Whether it is the time of man or maybe it’s the age of time…

 

Maybe I’d not noticed it before or seems to be more aware. Did it start with the MTV phenomena? Quick cuts and swipes and everything from music to television shows to commercials to personal communication can not be contemplated, but must trigger anxiety. Some call it multi-tasking and some call its distraction. When was the last time you checked your phone?

Due to the fact I did not take off running at reading and spelling or even telling time, school was boring. With bad eyesight, whatever was chalked on the wall I couldn’t read. The teacher just gave a monotone speech and all the kids sat quietly. There was never any homework assistance so when test came around, I couldn’t repeat the correct answer.

My main pastime was watching black and white television and drawing pictures. I’d carry books back and forth to school and the appropriate class without turning a page.

It wasn’t that I was distracted by something else, I just couldn’t focus unless it drew my interest in. They call it ADHD today, but back then there was not a kid who could wiggle and squirm and bounce for miles in a car but was taught how to follow etiquette proper behavior.  

Even after 13 years of passing through the public K-12, repeating certain classes in the summer but still not understanding the meaning of education versus knowledge. Yet I went on to higher learning as a trade teaching philosophy rather than employment earning techniques. Half way through high school pt. 2, I learned how to play the school game. I realized text books were written by the professor who taught the class so the required purchase was just an added salary. The ‘text’ book had very few ideas and thoughts but mostly bias fluff, so speedreading helped me skip the filler. Also at that time, I was working at the city’s public library (which was the closest thing to today’s Internet). I could cross-reference what was stated as the class instruction with alternative ideas. I called the bluff of the professionals and they folded. As long as I met the number requirements, I could get a piece of paper.

Upon starting a career after graduation, I started buying books. Mostly technical D-I-Y books with diagrams and step-by-step instructions to fill in the gaps. Mystery’s, romantic novels, science fiction fantasies or even historical recollections didn’t interest me. The ‘here and now’ was on television and no one spoke soliloquies like Shakespeare. A few could curl up in a soft chair under a warm lamp with a cup of relax and get lost in the words of someone else’s thoughts. I wasn’t one of them.

Then the digital world opened and multi-tasking was the prize. The television was still start, then turn down the sound to turn on the radio (and/or the phono), then the laptop, ear pods and the phone. Grab a fist full of remotes and start scrolling. What a great way to waste time.

If your email doesn’t have the latest emoji, check out social media. There is bound to be a pointer to what you should be watching or listening to or the next great adventure or book or movie or restaurant or event. It will tell you who will be there and what they will wear and who they will be with and what bad habits they will be photographed doing and spread about for all to comment opinionated judgements. You don’t have to think, just follow directions (school?)

What about this focus stuff?

I notice my interest level has dropped to a point where most of what I see on the screen or hear is just annoying. I can’t reference the names because I don’t know where they come from or what they relate to. I can’t follow the music because (at this point in life) it all sounds the same. I do find listening to something that is ancient and I know the tune and some of the words fascinating.

I’ve basically tuned off television and movies and books. I will see what the latest and greatest approach to entertainment is supposed to be, but after a trailer or review, move on. At this time in life, there is no need to follow the headlines of which pop fascination is shaking her booty or who is a couple or de-couple. The politician comedy is more annoying than humorous and in the long run pitiful.

Social media (as they call it) are merely bulletin boards for families to post vacation photos or silly selfies or plates of food or some other nonsense that most would walk away in conversation. No interest in self-diagnosis or travel adventures to sites of crumbling buildings and ancient artifacts that are yesterday’s yard sales, I ponder.

I don’t want to contemplate the universe or the depths of the oceans or why we need a God(s)? I do wonder why we care for life after it is gone? We don’t care about our other trash? Out-of-sight, out-of-mind (until it starts to stink). If we cherish life of the new born (or almost given birth), why do we have wars to officially slaughter them with our latest forms of destruction?

What about the focus?

