Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Cleaning & Forgetfulness
It's the dusk of Summer. The Big Plans that seemed all possible when Summer dawned have, in part, been scrapped. But there's always at least one Big Plan that still lurks, one that has been kicking around on the 3rd floor of our house for quite a few summers. The Big Plan of Organization. The 3rd floor is where most of my books reside, piled into bookcases, stacked on the floor in bookscrapers, leaning Pisa-like toward gravitational collapse. The Ever-Loving Wife is, God Bless her, still in the frame of mind where change is possible. I, yielding only centimeter by centimeter, have crouched behind my barricade of books upstairs wondering when the seige will end and an agreement will be reached. I take on Billy Collins' "Forgetfulness" as a reason to keep all of the printed matter as "the memories (I) used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of (my) brain, to a little fishing village where there are no phones".
"The memory's definitely going but the books remain as vessels of the memory!", I shout out as a convoluted battle-cry. The floor groans with the weight, the tome-dust flys in the heat of the room, settling down on books I most probably will not be picking up any time soon.
But which of the beloved ones do I let set sail? Should there be a plan or do I simply let them slip down the stairs off to other homes where they will not be read?
"No wonder you rise in the middle of the night - Billy Collins
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart."
Labels: 2010: Are We Recovering Yet?, Family Matters
Saturday, December 19, 2009
The Tyranny of Tradition
As I was happily shoveling snow this Saturday, I was humming the "Tradition" melody. Two steps back, arms tilted back, one step forward, powering the feathery snow unto the spade, I shouted "Tradition!' "Tradition!!". A great song (from one of my all-time favorite musicals) for this, one of the most tradition bound and gagged of holidays.
After 20 minutes of light work (living in the city, among other benefits, means short work with snow accumulation), I pulled out the ladder to finish up the outside Christmas decoration. Yes, it was snowing. Yes, it was a tad chilly so putting up lights with gloves was a hassle. Yes, the wind was blowing so the light's wires were soon as stiff as gefilte fish.
But, you know, it was tradition.
Our porch was in need of a serious paint makeover this summer, so we decided to engage the services of "alleged" professional painters. Seems that whenever yours truly painted the porch, it had to be re-painted within 3-4 years. All that scraping, sanding, researching paint quality online seemed to be a waste of time. Three years rolls around and I'm on the porch floor with an electric sander.
This time around, it would be different. Professionally different. The male ego, at least that compartment associated with doing-it-yourself, took a serious hit. I whimpered off to that corner Real Men delegate those who wish they were. The professionals stepped in, three strong, to polish off the job in one day, about 5 days faster than I'd ever been able to finish said task.
Then, a week later, the guys showed up again as there seemed to be some "issues" with their professional work efforts.
Three weeks later, they tromped onto the porch again, their Real Manhood in serious jeopardy. Again, they had to re-do major parts of the job as quality was lacking.
By the fourth time that they had to re-visit the place of their work crime, I was coming out of that relegated corner and almost, almost, had a tug of empathy for them. That was soon replaced by a self-justified exhaling of tense breath. I was back into the enclave of Real Men. Their efforts in the Sisyphean porch painting were even more short-lived than mine! If there was RealMenanizing to be done, it was by me, it seems.
I approached the porch this wintry day with a slight hitch in the pants knowing the job in front of me was doable. Then I looked at the door. The trim work was still nicely painted and all of the staple holes from previous years' light mountings were filled. The wood was smooth, daring me to damage it with those miniscule staple holes, each prick an additional insult to the re-painted surface.
I paused, knowing that the traditional door lights will result in a summer full of pinhole filling, sanding, and painting. I looked across the street and saw my neighbor, carefully tying balsam pine roping and lights together as he draped his fence with holiday cheer. Trudging through the 8-10 inches of snow still on the street, I yelled to him requesting advice. This fine guy has been a member of Wilmington's finest for over 20 years. He's had to deal with every member of the Criminal Element Chart. He's faced down some nasty folks and defused all and any situation without anyone getting hurt. This guy was not afraid of anything. So, when I did the minor moan about putting up lights and damaging my door and considering not doing the deed this year, I was stunned by his reaction.
A look of panic and fear came quickly over his face.
"Darko, you can't! I mean, you can't not do it. You must do it!"
"But, "I protested, "this tyranny of tradition is getting a tad tougher to deal with as I get older. Who's even looking or bothering with this stuff that we do anymore?"
