Composed Cat

I stopped at the local produce stand for fresh fruits and veggies. After completing my purchase, I hopped in my car, followed the drive that loops behind the barn - and veered out of the way of a cat.

Not that the cat was running across the drive. No, this obviously well fed tabby cat was sunning itself in the middle of the driveway.

The cat turned its head to follow the progress of my vehicle, yawned, and went back to grooming.

That's the thing about cats. They always retain their composure.

A dog in the same situation would bark, jump, and raise a general ruckus.

Old tabby could have cared less. The glance the cat threw over its shoulder was the same aloof gaze that a queen might bestow on a wayward subject. A look that says let's get one thing straight here. I'm in charge. As long as we both understand that everything is good. Misbehave and I'll unleash my fury.

Dark Transformation

I was strolling the shopping district of Rehoboth Beach yesterday evening, observing that dark was descending ever earlier this days.

It occurred to me that the shops and restaurants are transformed by the setting of the sun.

During the day, establishments provide brief respites from the heat of the sun. Retail shops offer an opportunity to relish a blast of conditioned air while picking up a bottle of sunscreen, a straw hat, or an umbrella with an SPF rating. Restaurants offer chilled drinks to combat dehydration and food to encourage an afternoon nap.

The arrival of dusk turns these same stores and eateries into destinations - places to go rather than brief pit stops. With the glare of midday sun gone, storefronts transform from polarized panels to panes of viewing glass. Behind the glass, florescent lighting illuminates sparkling baubles coveted by vacationers and dining tables heaped with food.

Suddenly each shop is an attraction demanding attention. Vacationers young and old alike ooh and ah, weaving in an out of doorways in search of the ultimate vacation experience.

Commencement Ring

Our lives are peppered with rituals and celebrations: birthdays, communion, graduation, and marriage are but a few.

To each of these events is tied a token of some kind: a gift, a white dress or spiffy suit, a diploma, or a ring.

I must admit I never thought of moving out from under your parents' roof as being a commencement in life worthy of a specific token. I learned today from Queen Bee that such a token was given to my father when he moved out of his parents' house.

A bit of background is required here. My father's mother was a woman who had a taste for the finer things in life. Custom clothing and furnishings, domestic help, meals offered up on exquisite table settings.

Dinner was always a formal affair requiring formal attire - and of course there were always cloth napkins. Each of these napkins was accented with a sterling sliver napkin ring - each ring engraved with the name of a family member.

When my father moved out, his commencement was marked with the presentation of his personally engraved napkin ring. Something every young man longs to take with him.

Imagine the social standing that must have been achieved by a silver napkin ring, no doubt protected by a glass dome, prominently displayed on top of the television set.

Imagine the envy of friends stopping by for a beer or to watch a ball game. Dude, you have a silver napkin ring? Awesome. Whoa - the thing is engraved - totally righteous! Give me five dude!

Three Cent Memory

I was on the website for the postal service today to calculate postage. I must admit to being out of touch with what a first class stamp goes for these days. I've been buying the forever stamps and since they're good for... forever, I lose track of the going rate.

I calculated how much my package would cost to send, then went in search of the current value of a first class stamp.

Forty four cents? For some reason the discovery triggered a memory from childhood. I recalled sitting at the dining room table helping my mother address Christmas cards. I remembered licking dozens of blue and white three cent stamps.

The memory of that three cent stamp triggered a landslide of other memories.

I remember a black and white television with a rabbit ear antennae that received three VHF stations.

I remember being with my father when he bought a spanking new Chevrolet for three thousand and some odd dollars.

I remember when milk came directly to the house via the milkman. I also remember being jealous that my best friend's family received a weekly visit from the Charles Chips delivery man.

I remember gasoline at thirty five cents a gallon and filling up my Volkswagon Beetle for less than five dollars.

I could go on and on but I'm sure just now you're relieving memories of your own.

Just look how much three cents still buys you.

Book and Cover

I had an excellent reminder today to judge people by who they are and not how they look.

