Why is it that the weeds grow better than anything else in the yard after a week of rain?
Maybe we've been mislead. Maybe weeds are meant to be cultivated and what we refer to as lawn is actually the stuff we should be plucking.
Perhaps lawns started as nothing more than a marketing gimmick created by some guy with the lass name of Scott.
Mr. Scott had access to boo coo chemicals but needed an angle for selling the stuff. So he bagged up a bunch of weed seed, gave it the new name of lawn seed, and then sold chemical mixes to make the weeds flourish and choke out the good stuff.
So now the good stuff is relegated to sidewalk edges and garden borders. And the Scott family is laughing all the way to the bank.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Ice Cream Ritual
It's the all American summer ritual - ice cream cones and water ice.
What a variety of shops there are these days. The old standbys like Dairy Queen have been joined by new establishments like Cold Stone Creamery. Then of course there's the TCBY, Rita's, and in my neck of the woods, a host of Mom and Pop enterprises.
My best ice cream memories are tied to dairies that served their own ice cream on site. As a kid, one of my favorite Saturday evening outings was a family trip for farm fresh ice cream followed by a game of miniature golf. The golf course, aglow beneath humming sodium lights, was directly across from the dairy.
I would race to lick the trickles of melting ice cream before the sweet substance coated my fingers, while planning my strategy for getting the golf ball in the mouth of the clown on the 18th hole and winning my free game.
My own children enjoyed ice cream from a dairy just around the corner from our house. Weathered picnic benches were positioned just outside the cattle stalls. The kids could eat their ice cream while listening to the shuffling and snorting of the cows that made the summer treat possible.
What a variety of shops there are these days. The old standbys like Dairy Queen have been joined by new establishments like Cold Stone Creamery. Then of course there's the TCBY, Rita's, and in my neck of the woods, a host of Mom and Pop enterprises.
My best ice cream memories are tied to dairies that served their own ice cream on site. As a kid, one of my favorite Saturday evening outings was a family trip for farm fresh ice cream followed by a game of miniature golf. The golf course, aglow beneath humming sodium lights, was directly across from the dairy.
I would race to lick the trickles of melting ice cream before the sweet substance coated my fingers, while planning my strategy for getting the golf ball in the mouth of the clown on the 18th hole and winning my free game.
My own children enjoyed ice cream from a dairy just around the corner from our house. Weathered picnic benches were positioned just outside the cattle stalls. The kids could eat their ice cream while listening to the shuffling and snorting of the cows that made the summer treat possible.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Back to Pong
Yesterday I was sidetracked from my memories of video games past. Today I'm coming back around to the topic.
My mental wanderings have taken me from Play Station and Wii, back to the original Nintendo, and further back still to the technological marvel of Pong.
Pong, the original home video game, came to market when I was working my first ever job in Wanamaker's department store. The game was basic - use a controller to slide a "paddle" vertically along one edge of the television screen to hit a ping pong ball back to the opponent's side of the screen. That was it - virtual ping pong.
But what a draw it was - more so for the store employees than the customers. If an employee on break needed to be located, the first place we looked was the television department where there would be a crowd of folks waiting for their chance to unseat the reigning Pong champion.
Who would ever have thought that such simple entertainment would have led to the amazingly realistic golf and bowling video games we play today?
My mental wanderings have taken me from Play Station and Wii, back to the original Nintendo, and further back still to the technological marvel of Pong.
Pong, the original home video game, came to market when I was working my first ever job in Wanamaker's department store. The game was basic - use a controller to slide a "paddle" vertically along one edge of the television screen to hit a ping pong ball back to the opponent's side of the screen. That was it - virtual ping pong.
But what a draw it was - more so for the store employees than the customers. If an employee on break needed to be located, the first place we looked was the television department where there would be a crowd of folks waiting for their chance to unseat the reigning Pong champion.
Who would ever have thought that such simple entertainment would have led to the amazingly realistic golf and bowling video games we play today?
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Glowing Monkeys
Today's post is not what I had originally intended. I had video game reminiscing on my mind, but while my internet home page was coming up I noticed an article about glowing monkeys. As you can imagine, my curiosity was piqued.
The article described how a group of scientists genetically altered monkeys to make the monkeys' hair glow green. This unique trait was passed on to the monkeys' offspring.
