2021 Goodbye

 

Been an interesting year.

After a contentious year of riots, confederate monuments, violence, shouting, broken government, voting and that pesky pandemic, the New Year held promises that the dust would settle.

It didn’t.

For me, the quarantine confinement didn’t vary much of my normal recluse. Then it got hot and seemed hotter than normal (age or climate change) and gave another excuse to do little physical activity or interact with anyone else.

So 2021 was more of a contemplative year than most. Some flashbacks occurred and I learned how to talk to people who are not here. I went through a phase of remembering dancing (that I’ll never do again) and talking out-loud in an open room ending with, “He said to himself” (usually in an English accent). Now I even answer questions that are never asked.

Since I could so easily entertain myself, I got rid of all those social media folks who just want to spout anger and alternative news (used to be called ‘fiction’). The ‘real’ news has enough reports to raise the blood pressure, so there is no needed for additional trash.

 

Tummy Temple

The daily destination for the day’s meal shows the sign of the times in changes. After a year of essential pay and required mask wearing the union shop was getting weary. A mass resigning and supply constipation proved what was so normal was not appreciated. Shelves were not stocked. Carts were hard to find. Floors were dirty. Selection was sparse and prices were going up.

  

Music

I’ve listened to a lot of music, but little caught my attention.

Imogen Heap & Jeff Beck worked together well. Toumani Diabate & The London Symphony Orchestra was an interesting combination. ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ by Petra Haden and friends was entertaining. Larkin Poe the sisters from Georgia caught my ear and everything I heard just got better. Jon Batiste had energy and happiness. ‘The night they drove old Dixie down’ by the Band was a theme song for the south. Velvet Underground found a repeat on my list with ‘Venus in Furs’ again. Hodera’s ‘Holding Patterns’ and ‘Best Intentions’ were repetitive plays. Peter Gabriel and the New Blood Orchestra presented some new variations to old songs. Lou Gramm was listened too from an old soundtrack for wayward vampires. Walk The Moon gave me dance. Walk Off The Moon gave me smiles. ‘Across the Universe’ by Rufus Wainwright or Fiona Apple made a song I’d by passed to become impressive. ‘Video killed the radio star’ performed by Tom Billington and a children’s choir made me laugh with joy. ‘Good Vibrations’ performed Social distance sessions showed what the pandemic could accomplish. ‘Auld lang syne’ by Birmingham choir started off the year while ‘End of the road’ by Noga Erez ended it. “West Side Story” pt. II didn’t sound right. I tried to like it but it didn’t have the fullness of the original. The same was the repeat of the Beatles. Watching them goof off was what we like in 64 but it had grown too old for that now. I did listen to music from the past with a different ear. Rearranging parts, adding horns or backup singers and every song took on new meanings. Different beats or rhythms came with the rediscovery of my keyboards and drum machines. If I knew when I know now? Charlie Watts, John Prine, Nanci Griffin left us.

 

Listening & Speaking

As part of the contemplative year, I’d paid more attention to listening. Try to shut your mouth and listen to the speaker. Put your hands in your pocket to avoid waving them around when you speak. Before you blow air out of your mouth think about what the words mean to the other. The same rules hold true for typing comments, you know?

 

Climate Change

Checking the weather everyday, it was hot. Triple digit hot was not normal here. It was worse out west, but it was hot. Good reason to walk around naked. The ceiling fans just move around the hot air. If this is the sign of things to come, the promises made in Iceland are just ‘blah-blah-blah’. We (universal) cannot go without energy and energy cannot be made without items that are killing us. Convenience versus saving our existence; who wins? Let me know when you park your car for good.

 

Government Hand Outs

Due to the worldwide virus without any cure, businesses were closing down and people were staying home to avoid the cooties. Unfortunately many industries needed bodies in the factories, restaurants, hospitals, fire stations and other ‘essential’ jobs like checking you out the line at the grocery. Increase in wages and required mask wearing and plastic panels keeping workers safe from breathing. The government realized the struggle and opened the wallet and sent cash to everyone, whether they needed it or not. Children at home; here are some cash. Shuttered business; here is some cash. Can’t pay your rent; here is some cash.

