Jefferson Cup

It is a simple little cup. Here is the history:

Artist/Maker: John Letelier

Origin/Purchase: 1787 cup: Paris; 1810 cups: Richmond

Materials: 1787 cup: fused silverplate with gilt interior; 1810 cups: silver with gilt interior

Dimensions: 1787 cup: H: 4.8 (1 7/8 in.), D (rim): 6.7 (2 5/8 in.); 1810 cups: H: 6.7 (2 5/8 in.), D (rim): 8.1 (3 3/16 in.)

Historical Notes: In 1806 Jefferson's friend and teacher, George Wythe, died, leaving him a bequest that included his “silver cups.” Correspondence between the executor of Wythe’s estate and President Jefferson reveals that there were two cups but provides no further description. They might have had outmoded Rococo decoration. For that or another reason, Jefferson decided to have them melted down. The Wythe cups and two of Jefferson’s own canns (round-bellied mugs) were converted into a new set of eight tumblers in 1810.

Tumblers, a popular form of silver cup from the seventeenth through the eighteenth century, were a type of low round-bottomed cup hammered from a disk of silver with a base proportionately thicker than the sides. The heavier bottom to the cup provided stability and helped prevent spilling. Tumblers were often used in traveling sets, or canteens.

Jefferson contacted a silversmith named John Letelier in 1810 to reshape his cups. The son of a Philadelphia silversmith of the same name, John Letelier began working with his father in that city in the 1790s. Father and son often used the same marks, making the younger Letelier’s work and history difficult to distinguish from the elder’s. Both Leteliers moved to Wilmington, Delaware, then to Chester County, Pennsylvania, and back to Wilmington around 1799 where John Letelier, Jr., began to practice dentistry in addition to silversmithing.

Jefferson’s first known contact with John Letelier came in 1806 when he purchased an etui for himself and a silver cann to give to Rev. Charles Clay, an Albemarle County minister who had presided over family funerals at Monticello and who now lived near Jefferson’s Poplar Forest in Bedford County.

Letelier appears to have been working in Richmond at that time but probably moved to Washington or Alexandria, and Jefferson again sought him out when he wrote to his Richmond agent, George Jefferson, in 1808:

“Mr. Le Telier, a goldsmith, who lived a considerable time in Washington & did a good deal of work for the President’s house, & to great satisfaction is said to have removed to Richmond.”

Letelier agreed to do the work for Jefferson. When confirming the order, Jefferson sent Letelier two designs for tureens, “the upper being that preferred,” but neither the drawings nor the tureens survive, apparently destroyed when the President’s House was burned in 1814.

Pleased with Letelier’s work, on March 27, 1810, Jefferson, who was now retired to Monticello, wrote to him again: “Being just setting out on a journey, I have directed ... a pair of Cans and a pair of Beakers to be sent to you to be melted & put into the form of a plated cup, which will be sent with them as a model. The Cans & beakers weigh a little over 40. oz. avoirdupois, the model a little over two ounces & a half. But it is too thin & weak for common use. I think those to be made should be of 5. oz. avoirdupois weight nearly. They must also be about half an inch higher; in order to hold a little more than the model does in every other respect I would wish the model to be exactly imitated. I suppose the metal of the Cans & beakers will make about 8 Cups such as desired. That number however I would wish to receive even if additional metal should be necessary.  Of them if you please G. W. to T. J. and the others simply T. J. all in the cipher stile. If you can gild the inside as the model is it would be desirable. ... I am too well acquainted with the stile of your execution to suppose it necessary to add any recommendations on that subject. Accept the assurances of my esteem.”

The model to which Jefferson refers is almost certainly the unornamented two-inch-high tumbler of fused silver-plate with gilt interior that descended in the Randolph family. As he described, its sides are very thin, and it weighs about 2.2 ounces avoirdupois. Jefferson probably acquired this cup in Paris; in 1787 he recorded thirty livres paid for “a silver cup for me.”