Wow! I thought. Energy problems solved. Alter humans in the same way and electric lighting will no longer be required.
Want to read a book at night? All it would take would be a simple mental command to increase the wattage of your natural glow, then settle in anyplace with your favorite novel.
Dinner could be either a romantically or brilliantly lit affair depending on the level of natural glow.
One possible drawback.... If the glow were to automatically ramp up when you were - ah - aroused, it might get difficult to see the screen at a drive in movie.
The article described how a group of scientists genetically altered monkeys to make the monkeys' hair glow green. This unique trait was passed on to the monkeys' offspring.
Wow! I thought. Energy problems solved. Alter humans in the same way and electric lighting will no longer be required.
Want to read a book at night? All it would take would be a simple mental command to increase the wattage of your natural glow, then settle in anyplace with your favorite novel.
Dinner could be either a romantically or brilliantly lit affair depending on the level of natural glow.
One possible drawback.... If the glow were to automatically ramp up when you were - ah - aroused, it might get difficult to see the screen at a drive in movie.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Trees and Waterfalls
I was exercising my mind this morning with the questions on the back of a cereal box. Once I finally managed to get my eyes to focus, I learned that a mature redwood tree is twice as high as Niagara Falls.
I've been fortunate to have visited Niagara Falls a couple times. I have stood at the railing at the top of the falls and watched hundreds of thousands of gallons of water spill downward. From that height, the tour boats that ply the river below look little larger than plastic models.
So I was trying to imagine looking down from treetops that are twice as high as the falls. The idea of such height is overwhelming. People on the ground would be invisible. Perhaps the only motor vehicle large enough to be spotted would be a tractor trailer - and even it would look no bigger than a matchbox I suspect.
While I worked my way through breakfast, I fired up my laptop and googled Redwood trees. I discovered I am not alone in failing to be able to fully grasp the size and age of the the trees. A living organism with a potential life span of over two thousand years simply defies our suddenly limited vocabulary.
I found myself wondering - if Redwood trees were sentient, would the life on an individual human even register with them?
I know - deep stuff for breakfast contemplation.
I've been fortunate to have visited Niagara Falls a couple times. I have stood at the railing at the top of the falls and watched hundreds of thousands of gallons of water spill downward. From that height, the tour boats that ply the river below look little larger than plastic models.
So I was trying to imagine looking down from treetops that are twice as high as the falls. The idea of such height is overwhelming. People on the ground would be invisible. Perhaps the only motor vehicle large enough to be spotted would be a tractor trailer - and even it would look no bigger than a matchbox I suspect.
While I worked my way through breakfast, I fired up my laptop and googled Redwood trees. I discovered I am not alone in failing to be able to fully grasp the size and age of the the trees. A living organism with a potential life span of over two thousand years simply defies our suddenly limited vocabulary.
I found myself wondering - if Redwood trees were sentient, would the life on an individual human even register with them?
I know - deep stuff for breakfast contemplation.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Marley Alert
Have you seen the advertisements for the movie Marley and Me? Thinking about planning a family evening around the movie? You should be warned that although most of the movie is as funny as the trailers suggest, the last fifteen minutes differ entirely.
Spoiler alert - if you haven't seen the movie but plan to, you'll want to stop reading here.
The other night we had a room full of well balanced adults watching the movie. By the end of the movie everyone had a series case of tears and sniffles.
I figured I'd give a general heads up. If you're looking for a good movie to watch - by all means have at it. But if you need a laugh filled pick-me-up (as we were all expecting), you'll want to pass.
In the case of our Saturday night group, we had all experienced the loss of at least one pet in the past. Marley and Me does a great job of capturing the churning emotions triggered by the loss of a special pet. Watching it was just as heartbreaking as going through the real thing.
Spoiler alert - if you haven't seen the movie but plan to, you'll want to stop reading here.
The other night we had a room full of well balanced adults watching the movie. By the end of the movie everyone had a series case of tears and sniffles.
I figured I'd give a general heads up. If you're looking for a good movie to watch - by all means have at it. But if you need a laugh filled pick-me-up (as we were all expecting), you'll want to pass.
In the case of our Saturday night group, we had all experienced the loss of at least one pet in the past. Marley and Me does a great job of capturing the churning emotions triggered by the loss of a special pet. Watching it was just as heartbreaking as going through the real thing.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Flowering Signs
We think of tulips and daffodils as signs of spring, but I'm noticing another garden trend this year.