 

Supply Constipation

While staying at home with this additional cash from the government, we decided to order online. Click here to add to your cart. It will be delivered as soon as we can get the cargo ships to unload to docks with no truckers to pick up your order and deliver it to your door. Don’t blame it all on the ship that clogged up the Suez Canal. We all just got greedy and there were not enough manufacturers to produce or enough logistics to deliver on time.

 

Zoom

Want to have a conversation from home? Zoom it. It was the latest fade. Video FaceTime with more than one or two or many became essential. All the kids were doing it in home schooling. It is only a party online except you can’t hide. Like a conference boardroom meeting, after a few minutes it is boring. I didn’t see any method to gather a few to go over to the water cooler and get down to business.

 

Beatles are back

After 50 years, they are back. It was all the talk of the web an old film of the boys we loved back in the day were back on the screen goofing around and writing songs on their last album. Idol worship or curiosity, the fab four were back on the top hit charts with old songs. Then the Rolling Stones went on tour just to show how the old guys can repeat themselves for a bunch of coin.

 

Writing & Drawing

During the hot part of the season, I wrote more than ever. Maybe more subjects were coming to mind. Maybe I was too bored to do anything else. Got some new pens and pads and started sketching. It was good practice but nothing new resulted.

 

Rolling & Tumbling

Haven’t had any long adventures on two-wheels, but I do go out everyday. Same process, same path, it results for an excuse to exercise. Layer on when it is chilly. Un-layer when it is hot. Most days are uneventful, but sometimes there are surprises. On one occasion I ran out of road and tried to put my foot down to stop. There was no solid ground so the bike and its rider took a tumble. At a certain age, it is recommended not to take a tumble. After pulling myself from under the bike with groceries spreading across the pavement I gathered my wits and recalculated my adventure. Thankfully there was no blood or broken bones but a wallop of a bruise.

 

Phone

The only causality from my two-wheel tumble was my technology. It seems I landed on my cell phone in my pocket. Seems the screen was cracked to the point where couldn’t read the numbers. It still rang and could be answered but not dialed. Took it back to the place I purchased it but like all technology, it wasn’t that easy. Seems there was a PIN number that was needed. It was the password to replacement. After hours online and a trip out in the boney finally got a new number and closed the old account. The same technology upgrade was requested by Facebook (Meta) or else. I avoided it as long as I could and finally took the leaf of faith. Now I can see videos and news so I don’t leave the site. Can you turn off the television, but not turn off your phone?

 

Mandate

You got to do it. Wear a face diaper or you can’t come in. Get a shot or you can’t board the train. Stand far apart or you can’t get in line. Or go over there and you can. You can’t speed but you can drive fast. Who obeys? Personal imposition?

 

Church

No, I didn’t start attending Sunday services but it is constantly on my mind.

 

End of War

For conflicting reasons, our Commander in Chief decided to pull the plug on fighting an illusive enemy who can’t be beat. Is this the first time in my life my homeland was not at war with someone else? It seems we must always have an enemy to protect ourselves from with the most outstanding and amazing weapons of destruction. With an approved budget of $768 Billion, we can pay the contractors, get snazzy uniforms for the Space Force (whatever they are) and get more guns and boats to shoot off at an invisible danger.

 

Confederate statues

After the 2020 riots, the governmental leadership decided to take down the graffiti covered 130 year old markers to the lost cause. Now the Capitol of the Confederacy (not a respectable title) has lost the Avenue of Monuments. Even the older title of being the tobacco king is not popular. Maybe this burg can be known as the place that used to have? Maybe we can become the place with expensive houses with a dirty river running through it?