Each of Letelier’s tumblers is 2 5/8 inches high and weighs about 4.8 ounces avoirdupois, corresponding quite closely with Jefferson’s instructions. With five of the eight original tumblers exhibited, three are marked “G.W. to T.J.” and two simply “T.J.”; all of them are inscribed on the bottom: “J.L.'T. Maker.”

The silver tumblers remained at Monticello for the rest of Jefferson’s life. They were apparently part of his regular dining table equipage, for a visitor to Monticello in 1815 wrote, “The drinking cups were of silver marked G.W. to T.J., the table liquors were beer and cider and after dinner wine.”

In the 1830s Martha Jefferson Randolph apparently distributed the cups among her family, giving one cup each to six of her children and one to a grandson. Six of these cups survive. The seventh cup is unlocated and the descent of the eighth cup is unknown.

Jefferson is not known to have made any further purchases from Letelier, but he did write to him once more in 1817: “I live about three miles from a pleasant & respectable village called Charlottesville. ... We want a good silversmith in the town & such an one would find more work than he could do, and ready money always.”

Letelier, however, politely declined Jefferson’s offer, explaining that he was prevented from doing so because of the positions he held as ‘Keeper of the Poorhouse and Keeper of the City Magazine’ in Richmond.

Why do I mention this?

The display of silver was the sign of prestige and status. To display silver tea service was the height of austerity. So these silver cups became as precious as Olympic medals or that jewelry soldiers wear on their uniforms.

Jefferson cups were engraved with birthday name and date, as a reminder in case you lost your calendar or thought this might be a really cool Christening dish or a very small baptism pool. Jefferson cups were a sign of achievement, whether the best swimmer or spelling bee participant. As the accomplishments became more difficult these messily cup were replaced with trays and trophies to display for all to see. They were trophies better than those diplomas or wooden planks on the wall because they were shiny.

All that silver was a pain because it had to be constantly polish to make it gleam in the sunlight.

My family had it’s share of silver, including my ever growing collection of Jefferson cups so when I got married in Williamsburg, decided to move to pewter. It was rustic and didn’t need all that pampering. Of course all of that stuff got given away for there was no one to impress.

There is still one Jefferson cup in the cupboard. It reminds of the prep parties with fine linen, fancy dress and slabs of roast beef. These formal gatherings required you to bring your own personal Jefferson cup to be served wassail for the toast.

Jefferson cup is just a footnote to history now.

Just The Facts

After hours of emotional, continuous, and hypnotically amazing example of a dysfunctional government debacle followed by the entire world laughing at our president, the rush to confirm a lifetime position without a public vote has been delayed for another week for an investigation for 40-year old allegations by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Yep, call for the FBI. You know the J. Edgar Hoover, Eliot Ness, Al Capone, Tommy gun FBI. The US Police Force sort of FBI is on the case.

OK, FBI you got a week to find some evidence on this conundrum. You got your work cut out for you.

Now I don’t know about you or how good your memory is on what you did in high school, but most of those memories at high school reunions are about football games or graduation or teachers with few recollections of who was having a party or who was there because everything was in the moment. Do you remember the name of that girl you had a crush on in chemistry but were too shy to ask out? Do you remember the boy in the terrible suit who took you to the prom during your pimple period and was a terrible dancer? Do you remember the name of your gym teacher or your assistant principal?

I do have a pretty good memory and also wrote diaries during high school. I don’t remember when I took that test or what socks I wore or even what I ate. The diaries are brief in scripted lines of names of people I called to find out where the weekend party was going to be. They also say I was tired all the time, as teenagers are. There are no addresses or times or any record of problems or illness or being pulled over by the police or required dances or events mandatory by parents to attend unless there was some girl I met and the only word would be “Nice”. How to decipher all this would be difficult 40-years later.