Signs are popping up in clusters all over. It seems it requires only a single open house or yard sale sign to start a sign garden. In no time at all, the initial signage is surrounded by a multi-colored assortment. Signs of yellow, red, and blue point the way to savings, bargains, and free tours.
I'm wondering what it is about a single sign that causes so many others to sprout around it. Is it because other advertisers believe a lone placard must be an indicator of an untapped prime marketing location?
Each new advertiser seems to feel it is necessary to outdo the previous in quantity. There is no way to retain all of the information displayed on two dozen signs packed into fifty feet. The only lingering memory is the colorful mix of cardboard and aluminum blossoming atop metal stems.
Signs are popping up in clusters all over. It seems it requires only a single open house or yard sale sign to start a sign garden. In no time at all, the initial signage is surrounded by a multi-colored assortment. Signs of yellow, red, and blue point the way to savings, bargains, and free tours.
I'm wondering what it is about a single sign that causes so many others to sprout around it. Is it because other advertisers believe a lone placard must be an indicator of an untapped prime marketing location?
Each new advertiser seems to feel it is necessary to outdo the previous in quantity. There is no way to retain all of the information displayed on two dozen signs packed into fifty feet. The only lingering memory is the colorful mix of cardboard and aluminum blossoming atop metal stems.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Kites
I was watching my nephew flying a kite this afternoon. It was a spider man kite - a vinyl contraption requiring some inflation before going airborne.
And I got to thinking about how kites have evolved.
My first kites were diamond shaped piece of colorful paper. Unrolling the kite required hands as sure as a surgeon's lest the paper tear. A pale colored piece of wood was glued vertically at the center of the paper diamond. Installing the cross brace was a challenge. Flex the stick too far and it would splinter. Should the cross brace slip from my grip, the stick would pierce the paper and the kite was history before its first flight.
Once the kite was successfully assembled, the next step was a visit to Mom's bag of rags in search of material suitable for a tail.
As fragile as those paper kites were, it's a wonder they withstood the blustery days of spring and fall.
And I got to thinking about how kites have evolved.
My first kites were diamond shaped piece of colorful paper. Unrolling the kite required hands as sure as a surgeon's lest the paper tear. A pale colored piece of wood was glued vertically at the center of the paper diamond. Installing the cross brace was a challenge. Flex the stick too far and it would splinter. Should the cross brace slip from my grip, the stick would pierce the paper and the kite was history before its first flight.
Once the kite was successfully assembled, the next step was a visit to Mom's bag of rags in search of material suitable for a tail.
As fragile as those paper kites were, it's a wonder they withstood the blustery days of spring and fall.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Migration
The great Memorial Day migration is on. The dotted lines on the highway are obscured by cars lined up bumper to bumper like an endless column of ants.
Where there is bottle necked traffic there is.... honking of horns, shaking fists, and angry shouts.
Why? It's not like the next guy in line intentionally caused the traffic jam. Everyone is equally unhappy to be stuck.
We all look forward to extended weekends, anxious for fun and relaxation. Sure a traffic jamb is a rotten way to start that break - but there's no need to start shouting at the surrounding people. Take the opportunity to have an extended, meaningful conversation with your spouse or children - listen to music - don't let the traffic ruin your long awaited good time.
Remember - there's a cold one waiting for you at your destination.
Where there is bottle necked traffic there is.... honking of horns, shaking fists, and angry shouts.
Why? It's not like the next guy in line intentionally caused the traffic jam. Everyone is equally unhappy to be stuck.
We all look forward to extended weekends, anxious for fun and relaxation. Sure a traffic jamb is a rotten way to start that break - but there's no need to start shouting at the surrounding people. Take the opportunity to have an extended, meaningful conversation with your spouse or children - listen to music - don't let the traffic ruin your long awaited good time.
Remember - there's a cold one waiting for you at your destination.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Memorial Day 2009
This weekend, as we gather with friends and relatives to enjoy burgers on the grill, walks on the beach, and horseshoes in the backyard, let us remember to offer thanks and prayers to those who now serve and have served our country.
While we embrace our loved ones this weekend, there are thousands of men and women around the world who will have only a picture to hold in the palm of their hand or a face to call up in memory.
If you're own special gathering happens to include a service man or woman, be sure to shake their hand and say Thank You.
