‘Tis the Season

 

…as they say, the end of the year is the season for celebration, giving and reflection. All the pictures representing the season of joy and goodwill show happy people decorating trees and garland and tables full of steaming hot food. Smiles surrounded by songs and plenty for all.

It is also a distraction from reality.

Whatever your reason for joining in, whether it be faith based or commercial shopping or just traditional habit, we try to end the year on happiness and hopes for a new year of positive adventures and experiences. What of the people living under the overpass in below freezing weather down the block?

On December 25, the churches will have the feast of mac and cheese and processed meat slices provided for those who not have a home to go to all for a price of a sermon. As soon as clean-up is done, they separate back to unwrap presents, light candles and vast in the warmth of friends and family or bundle up against the winter’s chill in hope that tomorrow will bring sunlight.

No matter what the reason is for closing down the entire world, life goes on. There is still crime and petulance and births and deaths and disasters (natural or not) for the news to report on while we gorge. An excuse to wear silly costumes, over indulge and drink beyond our limits only to pay the piper as just rewards. In the calm of the holiday, there are still those who thankfully attend to our emergencies, for even on a holiday ‘stuff happens’. Try and find a plumber when the pipes break on Christmas day.

The hospitals still have beds full of people who cannot be let out yet and must be attended to, even on a day when everyone else is at home. The security patrols our streets hoping for fewer calls of mayhem and disturbance of celebrations getting out-of-hand. A bucket brigade will be immediately on-call if your yule log gets out of hand, no matter the weather or road conditions. Those keeping the giant data centers powered and cooled to provide you will the opportunity to share your holiday wishes will be having lunch in the rec room while their families wait.

There is still a week to stress about finding that last minute stocking stuffer or making sure the sheets are all folded for the overnight guest who are really related to you. Bundle up and travel about, in and out of brick-and-mortar buildings with heat adjusted as best to accommodate crowds of layered customers running in and out of the cold and bringing their sneezes and coughs with them.

With all the kids running amuck and the sweltering kitchen and the constant gabber, there’s that tickle in the back of your throat. It sucks to be sick on Christmas. Close enough to hear the revelry but quarantined to protect the others. If the illness is worse than a band-aid can cover and a box truck with flashing lights has to be called to haul you off to a professional to mend, the entire schedule is wrecked and the food is getting cold and the dogs still need to be walked and the kids are getting bored and it is snowing again. While it may bring down the spirit of the holiday, it will be one to remember and be retold to future generations.

Happy Holidays to one and all and hope everyone stays safe and sound.

Experiment

 

Life is an experiment. No matter who you came from, when you arrive, there is no instruction manual.

We all arrive as a blank slate. Some may show up with physical or mental disadvantages, but that is the luck of the draw. Some may be born into a bleak environment that was not of our choosing, but again we had no say so before arriving. Some may be born with a silver spoon in their mouth (as they say).

From the moment you take a breath to your last has an unknown timeline. What happens between those two moments is the experiment.

Each of are exposed to the air, sounds, surrounding influences and teachings to form our own destination. Some may have demands on them to follow a certain path and some will find their own way.

Libraries, music, museums, live performances, construction, gardens, nature, cooking, dancing, singing is available to all to partake or ignore. Associations between others can be requirements of conformity or can be open and learning and often forgotten along the way.

Physical temptations offer pleasures or attention, but each decides when and how far to follow. There are laws and moral judgements on our decisions.

Mental adjustments may be tasted and sampled or seemingly required to handle however our direction affects us. Cultural peer pressure offers us salvation from our pains.

Some don’t make all the birthdays and some may last too long. During the new calendars bring changes, prepared for or unaware of. There are lessons along the way we can learn from and pass on or forget until it is too late.

The ones who survive until old age can sit back and reflect on their journey to get here.

Critics will be the obituary.

Anthropomorphism

 

By anthropomorphizing objects, we attribute human characteristics to them, making them easier to relate to. It's a concept that can bring profound comfort, especially in times of distress. Naming objects can make the world seem less intimidating, creating a sense of companionship and reducing feelings of isolation.

We all do it.

Everything has a name. Otherwise, we’d never be able to tell a story or define a map without a “tree” or a “bird” or a “dog” or a “cat”. When we discover something new or create something never before seen, we have to give it a name. Think of your children.