I don’t think I’ve ever been vetted. I’ve filled out job application forms (sometimes true but never verified) and I guess I gave some information to social security to get a card and my taxes are up-to-date along with my pension. My personal photo ID is just being duplicated from the 80’s so the picture really doesn’t look like me now. My profile pages online are vague or possibly wrong and I don’t Tinder. My bank knows my email address, but everyone else is sent to another site.

I’m sure the FBI could find out what size shoe I wear, so let’s see what they come up this week.

Seems from the hearings they have some leads to question and gather any evidence of history, perhaps a time and location of said accusation of the supposed offense. Then again, this is not a criminal investigation so no one is under any penalty of law to answer or cooperate with the FBI.

But this is the FBI. You may not want to comment but could wonder what that blip is on your computer screen or that strange beep on your phone. This is the FBI.

There may even be a statue of limitation on what they find, but I’m no lawyer. It will be interesting to see what the FBI finds to confirm or refute statements made under oath to a congressional panel.

What would the questions be? When did Mark Judge work at Safeway? Where was the house? Where were the parents? Who bought the beer? What brand of beer was it? Was that underage drinking? What was Dr. Ford wearing? Was it a tee shirt of button up? Were the boys upstairs when she climbed the stairs or were they already in the bedroom? What was Brett wearing? Did he remove any of his clothing? What song was playing? Where they’re other girls at the party?

I’m sure them FBI folks will ask all the pertinent questions and gather all the information in a neat package to present back to Congress. Those in the hallowed halls can sort the data and make their conclusions and this insane reality show can continue until we all get bored and go back to see which team is winning or losing avoiding the constant flood of rehashing opinions and talking points.

Remember this nonsense goes on inside the bubble called DC and the bureaucracy grinds on spending the people’s money and we (the people) get a chance every now and then to re-elect our representatives or replace them with a vote.

And what do we know of these few who decide to throw their hat into the ring. There marketing campaigns show them as outstanding citizens and only their opponents mud slinging ads throw disparity on their aster reputation.

After taking an oath of office declaring they will be a loyal and dedicated worker for the people who have elected them, they may be vetted for access to top-secret confidential information. Does anyone ask about former adolescent misconduct, alcohol consumption or moral aptitude?

Do you believe in “God We Trust”?

Tune in next week for more exciting adventures of the United States Government in action.

Boys will be Boys

The picture above was called a ‘panty raid’. It was popular in the 50’s (and maybe today?) when a group of boys would raid a girl’s dormitory searching for ladies lingerie to retrieve as some sort of trophy. It could be that all these fellas were just cross dressers but it was a fad. Similar to the Mardi Gras bead toss it was a souvenir of a time and place. 

Maybe we have forgotten or are becoming too puritanical to remember when boys and girls get together, stuff happens. They start off playing Twister leaving everyone in a pile of giggling. They start to dance together grinding their bodies. They start driving meaning they can get out of sight of the chaperons. It is nature’s way of finding out there is a difference.

Though the church reminded the girls to keep their knees together and ‘Just Say NO’; the boys were bombarded with graphic novels showing scantily clad damsels in distress, ‘Playboy’ and James Bond that taught us that women were subservient to men.

Losing inhibitions with alcohol became the norm with a cigarette after. From junior high school on girls would not show up the next year and rumors were rampant. 

Maybe we have forgotten the times of toga parties? Maybe we have forgotten the spring break wet-t-shirt contest sponsored by beer companies?

Not saying everyone was a gentleman or a lady, but we were learning about things our parents, schools or church would not talk about. There were transgressions and lessons learned, sometimes with life altering consequences, but that is the way we grow up. 

This was a party from high school that turned into a slumber party due to snow. It was totally innocent but if the parents hadn’t kept the girls upstairs and the boys downstairs? 

Whether this guy applying for the SCOUS after being nominated by the current president is a moral soul or just some sleaze bag is not for me to judge (pardon the pun). I listened intently to his job interview hearing for hours growing numb with the govspeak. He did talk about all the women he’d worked with and he brought his daughters and his wife and even his all girl basketball team he coaches.