 

Legal Pot

The Commonwealth legalized recreational weed (up to 1 oz.) but didn’t figure out how to sell it (other than the illegal way). Other states have set up an uncover industry avoid the feds, but will this state figure it out? If you can possess it but can’t ‘legally’ purchase it, what is the use? Would the taxes become like the gambling lottery for the schools?

 

Kitchen flood

I’ve always multi-tasked, but my mind may be slipping. Leaving the water running in the kitchen sink until it covered the floor and washed out into the dining room reminded me that I’m not that coherent to reality. Perhaps a sign of times to come, but a true reality check. Welcome to old age.

 

Rural

I’m a city boy. I’m used to sidewalks and gutters and stop signs and crosswalks, but I’ve become fascinated with the other. All those folks who live just off the highway. The small towns we pass around or through in a rush to get to the next city. Those places that have Friday night football, prom queens, county fairs and then retire to the Dairy Queen. They are no different than where I grew up but I could walk to the Dairy Queen.

 

Dancing

Don’t know what peaked my remembrance (maybe re-make of West Side Story). I’ve always joining in a dance because I like the music. I like the beat. I learned the basics at summer camp and it stuck. I learned the moves from watching my partner. I learned older dances from films. Keep the feet moving.

Vaccine & Mask

 

Health is more concerning. With possible death floating around in the air, the face diaper became a must have fashion item to wear. Everyday there are reports of the unseen plague. Simple enough to sign up (online) and get my jabs by cute faces that were half hidden. None of this was a cure because the virus kept changing (or so the scientist say) so we continue to hide behind the mask and stay away from each other.

 

Mobs

 Who would have expected? If you had been paying attention you could see it coming. Just like a crowd at a football game or the ball drop in New York, people feed off each other’s energy and it can get out of hand. Is this human nature from chasing prey to kill to a speeding car or the fast gun?

 

Downsizing

In the increasing effort to distribute my items before they become yard sale junk, I reduced my library. It is a cleansing process. What is next?

What did you get for Christmas?

While you were typing away finishing up your Christmas shopping while container ships sit anchored and trucks have no drivers I look at the selection of the recommended presents to find under the tree. While every site has a list of ‘best choices’ for popular gifts in their editorial (which is advertising, but news vs. advertising is left for another day) seem somewhat familiar.

Kitchen blenders and crock-pots always seem to make the list. There must be warehouses full of these things so every year they are trying to trim down the inventory. Headphones and big screen TV make the list. Slippers are popular. What I don’t understand are vacuum cleaners? I know when family and friends come by for the holidays; you wish to tidy up a bit, but every year? And who would buy a vacuum cleaner for? You wife? Your girlfriend? Your boss?

It made me start thinking (which is dangerous) about the repetition of Christmas at my house.

Christmas Day was a big deal at my house. The silver would come out. The rug would get vacuumed (oh, I see now) and the ashtrays were cleaned. All the presents were wrapped and arranged neatly under the tree. The front door was decorated and the magnolia tree out back was strung with lights.

There was always one BIG present and the rest were just filler. One year it was golf clubs; one year it was fur coats. One year it was an organ; one year it was a car (none were for me). 

Each of the family had stockings and every year they will be stuffed with one piece of fruit, a few nuts and miniature candy bars. A candy cane would be put in for appearance but never eaten.

I got a share of toys with cowboy guns and frontier cavalry fort kit but from what I remember there were lots of repeats.

Every year, without doubt, I’d open the paper to find a box of Old Spice after-shave. The Old Spice scent was the family favorite.  My father used the Old Spice brush every morning (must have been a knock off from his dad) and a single blade razor every morning. He didn’t use a strap and a straight edge but found enough ways to cut himself and use bits of toilet paper to blotch them.

I still had peach fuzz so I got one of the first electric razors. Now the early technology of an electric razor was to create dull blades that move back and forth and pull the hair out of your chiny chin chin. As you can tell, that didn’t work for me.

My sure to get present was a healthy hygiene kit. Do you see a trend?