I was working my bridge job when a monster of a fellow walked into the store. His appearance matched the entertainment industry's stereotyped biker. Bandanna, hair pulled back in a braid, tee shirt, sleeveless vest, faded jeans, and scuffed boots.

I'm afraid many people looked at this guy as potential trouble.

Hidden behind him was a freckle faced girl who obviously worshiped her towering father.

Daddy helped his daughter fix a frozen, custom blended drink. The daughter, who couldn't have been more than eight years old, happily sipped on the icy coke and cherry mix while her father fixed himself a cup of Earl Grey tea with a twist of lemon and a spoonful of honey.

Father and daughter then headed outside to sit on the curb and enjoy the sunny, blue sky day.

Yes, they did finally ride off on a motorcycle. But I got the clear impression the freckle faced girl wouldn't have traded the mode of travel for anything. She was getting to hug her daddy after all.

King Neptune

Colliding storm fronts have had the sky looking more like an angry ocean over the past two days.

I feel like a shellfish looking up at the surface of a sea churned by the anger of King Neptune.

Towering waves of gray and black clouds rush overhead, blocking out the sun, and spraying the ground beneath with thousands of gallons of water.

In what seems little more than a hearbeat, the angry waves settle into gently rolling swells of blue and white. The sun shines again and birds dare to chirp.

But by the time steam begins to rise from roads and sidewalks, another tempest comes roaring in. Again the sun is hidden and again creatures race for protection from the flashing stabs of King Neptune's trident.

Frog Days of Summer

I was heading inside through the back door of my house this evening when a "blob" on an adjacent window caught my eye. Thinking I would need to find the bottle of Windex, I moved in for a closer look - and took a jump back when the blob moved.

The blob turned out to be a tiny frog (about an inch and a half long) clinging to the window with tiny suction cups at the end of splayed toes.

A tap on the window with my index finger sent the frog leaping for the protection of a plant on a nearby table. The frog and I engaged in a game of hide and seek for several minutes. The tiny creature leapt from the plant to the vinyl siding on the house, back to the plant, down to the leg of an outdoor chair, back to the siding, and back to the plant. I was finally able to encourage the little fellow to cling to my arm for a few moments.

I was pretty sure I was enjoying the company of a tree frog, and went to the internet to see if I was right (leaving the frog outside of course).

My research left me a little bewildered. While I was able to confirm my little friend was a tree frog, most of the articles I read stated tree frogs live in tropical climates. I never thought of Delaware as tropical.

Eventually I found an article that expanded the dwelling places of tree frogs to temperate as well as tropical climates.

Well, it has been ridiculously hazy, hot and humid of late - the kind of weather frequently referred to as the dog days of summer.

In my neck of the woods at least, I guess we need to change that phrase to the frog days of summer.

Money Buzz

A recent internet headline caught my attention: 90% of U.S. money has traces of cocaine.

Now that statement triggers a whole range of questions: How many hands have to have touched the money for 90% of the greenbacks to be affected? Just who decided money needed to be checked for drug residue? How is the money being tested - is there a roomful of people sniffing or licking hundred dollar bills?

But the question that made its way to the forefront of my mind is: If 90 percent of the money we handle has cocaine on it - why are we so stressed out?

It seems to me that after thumbing through our wallets to pay for lunch, we would all be heading for the nearest open space to admire skies of the most outrageous blue, be amazed by grass of righteous green, or bemoan paradise being paved for a parking lot.

Behind on a loan repayment? Forget the plastic - hand the man a Franklin and late payments are expunged. No problem, man.

Want to buy more car than you have money for? Don't sign a note - put $500 down in cash and agree to finalize negotiations when Jupiter aligns with Mars. In the mean time drive off in the car of your choice.

We should be one country under the sun totally chillin' out, dude.

Ghost Ships

I had the opportunity to get to the beach for a few hours today. While it was bright and sunny on the shore, the horizon was curtained by a hazy mist.

Cargo ships regularly ply the waters off the Delaware coast. Today they were mysteriously appearing and disappearing through the gray shroud.