There is so much I skip over. Even a well written article by an established author or an opinionated piece by a knowledgeable and researched writer can lose my interest halfway through reading. Even the trailers don’t hold my attention because they are too predictable. Until a sound catches my ear, I’ll bypass the reruns. The classics are always available but when did you re-read ‘Great Expectations’?

Today (and maybe tomorrow) I only have to focus on myself. What will I eat? What will I wear? When to do a load of laundry? When to put out the trash? When do I pay the bills?

Still sane enough to know that I can’t stop the wars or end the needs of other humans who can barely cope or cure whatever ails us or keep the dish clean. The daily routine pretty much guarantees I will make it there and back without varying a habitual run in a 5-mile cone of security.

Tomorrow I may forget to brush my teeth at the same time or put my shoes on straight, but that is tomorrow and can’t be worried about today.

Stay focused.

Raining @ The Temple

 

Today’s weather is a repeat from yesterday and the day before that and a copy of what will be tomorrow’s forecast. Spring / summer rain has adorned the landscape. After a fairly dry season, our trees and bushes and weeds are getting a good drink before the heat comes to bring muggy air. It is not Texas but it will be warm enough soon. All the trimming plans will soon be overgrown with lose of desire to whack at them, even with my new toys. The good side is I don’t have to water.

The windows are foggy and the air is thicker as there is no time to dry out before the next rain. Still the sun is out so making a run for it.

So, as every other day, I plan my trip to the Tummy Temple. The temperature is rising but yesterday was sweater weather. The radar says I can squeak in-between the fronts, so I’m off to semi-wet streets. With little traffic I can weave between the puddles trying to keep my socks dry. Lock up just as a few drops land.

Don’t require many items so maybe I can make it out before the rain comes?

As I walk my miracle mile, I suddenly hear the rumble on the flat roof. That is heavy rain.

I’ve been in this building for years, through many weather conditions. I’ve been here when the lights went out and the staff asked everyone to go to the back of the store for the gigantic windows at the front were shaking under the pressure. I’ve arrived wet, being caught in the droplets. I’m used to riding in the rain.

After my purchase and ID’ OK by the woman who is the most obvious to avoid me and must be instructed by another to attend me. I look through the glass but the rain doesn’t appear that heavy so I push my cart outside under the shelter a few feet from my pony.

It was a steady rain under a gray sky. I watched as puddles filled and waited. Some of the congregation scuffled from their metal mobile machines under rubber protection and ducking if the drops could be avoided in a crouched position. Some groaned and moaned as if a few drops of water were ruining their day.

I turned to the other exit but you can’t escape the weather. Some would come out and put up a hood and make a dash for their mobile shelter while others waited for the arrival of a dry chariot to whisk them back to their shelter with the new purchased grub to munch on while watching the weather report.

What is interesting when you are waiting in the queue for a break in the rain, strangers talk. While I stand quietly with my zip cart containing 2- six-packs of bullets, blueberries and cocktail peanuts, people will talk to me. I don’t initiate the conversation but can politely respond.

There was an elderly looking man with a cart full of ‘stuff’ staring into the parking lot. We didn’t speak for minutes and then he mumbled something. I have no idea what he said, but smiled and replied something positive. He mumbled something else so I went back to the other exit.

Then passing people started talking to me. I was not guarding the entrance to the outside world but just waiting for drops in the puddles to decrease for a break out. Some would offer to escort me to my vehicle with their umbrella. Some lined up as if I was to dive into the water, they would follow. Some lined up and discussed who would run to the car and drive back to rescue the others. Some just declared themselves prisons of the weather and got soaked, even bringing back their carts.

A few had nice conversations with the waiting man as the weather shifted from almost dying to really trying in waves of wetness. It is interesting to just stand and watch and listen to the everyday.

After an amount of time I did not measure, the drops lessen and could wipe off my pony who got a good bath, and head back to the place I call home with a few interesting thoughts from nameless strangers in mind. If you noticed, I did not check my phone for a weather report?

