If only we could capture The moment of connection The electric fire and energy All cosmic flowers blooming That moment That microsecond Before rinsed away By the wash of time Of thoughts and senses Living and life And forgotten Lines and lyrics And visions lost <sigh> For want of a notebook
We’ve probably all had those flashes of brilliance at completely inopportune times. The perfect lyric or book title or even snarky comeback that strikes while you’re in the checkout lane, or in a public toilet, or walking the dog two blocks from home. If only you could remember it you could prove to the world how absolutely brilliant you really are, but…
You never remember it quite right and you never ever have a notebook. Damn!
I am a busy guy. I don’t really have ‘free’ time and I like it that way.
I have things to do.
I am an engineer and project manager, a husband with a large yard and an old house, a scuba diver, a traveler, an aspiring writer and guitar player, and occasionally a blogger. It’s the ‘occasional’ that I want to address here.
I started blogging because I had ideas, opinions, and general thoughts that I believed someone would find entertaining. I also enjoy writing and do it every day in some form. Lately, it’s spent more planning to write than actually writing. But that is always a struggle.
Yet, this year my other tasks seemed to have gotten the edge on me and I found myself buried in ‘things to do.’ This all resulted in two months vanishing without me really writing anything substantive. This blog will break that cycle and tick off one of my tasks. I have made a nice dent in my list and have even started using a Kanban board to manage my priorities.
(I can honestly say that it has worked. The engineers and nerds out there will know what I’m talking about.)
The pics in this post are a small sample of what I was doing in May and June, including:
Rewiring a production line
Scuba diving in Key West
Visiting the Hemingway House
Laying tile in my basement
Shakespeare in the park
Drinking beer with a cat
And something to do with a saw
As you can see, I’ve been busy.
There are still lots of stories from our Egypt trip to write up and I need to have that wrapped before our Italy trip. So, I’ve got some work to get done.
I hope you’re enjoying your summer. I’m going to go tear out a basement closet, now.
Arlo, our pitbull-lab mix looks like a big doofus, but continues to surprise us with how smart he really is.
He is only two years old and has more energy than we do. We have several different routes to choose from for our walks, depending on our own energy level. Some of these allow us the opportunity to let him off leash for part of the walk, freeing him to run around and wear himself out.
The other day mom was walking Arlo in the wooded area behind the elementary school. She let him off leash and he took off running like a wild dog through the bushes chasing squirrels and random scents.
Most of the time he stays close to us and returns in short order. But as time went by, mom kept walking and the dog wasn’t coming back. She began calling him, and then calling more, and still no Arlo. By then, mom’s getting closer to the elementary school and starting to worry. Arlo is usually friendly with kids, but he’s a big dog with pitbull looks and the adults tend to freak.
Mom was pissed and yelling for the dog. She approached the school, where cars were lining up at the end of the day.
“You lookin’ for a big-ass dog?” one of the parents asked.
“Yeah…”
“He went that way,” they said, pointing around the building toward the school buses.
The buses were loading and swarming with kids. It would just like him to jump on a bus. Mom stumped her way in that direction, still yelling for Arlo.
“You lookin’ for a big-ass dog?” one of the bus drivers asked her.
“Yeah,” she groaned with a nod.
“He went that way,” he said pointing to the street.
Oh, no! He’s not running through traffic, is he?
“He is in SO much trouble!”
Mom was now fuming mad and still yelling for the d**med dog.
She walked the two blocks to the neighborhood church where there were a couple ladies outside.
“You lookin’ for a big-ass dog?”
“Yeah…” mom growled.
“He went that way and left around the corner.”
That was our street. They were pointing in the direction of home.
“No, he didn’t…” mom muttered.
She was steaming, now. And just a little impressed.
The little sh*t went home.
She continued to yell all the way down the street expecting him to come out and meet her. But as she approached the house and passed the last tree, she saw Arlo sitting calmly in the front yard waiting for her.
How could she be mad at him? He went home like a good boy.
My wife recently attempted to buy us tickets to a show. She heard on the radio that the band Blue October would be in St Louis, and the tickets were on sale now. We’ve seen them twice, and they are amazing. Of course, we buy our tickets online like everyone else. Much like Amazon has us by the wallet, TicketMaster has deep roots in our credit history, and we’re okay with that.
My wife went to the site but found that the Blue October tickets weren’t available yet. So, since she was already there, she looked to see what other bands were coming to town. She saw that Steve Vai (one of my personal guitar heroes) would be playing in November. She clicked on a link and found that the tickets were general admission – didn’t think anything about it. Another click, enter her credit card info, a final click, and…….