He blinked once. Then, once again to emphasize that his view of me was getting closer to associating my character with one of those Criminal Element Chart members.
"Darko....", a long pause "This is what Real Men do. We recognize the Tyranny of Tradition, as you put it, and we soldier on. "
He turned his back to me and continued with his roping. His lovely wife noticed us talking as she worked on the decorations inside their house. She stepped out and in her beautiful sing-song voice offered to me that "(she) was so glad to see me putting up the door lights. It was such a beautiful tradition to look over from (their) house to (our) house and see the hospitable lights, inviting us all into (your) home".
Her husband slightly turned his head and let a barely perceptible shrug shiver from his shoulders. My shoulders, in response, bent forward. I quick-turned back to my house, humming Tradition as I climbed the porch stairs, surrendering to the tyranny.
NB: I have a special affection for the film version of "Fiddler on the Roof" as it was entirely filmed in a few villages just outside of my original home town, Zagreb, Croatia. Those houses? Nothing made up about them; they're still there looking just the same.
Labels: Christmas, Family Matters
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Au Paris
Apologies to the faithful (few, alas) coming here for some respite from the day. I've been (and am) in Paris for a short visit. Apropos the rainy weather, just returned from a visit to Cimetiere Montparnasse, tracking down the burial spots of Man Ray, Constantis Brancusi, Alfred Dreyfus, Samuel Beckett, and (still trying to figure out the whole point of this grave) Jean Paul Sartre. Nano tunes playing in the background while walking in the appropriate drizzle? Tortoise's TNT. "I Set My Face to the Hillside" was the track that had me floating off my feet as I glided along Allee Lenoir.
Pics to follow at some point later. No pressure at all to see specific sights or do the Parisian things. I've been blessed with a pseudo-native guide that's been put under Paris'spell.
Mais, mainent a tous les gens qui visitez ici...dan une autre temps.
et..
excusez mon tres mal Francaise.
Pics to follow at some point later. No pressure at all to see specific sights or do the Parisian things. I've been blessed with a pseudo-native guide that's been put under Paris'spell.
Mais, mainent a tous les gens qui visitez ici...dan une autre temps.
et..
excusez mon tres mal Francaise.
Labels: Effluvia, Family Matters, Trips
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Note to Current & Future "Helicopter" Parents....
...from Maurice Sendak.
"Go to Hell".
Love it. Absolutely. Positively. Love it!
"Go to Hell".
Love it. Absolutely. Positively. Love it!
Labels: Family Matters, People, Personalities
Friday, September 11, 2009
Planning My Next Life
Just covering all of my bases. Want to make sure that next time around, I've the got the handsome thing done right. Great hair color, a set of piercing (but not scary terrorist) eyes, a rakish yet responsible look, and, most importantly, an inviting disposition that immediately invites scratches behind the ears, low rumbled conversations, basic food and water, and eternally long backrubs.So, Todd Snider's Dog, next life around, I'm coming back as you!
Labels: Effluvia, Family Matters, Quirks
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Reclacitrant
For those folks meandering back each day in hopes that I'd posted Something... Anything!...I offer apologies, but no excuses.Luckily, a chop off of the old block has revived himself from a deep sleep and has opened up shop at a new location, The Peppermint Mine.
He provides pics, commentary, and a few videos. All heartily recommended for educational purposes and Montana-related information.
Great Job, Sir!.
I, meanwhile, am working on a few posts, some dating back to early December. My traditional St. Nick's Day posting has yet to be finished!! A minor surprise will be gifted to my patient readers....as soon as I fine tune my scanner.
Labels: Blogs, Family Matters
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Alice Roosevelt Longworth
"I can be President of the United States, or I can control Alice. I cannot possibly do both"-Teddy Roosevelt, replying to a question from a visiting dignitary who asked if he could better control his daughter, Alice.
She was certainly a character in Washington, D.C.
Googling for images of pit bulls with lipstick (or is that Rudy Giulani in heels)has not yet located the first Photoshop version of such. Unless, of course, some owner is willing to take on the wrath of the SPCA and actually use real lipstick on a real dog. Still searchin'....
Now I'm thinking what make-up Joe Biden will have to don to counter the "lipstick" thing and still remain dignified and masculine. Hmmmm... How about the Rottweiler in Rouge! The VP cosmetics war! Fascinating.
