Long-Winded Winding Down
Happy Hour - it's a special time for us, our time to relax and talk. To take a break from the demands of work, chores, appointments, mail, messages, whatever. Our time might be better termed Yappy Hour. The import of our conversations may unfold with seamless logic. One topic relates to another, then another. A new book may surface, an old book resurface. There is not always agreement, but something will be learned, some idea may be spurned.
As well, our conversations may unravel and get lost in nonsense. Or, a story must be shared; sometimes actions speak louder than words, and words have a voice of their own.
Anything is possible. That is why we talk.
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“Stuff Happens” January, 2017
I don’t know why I use the above expression for a title. If ever the foul-mouthed version was appropriate, it’s the one I relate here (you know the one – in an “appropriate” written form, a $ is used in place of an S, followed by the letters hit, followed by the word happens). I’m not a prude, but it just seemed so stark on paper (or screen), in your face, surprisingly harsh…
Yes, appropriate, based on the personal circumstances surrounding the delivery of an awful, distressing letter on Friday that ruined the day. Talk about stark on paper, in your face, and surprisingly harsh. Compound that with a phone conversation with an insurance company automaton who used to be a real, caring, sincere person. What a way to kick off the weekend prior to a dreaded week of testing in a hospital.
It’s like us, though, to find a way to distract from unpleasantness. On Saturday the weather was on our side; too, too nice to wallow in worry. We have to go outside, water the plants, relax – champagne helps. Also, Michael has a knack for selecting music that’s heartening. I never know which genre, which artist. I only know it will be just what’s needed. So it was when I heard the first notes of The Age of Aquarius. I’d forgotten we have Greatest Hits of the 5th Dimension. What better way to Let the Sunshine In, take us Up, Up, and Away, perhaps to a Stoned Soul Picnic. I don’t know if I can “surry” (I don’t know what that means), but it sounds fun. Besides, I can’t worry about my troubles listening to One Less Bell to Answer. The poor woman has one less egg to fry! And that cold-hearted Bill, is he ever gonna marry that girl? She loves him so, she always will.
It was the first few enchanting notes of Never My Love* that really did it for me, or did me in. I had to dance – Michael is an exceptional partner. Still, I never imagined it would be the most memorable slow dance ever. It was magical, the stuff of romance novels, or fairy tales. I floated, and forgot everything upsetting or dreaded. It was just what I needed.
As the final notes faded, I was still enfolded in Michael’s arms. I only inched away to see his face and steal a kiss. It was, I must say, shocking to hear his laughter. I was so taken aback; I stepped back farther, apparently to his relief. He pointed at me, still laughing, unable to speak. He pointed and pointed at my shoulder, ‘til I finally looked and saw the revolting stain (yes, “stuff happens”). I struggled out of my shirt, threw it down on the deck, and threw up my hands in disgust. This isn’t how the dance-that-was-better-than-$ex is supposed to end!
I had felt something while dancing, but thought it was a leafy twig that landed lightly on my shoulder. Not the vile work of an ill-bred blue jay, a boorish grackle, or the commonest crow. To think we constantly feed these creatures (high-end specialty seeds, suets, nuts), provide accommodations, freshen their birdbaths (even provide a heated one for winter use), and consider their preferences when selecting flowers and shrubs. To think I refrained from using undignified language while writing about this event.
This is now the “stuff” of legend in our house - and Michael's artistic rendering leaves a lasting imprint as well.
*Never My Love
You ask me if there'll come a time
When I grow tired of you
Never my love
Never my love
You wonder if this heart of mine
Will lose its desire for you
Never my love
Never my love
What makes you think love will end
When you know that my whole life depends
On you (on you)
Never my love
Never my love
You say you fear I'll change my mind
And I won't require you
Never my love
Never my love
How can you think love will end
When I've asked you to spend your whole life
With me (with me, with me)
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Yes, appropriate, based on the personal circumstances surrounding the delivery of an awful, distressing letter on Friday that ruined the day. Talk about stark on paper, in your face, and surprisingly harsh. Compound that with a phone conversation with an insurance company automaton who used to be a real, caring, sincere person. What a way to kick off the weekend prior to a dreaded week of testing in a hospital.
