I Should Be Kicking Myself

I'm here to tell you I've taken up boxing. My own  pair of boxing gloves will be here next week.  I've been using a pair of borrowed gloves for my first two sessions.  If you knew how old I am, you'd probably be as shocked as I am.  And another thing, I'm doing this on the recommendation of my daughter.  She has read the research and says this is good for people like me.  But it's true. Twice a week I go to the gym and work on learning how to throw a variety of punches, in a series of combinations.

I'm practicing keeping my hands up, fighting my height, returning to my own stance after each foray. Oh, did I mention it is technically mixed martial arts that I'm learning?  I mean, when you're learning to fight, why limit yourself to just throwing five or six different punches, when there are five or six kicks you can use?  I'm sure it will be just as easy to learn multiple martial arts at the same time as it is to simply focus on just boxing.

There are a few initial hurdles, I have to admit. Take for example the first I encountered, when my instructor had to show me how to put on my borrowed boxing gloves. Sure, you're probably chuckling at that one,  but try it some time.  You pull on the first one easily enough. You pull it on and wrap the strap around your wrist using the super easy Velcro fastener. Yes, you may not remember, but you used to have to lace up and tie the gloves like shoes. Now, where was I?  Oh, yeah, I had just put on the first glove.  Now, picture this, I reach for the other glove, but I can't really grip it with my gloved hand.  You see, my fingers are immobile inside this large leather-encased cushion about three inches thick. Oh, and my thumb is turned inward and enclosed in a cushion of its own.  Pulling it on is a struggle, but I can manage it.  It's on at least, now how do I grab that strap I need to pull around my wrist to tighten it up enough so it will keep the glove firmly on my hand while I am punching?  Not so easy, but my instructor shows me a trick and it's done.

Next, my instructor says, "Hit me."  I don't move. He says it again. "Hit me."  I still don't make a move.  He gives me a quizzical look.  "I don't hit guys like you."  He's five inches taller, outweighs me by forty pounds ( I can't say for sure, but I'd guess it's mostly muscle).  He laughs and says,  "Probably not."

I could go on and on about initial hurdles in this project.  But let me just give you one more.  At the end of my 2nd session, John says, "I'll set the timer for one minute, and you hit this bag any way you can." While I wait, I'm thinking, "I start with a jab, then...."   The bell rings and I'm all over it.  I'm punching, using combinations--short ones, my memory of what he's just shown me is not all that detailed.  But it goes on, and on, and on, and on...   Finally, the bell rings.  And I can barely breathe!  and I'm fighting an inanimate object that can't swing back.  How do they do it?

Then, John asks, "How come you weren't kicking?"  

Another Prince and the Pea Moment, or It Never Hurts To Demonstrate a Little Sensitivity Once in a While

Recently, I felt a little drowsy while reading a book on a Sunday afternoon, so I decided to try a little something I have heard stories about from time to time, but never had the time to try--a nap.  So I laid down on a bed, on my side, not my back, of course, because I have been told that other people from time to time who sleep on their backs tend to snore.  Anyway, I felt a little twinge of a lump of something at about the height of the bottom of my pants pocket.  My first thought was to roll over onto my opposite side, but I remembered I carry my wallet in my side pocket instead of my back pocket, having given up the habit of carrying it in my back pocket after reading some airline travel magazine article about probably one of the top ten spots where one had to watch out for pickpockets, that is (I am not making this up) while touring the Vatican in Rome.  The advice offered there was to stop carrying one's wallet in a back pocket, as that made one "easy pickings" for any pickpocket.  The preferred alternative is to carry it in your side pocket, preferably with your hand casually stuck in the pocket as well.  I thought this was a much better strategy than the one adopted by my spouse's father in his later years.  He would wrap several rubber bands around his wallet, making it harder for a pickpocket (or--remember this--anyone else) to slip it out of of that pocket.  Consequently, he spent an inordinate amount to his time when the bill came for dinner trying to tug out his wallet and remove the several rubber bands to get at his money or credit card, thereby avoiding any risk of picking up the check for a meal.

So I decided not to flip over on my other side, but instead to remove whatever small object was in the pocket on the side on which I was lying.  It was probably just a peanut, or an M&M candy, or an M&M candy-covered peanut.  Ah, but as I emptied said pocket, I found two pair of flip-up, clip-on sunglasses, a key fob for an automobile with a key ring and post office box key, $1.63 in change and an Apple iPhone 6s...  Now, I'm left wondering about those people who, every once in a great while, observe that I may not be the most sensitive person around, perhaps even a little insensitive or was it non-sensitive, or full of nonsense?  Hmmm,....   I talked to my friend H. C. Anderson, and he said not to worry, although it might have given him an idea for a story.