If we didn’t identify ourselves by our names, we would need nametags at conventions. Some of us are named after relatives and have an obligation to honor the name. Others can change a name in marriage or self-identity or just on a whim Be sure to tell all the authorities who need you name to put on your gravestone.

This is about naming inanimate objects. Some people name their cars to give them personality, like painting details. They talk to their cars with love when showing them off during a wash or have someone to cuss to when they won’t start. Some don’t name their kitchen appliances, but will talk to them when opening the refrigerator and not remembering what you were looking for.

Many musicians name their instruments, like Eric Clapton’s “Blackie” or George Harrison’s “Rocky”, for they depend on them as friends they hold close to. We name our pets, whether a dog or a horse and talk to them with a ‘baby talk’ voice while they stare at us having no idea what we are saying. They hear a certain sound and relate it to being fed. Maybe our children can relate to that too?

I haven’t named my bikes, but have named my yard crewe. Rather than calling the ‘squirrels’ to opening the buffet to cocktail peanuts, I call them all “Petie”. The reason is logical. A neighbor brought my wife a baby squirrel that had fallen out of a tree. She took it in and found a place in the bathroom for her. The squirrel was named “Petie”. Petie was left go in the yard and being familiar with us and her ‘name’ would come down the trees to be hand-fed. The name just spread to cover all the fuzzy tail tree monkeys. The little brown motor scooters are named “Beau-Beau” for a similar reason. There are “Bun-Bun’s” and “Rocky” and “Posse”. “Mr. and Mrs. C.” for our commonwealth’s feathered symbol. Blue Jays are “Blue Jays” and “Mister Hawk” is just that. “Al” the owl, is the leader of the pack while “Bike Buddy” wren is the Yard Boss.

Why not?

As you put on your favorite jammies tonight and crawl under the covers, pull close “Mister Winky”. That wore and torn ragged stuffed toy will give you comfort on a winter night.

CiRcAdIaN RHYTHM

 

Your circadian rhythm is your body’s natural 24-hour clock. It keeps your body operating on a healthy wake-sleep cycle. Your circadian rhythm affects many other systems throughout your body. Most people’s circadian rhythms are automatic, but certain factors like light can have an effect on them.

When there are schedules to follow, waking up at a certain time to give to bath, dress, eat then go to the destination that must be followed. When that clock is over, you can reverse procedure and return to sleep for your body rhythm to rest and revive for the next alarm. This is your circadian rhythm. This is your daily routine.

Daylight Savings Time, season changes, traveling through different time zones will confuse our circadian rhythm. Staying up pass your bedtime can make the next day groggy until you get back to your normal cadence. Your innards are also affected by the change in mealtimes to know when to process the chocolate choo-choo.

When retired, beyond an eternal vacation there is only one deadline. There are no clocks in retirement. Whenever the eyes open and your brain realizes this is not a dream, but another day, and the internal clock starts. Without a deadline to meet, moving about can wait until the sun comes out or the rain stops or your body starts thinking about food. The mission of the day is when to shove a consumable down the gullet and when to return to the covers.

Without a doctor’s appointment or giving a ride to a grandchild, the day is yours to decide. Wake and make a big breakfast or just a couple of cups of java to get the motor started? Get dressed or stay in the jammies? What will the mission be for the day?

The electronic distractions can fill time until you settle into a hobby or a phone call or (dare I say it) a book. Soft music can be relaxing or crank it up to motivate on a dreary day.

I find weather effects the circadian rhythm. When the sun rises and it is warm and the birds are singing, the invitation to come join the critters outside is addictive. When the sky is cloudy and the temperature is cold and moving about requires many layers while getting under the covers is more appealing to taking a jog in your underwear or take the dog out to relieve themselves, the circadian rhythm adjust.

Does lunch happen at noon, as it is scheduled at work, or does munching on the couch fill the gut with more than needed applying a doze switch to nap? After all the ‘relaxing’ does sleeping become an adventure of constant tossing and turning, shifting the covers, trying to find the right spot while your brain is mulling over the mental wonders until you finally fall into a sleep full of strange adventures called dreams.