I made it home somewhat damp but otherwise unscathed. In the window of sunlight, I feed the yard their buffet and toileted off. No worse for wear or tear and enjoying the friendly neighbors enjoying their daily feast.

Emancipation Proclamation

 

"That on the first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any State or designated part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free; and the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.

"That the Executive will, on the first day of January aforesaid, by proclamation, designate the States and parts of States, if any, in which the people thereof, respectively, shall then be in rebellion against the United States; and the fact that any State, or the people thereof, shall on that day be, in good faith, represented in the Congress of the United States by members chosen thereto at elections wherein a majority of the qualified voters of such State shall have participated, shall, in the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such State, and the people thereof, are not then in rebellion against the United States."

Now, therefore I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, by virtue of the power in me vested as Commander-in-Chief, of the Army and Navy of the United States in time of actual armed rebellion against the authority and government of the United States, and as a fit and necessary war measure for suppressing said rebellion, do, on this first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and in accordance with my purpose so to do publicly proclaimed for the full period of one hundred days, from the day first above mentioned, order and designate as the States and parts of States wherein the people thereof respectively, are this day in rebellion against the United States, the following, to wit:

Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana, (except the Parishes of St. Bernard, Plaquemines, Jefferson, St. John, St. Charles, St. James Ascension, Assumption, Terrebonne, Lafourche, St. Mary, St. Martin, and Orleans, including the City of New Orleans) Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia, (except the forty-eight counties designated as West Virginia, and also the counties of Berkley, Accomack, Northampton, Elizabeth City, York, Princess Ann, and Norfolk, including the cities of Norfolk and Portsmouth[)], and which excepted parts, are for the present, left precisely as if this proclamation were not issued.

And by virtue of the power, and for the purpose aforesaid, I do order and declare that all persons held as slaves within said designated States, and parts of States, are, and henceforward shall be free; and that the Executive government of the United States, including the military and naval authorities thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of said persons.

And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defense; and I recommend to them that, in all cases when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages.

And I further declare and make known, that such persons of suitable condition, will be received into the armed service of the United States to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service.

And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind, and the gracious favor of Almighty God.

In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the City of Washington, this first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the United States of America the eighty-seventh.

By the President: ABRAHAM LINCOLN
WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State.

 

 

 

On June 19, 1865, two and a half years after President Abraham Lincoln’s historic Emancipation Proclamation, U.S. Maj. Gen. Gordon Granger issued General Order No. 3, which informed the people of Texas that all enslaved people were now free. Granger commanded the Headquarters District of Texas, and his troops had arrived in Galveston the previous day.

This order represents the Federal Government’s final execution and fulfillment of the terms of the Emancipation Proclamation. The people to whom this order was addressed were the last group of Americans to be informed that all formerly enslaved persons were now free.

 

General Order No. 3: “The people are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and of property, between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them, becomes that between employer and hired labor: The Freedmen are advised to remain at their present homes, and work for wages. They are informed that they will not be allowed to collect at military posts; and that they will not be supported in idleness either there or elsewhere.”

 

MENDMENT XIII

Section 1.
Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.

Section 2.
Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

Passed by Congress January 31, 1865. Ratified December 6, 1865.

 

Two states — Delaware and Kentucky — still allowed slavery until the 13th Amendment was ratified, six months after Juneteenth.

 

The legal designation of Juneteenth as a federal holiday recognizes a pivotal moment in U.S. history

 

That is the basics, but you can dwell into the achieves and refer to historians’ diagnosis of how and why and then what happened. My thought is the day one of these announcements were made in the local community and what was the immediate reaction. 

Whether it was a posted newspaper or a mail rider or just word-of-mouth, the word went out that life had changed. Children still had to be fed and wood had to be chopped and fields had to be worked, but with a few words’ things were different.

What did the plantation owner say to the newly freed? Did the former enslaved gather their belongings and walk down the road? What were the first words between the colonist and their chattel for 200 years?

Did they feel someone had just opened the barn door and let all the horses free or had gone into their house and taken all their property? Did they say I’ll still do the work, but now for monetary compensation? What is the going rate for people who worked under the whip?