But, the big thing tonight is......NY Giants v. Redskins. Fall is almost upon us.
Labels: Family Matters, Quirks
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Addendum
Inspired by but not attaining the heights of this week's New Yorker piece, Animal Tales by Simon Rich, here's the newest family member, Barko, having a few words with the unidentified dog on the other side of the stockade fence.
Unidentified Large Dog: How ya doin'?
Barko: Just getting them assimilated to me. Another week or so and I'll be telling Riley what Life is all about.
ULD: A week? You must be really good! Took me over a month and a half.
B: When d'ya hit the joint?
ULD: Oh, I think I was pushing a few years. I was at one of those species specific rescue places, when is was chosen. You know, even canine mercy has gone the specialty route these days. Back when my father, wherever he is now, was around he would....
B: Yeah, yeah Pops, put a doggy treat in your mouth and let me show you what the kids are bout these days.
ULD: Pops!? Doggie treats?!? Son, you could be my doggy treat if I was to jump this fence.
B: Chill out, Pops. Don't pull a muscle and listen up.
ULD: Ruffffff!
B: So, as I was explicating. I'm only 8 weeks old and this puppy stuff will only last me another 30 weeks or so. So listen up, maybe your kids can take it in when I've given you the facts.
ULD: (Growling..) O.K.
B : These humans are suckers for quite a few things. What is it with them and fur and wobbly legs? They seem to spend a lot of time yelling and grumbling at each other. But put a puppy in front of them? The tree spits out the sap in buckets.
So, here's a few choice bits that have worked quite well. The beauty of them is that I can repeat them over and over again and they never get bored. Like "Seinfeld" reruns except all residuals come to me.
The tilted head with a bit of the tongue showing is always good for some "oohhhh"'s.
Flopping one ear and then the other seems to work with both of the human sexes.
Licking, yep, licking is always good. Seems to suggest to them that I like them. Good to know they'll never realize it's my way of getting the taste of dry dog food out of my mouth.
Tail-wagging is o.k., but especially so if you can do it with an off-beat cadence. In a month, I'll have a Monk-ish wag happenin'; the old fart in the family will think he's seeing ghosts. Rump-moving and tail-shaking seems to make them feel I especially like them.
Laying down and then flipping on my back gets them into a petting frenzy. I think it's the paws pointing straight up and then flopping down at my elbow (I think I have one of those on each leg...or are they my knees?).
Finally, after all of these have worn them down to a bowl of goo, I direct my sparkly black eyes toward them, let out a slight moan, and then stand back as they totally dissolve to liquid.
This bunch I'm with are especially susceptible to my heart-pulling shenanigans. Wish I could spread out my paws on this Mac keyboard so I could e-mail the bro's and sis' at home and let them know all that training in canine hospitality has worked.
I mean, I've even peed on a rug several times and almost unloaded some back-end trash and all I heard as complaints from this family is "ahhhhh......".
ULD: The life, huh?
B: Oh, yeah. Although this 1 yr to 7 yr ratio I keep hearing about is a drag.
ULD: Yep, each day's a week.
B: Well, I'll just have to make sure I let them know my time here is limited and love and attention is all I need. Excuse me, I have to go back inside and work on my Catholic guilt bowling. They haven't seen my "barking at my reflection" bit yet. That's a sure-fired shot to the heart.
Unidentified Large Dog: How ya doin'?
Barko: Just getting them assimilated to me. Another week or so and I'll be telling Riley what Life is all about.
ULD: A week? You must be really good! Took me over a month and a half.
B: When d'ya hit the joint?
ULD: Oh, I think I was pushing a few years. I was at one of those species specific rescue places, when is was chosen. You know, even canine mercy has gone the specialty route these days. Back when my father, wherever he is now, was around he would....
B: Yeah, yeah Pops, put a doggy treat in your mouth and let me show you what the kids are bout these days.
ULD: Pops!? Doggie treats?!? Son, you could be my doggy treat if I was to jump this fence.
B: Chill out, Pops. Don't pull a muscle and listen up.
ULD: Ruffffff!
B: So, as I was explicating. I'm only 8 weeks old and this puppy stuff will only last me another 30 weeks or so. So listen up, maybe your kids can take it in when I've given you the facts.
ULD: (Growling..) O.K.
B : These humans are suckers for quite a few things. What is it with them and fur and wobbly legs? They seem to spend a lot of time yelling and grumbling at each other. But put a puppy in front of them? The tree spits out the sap in buckets.