I Haven't the Foggiest, While I''m Lost in the Fog

I recently deliberately took leave of my senses and plunged into the fog that passes for a pre-primary season as we approach a presidential year (2016).  I had committed myself to the task of understanding the virtues the Republican electorate was projecting onto Donald Trump.  I mean, he really isn't all those things he pretends to be, but he has a flamboyant mouth that has garnered most of the attention of the media.  Republicans are thirsting for a candidate they believe the country will need--to repair what they perceive has broken over the past eight to ten years.  Combine that thirst with the flamboyant character mouthing some of the things he sees as wrong with the current state of affairs and you have an electorate that literally has an "identity crush" on Trump.  They, like any other person who develops a crush on another, are projecting onto this man the attributes or virtues they see as needed in this country.  My sense was that if I looked at what they thought they see in him, I would learn what qualities they really wanted.  I wound up lost in a fog, the likes of which we haven't seen since the last presidential election, and it took a long time for me to make any headway.

(Please note the above represents my fourth attempt at explaining what I mean about the attraction to Trump.  It isn't real, but it may provide some insight.)

Attempting this task, I had to wade through some pretty awful stuff--here is just a taste:

• I will be the greatest jobs president that God ever created. 
• How much money did Barack Obama waste today on crony green energy projects? 
• The concept of global warming was created by and for the Chinese in order to make U.S. manufacturing non-competitive. 
• The line of ‘Make America great again,’ the phrase, that was mine, I came up with it about a year ago, and I kept using it, and everybody’s now using it, they are all loving it. I don't know. I guess I should copyright it. 
• You have to be hit by a tractor, literally, a tractor, to use it, because the deductibles are so high. It's virtually useless. 
• I would build a great wall, and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me, and I'll build them very inexpensively, I will build a great, great wall on our southern border. And I will have Mexico pay for that wall.
• I will be the greatest jobs president that God ever created. 
• The beauty of me is that I'm very rich.
• I have a great relationship with the blacks.
• People say, 'Mr. Trump, you're not a nice person.'  But actually I am.
• When Mexico sends its people … they are bringing drugs and they are bringing crime and their rapists. 
• The concept of global warming was created by and for the Chinese in order to make U.S. manufacturing non-competitive. 

I kept looking, and looking, but there just wasn't any there there.  It was a fog, I finally decided that there was indeed one commonality that all sorts of Trump supporters and Trump curiosity seekers seemed to have--fog, and by coincidence the word "fog" offers an acronym for that attribute--FOG, meaning Fire Our Government.   Almost everyone taking an interest in him seems to agree that the incumbents have accomplished nothing and they need to go.  (You can tell my brain just wore itself out, can't you?) I decided that people believe some extraordinary things about Mr. Trump.  But let me assure you these things are not really Trump--only in the very real sense that they were projecting things that are not there.  Seriously, folks, he is none of these things.  He just has a bag of wishful thinking that makes people think he has some of these things, despite the fact that he demonstrably does NOT possess any of them:

They believe/wish he'd be a military leader like Colin Powell
They believe/hope he's not willing to just say anything that will get him elected.
They believe/hope he's not like any of those presently in congress or the executive branch, neither of whom have demonstrated any capacity to do anything.
They wish he'd be a Washington outsider like Ronald Reagan, but savvy enough to make the deals necessary to move this country ahead.  Remember Reagan and Tip O'Neill?
They believe/wish that he'd be a businessman, like a manager in a successful private industry giant like, let's say Jack Welch--as opposed to a money mogul running a casino business into the ground. 
They believe/wish he would be someone who can get things done through others.
They believe/wish he would be a shrewd investor like Warren Buffett.  (and a whole lot more)

These all seem to be projections that do not describe Donald and most likely never will.  But he knows how to put into words what the voting public wants to hear, along with some entertaining farcical pieces mixed in.  Unfortunately, he offers no details.  But who can argue with a man who says things we mistake for the following:

I will--

1. Restore our greatness--as an ally, a leader among nations and a force for good.  Confront Russian and any other enemies when necessary.  
2. Get the economy moving again--here at home and among other free nations.  If that means tax reform, let it lead to a simpler tax code that also stimulates investment.  Here, Trump tries to straddle a fence.  he wants to rebuild America's roads and bridges, build new VA hospitals, k]increase the military budget and reduce the deficit.  He wants to do this without raising taxes.  He will do all this without increasing taxes.  Instead, he wants to grow the economy by cutting taxes.  I am sorry to say this, but I don't see how this can happen just because Donald says so.  Show me some facts, details, estimates, numbers--something.
3. Stop illegal immigration. and secure our borders from extremists; while continuing to welcome people seeking freedom.  When protecting our borders, be willing to do whatever it takes.  If that  means walls are what it takes, then do that, but deal fairly with the "illegals" who are here, contributing members of our economy and society.
4. Address the growing budget deficits--not by talking about it, by doing something that begins to turn the tide in the right direction.
5. Get things done, where necessary, compromise.  But above all be an effective leader who can get things done through others.  Yes that's management, but good management includes a vision and a culture that works together.