It’s like us, though, to find a way to distract from unpleasantness. On Saturday the weather was on our side; too, too nice to wallow in worry. We have to go outside, water the plants, relax – champagne helps. Also, Michael has a knack for selecting music that’s heartening. I never know which genre, which artist. I only know it will be just what’s needed. So it was when I heard the first notes of The Age of Aquarius. I’d forgotten we have Greatest Hits of the 5th Dimension. What better way to Let the Sunshine In, take us Up, Up, and Away, perhaps to a Stoned Soul Picnic. I don’t know if I can “surry” (I don’t know what that means), but it sounds fun. Besides, I can’t worry about my troubles listening to One Less Bell to Answer. The poor woman has one less egg to fry! And that cold-hearted Bill, is he ever gonna marry that girl? She loves him so, she always will.
It was the first few enchanting notes of Never My Love* that really did it for me, or did me in. I had to dance – Michael is an exceptional partner. Still, I never imagined it would be the most memorable slow dance ever. It was magical, the stuff of romance novels, or fairy tales. I floated, and forgot everything upsetting or dreaded. It was just what I needed.
As the final notes faded, I was still enfolded in Michael’s arms. I only inched away to see his face and steal a kiss. It was, I must say, shocking to hear his laughter. I was so taken aback; I stepped back farther, apparently to his relief. He pointed at me, still laughing, unable to speak. He pointed and pointed at my shoulder, ‘til I finally looked and saw the revolting stain (yes, “stuff happens”). I struggled out of my shirt, threw it down on the deck, and threw up my hands in disgust. This isn’t how the dance-that-was-better-than-$ex is supposed to end!
I had felt something while dancing, but thought it was a leafy twig that landed lightly on my shoulder. Not the vile work of an ill-bred blue jay, a boorish grackle, or the commonest crow. To think we constantly feed these creatures (high-end specialty seeds, suets, nuts), provide accommodations, freshen their birdbaths (even provide a heated one for winter use), and consider their preferences when selecting flowers and shrubs. To think I refrained from using undignified language while writing about this event.
This is now the “stuff” of legend in our house - and Michael's artistic rendering leaves a lasting imprint as well.
*Never My Love
You ask me if there'll come a time
When I grow tired of you
Never my love
Never my love
You wonder if this heart of mine
Will lose its desire for you
Never my love
Never my love
What makes you think love will end
When you know that my whole life depends
On you (on you)
Never my love
Never my love
You say you fear I'll change my mind
And I won't require you
Never my love
Never my love
How can you think love will end
When I've asked you to spend your whole life
With me (with me, with me)
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You may fire when wordy, Gridley* May, 2014
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Wordplay is a true test of wits – as they say in fencing, not for the feint of heart. It’s good practice to make up puns; fun intended. (Disclaimer: any mistaken claims to originality are purely unintentional.) |
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My dentist has a favorite song...what is it?
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What is a meteorologist's favorite conjunction? Whether. |
Why didn’t the egg cross the road? He cracked under the pressure. or: He was too chicken. |
Why are cat feet so cute?
I’ll have to paws and think about that...
or:
Just beclaws.
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What does the pottery maker drink for happy hour? Shards. |
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How does the pastor
begin service in the Church of the Holy Garden? Please be seeded… or: Lettuce pray. |
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What did the pottery maker say to the funny comedian? You're kiln me. |
What summer internship did the book's son get? He's a page. |
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Why did the baseball player lose his lawsuit? It was baseless. |
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*Good luck…
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Size matters... February, 2014
February 2, 2014 – Groundhog’s Day and my Birthday! So much effort went into making it extra Super this year. Punxsutawney Phil and I really appreciated the celebratory events. I was especially touched by the Kitten Bowl.
However, Feb. 2 had barely crossed into Feb. 3 when a shadow fell over the festivities. At issue? A certain phrase – "Not even a smidgen" – spoken during one of the celebratory events. By week’s end the replay became unbearable. There seemed no escape, no relief, from the barrage of commentary. We cringed at the sound of those words; smidgen in particular. (Phil expressed his annoyance as well, and had no regrets about the 6 more weeks of Winter.)
Smidgen, smidgen, smidgen, smidgen...
We hate that word now. We had no choice but to determine its value. What exactly does it mean? Small amount is not an exact definition. If a measurement, of what? Length, width, liquid, weight, size? How is it calibrated? What about the variations and the variables: tad, pinch, dash, iota, bit, tinge, hint, glimmer, etc. Think about it. One man's tad is another man's dash. It's all just too subjective. Our search for a definitive amount was intensified – we wanted a number, an equation, a formula, value, something. I was willing to accept something mathematical like Pi (but I don’t like Pi – it’s another thing that drones on ad infinitum).
