Few Semivowels and Many Mutes

I'm learning from a poet about consonants
some that are semivowels which draw things out
and others--the mutes that make things stop.

Sometimes while chasing a rhyme we like, we either jump or climb or hike,
And miss the sibilant whisper of some softer sisters we might like.
Or use the softer consonants that won't make our readers stop

If we'd just halted the hard-stopping mutes;
Used a few liquids, to draw things out
Making possible a handful of beauts...
Instead they slip'd away and merely flop.

While the sisters use silken whispers
So softly spinning their yarn--
We, of course, chose a thread more coarse
and rode that mighty rhyming horse
into this dusty barn

Post Script to Calling All Genres

I knew it was going to happen, even as I began listing murder and suspense series that I would leave out important ones.  I accepted that, but only when I realized which of them would come first to haunt me did I realize I would need to post this admission/addition.  I left out Lawrence Block, who has written three of my favorites--the Matthew Scudder detective series about a gritty, yet honorable detective who often did what he did without the benefit of a paying client.  These all had marvelous titles--A Drop of The Hard Stuff, When the Sacred Gin Mill Closes, Time TO Murder and Create, A Dance At the Slaughterhouse--to name a few.

Another series from Mr. Block were the Bernie Rhodenbarr series about Bernie, a seemingly ordinary Joe (or Bernie), who just happened to be a frequent  burglar--a few of those titles: The Burglar in the Closet, Burglars Can't Be Choosers, The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza, The Burglar Who Painted Like Mondrian, Tbe Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart, The Burglar Who Traded Ted Williams.  The list probably tells you that Bernie was a humorous figure, unlike Matt Scudder above.

There were several other series, but I'll just mention m=one more.  It was a series with an anti-hero of sorts named Keller.  Keller, it seemed was a pretty ordinary guy who just happened to be a hit man.  His adventures and the twists that occurred in his secret life were entertaining is a wicked sort of way.  I often felt a little guilty if I enjoyed one a little too much.

The other author I omitted, and I can't tell you why, was the legendary Elmore Leonard.  While he wrote many a tale of murder and suspense, I don't think he had any series.  Each novel stands on its own, and they are all special in their own way.  He did have a repeating character called Raylan Givens, but the books really didn't seem like a series.  In any event, Leonard was truly a novelist.  What he wrote was often memorable, and captured my attention.  A surprising number of his books were made into movies--Get Shorty, The Big Bounce, Mr. Majestyk, Glitz, Jackie Brown...  In any event, he was a fine writer.  As my penance for leaving him off the list, I bought his book, Telling Lies for Fun and Profit, A Manual for Fiction Writers.

Since I wrote the original post on this subject, I have picked up two books to take me off the all-too-familiar path of misused, suspense and international intrigue.  One is Bill Bryson's memoir, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, and a philosophy book entitled, Plato and a Platypus Walk Into A Bar...  Both have been most enjoyable.

Calling All Genres

Yes, I want a meeting with representatives of all the major genres in fiction novels.  I had thought previously that "genre" was  one of those words that are not properly pluralized by adding the "s," but I wasn't sure but I went with the plural anyway, as I want as many of them as I can fit in the little meeting hall that is my brain these days.   Also, my spell check says it is OK, so I'm going with it.  