Here's to a Happy Memorial Day weekend for all of us.
While we embrace our loved ones this weekend, there are thousands of men and women around the world who will have only a picture to hold in the palm of their hand or a face to call up in memory.
If you're own special gathering happens to include a service man or woman, be sure to shake their hand and say Thank You.
Here's to a Happy Memorial Day weekend for all of us.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Jumpin' Java
So as I mentioned earlier, I got this part time gig in a convenience store. Figured it would make great fodder for blog material as well as character development in my short stories.
What amazes me is the amount of coffee that gets sold. In a four hour block of morning commute time the store goes through eighty - yes 80 - pots of coffee.
Jeez - talk about a national caffeine addiction!
It's fortunate I don't drink the stuff, otherwise I might be tempted to continually sample the Java and I'd be jumping around the store like the energizer rabbit on steroids.
What amazes me is the amount of coffee that gets sold. In a four hour block of morning commute time the store goes through eighty - yes 80 - pots of coffee.
Jeez - talk about a national caffeine addiction!
It's fortunate I don't drink the stuff, otherwise I might be tempted to continually sample the Java and I'd be jumping around the store like the energizer rabbit on steroids.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Cat Attitude
Our cat, Ginger is staring at me accusingly, certain I intentionally tried to make her seem like a fool.
I didn't of course, but when a cat has made up its mind there's just no arguing.
Ginger loves to curl up in my lap when I'm at the computer. She arrives rather circuitously - across the window sill to the back of the desk, behind the printer, over the Ipod speakers, across the central workspace, and into my lap.
An open loose leaf binder on the front of the desk proved to be precariously placed. When Ginger stepped on the leading edge, the binder flipped, papers flew, writing instruments pinwheeled, and Ginger found herself on the floor.
Despite the mess, Ginger was somehow comfortably seated, absently licking her front paw by the time I turned around.
But I'm not fooled by this innocent act. Her eyes clearly relay a message. Trick me again and I'll make sure I leap to your lap with claws extended.
I didn't of course, but when a cat has made up its mind there's just no arguing.
Ginger loves to curl up in my lap when I'm at the computer. She arrives rather circuitously - across the window sill to the back of the desk, behind the printer, over the Ipod speakers, across the central workspace, and into my lap.
An open loose leaf binder on the front of the desk proved to be precariously placed. When Ginger stepped on the leading edge, the binder flipped, papers flew, writing instruments pinwheeled, and Ginger found herself on the floor.
Despite the mess, Ginger was somehow comfortably seated, absently licking her front paw by the time I turned around.
But I'm not fooled by this innocent act. Her eyes clearly relay a message. Trick me again and I'll make sure I leap to your lap with claws extended.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Spelunker
Motivated Mom and I went off on a road trip for the weekend.
One of our stops was Luray Caverns in Virginia.
After our visit I spent a lot of time thinking about the folks who first explored those caves. I can't imagine sliding down down hundreds of feet with nothing but a flickering candle in a lantern.
It was while I was picturing a fearless explorer squirming through tight crevices on knees and elbows that I realized where the name for an investigator of caves might have originated.
Spelunker - what a strange sounding word for a cavern explorer, but probably an apt description for a human skull having an unexpected encounter with the tip of a dangling stalactite.
I can see the accident report: While Dr. Wallace was admiring the spectacular calcium formations he clunked his head.
Combine spectacular with clunk and - Voila - spelunker is born.
One of our stops was Luray Caverns in Virginia.
After our visit I spent a lot of time thinking about the folks who first explored those caves. I can't imagine sliding down down hundreds of feet with nothing but a flickering candle in a lantern.
It was while I was picturing a fearless explorer squirming through tight crevices on knees and elbows that I realized where the name for an investigator of caves might have originated.
Spelunker - what a strange sounding word for a cavern explorer, but probably an apt description for a human skull having an unexpected encounter with the tip of a dangling stalactite.
I can see the accident report: While Dr. Wallace was admiring the spectacular calcium formations he clunked his head.
Combine spectacular with clunk and - Voila - spelunker is born.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Taking a Break
I'll be away from the internet for a few days.
Look for a new post on Tuesday, May 19.
Look for a new post on Tuesday, May 19.