We should have bypassed the standard dictionaries. Those Wikixxx resources always come through in a pinch. Wiktionary further clarifies the standard definition of smidgen by adding a very small quantity or amount. Wiktionary also provides the following summation:
At last! More than a smattering of words and numerals all together.
Maybe the proof is in the pudding!
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Baseball Stars September, 2013
The days were getting shorter; we weren’t quite ready for that! It was nearing dusk and the bird baths hadn’t been refilled, or the suet replaced. However, it was still warm enough to leave the back door in “screen mode,” and the studio door wide open. We could hear both the radio and the TV.
Funny thing about the dual broadcasts though. There’s a delay between the radio and the TV; the radio is ahead of TV time. So, if the crowd noise becomes frenzied and the announcer’s voice intensifies, I know to get out of the way. It’s like a call to arms. Michael springs from his chair, or throws down the hose, or leaps over gnomes and flower pots to get into the house. I just stay where I am – I’ll hear the outcome even before the dust has settled.
That particular evening (September 19) was the third game in a series between the Orioles and the Red Sox. It seemed like the game just started and there’s uproar. Joe Angel was vying with the fans to be heard. Michael took off to see the play unfold…
I’d already heard the “Wave it Bye-Bye!” I already knew that “Big Papi” had indeed hit a home run. I cringed, waiting for him to stomp back outside in disgust. He returned doubly disgusted though. We’ve all seen BP lumber around the bases and raise his arms to the Heavens as he crosses home plate. Apparently, he tried to add some finesse by extending one arm and simultaneously raising the opposite leg. A drunken attempt at an arabesque? Maybe he was stumbling headlong and trying to recover with dignity?
Just as Michael was recreating the pose, leg up and arm outstretched, he shouted LOOK, LOOK! Coursing directly above was the biggest, brightest meteor! Honestly, it seemed so near I ducked – surely it was going to hit the studio or a nearby house. A white-orangey ball, with a tail! It seemed an eternity before it disappeared. Absolutely incredible! Breathtaking! Shouldn’t we do something? Call the Goddard Help Desk, email the Space Station, search for pieces? I did stop short of suggesting we send a thank-you note to Number 34.
Then again, it was certainly meant for our eyes only. It appeared on the night of the Harvest Moon; we have that celestial thing you know. We danced to Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” at our Wedding…it was all just meant to be. Michael, though awed and swept up in the romance, just had to mention it may have been a piece of “space junk.”
Funny thing about the dual broadcasts though. There’s a delay between the radio and the TV; the radio is ahead of TV time. So, if the crowd noise becomes frenzied and the announcer’s voice intensifies, I know to get out of the way. It’s like a call to arms. Michael springs from his chair, or throws down the hose, or leaps over gnomes and flower pots to get into the house. I just stay where I am – I’ll hear the outcome even before the dust has settled.
That particular evening (September 19) was the third game in a series between the Orioles and the Red Sox. It seemed like the game just started and there’s uproar. Joe Angel was vying with the fans to be heard. Michael took off to see the play unfold…
I’d already heard the “Wave it Bye-Bye!” I already knew that “Big Papi” had indeed hit a home run. I cringed, waiting for him to stomp back outside in disgust. He returned doubly disgusted though. We’ve all seen BP lumber around the bases and raise his arms to the Heavens as he crosses home plate. Apparently, he tried to add some finesse by extending one arm and simultaneously raising the opposite leg. A drunken attempt at an arabesque? Maybe he was stumbling headlong and trying to recover with dignity?
Just as Michael was recreating the pose, leg up and arm outstretched, he shouted LOOK, LOOK! Coursing directly above was the biggest, brightest meteor! Honestly, it seemed so near I ducked – surely it was going to hit the studio or a nearby house. A white-orangey ball, with a tail! It seemed an eternity before it disappeared. Absolutely incredible! Breathtaking! Shouldn’t we do something? Call the Goddard Help Desk, email the Space Station, search for pieces? I did stop short of suggesting we send a thank-you note to Number 34.
Then again, it was certainly meant for our eyes only. It appeared on the night of the Harvest Moon; we have that celestial thing you know. We danced to Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” at our Wedding…it was all just meant to be. Michael, though awed and swept up in the romance, just had to mention it may have been a piece of “space junk.”