If this guy knows the law and is unbiased to making decisions based on the Constitution he may be qualified. If this guy is being judged on his moral values, then “In God We Trust”.

The west façade of the building bears the motto “Equal Justice Under Law,” while the east façade bears the motto “Justice, the Guardian of Liberty.”

Conflict

Football season is here and I have not watched a single game. I turned on the beginning of a couple of games but after all the fireworks and the blasting graphics and the talking heads I turned them off before the second period.

Now football was my sport of choice, but I didn’t follow any one team. The game was simple enough that I could follow it and enjoyed what the coach’s strategies were.

The game, as I understood it, was eleven big men in colored costumes faced another eleven big men in different colored costumes and they would run into each other and knock each down to get a ball that wasn’t really a round ball but more spherical with points at both ends. The ball was given to one man and he would run to the left. If he got knocked down, they’d start all over again and he would run to the right. If that didn’t work, the ball would be thrown downfield and if it were caught (preferably by one of your teammates) he would run with the ball to the end of the field. Each team had four tries to get the ball 10 yards or score and if not the other team would get the ball and head in the opposite direction.

My town had no football team and neither my father nor older brother talked about sports so football was introduced to me in junior high school. Coach Parchell and Coach Jones would bring in black and white films of Johnny Unitas and the Baltimore Colts during gym class and discuss the plays. This was better than doing jumping jacks and sit-ups so I watched with some interest. Our school had a little team but I never went to any of the games. In high school we had Friday night football but I found better things to do than watch our team lose every time. Great school spirit, right?

The first Super Bowl and all the hype got me hooked. Every Sunday afternoon, the TV was switched to football as background noise. Many times the sound would be turned down as the behemoths bumped into one another. I do a play-by-play for the Super Bowl for between all the commercials and breaks and talk there is barely time for the game.

I understand sports and competition. Get a group of folks about the same size and weight and run down a track and the fastest wins. Pick up a heavy weight and throw it and the one who throws it the furthest wins. Sports like NASCAR that is nothing more than a commute around the block driving very fast has calmed down with fewer wrecks and fights, Ultimate Fighting has picked up to look like a video game where two people get face-to-face beating the pulp out of each other as the audience cheers as if in the Roman Coliseum. Thumbs up or thumbs down?

We all complain about stress but enjoy the conflict of sports. If we can’t handle our life we can live vicariously through our team.

“Family Feud”, “Battle of the Stars”, “American Idol”, “Survivor” and even the “Dating Game” were stressful competitions, many extended with conflict.

Most of our personal family crisis or dramas don’t turn into physical conflicts like football, or do they? “I don’t like your haircut” or “I don’t like the way you pray” or “I don’t like what you look like” or “I don’t like the…etc.” would maybe create some fuming or some shouting or maybe a swing or two, but the times they are changing. 

Since I’ve been on this planet, there is war. War is sometimes called a ‘police action’ or a ‘conflict’ but the results are the same. Like in football, each team has different uniforms and branded advertisers and logos and banners and jewelry but the difference is they have guns. The other difference is when a player is down, instead of dragging him or her off the field of play, they are dropped in a hole. Maybe whether they win or lose they should be called ‘heroes’ and ‘patriots’?

These conflicts causes more stress than any ‘NCIS’ or ‘COPS’ series, just check YouTube because all the Wars are taped now. If the documentary is not good enough there are remakes and make believe movies to add to your PTS.

So maybe I won’t plug in the TV? I’ll just stream the highlights and skip all the commercials of explosions and reckless driving.

I’ll still find a way to watch the Super Bowl. Have they played the World Series yet?

Atonement

I’m not Jewish but I understand today is Yom Kippur.

Yom Kippur—the Day of Atonement—is considered the most important holiday in the Jewish faith. Falling in the month of Tishrei (September or October in the Gregorian calendar), it marks the culmination of the 10 Days of Awe, a period of introspection and repentance that follows Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year.