Slavery was not new to the colonies. From times beginnings, some take power over others and force them to duties too difficult for a horse or a mule to accomplish under the threat of punishment.

What do you do when you are suddenly free?

Like the end of war, when do you know it is really over and then you start picking up the pieces and starting over again?

If suddenly a planter had to pay for workers that where formally free, how does that cut into the profits of running a business? Who will do the cooking and the cleaning and the caring for the children and maintenance of the horses?

No one (that I’ve heard of) hugged each other and went to church (for they were still segregated, like the schools) and read the ‘good book’ on how we are all equal and should love one another?

Last year the monuments of the leaders of a rebellious group of states lost a bloody senseless war were taken down from what was called ‘Monument Avenue’. These symbols of a ‘lost cause’ but for years were a tourist attraction to the capitol city that were as history worthy as Berlin after the second world war. For years, families sent they young men to shoot at each other than celebrate a victory or wipe their wounds in defeat. When surrender was finally declared, the remainders of the tattered losers had to march before the victors and relinquish their weapons (a squirrel hunting rifle from back in the hollow or whatever registered by the army) and walk away empty handed. Then the boys had to walk for months back home to find out what is left.

That moment in time when life changes, like a divorce, and moments later life is different. People you knew and lived with and worked with and shared bread were now gone.

The south (at least in my city) celebrated the losing with monuments and parades struggling to release reality of equality of all humans. Then those pesky politicians kept writing bills and amendments and proclamations giving women the right to vote and all children being exposed to the same education and same sex came out of the shadows and off the musical stages with the assistance of media and instant messaging.

Still there was bigotry and with the additions of weapons, the slaughter continues even on Juneteenth celebrations.

We can proclaim and pronounce and declare, but we still are fearful of each other.

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll wake up and everyone has changed?

Robes

 

Why do the Supreme Court wear black robes?

Court dress comprises the style of clothes and other attire prescribed for members of courts of law. Depending on the country and jurisdiction's traditions, members of the court (judges, magistrates, and so on) may wear formal robes, gowns, collars, or wigs. Within a certain country and court setting, there may be many times when the full formal dress is not used.

A long, lose or flowing gown or outer garment worn by men or women as ceremonial dress, an official vestment, or garb of office.

Any long, loose garment, esp. one for wear while lounging or preparing to dress, as a bathrobe or dressing gown.

This robe is described in the Amplified Bible as (a long tunic with sleeves). It was a very special garment that signified his father’s love and favor, as well as the destiny he would one day fulfill. For Joseph, it would be a daily reminder that he was covered in his father's love.

In Christian worship, biblically and historically, the ministers wear distinctive garments to testify to their office as representatives of Christ. The robe serves to hide the personality of the man and highlight his special calling. The pastor represents Christ, the Husband, to the church, his bride.

Likewise, the Veil in the Temple that tore at Jesus' crucifixion had the same color scheme: Blue for sky was the color for deity; red for the red Judean hills was the color for mankind. Being blended to purple represented the God-Man who, by his death, became the Door, our only Access to the Father.

With the separation of Church and State (for both have laws and different judges) the judges started wearing the same outfit as the preacher. Both represented authority and the final answer. Putting on a black robe gives you instant respect.

Now there are lots of different uniforms. The doctor wears scrubs and scientist wear white lab coats, the soldiers wear camo uniforms (but you can’t see them), an office worker wears a business suit (with a tie), a fireman wears big boots and suspenders and a policeman wears a badge. Each uniform tells the public what their expertise is just by what they wear.

If the supreme court climbed up on the raised dais and look down on the attorneys proving their ‘supreme’ title. Much like a ruler sits upon a crown, these appointed lawyers rule the court without question. What if the court appeared in Grateful Dead tie-die t-shirts sitting face-to-face to lawyers? Where is the regal position?