As far as I can see through all this fog, Trump has never really said the five things listed above, he has just said things that sound like them at times, and he has not offered details.  Soon (I hope) a candidate will step up who not only believes the above, but has a plan.  That one will get my vote.  Unless or until that happens, I haven't the foggiest notion who will get my vote.

Trump Crushes and The Next Step

"Trump-fever" seems to have overwhelmed millions, yet I've noticed a few things.  First, no one I know well takes him all that seriously.  (Since I haven't actually asked a lot of people directly, I expect sooner or later I will feel the need to directly ask a few people to identify self-identify as true Trump fans before I draw any conclusions).

I formed another, similar impression last Saturday.   I was strolling around a typical art fair/seafood festival--well they are frequent enough around here that I have attended dozens over the past 20 years, and I think this one was not far different from most others. Anyway, I noticed an unusual booth.  It was what appeared to be the local Republican Party's booth. It was adorned exclusively with Trump signs and stickers. The odd thing to me was that no one was approaching the booth.  There were eight or nine smiling Trumpeters, but no one looked to be willing to even speak to them.  I found myself asking, "Are people embarrassed to admit they support Mr. Trump?  Who else is embarrassed to have it become known they "like" someone?  Are you smarter than a 5th grader?

Yes, it made me reflect on some reading I have done on adolescent/teenage crushes, and what psychologists think about them.  As we all know, crushes are those sometimes otherwise inexplicable attractions that are often developed by pre-adolescent and adolescent young people (and some adults, I would say) toward people to whom they might be slightly attracted.

Now, it is important that I make a clarifying distinction--there are "romantic" crushes and "identity" crushes.  I am talking about the latter kind.  Psychologists say that although the crush appears to be about attraction to another person, it is actually about projection of valued attributes onto another person.  In this sense, the crush is a statement about what a person finds attractive. In this, crushes are very revealing.

So, remembering that the person who has the crush largely projects onto another person idealized attributes the admirer highly values and wants to be associated with, and then she or he attaches strong positive feelings to the perfectly wonderful image that has been created, we need to take a look at what people are projecting onto Mr. Trump. and that is harder to examine, given that few of the people I have met or know actually support him.  Think about it--we do not have to study Mr. Trump and his message (at last I don't think we do), we have to study what admirers have projected onto him.  

The media are missing the point by choosing to publicize all of his ridiculous statements, aren't they?  This complicates things.  I will have to step aside and try studying what people are projecting onto him, but at the moment, no one I know personally is openly supporting him.  "Is a puzzlement," said the King in "The King and I." 

When I was a boy, world was better spot

What was so was so, what was not was not

Now, I am a man, world have changed a lot

Some things nearly so, others nearly not"  

 So, onward we must go, mostly without the help of the media, to learn what those having this short-term "crush" on Mr. Trump are really seeking.  Or, we can accept the media's current perspective, which seems to be "Wow, listen to what that whacko Trump said yesterday!  And look at the polls, he leads all the other Republican candidates, so all of them must be whacko, too."  

Testing Google, 1, 2, 3....

To understand the ultimate question being asked herein, I have to set the stage by providing some background.  I live in a warm climate (and have for the past twenty years).  In such a climate some things are unavoidable.  High temperatures in the summer, exceeding 100 degrees Fahrenheit, at times is one example.  Relative humidity levels often track the same path, into the 90's.

People, even some in my category who arrived here intentionally, are wont to complain about some of the conditions that accompany this weather.  "Oh, I sweated through my shirt today." or "I can feel my sweat dripping down the back of my pants leg," or "I had to stop to clean the sweat off my glasses," and even, "I had sweat dripping off the end of my nose (in some cases mingling with snot, if you must know)."  Such are the conditions we are expected to tolerate willingly, having been born or moved into this kind of climate.

I am almost sure that women speak amongst themselves about annoying effects of such hot weather, even as they pretend they do not sweat profusely like men, they merely perspire.  But no women were interviewed in preparation for this story.  I have to admit I was reluctant to even bring the matter up in mixed company as my wife has made it known to me that I sometimes venture into conversational territory in which I do not belong, and she has not, in recent memory, been unwilling to tell me to butt out.  