The Shock of a Face
While I wait for the economy to recover, I picked up a part time job in a local convenience store. Because food is served in the store, employees cannot have beards. So for the first time in thirty-four years I am clean shaven. (Amazing what you'll do when times are tough.)
Well, there was a one week period about six years ago when I was beard free. I shaved after Motivated Mom had mentioned she'd never know what I really looked like until she had the undertaker shave my face. I got rid of the beard as a spur of the moment thing, then went downstairs.
Unlike some people who look sort of the same bearded or not, I discovered I look like a completely different person clean shaven. College Dude knocked over a dining room chair in his rush to escape the stranger in the house, Media Girl emitted a blood curdling scream, and Motivated Mom insisted I grow the beard back immediately - suggesting Rogaine might speed the regrowth.
This time I alerted everyone in advance so they would be prepared. After all, they're the ones who have the most shock to adjust to - I only see myself when I look in the mirror.
As I write this Media Girl has walked in the door, announced she cannot handle my new look, and moved to a different room from which to continue our conversation.
Hmmm, this could be a difficult transition.
Well, there was a one week period about six years ago when I was beard free. I shaved after Motivated Mom had mentioned she'd never know what I really looked like until she had the undertaker shave my face. I got rid of the beard as a spur of the moment thing, then went downstairs.
Unlike some people who look sort of the same bearded or not, I discovered I look like a completely different person clean shaven. College Dude knocked over a dining room chair in his rush to escape the stranger in the house, Media Girl emitted a blood curdling scream, and Motivated Mom insisted I grow the beard back immediately - suggesting Rogaine might speed the regrowth.
This time I alerted everyone in advance so they would be prepared. After all, they're the ones who have the most shock to adjust to - I only see myself when I look in the mirror.
As I write this Media Girl has walked in the door, announced she cannot handle my new look, and moved to a different room from which to continue our conversation.
Hmmm, this could be a difficult transition.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
British House
I really enjoy the television show House. Hugh Laurie has made the character of Dr. House so real that I wouldn't blink twice if I saw Hugh walking the halls of our local hospital.
I was astounded when College Dude told me Hugh Laurie was British. There is not so much as a hint of accent when Dr. House speaks.
College Dude found an interview clip with Hugh on You Tube and played it for me. The sound wasn't the greatest and Hugh's nationality soon slipped my mind - until I saw an interview on television the other day.
There was Hugh, dressed in jeans and casual shirt just as Dr. House would wear, speaking in an unmistakably British accent.
It might as well have been a Martian on the television. My mind simply refused to accept the evidence of a British House. I feared that one of my favorite shows would be changed to me forever.
Thankfully I never gave a thought to the British during the season finale.
I was astounded when College Dude told me Hugh Laurie was British. There is not so much as a hint of accent when Dr. House speaks.
College Dude found an interview clip with Hugh on You Tube and played it for me. The sound wasn't the greatest and Hugh's nationality soon slipped my mind - until I saw an interview on television the other day.
There was Hugh, dressed in jeans and casual shirt just as Dr. House would wear, speaking in an unmistakably British accent.
It might as well have been a Martian on the television. My mind simply refused to accept the evidence of a British House. I feared that one of my favorite shows would be changed to me forever.
Thankfully I never gave a thought to the British during the season finale.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Typewriters
A severe case of writer's block had me remembering typewriters today.
My first full blown case of creative breakdown occurred when I started taking writing classes back in the 1970's. I had a manual typewriter then. The only way the words made it to the page was if I hit the letter keys hard enough to transfer the ribbon ink to the paper.
So of course I wrote everything longhand first. The delete key hadn't been invented and trying to white out an entire sentence or paragraph of typewritten material made for a pretty sloppy final product.
I thought I'd stepped into Tomorrow Land when I purchased my first electric typewriter. Automatic paper feed, letter keys that required only a tap, and correction tape built into the ribbon - surely I owned the ultimate writing tool.
But the thing of it was, whether done manually or automatically, the act of feeding a blank piece of paper into a typewriter could send award winning plot lines spinning into the nether world - never to be recaptured.
My first full blown case of creative breakdown occurred when I started taking writing classes back in the 1970's. I had a manual typewriter then. The only way the words made it to the page was if I hit the letter keys hard enough to transfer the ribbon ink to the paper.
So of course I wrote everything longhand first. The delete key hadn't been invented and trying to white out an entire sentence or paragraph of typewritten material made for a pretty sloppy final product.