While the Pope wears a white smock with a beanie, it is not a robe. Super heroes wear tights and capes but no robes. The heads of countries don’t wear robes or capes (except in the middle east who wear loose tunics). You do get to wear a cap and robe when you graduate from school, but after you leave the stage with your diploma, you have to give it back for the next class.

No one walks down the street wearing a robe. No one goes to the rest room wearing a robe. No one wears a robe riding a bicycle.

Give respect to anyone who does wear a robe for signifies a higher power than yourself. At least they stopped wearing those powdered wigs.

 

Daddy’s Day Pt. III

 

The day for the Pops, Fathers, Daddy’s and those who handed out cigars at the maternity room for what you had accomplished with a squirt.

In my world, the dad was the ‘head-of-the-house’ and ruled supreme. He was the bread winner and made the final decisions on everything that affected our family.

My dad already had a son to show as his manliness, but I may have been a mistake and joined the family a couple of years later.

My dad did the best to cloth us and feed us and give us a shelter and send us kids to fine schools and attend religious ceremonies every Sunday.

My dad provided the acceptable ‘middle class life’. He did provide us with a few perks like attending country clubs and vacations at the beach.

My dad also tried to keep me busy. There were camps and scouts and weekend movies for otherwise I was content being in my room watching black & white television and sketch.

My dad did not show me how to fish or tie a fly or shoot a gun or fly a kite or even drive.

Thinking back on it, my dad did do other things that were adventurous.

He took the family to Mount Vernon where the old building wasn’t special but the land of a plantation with a beautiful view had no history of the redeemed first president and general from the revolution that was in the school books without talking about slavery. He took us to Washington DC stopping by the newly constructed Marine statue and going to the Smithsonian Museum to see the big wall hanging from the ceiling. He gave me membership to the Virginia Museum to take art classes and signed me up one summer to ride my bike over the river to attend art school at George Wythe HS. He did introduce me to type for signs at his club.

There are no remembrance of political conversations or even religious means. There was no economics instruction but he did give ‘the talk’ long after I knew how to do-it. He persuaded me to leave an apartment and purchase a house as an investment. He also persuaded me to buy life insurance, that sounded like a savings account, but I would not get the reward. He did pay for dog bites, split lips, tonsils and appendix and wisdom teeth removal with whatever family health insurance he had. He did go to court with me to pay off my speeding tickets and take my license away.

He did take me to the State Fair where I got lost but got him to gamble to a carnie to get a knife set I would buy later at the grocery store. He took me to the circus sitting on bleachers and walking on smelly hay and watching an elephant walk about in a circle. He did sign me up to the weekly Kiwanis Travelogue at the Mosque along with the local symphony presentations. He had books on the family hierarchy but never discussed his parents or his brother. He did enjoy watching the British Black Watch having a tattoo at the local skating rink. He took me to the local football field to watch my brother’s college and their rivals play but the fun part were the cadet corps pranking one another. He took me to the baseball park to watch the local team but it was too hot and wasn’t very exciting when they lost.

My dad was more about slipping a few dollars in my pocket and giving a gigantic can of green beans than to have any affectionate talks.

Years later, I think he meant well but didn’t know how to do it. He didn’t get it from his family. I pass along the tradition.

I won’t attend his gravesite service attended by no one but write here a few words to myself, for without him, I couldn’t write these thoughts.

Dad, you were an OK dad. I’m sure I was too expensive and emotionally trying, but I turned out alright living a few blocks away from home. I didn’t go to Yale as you wished or follow down the fraternity row but have had a good life and career drawing pictures and didn’t cause any trouble (that I couldn’t get out of by myself).

I was the one who cleaned out your closet and finding little notes in your coat pockets. I gave away your gun. I threw away those dirty magazines you kept under the mattress. I tried to take care of your bride until it drove me crazy.

So, dad, I guess you were a good enough dad, at least to me. I don’t know what kind of a dad you were to my brother, but that is for you two to know.  

Thanks, dad, for taking my training wheels off. I did alright.