A fairly recent development has been the temporary reduction in wardrobe made necessary by another spell of temporary homelessness--yes we are moving again, and it has nothing to do with bill collectors,   As we are between houses, so to speak, we are unable to transport with us our entire wardrobes (even the magnificent splendor normally found in my closet and dresser drawers).  This condition required--for me at least--that I narrow it down to three pair of shoes--twenty-five percent of my total collection.   Please note, no such limit was imposed on my spouse, not even proportionally, for example, say limiting her to thirty pair of shoes).  Whatever--I chose a pair of New Balance cross-trainers (in geezer white, of course), a pair of sandals (not flip-flops, they irritate my left big toe), and a pair of boat shoes or deck shoes.  You know what I mean, they were originally popularized by Sperry, and copied by many others.  The pairs I have--yes, I have two, for reasons to be explained later--are marketed under the Margaritaville brand, although I doubt Margaritaville has a shoe manufacturing arm, just a marketing one.  They are newly purchased, within the last six months, as I recall.

Now most of the time, I place socks over my feet before donning the shoes (no, not the sandals--way too dorky!).  While visiting cooler climes, where we wore jeans and even long-sleeved shirts at times, this was not a problem.  As we worked our way back south, a vexing problem set in.  Wearing socks inside boat or deck shoes in shorts is really dorky, or at least in my mind it is.  I even tried those socks that barely reach the shoe tops.  The problem with those is two-fold--first they are still visible inside your shoes, thus duplicating the dorky effect of wearing taller socks; and, secondly, they tend to roll down the back of your feet, and slide beneath your heel into your arch.  Uncomfortable and not very attractive!

So, eventually, I started wearing these boat shoes without socks.  It was just a necessary step, so to speak.  Not long thereafter, I received a complaint, from my regular roommate, passenger/driver, etc.--my wife.  She claimed my feet, which naturally sweat a little in the warmer weather, smelled awful (I think there were a few more emphatic descriptors added, but I have forgotten them).  At any rate, she soon extended that description to my shoes even when my feet were not presently in them.  I had to purchase another pair of identical shoes--ones that did not smell--to replace my first pair even though they were not worn out.

Realizing I would soon own way too many pairs of shoes, I had to act fast.  I consulted the all-knowing, all-seeing source of wisdom--Google.  "How do I keep my feet from smelling?"  If you keep looking, you will eventually find the simplest remedy ever, but you are going to have to go look for yourself.  I will not spell out this remedy, but you will eventually find it, there are bound to be leaks.

At any rate, I have adopted this solution, but I have one simple problem.  I do not know if it works!  I lost my sense of smell some time ago (which my wife says explains why she is constantly on my case about it).  She is only trying to help--oh, of course--since she knows of my lost sense of smell.  I am reluctant to ask my wife if the problem has gone away, since she would stay at me until I provided a detailed explanation, and I will not do that, period.  You would know why I won't tell her if you knew what method I have begun to employ.  She just would not be very understanding about it.  In the mean time, I will just have to go on not knowing---unless, maybe I should just google this one, too!  Let's see....

My favorite perch in St Louis

As I sit at my favorite perch, overlooking Forest Park, let's not miss the coincidence that I'm going to the zoo this morning, although I doubt I'll see any--perch, that is.  Not that I won't see any perches or perching going on, just not the fish.

 I take note of the fact that the temp here is 20 degrees lower here than home.  Yes, I still call it home even as I am presently homeless and am building a home a good distance away.

Anyway, the drop in temp allows me to wear long sleeves, more specifically, my Chicago Bears tee shirt. In most other settings I might hesitate to don this shirt, given the Bears' dismal performance and outlook for the season.  But at the zoo, backing the Bears might be looked upon with some respect.  There is a new polar bear at this zoo, so I won't be alone contemplating bears as we enter the zoo.

So I gaze park one more time at the view of the park and go to do my exercise set in the faint hope that all that food I ate yesterday won't become permanently attached. Wish me luck.

To Beard, Or Not To Beard....

Recently, I caught myself wondering about something, something I had never considered before--why not grow a beard?  No, I haven't been watching Duck Dynasty.  In fact, I don't think I have ever watched an entire episode of that one.  That's not a criticism, there are thousands of television programs of which I have never watched an entire episode.  That's not it at all.

Why consider a beard?  I am old, in case you haven't noticed.  One of the many wonders of reaching this age is the joy that simple tasks like shaving can bring.  After devoting the usual ten minutes or so, I usually rinse off my face with my hands and a little water.  After feeling my face and noticing it's not smooth at all, I start over.  The problem is, I have an old man's face.  I have grooves and curves (some in the form of wrinkles, others just the result of fading resiliency of my skin) where I didn't before.  My face sags in places it never sagged before, here-the beginning of jowls, there the double chin and the "turkey neck."