So, here's a few choice bits that have worked quite well. The beauty of them is that I can repeat them over and over again and they never get bored. Like "Seinfeld" reruns except all residuals come to me.
The tilted head with a bit of the tongue showing is always good for some "oohhhh"'s.
Flopping one ear and then the other seems to work with both of the human sexes.
Licking, yep, licking is always good. Seems to suggest to them that I like them. Good to know they'll never realize it's my way of getting the taste of dry dog food out of my mouth.
Tail-wagging is o.k., but especially so if you can do it with an off-beat cadence. In a month, I'll have a Monk-ish wag happenin'; the old fart in the family will think he's seeing ghosts. Rump-moving and tail-shaking seems to make them feel I especially like them.
Laying down and then flipping on my back gets them into a petting frenzy. I think it's the paws pointing straight up and then flopping down at my elbow (I think I have one of those on each leg...or are they my knees?).
Finally, after all of these have worn them down to a bowl of goo, I direct my sparkly black eyes toward them, let out a slight moan, and then stand back as they totally dissolve to liquid.
This bunch I'm with are especially susceptible to my heart-pulling shenanigans. Wish I could spread out my paws on this Mac keyboard so I could e-mail the bro's and sis' at home and let them know all that training in canine hospitality has worked.
I mean, I've even peed on a rug several times and almost unloaded some back-end trash and all I heard as complaints from this family is "ahhhhh......".
ULD: The life, huh?
B: Oh, yeah. Although this 1 yr to 7 yr ratio I keep hearing about is a drag.
ULD: Yep, each day's a week.
B: Well, I'll just have to make sure I let them know my time here is limited and love and attention is all I need. Excuse me, I have to go back inside and work on my Catholic guilt bowling. They haven't seen my "barking at my reflection" bit yet. That's a sure-fired shot to the heart.
Labels: Family Matters
Friday, May 02, 2008
Wish I had a Tongue to Get Tied
From the Globe & Mail, a most excellent of articles dealing with funerals and their attendance. A favorite passage,
"Anyway, enough said on the topic of "You should have gone."
Since you didn't, I would say your best bet now is to send your sister a note of both condolence and apology - a note expressing your sincerest "condologies" (memo to Hallmark, you should have this type of card, it'd be a big seller: "I'm very, very sorry for your loss - and also my behaviour during your time of grief.") Be humble, don't try to justify. Say you're an idiot and really, really sorry.
".
Don't know about you, but I am an utter idiot when it comes to funerals/wakes/viewings, if I have the moral strength to come to them. Aside from saying the wrong thing, not saying anything, forgetting people's names (including my own at one occasion), not knowing when to move on in the line, shaking the hands of the grieving family too enthusiastically, and, last and certainly not the least, blubbering at every one of these events as if a closest family member of mine has gone on. You would think that with age would come an acceptance of the inevitable note, You're Gonna Die. It is a less disturbing site for friends and acquaintances to not have me at funerals they are tangentally involved with.
I'll try my best to at lease send a card or bouquet of black roses.
Labels: Family Matters, Humans
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
In the Shadows
I've been out of the writing jag for a good two weeks. Sorry, Folks! Had some rather urgent family matters that not only took up quite a bit of home and work time but, frankly, left me drained when any free time magically popped up.
Calm and predictability has set back in and I hope to be jotting shortly.
In the meantime, I'm pointing over to Fooled by Randomness, where I've whiling away some hours in anticipation of horrors yet to come. Anyone out there, by chance, read Mr. Taleb's book, The Black Swan?
Since reading this review back in last summer, I've been tempted to add it to the bedstack so that it would eventually be read. But, alas, it is still in some book warehouse waiting for my order.
Here's a site Mr. Taleb linked to providing a synopsis of his ideas.
Calm and predictability has set back in and I hope to be jotting shortly.
In the meantime, I'm pointing over to Fooled by Randomness, where I've whiling away some hours in anticipation of horrors yet to come. Anyone out there, by chance, read Mr. Taleb's book, The Black Swan?
Since reading this review back in last summer, I've been tempted to add it to the bedstack so that it would eventually be read. But, alas, it is still in some book warehouse waiting for my order.
Here's a site Mr. Taleb linked to providing a synopsis of his ideas.
Labels: Family Matters, Idiosyncracies