I Was There

 

It was the summer of 69 and if everyone who ‘said’ they were there, there would have been no one else to talk about. Don’t know why being in the audience is so special as we wear it like a badge or long hair. It became an icon of a generation (real or tie-dyed).

Everyone says they were at the stage close enough to see Grace Slick’s nipples or sprayed upon by Jimi Hendrix’s sweat. No one talks about the long lines, the wet grass, the annoying folks mouthing off while Joni Mitchell whispered about shotguns in the sky, the smell, eating questionable over-priced ‘food’ prepared in some roach coach that have now become so popular, becoming bored, sleeping through the best act, going home with a strange itch, having to hitch hike home because you lost your car or when someone else brings up a moment you can’t remember because either you were not there or you were too stoned.

Today everyone wants to take selfies as proof of attendance and who you were with (unless Photoshopped) but back then no one took photos because they couldn’t afford a camera or lost a lens or didn’t want the evidence of being that hairy. See me. I’m in there. Seat 204.

I guess the experience of being in a giant crowd of people is worth the t-shirt or anniversary mug or tattoo. Does anyone talk about the local band getting drunk at your wedding party and everyone got sick over the catering food that must have been cooked in the roach coach? Who celebrates Altamont?

It doesn’t have to be a giant festival to be memorial. It could be you were in the audience of a show or concert or presentation and still have the ticket stub. It could be you shared a movie with someone else but didn’t know they were there when the lights went down. A movie is the same every time but a live show gives you reference to criticize with another attendee.

I, personally, do not attend many ‘live’ performances any more. I appreciate the folks who want to climb up on a stage before a crowd and either read or play the same stuff night-after-night or wing it hoping the audience will buy the merch and follow-on social media. Many of the ole core you grew up with listening to words and music that formed your life are repeating the words written a half century ago and the energy has left them just like it has left your body. Some still attempt to drag out the tunes you get choked up to from that special dance with your first wife or wind up entertaining the senior citizens on a sea cruise where they can’t escape the sad production.

I’ve seen and heard most of the ‘classic’ groups and attended concerts of some rarities. Unfortunately, I recently haven’t heard anything or one (even with the improvement in sound systems) that I haven’t heard before or want to get on stage and jam with them. Small clubs (though not as smokey as they used to be) are too loud and festivals are too crowded and road shows are too formulated and jams on the front porch are just right.

I guess it is the same reflection as traveling to a foreign land or eating an exotic food or custom clothing or transportation or mansions on the hill, but rarely do people compare sexual partners except in the tabloids?

I was there.

What’s On the Menu?

 

Between the power washing on one side and the constant renovation on the other side, I’ve withdrawn from yard work. Even with a shooting where I went to school, the newsrooms have been quiet. Some new old face has announced they will try and get attention and money but only one is still in the spotlight.

Wandering through the Internet like exploring a library with Dewey decimal cards searched by a Google engine and Siri asking what would you like next? Like a stack of newspapers or a table spread with magazines, they mostly say the same thing. We continue to safari hoping against hope to find something new and interesting.

I go shopping.

What is on the menu?

When you walking into an unfamiliar restaurant, you take in the ambiance while being seated, then you are handed a menu. If the server expects a sizable tip, a recommendation is pointed out (as referred by the kitchen) and a request for libations is made. If (for some reason or another) you look at the menu and find nothing inviting or appealing, you and your party could get up and walk out.

I don’t wander the streets window shopping or even desire new designs or makes or models or trends advertised to entice purchases. I’ve got more than enough shoes, socks, shirts, plates, appliances, windows, screw drivers, saws, ladders, computers and don’t need to research where to get a haircut.

So, what should I shop for?

My bathtub mat, keeping me from sliding around in a tub that might have more dirt in it than is on my body, has been pretty well corroded since I poured Clorox on it. My soup mug is looking a bit worn for wear. My knurly neighbors are chewing on my house so I’ll seek some solution to keep their teeth away from the walls. Just to make things more interesting I see there is a weed trimmer that has a metal blade!