Getting the stubble in the grooves formed by wrinkles around my mouth takes pressure that you'd swear will cut your flesh.  Smoothing the not-so-resilient skin that droops from this face requires contorting the face in ways unseen before just to get something to press the razor against.  If I didn't redo my morning shave, I'm pretty certain I'd be growing portions of a beard anyway.  So why not?  It sounds appealing in some ways.  To a lazy person, which I am not (of course), not having to shave every morning might be appealing.  There are some who think the opposite sex might find you more attractive--I have no data on that point, but my sense is that the men on Duck Dynasty have the attractive spouses because of their bank balances, not the pretty faces hiding behind those beards.

I went to google for some advice on the disadvantages of having a beard.  Food on your face from earlier meals appears in everyone's list.  A more subtle--but related--disadvantage is that beards hold and grow bacteria, and can hold and pass along viruses.  Who knew?  How did the cave men survive?  
Another disadvantage is that little children find you scarier--to some old men I know (W.C.Fields, for example?) this might not be so bad.  Oh, and I have no data to support this one either, but several responders reported women found men with beards less attractive.   My sense is that a lot of us don't have much room to give up many points on this scale (OK, I admit it, I am one of those that can't afford to give any points away).

So, for now, no beard for me.  I'm more afraid of the disadvantages than the extra time looking st myself in the mirror each day, painful as that might be.

Reflections From The Road--It Takes All Kinds

This is the ideal time of year to be shopping in the resort towns, isn;t it?  What didn't sell to the tourists during the peak season is now available at a fraction or that price.  Shoppers who select an item usually grin at the prospect, probably because they don't realize that even this slashed price represents about a hundred percent markup on the shop's cost.  You might expect that the sales personnel would at least be smiling, knowing they were still making a killing.  In little shops like these, many of the shops are being staffed by the shopkeeper and his/her family, after all.  Those that aren't family, are likely long-time employees who know the shop's success means continued success for them.

So, I found it odd to hear one of the sales people repeat to more than one customer that she was "just tired, tired of it all, and needed some time off."  This being a week or more after the season ended, I just wondered that she hadn't had enough rest.

My sister and my wife noted another clerk literally chased them away from a spot where they stood comparing possible purchases, saying loudly, "That register is closed, you can't stand there."  They also noticed she was really very short with several other customers.   We overheard another employee  explaining her mood.  "She just lost Sadie, and Sadie's brother passed away last year, and now, Walter is missing his friends."

Wow, I thought, that is a lot to take in, I guess.  I have to admit though, that I was less impressed when I learned that Sadie and her brother were cats, and Walter is a dog.  Loss is loss, and pets are companions for lots of people.  So, she was mourning for her pets and her pet in mourning.

Reflections From The Road--Why Did The Ducks Cross The Road?

The morning air was filled with squawks and honks.  Walking down to the water's edge, i could see the visuals that this sound track accompanied. 

The sunlight glinted off the water and the troops were lining up.   It was morning roll call for the ducks. The Sargent was herding them into line, squawking all the while. Now and then a straggler would get a serious dressing down and not a quiet one.  I counted two dozen in the line.

Now that I've been here a couple of days, I know this early assembly is not the norm. I could see it even then, the ducks sort of clucking to one another. "What's this about?" Or "What did you duck up now?"

On reflection, I think I know. The troop had an exercise last night, and it was an abject failure.  They attempted to block the road out in front of our place.  The cars slowed as they approached the ducks, but they did not stop.  The ducks had to scuttle out of the way, and soon all the ducks had crossed the road back into the relative safety of the shore and the river.  

The commander, gazing back at the line of traffic and his troops in disarray, honked and squawked his discontent.  He pondered the age-old question, "Why?"  This morning drill was the beginning of the retraining process, I'm not optimistic.

A Walk In The Wilderness

As we walked in the parking lot at the Park Plaza after watching a thoroughly enjoyable movie about another "Walk," we realized once again that becoming thoroughly absorbed in a movie will frequently diminish one's recall of exactly where you parked your car before entering the theater.  Sometimes the best thing to do is click the unlock button on your car keys, letting the noise of the horn and the flash of your lights led you there.  "Wait a minute, I'm trying to find my keys first," she said.  Well, finding the car won't do us much good if we can't find the keys, will it?  And now, finding the car without those keys might not happen either.  So, I can agree that finding the keys is the first thing, I guess.  This really is a walk in the wilderness after "A Walk In The Woods."  Or is it a "Walk On The Wild Side?"  Where's old Lou Reed when you need him?