I got to wondering what it would be like to be at sea with no visibility. What would it be like to be standing on a ship knowing there is nothing but water all around but not being able to see anything except the moisture hanging in the air?

I imagine it would be chilling to hear the warning bellow of a fog horn from another vessel travelling through the same blinding soup. The way sound echoes on water, it seems to me it would be nearly impossible to tell from which direction the horn blast had originated.

I pictured myself standing on the deck of a ship, fruitlessly straining to see something other than gray haze, my ears waiting to catch the next warning blast, and wondering if the hulking profile of another ship would suddenly emerge mere inches from my nose.

Earlier in my life I had considered the possibilty of a career at sea. Today I was relieved to have chosen a different path.

Googling Myself

I googled my own name the other today. I was wondering if maybe I was famous and just didn't know it.

I was surprised to discover how many people share my name. Not just my first name, but first and last.

I was also surprised by my reaction to the discovery. I felt as though I had lost part of my self identity. Sure, I knew hundreds of other people shared my first name. I just wasn't ready for how many share the full name.

I got to thinking about religious sects whose members refuse to allow photographs to be taken of themselves. Reasons for the picture taking ban vary depending on the religion.

Then there were "primitive" civilizations who refused to write their names for fear the power of their names could be stolen and used against them.

I always felt that behavior of early civilizations was explained by obsession with superstition. I had more difficulty understanding the views of current religious sects.

Now I'm thinking that the two groups had and have more smarts than I gave them credit for.

Birthday Wants

Happy Birthday to Motivated Mom! My wife turns... well... she's gained another year of beauty.

I've never been good at reading members of the opposite sex. That I ever wound up married is a result of divine intervention.

I'm remembering back to the first of Motivated Mom's birthdays that I shared with her. I had asked weeks in advance what she wanted for her birthday.

Saying birthdays had always been low key in her family, Motivated Mom shrugged and said it would be nice to have a new laundry basket and a dust buster.

So that was exactly what I got her for her birthday - along with a romantic card of course.

See what I mean about divine intervention?

I did better in following years.

Motivated Mom has now reached a point where being with, and hearing from, family members is all she really wants out of a birthday.

So today was a nice dinner outing that included Media Girl and Queen Bee. A call from College Dude capped the day off nicely.

I guess I'm reading that right. I guess that when Motivated Mom says all she wants from a birthday is quality family time, that really is all she wants.

Or should I have bought a new floor mop?

Dress Code

During dinner with friends the other evening, Motivated Mom (my wife) made reference to my pre-marriage night on the town attire.

In my earlier years, I took exception to dress codes. I felt that as long as person was dressed neatly, a jacket and tie should not be a prerequisute for partaking of a nice meal or enjoying an off-broadway play.

Since I did appreciate the occassional opportunity to enjoy the "finer things in life", I finally accepted the need to make concessions - but on my terms. I decided I could make a statement while conforming to the expectations of society.

So I put together what was to become known as my night on the town attire. My ensemble started with a tie-died denim suit and a pair of tan western boots. A tuxedo shirt with ruffles edged in pale blue was accented by a neon pink bow tie. Not content to let my shoulder length hair and bushy beard finish the look, I topped off with a leather western hat.

I guess all of this was on my mind when I was clothes shopping yesterday. I came home with a blue sport coat along with a tie having a generous amount of pink in the design.

I am absolutley going to be the cat's meow.

English Please

I was experiencing e-mail difficulties today. I contacted my e-mail provider by phone and was dismayed when I could not understand the name of the person who took my call.

You can call me prejudiced if you want, but when I call a provider for technical support, I'd like to be able to hear clearly spoken English coming from the person on the other end. I'm just not comfortable wondering if I'm hearing instructions accurately. Especially when a misunderstood step could result in worsening computer problems.

I'm fairly certain the person I was talking to today was sitting on a hand woven carpet in India someplace. Perhaps if my technical support person had flown on that carpet to sit side by side with me I would have felt more comfortable.