When we were young and had energy to expel until exhaustion wore our little bodies down and we crashed. Big people had to force us into refueling and tucked us in at night. This became our circadian rhythm.

As we grew more in control of our schedules, some became day people while others tended toward the night hours for our productive focus. Throw a night owl into a daytime accepted corroborative routine can be disruptive to the circadian rhythm. Many of the creative personalities prefer the night hours, when the masses are asleep and the visions and sounds can be made undisturbed.

Tonight, I’ll toss and turn. Yank the covers and then pull them away. The radio will continuously announce the news of the hour and many podcast I would not have ventured to hear. Like clockwork, I’ll stand and scratch and stretch and walk down the hall to empty whatever has accumulated, then stare at the clock awaiting another hour to pass and the morning sunrise. No matter how much exercise I do during the day or numbers of bullets I put away, this is my rhythm. About dawn, I’ll drift off into bazaar visions with some familiar faces and strange adventures of old buildings and problem solving. They only last for an hour and I’m up again trying to remember details but in too much of a fog to try again.

The eyes will eventually open and stare at the wall while listening to the news that announced the hour of the day. It is time.

Those people

 

I hate to get into politics, particularly with the current administration, but this recent phrase causes my ire.

And I quote: “Those people,” Fred Trump said his uncle told him, “The shape they’re in, all the expenses, maybe those kinds of people should just die.”

This came from the Commander-in-Chief, the CEO of the US of the A, the so-called Leader of the Free World, the self-proclaimed King of the Planet.

This demeaning rhetoric was not about the criminal rapist and murders invading our borders to pick our crops, build our houses, cut our grass and clean our hotel rooms. This was not aimed at those who do not agree with his imperial political ramblings. This was not in response to a female reporter. This was not about intellectual librarians handing out books full of perceived disgust and filth to our children. This was not about congressional values or rights to free will or speech. This was not directed to those who’s gender identity does not match his perverted behavior. This was not an off-hand statement about diversity or monetary inequality or the color of your skin.

This quote was about Fred’s child who has a disability.

Fred's 26-year-old son, William, was born with a KCNQ2 mutation, "a genetic misfire that the doctors called a potassium channel deletion." He is nonverbal and uses a wheelchair.

I believe when we arrive on this planet, we know nothing. We are just a blob of bloody delivered from some creatures who grew you until you were fermented and ready to be a part of a ‘family’.

This family are the familiar of us. We all look alike. We all think alike (because that is what we are taught). We are comfortable with each other because it is all we know. Even an extended family of intermingling, we are somewhat suspicious of cousins and aunts and uncles for they live somewhere else and could sound different or even have another faith than our core.

Suddenly, our ‘family’ meets another ‘family’. They come from another place. They don’t look like us. They don’t sound like us. They don’t act like us. They are ‘those people’.

Some cross-breed and the blended family is accepted as us, but there are still others who are ‘those’ people. We, the familiar, look at ‘them’ with curiosity but are afraid of the difference.

The fear can be taught and increased with bias lessons of good vs bad depending on what your faith believes in.

Living on a planet where all migrated from somewhere else, some assembled into countries with borders and cultures and languages and customs different than their neighbors. If one felt disadvantaged from their neighbors, armies were formed by their political leaders directed by faith and taught that ‘those people’ were bad and had to be transformed to our acceptable beliefs to invade and conquer to pillage the wealth and reform ‘those’ to a new way of living.

Empires came and went and borders were redrawn until rational people decided the bloodshed wasn’t worth the results. Still, we stand ready to pick up arms over the threat of ‘those people’. This is our history.

Our current administration, fairly elected by our democratic process, has decided to purge (deport) ‘those people’ for the betterment of the country and with the support of the military, are detaining citizens (legal or not) and placing them onto a concentration camp until they can be processed shipped somewhere else. The processing, while minimal vetting due to the reduction in governmental staff, may find some criminals (why don’t they check the jails?) the chaos increases the confusion, fear and anger in the general population. 

If Powhatan and the indigenous tribes hadn’t been curious to welcome the aliens from afar and the original settlements were not worthy of agriculture, accepted the invasion without every viewing “The War of the Worlds” or “Independence Day” to understand ‘those people’ were here conquer and not assimilate.

