Tradition, Tradition

Traditions Have Their Ups and Downs

How many cookie monsters do you know?  Thirty-seven years ago (or maybe thirty-six, I can’t be sure) I became one.  I know who set it in motion—it was Jane.  She shared a gift and with it a recipe.  Since that Christmas, we have prepared countless batches of them.  They have marched with us from Indiana to Atlanta to Savannah and beyond.   They became a Christmas tradition of which we grew quite fond. 

It became mine alone (for a time, at least) more than thirty years ago.  Our schedules at work set most of this in motion.  I worked days (some of them long) during the week, she worked retail—and that meant nights and weekends.  We couldn’t do it together, but it had to be done, so it became mine to do—with the help of our two little elves.   By the time we made our next corporate move (to Savannah), the elves had both outgrown what we never could--one was away at college, the other in high school.  Neither thought much (or as much as we did) of our tradition.  Some of this is explained by age—before I say it was their ages, perhaps it was ours. 

The explanation might just turn on how much older we were.  The young do not instinctively respect traditions, while olders cling to them.   We continued to make the traditional treats for the next seven years, then moved on to the Lowcountry of South Carolina.  Not two years into our stay there, we started a tradition ourselves.  For thirteen years, we adults have gathered to make them ourselves, even giving them to the youngers who have chosen not to keep it up that we know of. 

Last year, we added two of our contemporaries to this older sort of event.  There were a couple of bumps in the road this year.  First, we noticed as we broke things up and divided our production (I would never call them the “spoils.”), that the production was much darker in color.  We shrugged, and headed home.  The next morning, we noticed these darker-hued products were harder, too.  In fact, they were more rocky than crisp.  That morning, I had two more batches to cook, so I set to work, turning on the oven and setting the preheat temperature. 

 

It was then I noticed it, the previous day, when I arrived, I had asked our baker to raise the temperature.  I was sure the recipe called for a higher cooking temp.  As it turns out, I was wrong.  Looking at the recipe (written on an old card more than thirty years old), I realized I had caused the overcooking of the prior day’s output.   I sent out a note to the prior day’s participants, explaining my mistake, and promising to replace it all, which I did. 

In taking the additional steps that required, I had to prepare two new batches of dough the next day to replace the batches I cooked to keep my commitment to replace the bad batches.  Are you with me so far?   I couldn’t even follow it all.

Consequently, I made a mixing mistake on one of those batches, which I realized that afternoon, and was able to correct by doubling the size of one of these new batches.  When they rolled out of the oven, it all worked out (as far as I know so far).  So what’s next?  Will the mistakes become traditional?  Stay tuned   

The Falling Catch

If any of you recall

I’m quite sure you will agree

That always most of all

His wish most fervent was to be

One who made her days happy

We realized this truth

Much later than we ought

His actions and his words forsooth

We disregarded even as we thought

Who is this fool her beauty had now brought.

Yes he was lost in love, you see,

But by his action in that moment he stood tall

Risking his own life for hers to be

Seeing him for the first time when he risked it all

She knew he’d caught her after all

 

User ID's and the Rolling Stones

All your User ID’s and your passwords—

They are surely never-to-be hacked words.

They’re all stored safely in your Icloud,

And never ever are they spoken out loud

They probably shouldn’t be written in a journal

You wouldn’t want to be asking to be hacked in person

There’s no safe place to store those passwords infernal

Things never stand still and at times they worsen.

You see, I’ve lost my password to my own icloud,

The Rolling Stones used to say "Hey You, Get off of my cloud”

But there’s a new update for the millennial crowd,

It’s a brand new chorus of which they are proud—
The new version goes “Hey, you—Get off my icloud”

ACTIONS SPEAK

At times some "famous" people talk and talk

About what they would do

if some future something came about

Then, uh-oh it comes true.

It’s said then they must walk their talk

Which they can’t seem to do

Instead, they still just talk and talk

That’s where I learned it’s really true

When that "famous" one talks and talks at times like these

Instead of standing up, then surely everyone agrees

And few would balk or raise a squawk

When I use yet another word and that is “doubletalk”

What am I going to do now?