I thought I'd stepped into Tomorrow Land when I purchased my first electric typewriter. Automatic paper feed, letter keys that required only a tap, and correction tape built into the ribbon - surely I owned the ultimate writing tool.
But the thing of it was, whether done manually or automatically, the act of feeding a blank piece of paper into a typewriter could send award winning plot lines spinning into the nether world - never to be recaptured.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Double Shuttle
I was checking out the coverage of today's shuttle launch. The news correspondent pointed out that this was a rare instance when two shuttles were rolled out on launch pads at the same time.
Apparently there is a greater than normal possibility of something going wrong on this mission so NASA wanted to have a rescue vehicle ready to respond.
Now I know that redundancy is NASA's buzzword for safety, but if I were part of today's shuttle crew that second shuttle would not be giving me a warm fuzzy.
Today's report brought the words of a David Bowie song to mind - causing me to check to be sure the commander of today's mission wasn't named Tom.
(For those who aren't Bowie fans, the words are: ground control to Major Tom, your circuit's dead, there's something wrong)
Hopefully the second shuttle won't be needed and all will go well.
Apparently there is a greater than normal possibility of something going wrong on this mission so NASA wanted to have a rescue vehicle ready to respond.
Now I know that redundancy is NASA's buzzword for safety, but if I were part of today's shuttle crew that second shuttle would not be giving me a warm fuzzy.
Today's report brought the words of a David Bowie song to mind - causing me to check to be sure the commander of today's mission wasn't named Tom.
(For those who aren't Bowie fans, the words are: ground control to Major Tom, your circuit's dead, there's something wrong)
Hopefully the second shuttle won't be needed and all will go well.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Mother's Day
As a husband I have watched the stages of motherhood and learned it is a labor of love that children cannot possibly appreciate.
The love begins with labor itself, setting the stage for the coming years of loving endurance.
As babies, mothers care for our every need and are rewarded by coos and smiles - sleepless nights and cries.
Mothers love us as children unconditionally and continually, grateful for any love offered in return - whether repayment comes in full or as a pittance.
Mothers encourage us out the door and into adulthood despite the pain of separation.
Mothers long to hear the news of our lives. The simple tone of our voice dictating a night of sound sleep, or no sleep at all.
Motherhood demands strength beyond any career I know.
One day of recognition seems hardly enough. May we all resolve to return the love of mothers more frequently.
To all the mothers out there...
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY
The love begins with labor itself, setting the stage for the coming years of loving endurance.
As babies, mothers care for our every need and are rewarded by coos and smiles - sleepless nights and cries.
Mothers love us as children unconditionally and continually, grateful for any love offered in return - whether repayment comes in full or as a pittance.
Mothers encourage us out the door and into adulthood despite the pain of separation.
Mothers long to hear the news of our lives. The simple tone of our voice dictating a night of sound sleep, or no sleep at all.
Motherhood demands strength beyond any career I know.
One day of recognition seems hardly enough. May we all resolve to return the love of mothers more frequently.
To all the mothers out there...
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY
Friday, May 8, 2009
Out of Hiding
The clouds parted, sunlight streamed down, and a host of creatures decided it was safe to come out of hiding this morning.
I had my first bike ride in a week. I shared the roads with squirrels, rabbits, pedestrians, and cats.
All of us were welcoming the return of the sun.
The squirrels and rabbits, obviously ravenous from days under cover, nibbled at nuts and grass with complete disregard for the humans passing by.
A black and white cat was enjoying a good back scratch on the sun warmed asphalt. The feline barely blinked as my bike tires passed within two feet of him. Nothing was going to interfere with his long awaited good time.
The bicyclists and pedestrians offered hearty good mornings, the sun having returned good cheer.
I had my first bike ride in a week. I shared the roads with squirrels, rabbits, pedestrians, and cats.
All of us were welcoming the return of the sun.
The squirrels and rabbits, obviously ravenous from days under cover, nibbled at nuts and grass with complete disregard for the humans passing by.
A black and white cat was enjoying a good back scratch on the sun warmed asphalt. The feline barely blinked as my bike tires passed within two feet of him. Nothing was going to interfere with his long awaited good time.
The bicyclists and pedestrians offered hearty good mornings, the sun having returned good cheer.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Jeepers Peepers
The peepers are out in force this evening. For those of who have never been beyond city limits, peepers are little frogs that make more racket than a crying baby with a megaphone.