There has been a lot of talk about atonement recently, like all the Masses of Atonement for forgiveness to all those nasty little horny priest.

Yet with the ‘Me Too’ movement, so many have been accused of offensive behavior. Some have been fired and some have just stepped away into the shadows.

Oops! Sorry. I didn’t mean it.

Don’t know who keeps the records on all these folks who hit the tabloid front pages, but maybe there is an Office of Atonement.

So we (the people) when harmed someone else should, after reflection, apologize and ask forgiveness. We then, if I read the instructions right, change our ways to become a better person.

Atonement is also reparation for a wrong or injury. That is what insurance and the judicial system are for.

Atonement is also (in religious contexts) reparation or expiation for sin. I’m also not Catholic so the confessional to some strange guy in a cage seems strange to me. “Father I have sinned” and then being told to give 15 “Hail Mary’s” and meet in the bathroom.

We rarely confess our sins to our family or friends, but will tell a complete stranger like a shrink or marriage consolers who will atone for your bad behavior. We atone to the jury of your peers to reduce the jail time or financial burden for your sins.

The word atone came to English as a contraction of the words at and one. The verb means to make amends or reparations for an offense or wrongdoing. You can remember the meaning by thinking of it as a sort of Zen concept, to be ‘at one’ or in harmony with someone, you have to atone for your mistakes and be forgiven. In a religious sense, it means to repent for sins (‘to atone for his sins’). Om is a sacred sound and a spiritual symbol in Hinduism, which signifies the essence of the ultimate reality, consciousness or Atman.

Age doesn’t matter when you sin. Little brats run around and steal things from each other and hit one another with temper tantrums and face punishment from the parents. A hinny spanking and you are sent back off to play again. Whether we learned the lesson between right or wrong will show up through the years of how many transgressions we perform.

Our decisions or just our attitude can become offensive or even sinful in comments, inappropriate actions or illegal acts. You are only guilty if you get caught.

So how many of the Seven Deadly Sins have you not broken?

1.       Lust

2.       Gluttony

3.       Greed

4.       Sloth

5.       Wrath

6.       Envy

7.       Pride

An allusion to an utterance of Jesus’ in John 8:7, viz. “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”

Only those who are faultless have the right to pass judgment upon others (implying that no one is faultless and that, therefore, no one has such a right to pass judgment).

The question is what do you regret?

To regret is to feel sad, repentant, or disappointed over (something that has happened or been done, especially a loss or missed opportunity). So what do you do to right the wrong? Apologize and hope that you are forgiven? Reparation like pay for the damage or buy a replacement (difficult to do with a broken heart). Repent your ways with volunteer work or philanthropy to replenish your character in the community.

Some say the Final Judgment will come when we die, otherwise you got away with it.

Nostalgia

A sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations defines nostalgia.

Look around and what do we save? Those little nick knacks that cover any flat surface. The walls are covered in photographs of family gatherings and old strangers who came before. Photo albums document family and children and now social media videos can share with the world events that no one else cares about.

This is all personal remembrances of times gone by you wish to be reminded of.

Those old pots in the kitchen passed down through generations are no better than the modern improved cooking utensils but bring back memories of a long gone smell of another kitchen. The old rusty tools handed down from father to son are never used but have their place in the shop. A quilt or an afghan drapes over the couch prepared by some long gone granny. A rickety rocker or beat up table takes up room and doesn’t fit in with current décor, but it is nostalgic.

There is a story behind all these items or they would just be stuff.

What is surprising is when we go back to old homesteads or haunting grounds we remember the restaurants. They may have been dives or joints or holes-in-the-walls but they had great memories. Was it the food or the company?

Nostalgia is a good subject to bring up when old folks get together. Comparing tales of times gone by that memory might challenge the details, but they always bring a laugh and a sense of camaraderie.

There is more than that to nostalgia.