Back to "A Walk In The Woods."  I wouldn't call it a "buddy film."  Robert Redford and Nick Nolte make an unlikely pair.  The movie is more of a reflection on what is important in life and about realizing it late in life, I think.  Or, maybe it's just me being later in life, so I see everything through that lens.  In any case, "the woods" are those along the iconic Appalachian Trail.  I've seen bits and pieces of that Trail, but never walked any part of it myself.  No, I am not feeling the call of the Trail either.  This is a time of year when I'd like to be walking more, but it is beastly hot and humid here and it's raining most of the time.  So, I put it off and worry about not getting enough exercise to chase those same two pounds around the week this week. If only worrying used up calories.  No matter how important that seems to me each day nowadays, it was time tonight to remember that taking a little time away from all the day-to-day stresses makes a big difference. Feeling that stress?  "A Walk In The Woods" might be just the thing.  Not that walking in the woods is important, but spending some time away from it all, absorbed in something else with someone important to you, is worth doing.      

Sure, you might wind up walking in the wilderness looking for your car, but you might just wear away some of that stress that's been on your mind.  It worked for us.

Gimme Swelter

Gimme Swelter

Yes, it's that time again.  August.  It isn't often that "this August" is worse than some "August of your youth" or "back home." But this August, this week?  I think it's the worst.  Even if you have the good fortune of having a nearby pool at which you can end the day, it can happen as it did yesterday.  We were overheated and out of sorts and hoping to spend some quality time cooling it there.  But, as the Rolling Stones put it nearly fifty years ago--"it's just a shot away, just a shot away--it's just a shot away." What sounds more like a shot than distant thunder?

Sure enough, it happened.  We heard it rumble, and flash, then "Oh, a storm is threatening, my very life today."  We had to leave the pool as the thunderstorm approached and stumble back home--"War, it's just a shot away."  This week has been miserable enough that more than once I said it out loud--how can anyone stand to work outside today?    

Monday, it rained all day, a deluge.  We spent time walking around a certain Plaza , dodging the spots where the overhanging roof leaked a pouring faucet down on us.  We dared to hope for a hot, sunny day.  Then we had to cross an alley between buildings, where it turned out the water was four inches deep.  Aa Mick and the rest of the Stones put it back in 1969, "Oh, the flood is threat'nng my very life today."  But the sweltering weather returned yesterday, unrelieved by the pool stay we had been hoping for.

Today, it was awful again--in terms of heat, anyway.  You still have to qualify that some.  Any day you can be free, be loved, have hope, give love, smile, frown--whatever--is a gift isn't it?  Just a few moments ago, when I opened the sliding glass door and the hot air plowed in, nearly knocking me over, I remembered it's still good to be alive, so I have to say it--"Gimme, gimme swelter, or I'm gonna fade away."

The Road Not Taken

I own a collection of puns that I picked up one day and, after opening it randomly to a couple of different entries, I was hooked.  I went to customer service to see if they had anything with which to remove the hook and they handed me a deck of cards and said "Here, go fish." and this was a branch of a large bookstore operation.   Just can't understand how these bookstores keep afloat. canoe?  Want to try punning?  Don't go there.  That road is not one for the taking.  Soon enough you will find yourself stuck, and it's a sticky business--branches or not.  

Not long ago, I was reading an article written by a local writer that I read on a semi-regular basis.   Her subject was couponing, and at first glance, when she described her mother's attachment to green stamps, and I reflected on my own mother's experiences with green stamps, I sized it up as at once a genuinely informative article on the present-day art of couponing and a wry reflection on how, despite ourselves, we are "becoming our parents" as we age.  I set the article aside for a more careful read when I would have some time and went on to other things.

When I picked it up again, I realized the direction the author had taken did not include the reflection on how we are taking on some of the characteristics, habits, idiosyncrasies of our parents.  I had read that into the reference to her own mother.   As has often happened, I misread the direction she was taking.  I wondered if this was simply because she had long ago accepted the notion that she was becoming like her mother?  Or did she not notice that her interest and apparent commitment to using the new variety of coupons that are sprouting everywhere around us was similar to her mother's green stamps habit?  Or, was her mother not really a coupon person and her interest in saving did not extend to coupons in general?  We'll never know.  Perhaps her article had included that discussion about following in her mother's footsteps and it wound up on the cutting room floor, so to speak, in the interest of brevity.  Or, like usual, I had no idea where she was going with the story.

But it gave me pause, and now I can hardly type--paws are just not made for keyboard work.  One of the similarities between I have observed in my own behavior and what I recall of my father's is a love of puns and associated malapropisms.  Often, I get distracted from what a speaker or writer has said or written, because I'm chasing a self-made pun.  The article described above started with a pun of sorts.  "Here's the deal (no pun intended)."  Which made me ask, what's wrong with intentional punning?    Why are puns like the Rodney Dangerfield of humor, they "get no respect."  But what is due the author of the following--"The Zen enthusiast said to the hot dog vendor, 'make me one with everything.'"  This one is just so right.  Who could put down such a clever expression?