Do I need another weed trimmer?

I’ve got a high-end electric string trimmer, a lawn mower, a weed whip and a saber saw to cut big branches, but a new tool to make life more comfortable always is enticing. A trimmer with a circular saw instead of a string? Sign me up.

Of course, the comparison shopping takes hours online reviews and estimated values, but I add to the cart and with a single ‘click’… they are on the way to my front door.

Does this fulfill my thought that purchasing replacements will energize me? Time will tell.

For Love or Money

 

Recently a friend told me of a love interest moving in and gave me pause.

Now this happens everyday for love makes you do strange illogical irrational things.

When you fall in love, whether it is a crush or flirting or dating or going steady or getting engaged or married, moving in together can happen anywhere along the way (though social moirés may only approve after the latter signature on a license sharing a couple’s name to live together).

If your love shares a bed (persuasion, seduction, copulation, fornication, …) anywhere along the way, are you in love… or lust? Either way, it is easier when you both live in the same abode.

Getting a new roommate will require adjustments. Each and every one of us have our own taste and likes. Maybe the couch should be over there? ‘We’ need a new bookcase. Buy a rug and paint a room all for the love of one-another. (Heart emoji goes here).

Now we get to the other side of life.

Money.

Unless one or the other has money and is willing to share for love (prostitution) no one talks about finances before moving in together. Who is going to pay the utilities? Is it time for a joint bank account? How about the credit cards? One car or two?

Then there are children!

Love is sweet, but money is reality.

What about debt? Do you both share the problem or leave it to each other to solve? What if your significant other has grander taste (and thus cost) than the budget?

If the love fades, the requirements for money does not.

Divorce can have a cost, especially with kids. How do you split joint assets? There could be private detectives, court cost, therapy and additional medical fees.

Hope it works out for my friend.

Been there; done that.

Was it worth it?

Critical Thinking

 

 

Critical thinking is a kind of thinking in which you question, analyze, interpret, evaluate and make a judgement about what you read, hear, say, or write. The term critical comes from a Greek word meaning “able to judge or discern”.

 

Critical thinking skills:

·      Observation: The ability to notice and predict opportunities, problems and solutions.

·      Analysis: The gathering, understanding and interpreting of data and other information.

·      Inference: Drawing conclusions based on relevant data, information and personal knowledge and experience.

 

7 steps to critical thinking:

·      Identify the problem. Before you put those critical thinking skills to work, you first need to identify the problem you're solving. ...

·      Research. ...

·      Determine data relevance. ...

·      Ask questions. ...

·      Identify the best solution. ...

·      Present your solution. ...

·      Analyze your decision.

Critical thinking empowers individuals to approach decision-making and problem-solving with clarity, logic, and a systematic approach. Consequently, this leads to more informed choices, innovative solutions, and better outcomes.

 

Clarify your thinking: The first rule of critical thinking is to clarify your thinking. Explaining your review refers to defining your terms, identifying assumptions, and recognizing biases in your thought process. By portraying your reflection, you can better evaluate arguments and make more informed decisions.

 

Synonyms for critical thinking include brainstorming, conceptualizing, conceptualizing, deliberating, inventing, problem solving, reasoning, thinking, abstract thought and consideration.

 

Though often confused with intelligence, critical thinking is not intelligence. Critical thinking is a collection of cognitive skills that allow us to think rationally in a goal-orientated fashion and a disposition to use those skills when appropriate. Critical thinkers are amiable skeptics.

 

Whether you are the most read or have multiple degrees of higher learning, we all are influenced by many sources and create our opinions and bias from our exposure of other’s ideas and statements. Alternate Intelligence now produces deep fakes that questions the authenticity of the spoken word.

 

Every day I hear people I don’t personally know spout speech that just doesn’t seem (to my senses) rational. Politicians, preachers, teachers, doctors and even parents tell tales that may not pass the truth muster test. With all the cultural subjects conversed today (gun violence, body and gender authority, repatriation, homeless and migrant resolution, pain reduction addiction, environmental crisis, …) some sound plausible, some sound irresponsible, some sound ridiculous and some sound off-the-wall-wacko waste of air.