When you look at old pictures or videos do you remember the clothing? Where did you buy it? What did it feel like? Why did you have that haircut? What were you eating and drinking? What happened afterwards?

Close your eyes and remember when was your first haircut, first bicycle, high school graduation, first car purchase, first job interview?

All these were memorable moments in your history but dig a little deeper.

When was your first kiss? When was your first fight? When was the first time you went to hospital? When was the first time someone other than your mother touched your privates? When was the first time you touched someone else’s? What is the birthday of your ex? What are the names of the people you went to college with?

We seem to have cognitive selection of what we want to remember and what we want to forget.

Do you remember your first break-up? Do you remember performing a crime? Do you remember all your lies?

Anonymous

Anonymous is made up of individuals who hack into computer systems without permission and take data such as communications records, names, addresses, phone numbers, and credit cards. Anonymous members generally have a “greater good” purpose behind their attacks.

Anonymous is also a person not identified by name, unnamed, of unknown name, nameless, incognito, unidentified, unknown, secret, unsigned, unattributed, having no outstanding, individual, or unusual features; unremarkable or impersonal, characterless, nondescript, impersonal and faceless

Anonymous is also used in names of support groups for addicts of a substance or behavior to indicate the confidentiality maintained among members of the group.

I’m Anonymous.

Only a few neighbors know my name and none have been in my yard. No one I know knew my wife. My work associates have disappeared and my schoolmates never knew me very well. My social media handle is not spelled correctly with an illustration instead of a photo. It might not even be me?

Most of us are anonymous. We have names and house and phone numbers. We have nicknames and GPS locators. We have titles and belong to clubs. We go to restaurants and concerts and sports events and festivals but all those other people are anonymous. And so are we.

All those folks you meet at a mixer or online are anonymous. They may give information and names and history, but are they vetted and fact-checked?

When we read letters or messages or comments or editorials, they are usually signed. That signature clarifies whom the person is who gave their impression or opinion unless it is signed by anonymous. For that matter, if it is signed by #Zebra87 then who knows.

Writers, artist, politicians, journalist all want their names on their works to get credit for their ideas and creations.

That is my take on all this nonsense.

Signed ‘me’

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What were they thinking?

In the dog days of summer when it is too hot to squat, my mind wanders back to what people thought about before.

My parents grew up with the horse until the car arrived. The telephone and electricity was a luxury. Chickens were raised in the backyard for Sunday dinner and radio was only on for a few hours. Indoor plumbing was just being established. They were introduced to the refrigerator, television, automobiles, department stores, shopping malls, elevators, escalators and aluminum siding. Knowledge was delivered to the doorstep every morning with a brief b&w presentation at 6PM with a barrage of propaganda on the radio. My father, according to history, attended a college but no diploma was found. The yellow pages were printed as a beginning to the service economy.

Now their parents were just out of the civil war. They were rebuilding battlefields and caring for the thousands of injured and maimed. Dogs and horses wandered the streets with their defecation smell mixed in with the heavy garments and no deodorant. Entertainment was a newspaper whenever it was printed and a family gathering around the piano. The church offered the spread of gossip mixed with fantasy.

And their parents were farmers. Everyone was a farmer for the supermarket had not be established, so you grew and raised what to eat or starved. If you wanted to build a house, you chopped down a tree without a chain saw. Only the occasional mail order catalog and limited reading skills education turned for someone else to teach. What values were established passed down by elders. Entertainment was simple wooden whittling and increasing the family to work the field and take up arms for protection. 911 hadn’t been thought of yet.

In other words, life was tough and survival was (and is) our constant drive to move on until the final breath is taken.

Unless you have diaries or letters sharing the thoughts of family, one can only guess of what they thought and what they went through.

How did they handle this heat without air conditioning, yet they did? When they took a day trip to the general store to find not only a bag of grain was available but also imported lace could be brought home to examined and duplicated by women who manufactured their own clothing.

What was their thought process to go buy a cow and a horse and a human? Why didn’t they enslave indigenous people or were they too difficult to sacrum to the invaders who stole their land?