I spend way too much time examining puns from all sorts of places.  They seem to fall on me and I collect them.  Most are not gems, but a few require a bit of thought.  Others are easily spotted as in the question, do animal rights activists prefer PETA bread?  Speaking of Spot, I really miss him--I spilled some spot remover on my dog and now he's gone.  Now I am worried about my pony.  He's got a cold and he's a little hoarse.  Make me stop....

I thought I Was Having an Apocryphal Moment, But....

On my way to the hardware store to buy a pipe wrench, I looked up and found myself at the corner of Bow and Arrow (streets, that is, and I am not making this up).  I had driven past Archer, which is where I really needed to turn to get to Grayco, but I drove past and turned at my next opportunity, which was Bow Circle, and that just happens to be the street the hardware sore is located on, even though it is quicker to turn at Archer, then you don't have to double back to actually enter the parking lot.   But back to pipe wrenches.  The Stilton or pipe wrench was invented--not by the Pied Piper, he was another sort of nut job--but by Daniel Stilton, and patented in 1869.  In those days there were no standard nut sizes, so every nut job needed his own wrench, or so it seemed.  

But the adjustable pipe wrench was invented for use with round objects, such as pipe.  Softer lead pipe could be grasped by the steel teeth of the pipe wrench and turned.  It might be thought that one pipe wrench might handle an infinite number of nut jobs,   This wrench must be distinguished, however, from a spanner, which can be adjusted to fit a nearly infinite number of nut sizes.  Unlike the pipe wrench, which had to have teeth to grasp the rounded lead pipe, the spanner had flat parallel edges that were adjusted to fit the flat corners of a square or four-sided nut, or otherwise flat-sided nuts of say eight sides, for example.

Neither of these wrenches should be confused with a lead pipe cinch, which is a sure thing, sometimes used to refer to sure profits, such as those made by monopolistic wealthy people.  By extension, a lead pipe cinch would be a certainty, unlike my turn one street late onto Bow from Arrow, instead of Archer--winding up at the intersection of Bow and Arrow.  

There I sat, musing about the old-time tool I was running out to buy, really for the first time in my life.  When I owned my first house, I borrowed a pipe wrench from my father-in-law.  The second house we bought, was near my own father's house, so I would borrow his when I needed one.  Shortly after that, my father-in-law sold his last house and gave me a box of his old tools, including his pipe wrench.  I'd kept it until my son bought his first house, and I had what I thought was my last house on the market.  I gave it to him.  Now, I am about to buy a house again.  This seemed to be an apocryphal moment, but....

Later that day, I was driving my car back home after having jump-started it for the second time--this time to buy a new battery for way more than I wanted pay.  As I grumbled to myself about the battery and its cost driving back home, I was glaring through the windshield at the mess on it.  What was it that I was struggling to see the road through?  Well, it was white, sort of, and splattered over most of it.  The place we have lived in for the past couple of years has no garage, so the car is parked beneath a large live oak, which shelters birds of all sorts throughout the year, and well, you get the idea, my windshield view was obscured by a lot of bird "stuff."  I knew the cause of my sh***y outlook on life today, in more ways than one.  Was this another apocryphal moment?  Nope, apocryphal really means fictitious or erroneous.  The word people like me who use it--or misuse it--these days, really are looking for the word epiphany--'a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something.”  I thought these were apocryphal moments (little ones) but they were really minor epiphanies.  Oh well.  What's in a name?   

Sailing Along, Unaware

As we sailed tonight on our rented cat,
'cross wakes and tides and all of that,
I gave no thought to any dying,
easily done not a bit of trying.

We watched the setting sun,
Breezing along, cool as could be.
Joy, sails, and friends as one,
But his absence didn't touch me.

Arriving home, a mix of blessing
A friend lost long ago, now passed.
Another sends a note addressing
Connecting now, not in the past.

50 Cent, Uncle Scrooge and the Almighty Dollar

50-Cent, Uncle Scroge and The Almighty Dollar

Does anyone else see the irony? 50 Cent has filed for bankruptcy protection...Irony? The dictionary says "the expression of one's meaning by using language that normally signifies the opposite, typically for humorous or emphatic effect." The name 50 Cent literally means he is all about the money, doesn't it? Oh, and 50 Cent needs protection... Have you ever seen this guy? Talk about fearsome.