 

If you spend all your time evaluating the question, do you get a suitable answer? Try: “I love you”?

The Country Club

 

A country club is a privately owned club, often with a membership quota and admittance by invitation or sponsorship, that generally offers both a variety of recreational sports and facilities for dining and entertaining. Typical athletic offerings are golf, tennis, and swimming.

For the first half dozen years of my life, I grew up on a country club.

Not in the clubhouse but in a little house tucked in the woods next to the entry road.

It was called the Keswick Country Club, just outside of Charlottesville.

Originally built in 1912, this sumptuous, 8,000-square-foot Italianate estate snuggled in 200 acres of prime Virginia countryside was previously known as the Villa Crawford, a private home and for Mr. and Mrs. Robert Crawford by a local architect, Eugene Bradbury.

Villa Crawford, served its first 35 years as the private residence of five different owners. The property changed hands and purposes several times over the next 100 years. It served as a lavish country club in 1948 when an additional 400 acres were purchased.  In 1949 a 9-hole golf course was added.

The Keswick Country Club spent a 42-year roller coaster ride as country clubs go with ups and downs of both membership and drama. In the early 1990’s Sir Bernard Ashley, widower of Laura Ashley, spent millions restoring Keswick to its former glory and since 1993 has been the historic wing of the restored Keswick Hall, a world-class resort that draws visitors from around the world.

Growing up on at a country club provided servants who attended your every whim. It was not royalty but for a little tyke, it seemed pretty special. Being at the start of life wandering around in the woods and riding my trike while avoiding incoming/outgoing guest was all that one does. Having the opportunity to walking into the golf shop and ordering up a coke for free seemed normal. I wasn’t rich but my dad ran the place.

Country clubs are like a luxury vacation surrounded by a golf course. Members pay to be exclusive pampering of the privileges. The opulence of the club house was matched by the Anglo-Saxon décor. Colored men in black slacks and white pressed jackets scurried delivering food and drink and never engaging with the members.

Some said my dad ran a tight ship, but what he knew about running a country club before we got there is a mystery. He worked as night manager at the William Byrd hotel after a stint at the Cavalier Beach Club. He had connections from his entertaining years but what the offer was to pull up roots from Richmond to Keswick is unknown.

From what I remember it was a pretty good beginning. Not many kids grow up with their own swimming pool.

My mother would go down to the pool and hobnob with the wealthy but we were only hired help. She dabbled with golf that would lead to another country club membership when we returned to Richmond.

Country club membership requires a certain demeaner. The clothing has to match and only certain model vehicles will be parked by attendance. While adults engaged in business deals over card games and drinks, the young were to entertain themselves at the pool or caddying the foursomes. Everything else was provided by the country club for your luxury.

Our family membership to the Richmond Country Club (not as prestige as the Country Club of Virginia) seemed like beyond the edge of the world with a long drive out to Goochland. My mother prevailed in golf contest and won a lot of silver bowls and trays while mingling with the rich and famous.

I learned the game of golf and was pretty good at it. Unfortunately, my eyesight was bad and when I drove the ball off the tee, I lost sight of it. I enjoyed it until a threesome with Curtis Strange and Laney Watkins playing for a dollar a hole went bad and one of those guys got mad and threw his clubs into a water hazard and stormed away.

I enjoyed the pool until one day a friend of mine who was diving for dropped coins with me drowned. I then went on to become qualified as a lifeguard and even joined a swim team.

The other side of country clubs are the parties. There were black tie dinners and cotillions. There were debutante parties, birthday parties, and parties celebrating holidays (that we won’t talk about now) with all the decorations and accoutrements. Every caste had their place and attendance were required to behave in a certain manner.

I don’t miss being pampered like a king but know some do and must network connections and participate in investment schemes to accomplish a status.

Mother! I will be at the pool. Do have a coke and some nabs served poolside.