The society of the time was accepting domestic violence for women were second-class citizens and dominated by males. The law of the jungle accepted by the church? What went on in the bedroom was not discussed.

Other than the Farmer’s Almanac, folks had to just the weather by looking up at the clouds and listening to the animals who seem to have a six-sense on weather patterns. No insurance for heavy rains bringing floods or tornadoes or hurricanes. FEMA wouldn’t show up so it was on the family to clean up and recover.

With better education to read and right and rithmatic, people started coming out of the darkness and wander into schools and libraries. Folks started to form cities sharing manufacturing, education, housing and religion while building infrastructures as electricity, water, sewerage and trash removal.

As the family tribes came out of the woods, society changed. Still people wanted to survive which meant assembling and conforming and following the crowd.

My ancestries must have made some good decisions to continue the family tree, what were they thinking?

As they were exposed to more information, women started demanding rights, the former enslaved and now ostracized and restrained to reservations of minimal segregation housing were demanding emancipation and the secrets from the bedroom started coming out of the closet, what were they thinking.

One can only accept changes with understanding and vision. Change doesn’t have to be frightful or threatening but opening the possibilities.

You’re On Your Own

When did you realize this? It actually started the day you arrived.

You were the auspices of your family or single mom or foster care but you were really on your own. Someone else may have been responsible for dumping your diaper and pouring grub down your face and providing a place to drool and snore, but you were the one who pulled yourself up and fell forward. Someone else may have purchased clothing you wouldn’t have chosen and directed you in the rules but it was all a learning process.

Groups were formed that you were thrown into without any consideration of personal desires. The sociological structure was taught and all the individuals followed with the threat of punishment if you disobeyed. Growing up breaks down the groups to teams, clubs, gangs and independence rears it ugly head.

Once you’ve have enough money to buy that t-shirt you want that your mother would not approve of or listen to your musical preference or read that book that is not in your school library or experiment with adult beverages with a dose of testosterone for fuel.

Out of the family nest you and only you have to be resourceful enough to find shelter, sustenance, and comfort.

Some will stay cocooned in the educational system as long as possible, some find a sidekick to continue mothering, some will ascend in the money grubbing game, some go down dark paths and some don’t come back.

Some will say it was peer pressure or a popular trend or accepted tradition or expected behavior, but it was still your decision.

Don’t worry. In the end your will only be remembered by your name and when you were born and died.

The end.

Ambition

Defined as “a strong desire to do or to achieve something, typically requiring determination and hard work”.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Captain of the football team? Head cheerleader? Valedictorian? Teacher-of-the-year? Winner of the Daytona 500? Olympic gold metal winner? Nobel Peace Price winner? Rock star? Rich and Famous?

Some have more reasonable ambitions.

Get gainful employment? Purchase a car? Get credit and a mortgage on a house? Marry and raise a family? Get a pet?

All good intentions, but the basic ambitions remain.

Find love? Stay healthy? Eat right? Exercise?

But most of us have simple ambitions.

Get the furniture off the front lawn? Explain to the officer what that cigarette is in your car’s ashtray? Tell your kids why you are leaving? Hope the check clears? Hide the body? Tell him it’s not his baby?

What was my ambition?

I was never ambitious. I didn’t want to be the star quarterback or King of the prom. I had no skills or talent to reach for the stars, so I just bumbled into jobs that were easy to do, the same method with life. Like any horny teenager I had the ambition of having a steady girlfriend but never found one. Had to get married to have a steady, but that didn’t meet my ambitions either. I had no ambition to make a lot of money, but enough to get by and that was good enough. I never had an ambition to become famous except that time after Brian Jones died and I thought I could fill in but Mick Taylor got the job because he was English. I had no ambition to be liked but was courteous to others and found more love than most people could handle.

So toward the end of the game, it was more luck than ambition. Remember the definition requires “determination and hard work” and I don’t do that.