As it was, my technical support person proved to be incredibly inept at resolving my problem.
After seventy minutes of failed efforts my problem solver went in search of assistance from a specialist.

I never had the opportunity to speak with the specialist, but I'd be willing to bet that he or she was in California - and could speak perfect English.

Why couldn't my call have just gone to California in the first place?

I'd change my internet provider if I thought there was a chance in h... of speaking with a person I could understand.

Prehistoric Truck

Developers are clearing trees for two new housing developments close to where I live. So recently there have been signs posted warning log trucks entering roadway.

Being that my mind works the way it does, I've been picturing trucks constructed from logs. Something that would have been seen on the roadway in Fred Flinstone's era.

Vehicles about forty feet long and six feet wide. The wheels would be constructed of round slabs sliced from the bottom-most section of the felled tree. Axles would be crafted from some of the sturdier branches.

A vehicle that size would need considerable foot power. Fred wouldn't be yab-a-dab-a-doing for very long if he had to power it himself. I doubt if even an assist from Barney would be sufficient. So I'm picturing at least five seating areas hued from the log. Starting from a stop would be a challenge, but I figure once momentum was gained, ten strong legs should keep the log truck moving at a fairly good clip.

I'm trying to picture a Jurrasic era truck salesman. Isn't this a beauty? It's our finest ten foot power vehicle. It averages about eight miles per layer of skin. If you buy now, we'll throw in a free case of Miracle Foot Repair lotion.

Lawn Rake

I was doing an internet search for the original inventor of the lawn rake so that I could curse the man's name. If the rake had never been invented, my neighbors wouldn't expect me to rake up grass trimmings on a day when the thermometer continued to hover at eighty-five degrees well past the dinner hour.

It turns out there all all kinds of patents out there. It turns out there are all kinds of names for the yard tool too: lawn rake, lawn debris collector, lawn working implement.

I was surprised to learn that the rake is considered to be only the metal or plastic tine assembly. To use the rake - well you need a handle for the manipulation of a lawn rake.

So I guess it's not the inventor of the rake I need to be disgusted with. Rather, I need to fault the guy who invented the handle. The lawn rake would have never sold through a first production run if folks had been forced to get down on their knees to use it.

Which makes me wonder... just exactly what did inventor #1 have in mind for his invention before inventor #2 came along and said you need to put a manipulator on that thing!

First Flight

When Media Girl visited her brother last week, she flew from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh. It was the first time she had flown on her own and she was a little nervous. Her nervousness wasn't helped by a weather front that caused a three-and-a-half hour delay in her departure.

I remembered back to my very first flight. I wasn't flying alone, but it was my first time above the billowy clouds.

As with Media Girl's recent experience, my flight departed several hours late.

Once airborne, I soon fell asleep to the rhythmic bumps that reminded me of car travel (the click clack of tires on seams in the roadway always puts me to sleep in seconds).

When we reached our destination, many of the passengers commented on what a terrible, turbulent flight it had been.

I didn't understand what the problem was - the flight had seemed quite peaceful to me. Not having flown before, I had just assumed the little bumps were normal.

The trip home was a smooth flight.

I liked the bumpy ride better. The rhythm made it feel like progress was being made. The smooth ride home seemed interminable.

Dog Roof

While out and about on the highways and biways today I noticed what looked like a periscope poking up through the opened sunroof of a sports car.

The oddly equipped car was approaching from the opposite direction. The vehicle made a left turn across my lane of travel about a block ahead of me. It was then I saw the ears flapping in the wind and realized it was not a periscope but the head of a dog sticking out of the sunroof.

Based on the markings and the size of the head, I figured the dog to be a beagle. There's no way a beagle is long enough to sit on the seat of a car and get its head through the sunroof. So the dog had to have been perched next to the headrest of one of the front seats in the car.