Hidden between the hard candy and the melting chocolate in the stocking was a comb. For so many years I never needed a comb with the constant close cut, but my parents were not skipping any chances.

There always seem to be a box of socks. I did walk a lot and wore out socks (and shoes) but every year another batch to refresh my sock drawer. Luckily I didn’t get any replacement undies because my tighty whities would not past muster under the tree when my cousins came by.

One of the boxes with my name on it was always a Cross pen. While I was probably using a Sheaffer cartage pen or the new BIC roller ball in school, this was more of a status look than a writing instrument.

Speaking of jewelry I’d always get some sort of tie clip and cuff links. If I needed to wear formal attire, I’d borrow my father’s mass array of tie tacks, cuff links and collar stays. Another box would be put in my sock and underwear drawer to gather dust.

A watch was always in the stack. Watches seemed to be important. Everyone had to wear a watch and I was no exception. The watch was always a Timex. From a Mickey Mouse to one that looked like this, I’d get a watch for Christmas. If it had a metal band, it never fit (I have a slim wrist). Getting the band off and replacing it was challenge using special tools and much frustration? I wore my watch upside down on my wrist so I wouldn’t hit the face and break it. Telling time never made much sense to me. Why did we have 12-hours instead of ten? All the rooms had clocks and all the adults kept time, so what did I need a watch for? It just turned out to be a piece of jewelry.

Now as a kid, my parents tried to give me some sort of toy I could play with, but I have my wonders of their conclusions.

One year I got a cardboard tank. I can’t imagine the hours needed to fold, spindle and mutilate to get this thing constructed. There were no moving wheels or digital screens, just imagination. Being constructed out of cardboard it didn’t last very long.

I also got a cardboard rocket ship. Take it outside and watch it melt in the rain.

One of my favorite items of cheepnis was the tablecloth cover that became a fort. Or a house? Or a cave? Nothing more exciting as a kid than to climb under a folding card table with this draped over it and sitting on the floor in the dark.

There were few, if any, items discovered under the tree that Saint Nick delivered (yes, he ate our cookies and drank our milk) that were remarkable. The first action figure was presented.  A GI Joe (or Bob) with moveable arms and legs and it came with a horse…and a flag. A sign of the times.

So now December 25^th is just another day, except everything is closed. Don’t need to search for any presents in hopes of pleasing another or acting surprised with opening a box of something you don’t want. With plenty of scarf’s, sweaters, warm socks and no ties, Christmas is just another day.

I’m not a grinch. I do hand out a few pleasantries and expect no returns. The fireman appreciated the apple pie and a couple saying ‘Merry Christmas’ as I napped on the front porch was good enough for me.

Banning Books?

With all the crazy in the news now a day, I hear libraries are closing to check the shelves for ‘inappropriate books’.

Back in the day, I worked in a public library and listened to the librarians choose what they thought would be good additions to the local community. They made their selections from tried and true reviews and authors. Their list was sent to the head librarian to approve and sign off the budget request.

The librarians knew what was being requested from the public but they didn’t hear all voices.

The school library only reflected the subjects being taught, but the public library was an adventure. Shelves divided into categories like fiction or non-fiction, history, art, science, sports, politics, children’s stories and more. The Dewey decimal system could find them (unless they were checked out) but the library offered you the variety of thought and ideas.

By the time a book is published, it is out of date, but the idea is still offered to the reader to expand their views.

The library offered new ideas that school or home had not mentioned.

Certainly libraries were somewhat withheld from putting any book that was published to be available on the shelves. While many of the authors wrote of what some would find offensive in the polite sociality, the public library was not a place to find those subjects. The XXX-Porn Bookstore was around the corner. The art & music department offered classical music and artist, but was redacted. Only the museum was a place to see naked ladies.

With that freedom of speech clause, anyone anywhere can think what they want and say what they want and write what they want.

Publishers can print it. Albums can record it. Movies can show it.

There are already plenty of warnings that the material about to be consumed may be offensive or reviled by you. It is your choice.