I was reminded today that we will all go away some time--I learned that the third of the dozen or so people I know when I was very young has departed this life.  I know, there are probably people for whom this has taken place before they were even twenty years of age.  That is sadder than sad, but it doesn't describe my experience.  In my life, I lost just one close friend before I was twenty.  It was hard to understand, and I probably did  less to try to understand it than I did other mysteries that life was casting my way.

At that age, I made choices that had a massive impact on my life.  I chose friends, a spouse, a career, and more.  Decisions, their consequences, the losses and the gains that resulted were probably more random than I'd care to admit, but why have they turned out so well?  No, I don't mean they were all tremendous, well thought out or wise.  They were just choices I made as I rambled through this life.

There was no deep inner wisdom provided to me that allowed me to make sensational choices and decisions.  I was just fortunate for some reason, and I just don't know why exactly, but I am grateful.   But back to the subject at hand.  When I learn of these events these days, it is cause for reflection.  What am I doing with my life to make certain that I have done the best I can?

Am I still stumbling along this path without really being conscious of how fleeting this life is?  Does this man's departure tell me to change my direction?  Would I know what to do if I became convinced of this?  Still, I plod ahead, hoping to spot the good choices, seizing the right moments, and struggle against the urge to sit this one or that one out.  Every day is special for every one of us if we only just keep moving and maintain contact with the important people in your life--whether they respond today or not--they will probably show up at the most improbable time.

Watching Me Change What I Read

I can almost precisely recall the moment I started the change.  I had closed the Kindle on one of Tess Gerritsen's Rizzoli and Isles murder mysteries.  I was exactly 33% through this book and had learned that the mad murderer in her first book had escaped prison and would soon be joining the mad murderer that had become the focus of Jane Rizzoli's pursuit in this, Gerritsen's second book.  It made me retch.  I vowed to work my way down a list of "8 books that will make you laugh out loud" before I look at another murder mystery. Why eight? Which eight?  I don't know, it was just a heading I'd seen to the top of a newspaper article I had not stopped to actually read.   It's not so much that I am unable to handle gruesome details in some of the murder books--I'd read stories about some pretty disgusting characters, and there was precious little comfort to be found in knowing these were fictional. I finally found it just wasn't much fun to read about them anymore.

The next day, after spending a discouraging half hour in Barnes and Noble, ignoring all impediments to the stubborn pursuit of my prey--those "... books that will make you laugh out loud," I settled for two of the 45 different books I had found listed when I asked google for such a list.  There were actually a total of 47 entries, one was a duplicate and one did not understand my question and provided the name of a record  that was not a book at all.  I actually had to refine my list by skipping the "guaranteed to make you laugh out loud," and "Hilarious books that will make you laugh out loud" and 'YA books that will make you laugh out loud." Then I looked at the first four lists, which, after dropping duplicates on those lists, added up to the 45 titles I pursued.  There were no instances of an author's name repeated in the list (excepting, of course the duplicate books I mentioned). That evening I read the first story from one of the two books I had found and found I was not sick to my stomach (as I had been when I closed the murder mystery the night before). I decided to revisit the feeling that had prompted this business.

Giving the matter a bit of factual examination, I set about making a list of the past fifty or so books I read recently.  The first thing i noticed was that I had no way to establish a start or an end date--I mean, who makes a note of when they start and/or finish a book?  Oops, I should have said "what normal person." etc... Anyway, I decided to compromise and look at "recently" as the truly vague period it is intended to describe.

Several things I found took me by surprise.  First, I could not tell what I had read when.  The best way I had to approximate it turned out to be by looking at the Kindle.  I am not sure when I got my first Kindle, but this is my third.  Looking at my bookshelves wasn't much help--I usually give away most actual physical books, be they paperback or hardcover,  

Three or four times a year, I fill a couple of boxes or grocery bags with books and give them to the local Friends of the Library organization.  Just focusing my attention on the Kindle, I can make a few observations.  I'd estimate that I have read nearly three hundred murder mysteries _recently."  The investigators range from a dog (partnered with a human, of course) who narrates eight of these books to women who are lawyers, private investigators, sheriffs, homicide detectives, medical examiners and forensic anthropologists (Yes, Virginia, "Bones" is not technically a medical examiner), and then there were the men who occupied many of the same roles as private and municipal and even state police officers, lawyers for the prosecution and for the defense and investigators attached to the district attorney's office.