There were easily a dozen of the little hoppers dancing around my feet as I came up the front walk this evening.
For some reason I pictured Dennis Mitchell standing at the edge of his neighbor's garden saying: Jeepers Mr. Wilson, do you hear all those peepers?
And of course Mr. Wilson would be terrified that Dennis was about to dive into the prized garden in search of the little critters.
As I write this the invasion of the peepers continues, with platoons of frogs raising their combined voices to decibel levels that put a rock concert to shame.
The Verizon network will be of no benefit tonight. Though I may have coverage, I won't be able to hear my caller for the cacophony outside my window.
There were easily a dozen of the little hoppers dancing around my feet as I came up the front walk this evening.
For some reason I pictured Dennis Mitchell standing at the edge of his neighbor's garden saying: Jeepers Mr. Wilson, do you hear all those peepers?
And of course Mr. Wilson would be terrified that Dennis was about to dive into the prized garden in search of the little critters.
As I write this the invasion of the peepers continues, with platoons of frogs raising their combined voices to decibel levels that put a rock concert to shame.
The Verizon network will be of no benefit tonight. Though I may have coverage, I won't be able to hear my caller for the cacophony outside my window.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Bonanza
This morning I felt a little like Ben Cartwright hitching up the wagon for a trip into the big city.
The part of Delaware I live in is lovingly referred to as lower, slower, Delaware (LSD for short).
Sussex county is as far south in the state as one can get and life definitely has its own rhythm here.
Today I needed to be in the northernmost part of the state. I was leaving the seashore behind and heading to the land of gleaming office buildings where people feel an eternal pressing need to be someplace other than where they are.
My alarm went off in the wee hours of the morning and I loaded up my car with the day's supplies.
The trip started well. My vehicle was one of only a dozen on the roads. Midway through the drive the traffic thickened. In Wilmington, my destination, I added my horseless carriage to the miles long wagon train waiting to gain access to the city.
Actually I think a wagon train would have moved faster. If I had been Ben Cartwright I would have nudged my way to the front of the line and started organizing the morning chaos - then gone to give the sheriff and mayor a good chewing out about the unseemly congestion.
I've obviously lost my tolerance of big city traffic. I was glad when my business was completed and I could head back to the homestead.
The part of Delaware I live in is lovingly referred to as lower, slower, Delaware (LSD for short).
Sussex county is as far south in the state as one can get and life definitely has its own rhythm here.
Today I needed to be in the northernmost part of the state. I was leaving the seashore behind and heading to the land of gleaming office buildings where people feel an eternal pressing need to be someplace other than where they are.
My alarm went off in the wee hours of the morning and I loaded up my car with the day's supplies.
The trip started well. My vehicle was one of only a dozen on the roads. Midway through the drive the traffic thickened. In Wilmington, my destination, I added my horseless carriage to the miles long wagon train waiting to gain access to the city.
Actually I think a wagon train would have moved faster. If I had been Ben Cartwright I would have nudged my way to the front of the line and started organizing the morning chaos - then gone to give the sheriff and mayor a good chewing out about the unseemly congestion.
I've obviously lost my tolerance of big city traffic. I was glad when my business was completed and I could head back to the homestead.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Breaking News
Stop the presses. Rewrite the morning headline. A baby was born in Palm Springs, FL today. A sure sign that population growth is out of control.
Queen B and I were discussing today how the news media is out of control.
Ordinary occurrences become headlines with a spin that blows events all out of perspective.
Housing, financial institutions, and health concerns have all been victims of a news media grown too large.
There is only so much news to go around. In their rush to be the latest with with the most attention grabbing headlines, reporters build upon stories already told until the event takes on an exaggerated life of its own.
I recently read an interview with a local successful businessman who disclosed he has not owned a television for over twenty years. At the end of the work day he goes home, pours a glass of wine, and enjoys the artwork hanging throughout his house.
Perhaps the world would be a saner place if we all spent more time in quiet contemplation.
Queen B and I were discussing today how the news media is out of control.
Ordinary occurrences become headlines with a spin that blows events all out of perspective.
Housing, financial institutions, and health concerns have all been victims of a news media grown too large.