The law requires age limits. You must be 16 years old to drive a motor vehicle. You must be 18 years old to participate in consensual sex, vote or die for your country. You must be 21 years old to drink alcoholic liquids. There is no age limit on learning to read.

I’m not an avid reader but I’ve read my share. I’m not fond of fiction but have been influenced by stories of make believe. I do like a variety of opinions or points-of-view to take parts and pieces to conform my values.

My question is who redacts or bans books? Legislators? Religion? Community? Parents? Educators? Who has the right to hide ideas?

What are the books to be banned?

 

Angel Tree

 

‘Tis the season to be giving. A few weeks ago we were gorging while giving ‘thanks’ for our abundance and now it is time to give back. We save this time to the end of the year although it should happen all year round.

It starts out with family. You put up the tree and lights and wrap package and go to sleep and the next morning there are more presents and the cookies and milk are gone. Then you start giving presents to friends but that gets expensive so you settle on mailing cards.

This is the time of year when you are expected to be charitable. Just check your junk mail for all the requests for cash. It is the same as when there is a fire or natural disaster and others come to give food and blankets. There are those who care for their fellow human. I’m not one of them.

I’ve given gifts at the end of the year and have no memory of what they were or if they were appreciated. Giving a gift should reward the giver a sense of warmth and fulfillment. Giving a gift that is not appreciated is like handing a dollar to a street person as you step over them.

My favorite memories were the surprise gifts, like the diamond ring stuffed into a pair of socks.

Without the squeals of the little folk running about tearing up the paper high on sugar cookies, Christmas day is usually quiet. Without attending parties or family gatherings, I’ve made my own Christmas traditions.

One year, while shopping the now forgotten department store, we passed an Angel Tree. An Angle Tree (for those who don’t know) is when you plug a name of a tree with request to buy items on a list for a stranger. We went through the list and bought every item and more, then delivered them back to a desk for another person to present them as gifts to a smiling face. A face of a child who could not afford a Christmas present (for whatever reason) was getting a gift from a stranger? A child who could not afford Christmas getting a suit and tie? Would he wear it? Or sell it?

At the office there was always a secret Santa game to give something worthless to another person in the office who you don’t know. At our clubs and religious organizations we have decorated potluck suppers for the gathering and gift giving and feeling of camaraderie. There are those who will set up soup kitchens for the poor, but the next day they are back for more.

So now as you rush to get that latest gift and the stress of having everything ready for that magical moment on Saturday morning, the rest of us will do our quiet acts of kindness.

And the next day will be the 26.

You Know

 

I listen to radio. I listen to reviews, news, interviews, opinions and more. Each person who speaks into a microphone for me to listen to has their thoughts have their own style and ability to communicate.

We all know how annoying it is to hear someone trying to get their thoughts together with repetitive ‘ah’ and ‘well I..’ as a pause trying to find the words. Rather than take the time to gather their idea, they stammer through a sentence that in the end makes no sense.

If someone says “I think…” refers to that person’s experiences, readings, experiences accumulated into a personal opinion that can be questioned. If someone says, “A person said…” refers to another thoughts and requires footnotes.

A conversation is an interesting dance. Is it an honest call and response or just ramble chatter until one or another gets tired of the blather. The optimum result is to come away more aware and informed.

Recently I’ve noticed the two words “You Know” popping up more often.

The two words can be put in the front of a sentence or in the middle of a sentence or the end of the sentence. It sometimes seems to be a phase to take a breath or just a coma.

This phase is not the colloquial “You know what I’m saying?” or “Do you know?” as if to question the listener if they understood the thought that was just vocalized. It becomes slang filler.

With my effort of trying to listen better, I’m trying to speak better.

Think before you speak. Get your thoughts together before you disturb the air. This is not easy.

Get into a group of people (especially around this time of year) and everyone is talking or yelling or screaming trying to get attention. Blame it on the drink or the excitement of the moment but we all want to express our opinion (without a comment column).