Without finding riches, tea or spices, the settlers shipped back a rare crop of tobacco that caught the motherlands desire for more. The imperial desire of the Ole World leaders wanting to expand their influence and wealth, went about funding additional ventures into what would become the colonies.

When you move into a neighborhood, you are ‘those people’. You bring your children and your furniture and are viewed by the established settlers as strangers. You might fit in to the current culture and become friends or just avoid any interaction so the neighborhood waits for the sale of the house for a next batch. As this suspicion of outsiders grows, fences go up surround protected property with security. We continue to fear the unknown.

When you travel overseas or even in a different neighborhood, you are ‘those people’. The locals may view you as tourist to be exploited or assumed a threat to be followed by the uniformed authorities. If you’ve ever walked into an area, you are not welcomed and are uncomfortable, you have become ‘those people’.

At the end of the year, our species, wherever they live on this blue ball spinning in a vast darkness of space, come together to dress up and celebrate with music and food and give gifts of thankfulness.

Someday, we may realize we are the only inhabitants and should learn to get along with one another. Probably not in my lifetime, so good luck to future generations.

Dirty Dishes

Travel, family, cooking, parades, turkey, deserts, naps, football. The one day a year we gather to be thankful or show gratitude to family and friends. Is this just a good excuse to get out of work, eat a bunch of food and get ready for an extended weekend of shopping?

After attending your choice of religious service (you do attend?) and giving thanks to mysterious omnibus head of heaven and earth, pack the car with the kiddies and head to the agreed upon gathering spot where the festivities have already begun.

Note: Don’t forget to put a can of beans in the offering plate was passed around for tithing. The food bank will thank you.

Every family have their own traditions and process. I can just relate on my family as an example.

As soon as the cereal bowls are put away, the cooking begins. The kitchen was my mother’s office and an apron was her uniform. While my grandmother taught me how to break snaps and separate into paper bags, the preparation of the Thanksgiving meal was left to the ladies. Unlike the normal dinners with the leftover Downtown Club plates, the good China and silver were brought out to indicate some prestige to visitors. There was never any alcohol with the meal.

My mother was not a good cook. With all the appliances and utensils, the meat would be burnt, the potatoes dry, the bean bland and the deserts avoidable. Brought up in a time when the housewife was to rule the kitchen, she played the part but was not interested. Even toward the end, she would sit in the kitchen in apron watching a television, with a coffee urn and an ashtray.

In my family, we had the privilege to have the Thanksgiving meal prepared by the club. Turkey, Virginia Ham and Roast Beef were pre-sliced and wrapped in aluminum foil easy to reheat and serve on a silver platter. Creamy mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, stuffing and pecan pie came wrapped and ready to put in one of our burnt pans to keep warm until placed between the silver candelabras in silver bowls and serving platters. There were even gherkin pickles.

The appetizer was shrimp cocktail (after the prayer for the meal presented by my father at the head of the table). My father would have raw oysters. The rest of the family thought they were gross without knowing they were fueling future amorous behavior. Sometimes the four of us would hold hands around the small table during the prayer, but the two boys were ready to split as soon as possible. Then, we’d all go back to our rooms (my mom to the kitchen and a pile of dirty dishes, my dad to a nap in front of a football game, and my brother and I would do whatever we could to avoid any other interaction with the family.

In larger houses, with more family and longer tables, another family would have similar rituals. The ladies (moms and aunties and grandmothers) would attend to the kitchen duties while the gentlemen retired to the leisure room to discuss news and business trends while smoking pipes or cigars and drinking brandy awaiting the call to the table for the prepared feast. There was no television, but the kids could entertain with charades or piano tunes.

Seating at a long table were assigned. We stood until everyone was there to be seated. This was where we exhibited our etiquette manners. At the head of the table was my uncle, the preacher. He’d stand and praises the thankfulness for this meal while we all bowed our heads in silent.