Just so we're clear, this is personal bankruptcy, and does not affect his various business interests and, as his attorney explains, this " just allows him the chance to pursue an orderly reorganization of his financial affairs." 50 Cent told the Wall Street Journal he still hopes to become a billionaire one day, and if it doesn't work out, "I'll be extremely disappointed and feel like I haven't done what I was supposed to do."  Sounds almost like a higher calling.

50 Cent himself points out that even Walt Disney once filed for personal bankruptcy protection. Oh, yeah? Are you sure it wasn't one of his characters? Was it just some Mickey Mouse stuff? I don't know, it sounds Goofy to me.

Ah, but back to 50 Cent--he is beset by some personal setbacks in two recent civil cases, and thus he faces some significant challenges and "needs protection." Even those of us who aren't named after money have the need for bankruptcy protection. But maybe having a monetary name makes it more difficult, not easier. By making it big early this man named for money has stumbled. To whom should he turn for help? A couple of options come to mind. He could take heed of some advice from another person whose name means money--like , let's say the Reverend Creflo Dollar. Or, perhaps he can continue to follow in the footsteps of Walt Disney. 

As it turns out, if Mr. Disney had money troubles, Uncle Scrooge McDuck was probably involved in Disney's bankruptcy adventure referred to by Mr. 50 Cent above. You remember Scrooge McDuck--he had a giant room filled with gold where he enjoyed spending time, as I recall. Scrooge McDuck was not always highly successful. He stubbed his toe (do ducks have toes in those webbed feet?) a few times prospecting for gold before he struck it rich in the Klondike.

Recently, the Motley Fool (financial and investing advice web site) published a story on this highly successful billionaire, Scrooge McDuck. Given his earlier mention of Walt Disney as a well-known figure in whose footsteps he is already following, perhaps 50 Cent ought to look to those tips based on Uncle Scrooge's career.

1. Work harder (but smarter) than everyone else, and keep an eye out for con men. Says McDuck, "Life is filled with tough jobs, and there'll always be sharpies to cheat me ... well, I'll be tougher than the toughies and sharper than the sharpies, and I'll make my money square!"
2. Don't ignore the value of good connections to family or friends.   Young Scrooge comes to America with little more than the clothes on his back in "The Master of the Mississippi," but one of the first things he does is seek out his riverboat-captain uncle. Scrooge's only connection in his new country makes him a teen aged riverboat captain several years later.      
3. Persistence pays off ... eventually.  There wasn't gold at the end of most of Scrooge's rainbows, but in "The New Laird of Castle McDuck," he reaffirms his overriding optimism by exclaiming that "there's always another rainbow!" Scrooge's story is familiar to many entrepreneurs and self-made men, who often go through several failed ventures before they find one that really works.     
4. Sometimes what you really need is a stroke of luck.   Scrooge spent years trying and failing to strike it rich around the world before finally finding a gold deposit in the Yukon. The value of hard work and an expert knowledge of prospecting surely helped him discover the gold. However, in Scrooge's origin story, it's made clear that much of his success comes from having arrived in the Yukon before the gold rush began, and then happened to chance upon a completely isolated spot in Canada.     
5. Put your money to work for you.  Two years after Scrooge found gold in the Yukon, he'd pulled enough out of the ground to become a millionaire. At the prevailing exchange rate of the day, that means he'd managed to dig up about 3,300 pounds of the stuff. After that, he decided to become a businessman -- and that business, naturally enough, was bank ownership. According to "The Billionaire of Dismal Downs," Scrooge became a billionaire within five years of transitioning from laborer to lender, 

On the other hand, look at Creflo Dollar. Now here's somebody well on his way to financial security. He's the well-known minister in the World Changers Church International, whose Megachurch outside Atlanta, which cost $18 million and seats 8,500 members for services. Dollar owns multiple million dollar personal residence and was recently rewarded with a $65 million Gulfstream aircraft for his travel needs. 

The secret, I think, is found in his teachings. He espouses the "Prosperity Theology," which Wikipedia describes as "a Christian religious doctrine that financial blessing is the will of God for Christians, and that faith, positive speech, and donations to Christian ministries will increase one's material wealth." Wealth is interpreted in prosperity theology as a blessing from God, obtained through a spiritual law of positive confession, visualization, and donations. Donations, donations and more, with several hundred thousand members in his church, Creflo has it made. 

 Except for the deeply flawed mission of turning church contributions in the tens of millions of dollars to his own use (ownership of two Rolls Royces, three multimillion dollar homes and a private jet).  Think of the good that could have been accomplished with all those contributions.

So, 50 Cent, what will it be--your own Disney World or will you try Creflo's approach to  produce some "Prosperity Entertainment?"  Do you hear a higher calling or a low one?