Counting them up is an art and not a science, since many of the e-books were available to count on the device, and actual books I had to estimate by looking at the series in order and adding in the earlier books on those lists that I knew I had read prior to the ones that appeared on the Kindle.  A few years ago, I started filling in any gaps in old series by ordering them as e-books, and became very disciplined about reading new series that I had found in strict order so I would not have to reach back and check plot lines to determine whether or not I had read them.  This last method has proven difficult.  I have found myself reading two books for a second time (of course, that means I bought them twice (I think)

Using this method I realized that virtually all of the books I have read in, let's say the past ten to fifteen years, were murder mysteries and far outweighed any other genre.  Books like that have started to wear me down.  How long will this persist?  Of that I cannot be sure.  For a change, I look now for books that will make me laugh, not make my heart pound, etc.  I am being somewhat strict with myself about this.  If I don't laugh out loud in the first third of the book, I set it aside.  So far, I am one for two.  Maybe I will try balancing them--one serious and one humorous.  Maybe I'll cheer up.  A certain person I know has taken to describing me as "terminally crabby," so I probably have a ways to go.

How did I get to my estimate?  Let's see--reading John Sanford's Prey series amounted to 28 books, Adding in a few of the Virgil Flowers' books and an individual book or two took me up to 33 by Mr.  Sandford,   Then twenty-four Sue Grafton's Kinsey Milhone's Alphabet Series.  Michael Connelly--19 Harry Bosch, five Lincoln Lawyer, Robert Crais--five Elvis Cole books, and four Joe Pikes, Seven by Harlan Coben, Nine by J. A. Jance, Eight by Laurie King, From John Lescroart, there were Fifteen Dismas Hardy, tnree Hunt Club, and three Abe Glitsky stories. Seven of Richard Castle's Nikki Heat series (yes there is a "real" Richard Castle, or so we  think), two by Elmore Leonard (the Raylan books), Eleven of Kathy Reichs' "Bones" series.  A dozen or more Spenser for Hire, six Jesse Stone and  Gresham Oh, and don't let me forget Tess Gerritson, I'm working on my second of hers.  Thirteen Women's Murder Club mysteries by James Patterson, Fifteen V.I. Warshawski books by Sara Paretsky, and a dozen or more single books by authors that left me wanting less and not more.  That's more than 200 murder mysteries,Time to come up for air? 

CIVIL WAR’S TWO SKEDADDLES

  

On a quiet kayak ride with a single wooden paddle

We came upon Beaufort of the Great Beaufort Skedaddle

Yes the Great Skedaddle was a civil war battle.

But the Great Beaufort Skedaddle took place on a day

When the white town of Beaufort in a panic ran away.

When they learned a Yankee general had made plans to invade,

So, every white landowner fled to escape that raid.

Those plantation owners left for good it turns out,

Leaving thousands of Gullah people newly freed, no doubt.

And they stayed on in Beaufort and the cotton plantations

Forming towns of freed slaves, the first in the nation.

On those fine Sea Islands down Georgia way.

                        

A Couple More....

Making Short Work of Long Thoughts

Short poetry's considered a prize 
When one has to quickly memorize. 
but why bother then
picking up that pen
when there's no space to philosophize

Being

'To be or not to be' said a poet far greater than me

But these days the question arises and  

You begin to wonder--
as your friends start to wander--

that mysterious yonder... 
It's something to ponder. 

Your lifelong afterlife belief

Is supposed to grant you some relief

As you contemplate your end alone

And you wish a certain someone would telephone

Or maybe text

about what's coming next

But instead you just struggle to be.