The next morning, it took little effort to search the Internet for info on “our” meteor. We actually shared this memorable sighting – classified as a Fireball* – with others in Maryland, Delaware, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. The reports are available from the American Meteor Society.
*A Fireball is a brighter-than-usual meteor (brighter than any planet or star). Of the approximately 500,000 fireballs a year, most are not seen because they occur over the ocean or during the daytime.
*A Fireball is a brighter-than-usual meteor (brighter than any planet or star). Of the approximately 500,000 fireballs a year, most are not seen because they occur over the ocean or during the daytime.
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Ars gratia artis August 14, 2013
An added bonus to maintaining the Barnes & Noble desk diaries is randomly selecting a volume and reviewing the content. Entries range from the mundane to the rather embellished; some even puzzling. It’s amazing how much can be forgotten. As I mentioned in the Journal-ease blog, some include “inspired doodles.” We pulled out 2010 the other evening. Such an inspired December – a tribute to the 12 days of Christmas! A few of my favorites…
Note: these drawings may not be reprinted without the express permission of the highly acclaimed artist – please contact Michael for consent.
Note: these drawings may not be reprinted without the express permission of the highly acclaimed artist – please contact Michael for consent.
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Predictable, yet effective.
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Games People Play* June 29, 2013
It should be used as a strategy to enliven (hopefully conclude) monotonous meetings, dull presentations, mind-numbing seminars. In the middle of some droning discussion, whip out some lottery scratch-offs, hold them in the air, tempt and tease the audience…the atmosphere will change.
Not that I drone on and on, but Michael may suddenly wave a few “scratchies” before my eyes. I wrap up what I had been saying (oh, maybe that’s part of the plan?), and make a grab for my chances-to-win. He pulls them away; his expression turns a tad sinister. He leers and says, “not so fast – you have to work for them.” No need to turn all 50 shades of red. It’s only a sports-related Q&A game.
Not that I drone on and on, but Michael may suddenly wave a few “scratchies” before my eyes. I wrap up what I had been saying (oh, maybe that’s part of the plan?), and make a grab for my chances-to-win. He pulls them away; his expression turns a tad sinister. He leers and says, “not so fast – you have to work for them.” No need to turn all 50 shades of red. It’s only a sports-related Q&A game.
Rules and Regs
1. A correct answer wins a scratchie. A single question may require multiple correct answers to secure the wi
2. Questions are restricted to sports we enjoy: football (pro/college), basketball (college), baseball (pro) – home teams in specific
3. Questions are relevant to the sport “in-season”
4. Questions regarding abstruse stats are not permitted
5. A correct Player Name only is a legal answer – associated number is not required
6. Requests for clues are permitted – clues should be conveyed via charade
7. Refill timeouts are permitted
8. Excessive celebration is discouraged
9. For a correct answer, the scratchie should be immediately handed over. If tossed over, a dropped catch does not forfeit the win
10. Game duration is not clock-limited – “it ain’t over ‘til it’s over” (Yogi Berra)
2. Questions are restricted to sports we enjoy: football (pro/college), basketball (college), baseball (pro) – home teams in specific
3. Questions are relevant to the sport “in-season”
4. Questions regarding abstruse stats are not permitted
5. A correct Player Name only is a legal answer – associated number is not required
6. Requests for clues are permitted – clues should be conveyed via charade
7. Refill timeouts are permitted
8. Excessive celebration is discouraged
9. For a correct answer, the scratchie should be immediately handed over. If tossed over, a dropped catch does not forfeit the win
10. Game duration is not clock-limited – “it ain’t over ‘til it’s over” (Yogi Berra)
*I remember Games People Play by Eric Berne just by title; an obvious choice for my Heading. I didn’t know much about the content. My parents had a copy – here’s the version I recall (kinda has that hippie vibe).
I asked Michael if he’d read it…he groaned. Yes, everybody did, or tried. He likened it to I’m Okay, You’re Okay by Thomas Harris with more groaning.
As for a masterpiece on “gaming” theory, Michael cited and praised Homo Ludens: a Study of the Play Element in Culture by Johan Huizinga. He recalls this version (again, the hippie vibe). I've never heard of it, so I did a little scouting…
...The Highlights!
I asked Michael if he’d read it…he groaned. Yes, everybody did, or tried. He likened it to I’m Okay, You’re Okay by Thomas Harris with more groaning.
