two green Toyota Camrys we are presently driving, for a silver, green Toyota Camry. Talk about a walk on the wild side!
Today I went over early and helped clean up stables, water horses, halter and lead them to pasture, then ride for an hour. We rode outside for part of that time and it was glorious. I simply love being around horses. But, I would never be a good horse owner because the horse would be spoiled rotten in a short time. And one thing I have learned is that they spoil really easily. It is a lot like dealing with a room full of kindergarten kids. One slip and you have lost control. Having a twelve hundred pound unruly child is a lot worse than having a 45 pound unruly child.
So anyway, my point is Binghamton seems to have quite a bit going on. Maybe people just need to get off the fat part of their anatomy and go look for it.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
WINTER SUCKS!!
As a child I had a very pleasant relationship with winter. That was because I never experienced it. My mother was a tad overprotective and I was never allowed out of the house during anything resembling winter. To attend school, which was visible from my back porch, I was either driven by my Father, a wonderful time I fondly remember, or on those days he was working and not able to drive, I was sent in a taxi. In addition, I was outfitted in two pairs of pants, heavy sweater, scarf, boots and hat. Everything has a silver lining. The extra clothing prevented me from getting hurt in the beatings that occurred because I was wearing all those cloths.
Anyway, by the time I was in third grade, I had learned to get in the cab, strip off all the extra cloths and pay the driver by the time we reached the corner. I’d do a quick recon to be sure no one was looking, stash the extra cloths in the alley between the corner store and the hardware and walk to school. Or on the rare occasions a cab was not called for me, I cut through our back yard, ditched the offending cloths in back of the garage and crossed Baburchack’s yard to reach the school. At night, I simply reversed the course. If I was supposed to call a cab to return home, I walked home, donned the extra cloths and waited on the porch until someone up the street slammed a car door, and then went in the house. Shamefully, I pocketed the cab fare. But I always used it for Christmas presents or donations to charity. (There was the occasional Chocolate binge!)
The extra cloths and cabs continued throughout Junior High, but by then, I had worked out strategies that let me escape most of it. By High School, I had a paper route and was out in the winter weather quite a bit. I remember being cold, but not disgusted with the whole thing.
The four years I spent at Oneonta were so entertaining, I don’t think winter ever dampened them. There were some memorable walks from downtown back to the campus. But I would stop at St. Mary’s, then stop at the Newman Club, then stop at the Phi Delt House and finally make the big push up the hill. One Christmas vacation, we all held up going home so we could spend a couple of nights camping at our mountain top retreat. That experience convinced me Winter Camping was just nuts. But I enjoyed it.
Even our graduate study jaunts to Cortland didn’t bring on fits of hate. Secretly I enjoyed driving in horrible conditions, it was a challenge. Then I started having my children in the car and it was no longer just me in danger. That took most of the fun out of it. And when they started driving themselves—Well if you have kids you know what I mean and if you don’t you will learn.
Anyway, the very first time I truly HATED winter was a morning in February about twenty years ago. It must have been a vicious winter, and once again my car was refusing to run. As I waited for the bus, the wind just beat on me, and I remember looking back toward the house and thinking, “This just sucks. “
Each year after that, I attacked winter. I made sure I was out in it on the coldest days. I refused to be held hostage or alter my plans, but still each year would have a particular day that marked the end of my patience.
Monday was this year’s last straw. I had a cold in the head which already had me down, but I was going to go ride horses anyway. I got there, learned how to saddle and bridle the most pleasant animal you ever met, and climbed into the saddle. Riding was numbingly cold, but went well. After unsaddling, brushing and getting the horse’s jacket on, I had to take him out to a field and “turn him out.” I walked him there, opened the chained gate, gave him a last carrot and then proceeded to take five minutes re-chaining the gate because I could not get my fingers to work. At that precise moment, winter 2008 – 2009 became a total pain in the ass.
As a child I had a very pleasant relationship with winter. That was because I never experienced it. My mother was a tad overprotective and I was never allowed out of the house during anything resembling winter. To attend school, which was visible from my back porch, I was either driven by my Father, a wonderful time I fondly remember, or on those days he was working and not able to drive, I was sent in a taxi. In addition, I was outfitted in two pairs of pants, heavy sweater, scarf, boots and hat. Everything has a silver lining. The extra clothing prevented me from getting hurt in the beatings that occurred because I was wearing all those cloths.
Anyway, by the time I was in third grade, I had learned to get in the cab, strip off all the extra cloths and pay the driver by the time we reached the corner. I’d do a quick recon to be sure no one was looking, stash the extra cloths in the alley between the corner store and the hardware and walk to school. Or on the rare occasions a cab was not called for me, I cut through our back yard, ditched the offending cloths in back of the garage and crossed Baburchack’s yard to reach the school. At night, I simply reversed the course. If I was supposed to call a cab to return home, I walked home, donned the extra cloths and waited on the porch until someone up the street slammed a car door, and then went in the house. Shamefully, I pocketed the cab fare. But I always used it for Christmas presents or donations to charity. (There was the occasional Chocolate binge!)
The extra cloths and cabs continued throughout Junior High, but by then, I had worked out strategies that let me escape most of it. By High School, I had a paper route and was out in the winter weather quite a bit. I remember being cold, but not disgusted with the whole thing.
The four years I spent at Oneonta were so entertaining, I don’t think winter ever dampened them. There were some memorable walks from downtown back to the campus. But I would stop at St. Mary’s, then stop at the Newman Club, then stop at the Phi Delt House and finally make the big push up the hill. One Christmas vacation, we all held up going home so we could spend a couple of nights camping at our mountain top retreat. That experience convinced me Winter Camping was just nuts. But I enjoyed it.
Even our graduate study jaunts to Cortland didn’t bring on fits of hate. Secretly I enjoyed driving in horrible conditions, it was a challenge. Then I started having my children in the car and it was no longer just me in danger. That took most of the fun out of it. And when they started driving themselves—Well if you have kids you know what I mean and if you don’t you will learn.
Anyway, the very first time I truly HATED winter was a morning in February about twenty years ago. It must have been a vicious winter, and once again my car was refusing to run. As I waited for the bus, the wind just beat on me, and I remember looking back toward the house and thinking, “This just sucks. “
Each year after that, I attacked winter. I made sure I was out in it on the coldest days. I refused to be held hostage or alter my plans, but still each year would have a particular day that marked the end of my patience.
Monday was this year’s last straw. I had a cold in the head which already had me down, but I was going to go ride horses anyway. I got there, learned how to saddle and bridle the most pleasant animal you ever met, and climbed into the saddle. Riding was numbingly cold, but went well. After unsaddling, brushing and getting the horse’s jacket on, I had to take him out to a field and “turn him out.” I walked him there, opened the chained gate, gave him a last carrot and then proceeded to take five minutes re-chaining the gate because I could not get my fingers to work. At that precise moment, winter 2008 – 2009 became a total pain in the ass.
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