There is only so much news to go around. In their rush to be the latest with with the most attention grabbing headlines, reporters build upon stories already told until the event takes on an exaggerated life of its own.
I recently read an interview with a local successful businessman who disclosed he has not owned a television for over twenty years. At the end of the work day he goes home, pours a glass of wine, and enjoys the artwork hanging throughout his house.
Perhaps the world would be a saner place if we all spent more time in quiet contemplation.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Simplicity
With the exception of this blog, most of the writing I do is for children and young adults. So I find myself constantly reliving my childhood when I search for the appropriate way to phrase things.
It recently occurred to me that kids used to be ingrained with the ability - and need - to simplify things.
As kids, our meeting places were the big rock, the big tree, the big hill, the wooden bridge, and the underground fort. We all knew exactly where these places were.
There was no need to say, the enormous mound of dirt next to the new houses being built on the edge of Webster's Farm. The mound was the Big Hill, plain and simple.
We got together after breakfast, before lunch, and after dinner. Not 8:00, 11:45, or 7;15. There was no panic if someone didn't show at the same time as everyone else. The rest of the group simply drifted toward the home of the missing person, finding new opportunities for excitement along the way.
Yet we were always anxious to grow up - failing to fully appreciate what a gift simplicity is.
It recently occurred to me that kids used to be ingrained with the ability - and need - to simplify things.
As kids, our meeting places were the big rock, the big tree, the big hill, the wooden bridge, and the underground fort. We all knew exactly where these places were.
There was no need to say, the enormous mound of dirt next to the new houses being built on the edge of Webster's Farm. The mound was the Big Hill, plain and simple.
We got together after breakfast, before lunch, and after dinner. Not 8:00, 11:45, or 7;15. There was no panic if someone didn't show at the same time as everyone else. The rest of the group simply drifted toward the home of the missing person, finding new opportunities for excitement along the way.
Yet we were always anxious to grow up - failing to fully appreciate what a gift simplicity is.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Dude and Lass
Congratulations to Language Lass who graduated this weekend.
She will soon be relocating to Pittsburgh, PA for her post graduate schooling.
Convenient how her further education will take place in the same city that College Dude now calls home. One might almost think it was planned - being as how they're engaged and all.
I'm happy for them. They have been maintaining a long distance relationship for two years now.
I'm sure it will be a relief to no longer have to take turns making the four hour drive on alternate weekends while keeping up with school and work.
Now they will have more opportunities for special moments: laughing about nothing in particular over dinner, simultaneously guessing the outcome of movies with predictable plots, walks in the park, and sharing a bottle of wine.
I hope they build as many fond memories as Motivated Mom and I have been fortunate enough to share.
She will soon be relocating to Pittsburgh, PA for her post graduate schooling.
Convenient how her further education will take place in the same city that College Dude now calls home. One might almost think it was planned - being as how they're engaged and all.
I'm happy for them. They have been maintaining a long distance relationship for two years now.
I'm sure it will be a relief to no longer have to take turns making the four hour drive on alternate weekends while keeping up with school and work.
Now they will have more opportunities for special moments: laughing about nothing in particular over dinner, simultaneously guessing the outcome of movies with predictable plots, walks in the park, and sharing a bottle of wine.
I hope they build as many fond memories as Motivated Mom and I have been fortunate enough to share.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
What a Brim
This coming week will be a great week to be a chiropractor in Kentucky. There's going to be a lot of women with stiff necks.
We were watching the Kentucky Derby today. I was amazed by the hats the women were wearing.
I was looking for the little people who most certainly had to be holding onto well disguised guide lines - like the balloon handlers in the Thanksgiving Day parades. How else could those women possibly keep their heads upright?
I saw hats bearing small gardens, half a peacock, and what must have been a fruit salad. Then there were the brims that put the Flying Nun to shame. Had it been windy, men would have been grabbing the feet of their significant others to keep them from flying to neighboring counties.
We were watching the Kentucky Derby today. I was amazed by the hats the women were wearing.
I was looking for the little people who most certainly had to be holding onto well disguised guide lines - like the balloon handlers in the Thanksgiving Day parades. How else could those women possibly keep their heads upright?
I saw hats bearing small gardens, half a peacock, and what must have been a fruit salad. Then there were the brims that put the Flying Nun to shame. Had it been windy, men would have been grabbing the feet of their significant others to keep them from flying to neighboring counties.
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