2 GEN ADMISSION TICKETS HANSON THE PAGEANT, ST LOUIS 8/12/22
HANSON!!!
Yes, folks. My wife had bought us tickets for that very evening to see Hanson, the MMMBop kids from 1997, who apparently are still at it.
She immediately called me at work to tell me about it. Then after I laughed myself to the floor, I asked her if we would be going to the show. It was date night, after all.
“Hell no! The other twenty people that bought tickets are plenty.”
I’m sure the boys in HANSON are a fine band, but they are definitely not on our playlist. Unfortunately, the tickets were for that very evening, and we couldn’t find anyone that would take them. So they went unused, and we’re out $120 – which is another rant altogether.
So, let this be a warning to ALL online shoppers!
Look before you CLICK! Be very very VERY sure before you CLICK. Or you might end up with HANSON tickets!
I believe that people have a talk quota, with some having larger quotas than others.
I am not a talker. I don’t mind talking; I just don’t have much of a quota to fill. I know how to start and maintain a conversation and can work a room if needed. My wife even says I’m a ‘charmer,’ which I think is impossible. However, my small talk requirement often leaves me ready to bail out the back door if I am forced to say one more word.
On the other hand, my wife is a ‘social bug’; not a butterfly but a bug. She thrives on talking and has a social need that she must get out of her system. Lucky for her, I am a good listener and am perfectly willing to let her talk my ear off. I am only obligated to say ‘oh,’ ‘ah,’ or ‘really?’ in the appropriate places. I do have to listen to her, though – I’ve learned that lesson – because there will be a quiz!
My oldest daughter is much like my wife. As a teenager, I compared her to a shark: ‘if she stopped talking, she would suffocate.’ She never saw the humor in that.
Our talk quotas appear to carry over into social media, where we have replaced talking with other things: TikTok, Facetime, Twitter, Insta-whatever, etc. Watching a TikTok from a celebrity that will never know you exist apparently counts as being friends now. It may not be talking in the old definition of the word, but some social currency is exchanged. I’m willing to admit that. It’s not the usual one-for-one relationship, more of a one-for-.000001, but it still counts and ticks the necessary buttons on someone’s social quota.
The average person in 2022 is connected socially to more people than has ever been possible. Yet, because of the digital distance, I think we are lonelier for it. When was the last time you had a long conversation with anyone other than your spouse or sibling? I can’t remember…
I am afraid that our social skills are becoming as fleeting as a Tweet: a couple of words and we scroll past.
Technology is making us lonelier and less social, not more.
Heck, people even spend most of their time at a concert watching it through their phones! The singer is RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM, and they are watching through their phone! But…. that is a rant for another day.
The point: We all have a social quota, large or small, that I believe can only truly be met by interacting one-on-one with other living humans. So, put your phone down and talk to someone. We don’t bite… usually.
I am a Minnesota boy but after college and a divorce, I found myself in Nebraska. There I met and married a wonderful local woman and went on living for the next twelve years or so. I still considered Minnesota home, but hadn’t been back in over twenty years. Therefore Nebraska became home.
Five years ago we relocated to St Louis for a job opportunity. We love it here and now think of this as home. However, last weekend we returned to small-town Nebraska to attend a wedding. The youngest daughter of one of her oldest friends was getting married. We jumped at the chance to get all of her friends together; most of whom we hadn’t seen in years.
We drove my little VW Beetle the seven hours it took to get there. We don’t mind long drives and enjoy seeing the country. However, as we crossed into Nebraska we sensed a change in the atmosphere. It felt as if a dark cloud was materializing above us. We could feel the oppression building. Our mood deteriorated the closer we got to ‘home’. There was a Children of the Corn vibe going on with a little Cujo skin-prickle added.
Subconsciously, we were both dreading going back there. The old hometown had turned dark and depressing while we were gong. One of us finally mentioned the change in mood and we immediately agreed that there was something to it. Our exciting and enjoyable occasion was instead full of dread and foreboding.
We realized that we had too much baggage in that town. We had each lived there for years before meeting, so it was littered with old relationships and old memories that had nothing at all to do with our new life. The whole trip felt like wading into murky bath water. We felt dirty afterward. There are too many things there that we don’t want to remember or relive. It is much easier to forget those things if we never revisit them.
We had a great time seeing old friends and will not be returning any time soon. We may have left friends but we didn’t leave home. Home is where the heart is and wants to be.