I didn't get a look at the driver of the car but I started wondering if the driver might be one of those vertically challenged people who can barely see over the steering wheel. Perhaps the dog was the driver's lookout. Perched on the back of the driver's seat, the dog could use its tail to thwack the driver in the side of the head when there was a potential hazard while barking in an attempt to clear the road.

Hmmm... I wonder what happens if a cat dashes across the street?

Passing of a Friend

It was disconcerting to learn of the passing of a childhood friend. Perhaps you are wondering at my use of the term disconcerting rather than saying I was saddened.

Well there was some sadness too, but the fact of the matter is that the two of us had not communicated with each other for some thirty years. I had moved away from my home town and the relationship faded.

Undoubtedly we said we would keep in touch - and undoubtedly we didn't.

So where does disconcerting come in?

News of my friend's passing got me to thinking about my career as a pall bearer. At least it seemed like a career to me back in my teens. I hit my teenage years just at the time that grandparents, great grandparents, great aunts, uncles and other relatives were passing with startling regularity. Being a sturdily built young man, I was routinely volunteered as a pall bearer.

Escorting the recently departed seemed such a normal part of my life that I was actually surprised when I realized one day that my services had not been required for two consecutive years.

Now thoughts of funerals and memorial services return and it is disconcerting to think these events now apply to people my own age. People who, as kids, viewed life as an endless journey.

It is disconcerting to think that one of those kids has now reached the end of the ride. Not because of some freak accident, but simply because the journey is over.

It leaves me wondering if I should be preparing for more of the same kind of news. Will the passing of friends past and present become as regular as the passing of those I once considered to be old?

Human Twist

My part time job involves standing on a concrete floor for extended hours. Despite new shoes and cushioned insoles, the standing is taking a toll on my joints. Or so I thought. A guy who specializes in deep tissue massage tells me that primary muscles tend to tense up after extended periods of standing.

I made an appointment to be loosened up.

I should have had the good sense to run from the room when the masseuse told me that if he did his job right I was in for an hour of hurting.

The session started off innocently enough with an aggressive kneading of my calf and thigh muscles. I thought I just might be able to doze off.

But my eyes popped wide open when I felt my leg muscles being stretched to the breaking point.

The last I checked, it's not natural for my foot to touch the small of my back - yet that is exactly what the masseuse was trying to accomplish.

The foot to back maneuver was followed by the introduction of a towel. No, not a warm compress, but a method of gaining additional leverage. Wrapping the towel around my left foot, the masseuse held the ends of the towel in both of his hands, moved to my right side, and leaned backward in an attempt to introduce my left foot to my right shoulder.

Pounding my hand on the cushioned table in submission I cried out Hey, I'm paying for this.

Yeah, the masseuse said, crazy isn't it?

Senior Vacation

Motivated Mom and I have decided we've finally hit old age.

We have the house to ourselves this week - and we've decided that's enough for a vacation.

Granted, finances have a lot to do with our decision to vacation at home but...

There are lots of places we could hit for day trips. Chincoteague, Baltimore's Inner Harbor, the mountains of West Virginia, the Eastern Shore, Philadelphia's museums - they're all viable day trips.

But as we considered these destinations, we decided they were really too far, or the weather was too hot, or the traffic would be too bad.

So we're hanging out around the otherwise unoccupied house. Yep, we're having a senior vacation.

Sibling Event

Life has been tossing Media Girl some real challenges recently. Motivated Mom and I have been trying to coach our daughter through this period with limited success. Being seventeen, Media Girl just doesn't want to hear what her parents have to say.

Much to my surprise and appreciation, College Dude invited his sister to spend a week with him in Pittsburgh. College Dude is hoping that the change of venue will allow Media Girl to get a fresh perspective on things.

I was surprised by College Dude's offer because normally he and Media Girl get along together about as well as gasoline and matches. I appreciated our son's offer because it has been incredibly frustrating for me to watch Media Girl struggle. Hopefully College Dude's expression of brotherly love will help Media Girl get back on track.

I'm viewing this sibling event as an indication that, despite the lack of a parenting handbook, Motivated Mom and I have done our jobs pretty well.