Talking to another should relay what your thoughts are rather than blah-blah-blah. A good conversation will come back home with you to contemplate.

I have a bad habit of trying to finish another conversation for I feel I know where it is going or I’ve heard it before and want to move on. We all have conversational inequalities but can always try to become better.

So now I’ve planted that ear-worm into your ear, I’ll stay quiet until I need to speak out loud to another person other than myself, for that communication will stay private between me and myself.

You know?

What’s Missing @ The Tummy Temple?

Since my daily exercise requires a trip to the Tummy Temple, I am pretty familiar with the ebb and flow of the traffic and try to arrive when the congregation has thinned out.

After locking up my pony, I put on my mask and walk into the ‘cart room’. This is the barn for the wheeled wire baskets to pry apart and wipe down as if the last person who touched it had the plague. If there are no zip carts (we’ve already talked about that) then I go to the ‘cart room’ on the other side of the store. If, as more and more usual, there are no zip carts, I swing around one of those bus size carts and place my minimum selections in the kiddy seat.

But the other day, I checked out both ‘cart rooms’ and both were empty. There may have been a bumper cart but I’m not ready for that yet. I had to go out to the parking lot and bring one back from one of the cart corrals.

I know that after the rush hours, carts are stacked up in these corrals until a young blue apron rounds them up and brings them back to the barn.

There is another option. Those little hand baskets that would probably hold most of what I select, but it is heavy to walk around with that thing. Maybe I should try a bumper cart? Wonder how fast they can go?

Perhaps this will just be another adjustment to shopping for sustenance? Soon I’ll have to empty the boxes and stock the shelves before selection whatever soup or beans are available.

I already scan the items (there is an app for that, but I have a dumb phone) on the Scan-Bag-Go machines (with no cash back because they have been overused as ATMs). Then I have to wait under the flashing light for a blue apron that has the special secret code card to swipe and punch in a date that will satisfy the machine I am older than dirt.

Once approved, I roll my cart to the curb, pack up my saddlebags then return the cart to the door for the next member of the congregation to select (rather than wander the parking lot in search of a loose stray).

This may sound like griping (and it probably is) but this year has been a disappointing time at the Tummy Temple.

Last year, they posted the signs everyone had to wear a mask (mandate). They put those little blue stickers on the floors to maintain distance. There was a blue apron at the cart barn to wipe down the handle with sanitizer and even hand out free mask for those who didn’t have one. The congregation slowly complied by wearing face shields to hazmat helmets.  When a red vest (a sort of floor manager) saw someone who was not wearing a mask, they were asked to leave the store. The blue aprons were designated ‘essential’ workers and got hazard pay (even as a union shop). For those who were scared to enter the temple, they offered call in and drive up and have your selection delivered to your car or truck and pay over your phone (smart phone required).

This year the rules started to fad. The zip carts started disappearing. The shelves were becoming bare. Items were being spread out to fill the empty space. Familiar faces began quitting. Floors were dirty. Customer service went lacking. Prices went up.

I’ve read about wineries not being about to ship bottles because they can’t get labels or cooking oil that can’t get bottles. The tin for making beer cans is scarce. The clog up of too much online shopping versus the supply can is well documented. Inflation is across the board, but I haven’t bought anything in awhile.

Going to the Tummy Temple used to be enjoyable and sometimes entertaining. It was a half an hour of wandering through community and viewing the social aspects of human nature. There were some smiles. There were some frowns. There were many who were just lost in life wandering aimlessly through the aisles.

Still it was a period of the day that I left feeling enriched by the encounters. Now it has become a chore.

I’m sure there are enough to complain about the lack of carts. I’m sure carts wander off with the homeless. I’m sure carts get broken.

There are other options of Tummy Temples I could shop, but my routine for over 40 years has been this location. Like everything else in these troubling times, I’ll persist. Maybe I can ride my bike through the aisles and won’t need a cart at all?