I am over the craft beer craze. I mean seriously OVER IT!
I want to go into a restaurant and order a beer I’ve had before and have it taste the same as it always has. I am tired of needing to do a sampler to find a beer I think I can stomach for this one time. Because I may never see it again and will never ever ever order it again.
My wife and I have started to look at beer lists online before going to a restaurant. The food alone will no longer get us in the door. If they don’t have a beer we recognize, we will not be patronizing that establishment. We like beer. We don’t drink often, but when we go out, there will usually be a couple of beers with dinner or after. But if the restaurant doesn’t have a beer I want, the food loses its appeal. I no longer care how good their BBQ is.
I also don’t understand IPAs. ‘Bitter beer face’ was not a sought-after experience when I grew up. Now I find that there are people that believe that bitter is better. I don’t get it at all. This is fine; they can keep those beers and all the other witches’ brew concoctions that people are labeling as ‘beer’.
Such as these potions that I call ‘gag-beers’, like Habanero Stout or Peanut Butter and Jelly Ale, or even breakfast cereal beer with marshmallows. Those are beers you buy just for the novelty. You will never drink them more than once. But hey, you can now brag that you drank an entire can of HellFire IPA and kept it down. You are that kind of ‘man’! (Yes the quotes are needed.)
Sigh…
After all the forced exploration of the craft beer fad, I have realized that all I really want is a tall Guinness or a Stella or even a good old Miller Lite. I no longer care what your cousin is brewing in his basement. Please stop forcing us to drink it.
Ellis Island should be a required pilgrimage for anyone with immigrant ancestors. Or really anyone that wants to truly understand what makes America America.
We are ‘the’ melting pot, a stew of every race and language and religion and superstition on Earth. Whether we know it or are willing to admit it, our culture and beliefs are a patchwork of every immigrant family that has made their way here.
My own immigrant story is not recent. My Irish ancestors came to America around 1670. So, I haven’t been Irish in 300 years but still identify as being of Irish descent. I think that deserves some discussion.
How long before your family is ‘American’? If you’re white and American-English speaking, it can be almost instantaneous. But if you happen to be non-white or non-European or have a second language, you can assume that it will never happen. You will always be hyphenated-American.
Some Chinese-American families have been here for generations – since before the Civil War – and still speak Chinese but are not considered American by many of their more recently immigrated fellow Americans.
I don’t know if I have any ancestors that came through Ellis Island. Still, I felt the impact of the immigrant experience all the same. The pain, suffering, and desperation that traveled through that place is both tragic and heartening. I believe it is that suffering that created the fortitude that immigrants contributed to our country’s fabric. People came here with nothing but hope, leaving behind family, friends, and everything they had ever known. They did this knowing that it would be forever. Many had nothing waiting for them here, nothing but the pie-in-the-sky hope that was and is America.
Today America is still that pie-in-the-sky hope for many people. But we seem to have forgotten the humble origins that made us. My ancestors were German and Irish immigrants that came here for a better future. I don’t feel that I or anyone has the right to deny someone else the ability to pursue the same hope that our grandparents and great-grandparents were given. Were they any more desirable than a poor family from south of the border? I don’t believe that your country of origin determines your moral fabric or the strength of your character.
Cages for the undesirables.
Our visit to Ellis Island distilled the immigrant experience down to its essence. It was clear that immigrating is not a holiday or a vacation visit. It’s never short-term. There is no trial basis that can be reversed if it doesn’t work out. It is forever for most. Immigrants almost never go back to visit the old village or those long-lost cousins. The families and friends and homes left behind were gone forever, never to be seen again.
One of the most tragic things we learned was that some families were separated upon reaching America. People were not allowed in willie-nillie. They were inspected for diseases, sometimes even political affiliation. If grandma was suspected of being sickly, she was sent back to their port of origin, often never to be heard from again. Those are the tragic stories that we don’t hear about. But those are the experiences that made America.
Growing up is not only about getting older. In fact, age does not automatically translate to ‘grown up’. It’s also about finding yourself. The problem is, you’re a moving target. The real you is not always who you thought you were. It can change from one day to the next.
In truth: Who are today is not who will be tomorrow.
So, how can you achieve your dreams or even find them if you can’t even find yourself.
Our goals and dreams and aspirations change as we change. Our dreams are tossed away or lost and forgotten like sweatshirts. We can get new ones. Once in a while an old one happens to turn up in the back of the closet and can become a focus again. But most are left behind with our promises, intentions, and acquaintances.
So Many Words... 