Then, the process of dissecting the bird (who had not been pardoned). My uncle would always ask my father if he would like to do the duty and my father would always cowling recline. Plates would be passed around the table to be served with the ingredients to indigestion. No one ate until all the plates had finished their rotation. A lightweight conversation was had as we all gorged ourselves on the abundance until my uncle stood and asked, “What are you thankful for?”. No one could leave the table until the question was answered by each and every participant to the holiday event. A short sermon finished the meal and before we bolted in all directions, we were asked to take our plates into the kitchen. Somehow in the confusion, the ladies had beat us to the kitchen to direct the placement of the piles of dirty dishes with the pots and pans. Everyone volunteered meekly to assist with the clean-up but were always shoed out of the way while the kitchen was returned to its proper pristine proportions with plenty of take-home leftovers wrapped as going away remembrance presents and to get rid of the trash. The gentlemen would retire to the parlor to read the newspaper or have a sip of sherry until the snoring started signaling the party was over.

As the yoots got older and could move up to the adult’s table, alcohol appeared. The volume and demeanor would change. One auntie would bring up how the food was not prepared right while shoveling down the free meal. An uncle, who should have been cut off before seating, would bring up politics or sports or something to irritate and start an argument. This is when we air our dirty laundry without considering our dirty dishes. Family gatherings can break down, but those are the stories remembered.

Some families appreciated the volunteers in the kitchen and would form an assembly line to clean, wipe, dry and put away the dirty dishes to make a chore into a laughing song feast and a lesson learned on sharing participation and gratification.

Then, I heard there was a machine called a ‘dishwasher’ that did all the messy work. I’d forgotten I even bought one of them in my old house. The kitchen there was tiny so this box rolled on wheels and had a hose that hooked up to the sink to work. It was always in the way and not big enough to handle large amounts, so multiple loads would require more work than hand washing.

Washing dirty dishes isn’t a difficult or physically straining chore. It can be a bit gross depending on how long the dish has sat with food bits rotting on it, but a quick splash of water can bring the brightness back. Sponges of all shapes and sizes and liquid lotions can be combined to quickly wipe off the remainder of dinner and placed in a rack to drip dry. Some may need to be soaked in the sink, the way you do in the bathtub, to soften the grunge to be scraped off until the next meal. The process is just a necessary if you wish to entertain. Don’t get me started about polishing the silver.

Being the day of giving thanks, I woke up this morning to the sunshine with no aches or pains. Thanks. I had my morning breakfast with no surprises or construction noise. Thanks. The studio is warm enough to enjoy the news of the world without expecting unexpected guest to arrive and disrupt the peace and quiet. Thanks. The critter crewe got plenty of grub (no turkey) and frolicked with wild abandon entertaining without a charge. Thanks. The one-person feast was sliced turkey, wild rice and gravy (couldn’t find cranberry sauce?) and while not as appetizing as I remember, it will fill the need for nutrition. Thanks. All served, devoured and disposed of on paper plates. Thanks.

There is lots to be ‘thankful’ for, but not for everyone. I’m thankful I’m not them (yet).

Rude

If you like to see people being rude? You’ve come to the right place. Forms of rudeness include behaving in ways that are inconsiderate, insensitive, deliberately offensive, impolite, obscene, or that violate taboos.

Just an observation but we, as a species, do like this foolishness. We must by all the rude videos posted on social media. We set off fireworks, raise the volume, observe from a far, avoid contact, butt-in-line and otherwise be disruptive to a quiet, normal day.

For whatever reason, from privilege to mentally challenge, some of us ‘say’ and ‘do’ things that can be disturbing or in some cases threatening to life and limb. If the behavior is fuel by some alternating substance or mob mentality, it can go off the deep end. When an event occurs, we avoid getting involved (but we will now take videos of the action with no narrative). The rudeness will be the laughter observations at the next gathering, unless it personally included YOU.

We’ve all said or have done something we later regret. Sometimes there are takebacks to eliminate your guilt. Sometimes memory might fade (unless provided as social media entertainment). If dwelling on them, you’ll be dragged down on the time you were uncouth without forgiveness or remorse.

Like Pavlov’s dog, we will learn from continuous viewing of rude behavior that it is acceptable to blow up and have a tantrum over the loss of the penny. Monkey see, monkey do.

With the holidays approaching and the planning for family gatherings, there will be rude statements and behavior. Intentional or just a word from people you have not seen in years, what is now acceptable was once considered inappropriate. One can mind-their-manners or just keep your mouth closed. Silence is golden. Speech is silver.

Please use “Beg your pardon” if you do something rude.