As for a masterpiece on “gaming” theory, Michael cited and praised Homo Ludens: a Study of the Play Element in Culture by Johan Huizinga. He recalls this version (again, the hippie vibe). I've never heard of it, so I did a little scouting…
...The Highlights!
Games People Play
First published in 1964
Full title includes The Basic Handbook of Transactional Analysis (that’s a game-changer)
Standing: 4.5 stars
Strategy: Eric Berne was a Canadian-born psychiatrist who developed the concept of “Transactional Analysis.” In brief, human interaction is all about playing psychological games (icing the kicker?)
Full title includes The Basic Handbook of Transactional Analysis (that’s a game-changer)
Standing: 4.5 stars
Strategy: Eric Berne was a Canadian-born psychiatrist who developed the concept of “Transactional Analysis.” In brief, human interaction is all about playing psychological games (icing the kicker?)
Homo Ludens
First published in 1938
Title translates as “Man the Player" (MVP?)
Standing: 4 stars
Strategy: Johan Huizinga was Dutch philosopher who put forth “Play Theory.” In brief, society – which includes play – evolves from organization, boundaries, customs, governance (same playbook?)
Title translates as “Man the Player" (MVP?)
Standing: 4 stars
Strategy: Johan Huizinga was Dutch philosopher who put forth “Play Theory.” In brief, society – which includes play – evolves from organization, boundaries, customs, governance (same playbook?)
Michael!
It's not too late to get in the game! Amazon has a sweet deal for you – an Add All Three to Cart option!
Games People Play: The Basic Handbook of Transactional Analysis, Eric Berne
I'm OK, You're OK, Thomas Harris
Scripts People Live: Transactional Analysis of Life Scripts, Claude Steiner
I think I’d rather brush up on abstruse baseball stats.
Games People Play: The Basic Handbook of Transactional Analysis, Eric Berne
I'm OK, You're OK, Thomas Harris
Scripts People Live: Transactional Analysis of Life Scripts, Claude Steiner
I think I’d rather brush up on abstruse baseball stats.
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The Sun Also Sets May 31,2013
Towards sunset, the die-hards (those of us with no intention of leaving) begin to close their books, check out the Tiki bar, head down to the sea for a final swim. There’s a bottle of champagne in the cooler, but we’re waiting for just the right time. Cleopatra: A Life (Stacy Schiff) is on my lap; Michael closes Volume 2 of The Civil War: A Narrative (Shelby Foote). We discuss our respective eras a bit: key players, political motives, conflict, intrigue, missed opportunities. There’s always a lot to compare with current times. Definitely recommended reads.
Then, it’s time to pop the cork, reposition the lounge chairs; just sip and enjoy. The beauty is beyond description; almost surreal. I reach over to take his hand – clink glasses again – just imagine it.
I said, “I feel like Cleopatra reclining beside a fountain, or drifting down the Nile in one of her fabulous barges! But that leaves you as a crusty general in a tattered tent on a camp stool.” Hmmm…
“I got it! We’re in one of those commercials with the romantic couples in the Tropics. You know the ones.” He looked puzzled and said, “Huh? You mean for Cialis?”
“Uh, no. The ones with the adoring couple on the beach drinking Coronas.”
Then, it’s time to pop the cork, reposition the lounge chairs; just sip and enjoy. The beauty is beyond description; almost surreal. I reach over to take his hand – clink glasses again – just imagine it.
I said, “I feel like Cleopatra reclining beside a fountain, or drifting down the Nile in one of her fabulous barges! But that leaves you as a crusty general in a tattered tent on a camp stool.” Hmmm…
“I got it! We’re in one of those commercials with the romantic couples in the Tropics. You know the ones.” He looked puzzled and said, “Huh? You mean for Cialis?”
“Uh, no. The ones with the adoring couple on the beach drinking Coronas.”
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Animal Farming May 19, 2013
It would have made George Orwell proud to know Animal Farm could launch such an expansive conversation. Who can’t talk enough about Soviet communism?!? Throw in a new Trotsky history, mention Camus (thanks dad) – the barn doors are flung wide open. It can take the local Mexican restaurant to review and rein it all in.
For the Love!
I asked Michael: “Remember when we were talking about the grim writer with the cigarette?”
His response: “Oh, you mean Rod Serling?”
(Not sure if Camus would be proud of that.)
His response: “Oh, you mean Rod Serling?”
(Not sure if Camus would be proud of that.)