I h   I am calling the meeting because I feel the need for a change.  I have been a dedicated fan of detective fiction for a long time, usually with murder as the central crime.  Whether it is John Sanford's Lucas Davenport pursuing a serial killer or Kathy Reich's Temperance Brennan searching for clues in forensic anthropology to solve murders where bones are pretty much all is left of the victim; or Richard Castle (yes, there really is one--an honest-to-goodness writer who knows a pretty detective very well) helping Nikki Heat lead her homicide team to the guilty party; or Robert Parker's Spenser pursuing suspects as a private detective with "friends" in the local and state police there to take away the killer or killers once Spenser finds them; or the same Robert Parker's Jesse Stone, a police chief in a small town outside of Boston, where he wound up after a fall from grace in the LA Police Department, and a dance with the bottle to accompany him on the way down, solving crimes with an occasional assist from Captain Healy of the Massachusetts state police; or it might be Harlan Coben's Myron Bolitar, the pro basketball player whose ruined knee in his first game in the pros left him finding a new career as a sports agent/bodyguard/detective helping his clients solve crimes from kidnapping to grand larceny to murder; or it could be Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch, a loner who solves cases new and old in the LA Homicide Division, where he makes his own rules at times to get his man; or it might be John Lescroart's Abe Glitsky, a homicide captain in San Francisco, or Lescroart's defense attorney and sometime detective, Dismas Hardy (and Abe Glitsky's friend, by the way); or Connelly's Lincoln Lawyer, Mickey Haller, a defense attorney who operates his law practice out of the trunk of his chauffeured Lincoln;  or yet another John Lescroart series of Hunt Club mysteries solved by Wyatt Hunt and his friends; or Sue Grafton''s Kinsey Milhone alphabet series (A is for Alibi, on up to W is for Wasted, and X ), where Kinsey, a private detective, solves crimes in Santa Teresa, a fictional small[town in California; or Janet Ivanovich's Stephanie Plum, a some time bonding agent, /detective each volume bears a numerical title (I gave up at Fearless Fourteen, when the formulaic on again-off again romances with a policeman and a serious, hunky bonding agent became boring to me);or even J..A. Jance's J.P. Beaumont Series about a long-time homicide detective in Seattle,; or Spenser Quinn's Chet and Bernie series featuring a detective agency consisting of a man, Bernie, and his dog, Chet, the narrator of the stories; or Robert Crais' L.A. detective Elvis Cole and his strong silent partner, ex-Marine Joe Pike; or David Baldacci's Amos Decker, the detective with the perfect injury stemming form a football head-injury received in his first play in the NFL then some lesser-known characters like John Sanford;s Virgil Flowers, Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension Agent, and J. A. Jance's Sheriff Joanna Brady or Ali Reynolds; I have just gotten tired of it all.  

Then there are the political thrillers with or without international conspiracy and intrigue, Rob Shumaker's Richard Schumaker series each one named in similar fashion--fill in the blank--followwed by the words "In The Capital" or Baldacci's Shaw series about the reluctant mercenary, by the name of,--guess what--Shaw--saving the world; or all the Bond spy novels and John Le Carre, or (on and on); or the wandering loner, ex Army MP, homeless on purpose--Lee Child's  Jack Reacher; or Alex Berenson's former Army MP John Wells, saving the world and interrupting terror attacks just in the nick of time; or Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan stories of political intrigue and international terror, and now the Jack, Jr. series that continues after Mr. Clancy's passing; or Hank Sutherland JAG lawyer, dealing in  international crises, or Carolyn Arnold's Brandon Fisher FBI series; I could go on, but I've read so many of them, I leave out whole sets of series (I almost went with series of series since "series" is the plural form of "series," but I settled on sets of series--it seemed less awkward.), zske for example, Robert Ludlum's stuff, including, but not limited to the whole Jason Bourne thing; or Fletcher Knebel's political thrillers, the best of which was and is Seven Days in May.  Then don't forget Frederick Forsyth, and his crime/thrillers like The Day of The Jackal.  

I've read and then given away many, many others--and don't ask me to recall them all.  The important theme here is they are all about murder, mayhem and disaster.  Entertaining?  Yes, they have been, but I want to hear from a few other genres, especially ones with humor and more pleasant things to contemplate than murder, etc.  I want out--give me laughter, people having fun, enjoying life for a little while.  I have to specify one exception, Romance novels--sorry, it's just a personal thing, really--they bore me to tears.  I've brought this up to a couple of friends, and they suggested histories and another category I'm not sure how to name--the example is Bill Bryson's The Life and Times of The Thunderbolt Kid.  I think this might be a small niche in the memoir genre, because it's more dedicated to humor than anything else, I think.  As for history, it is a rare history that will keep my attention, but there have been a few, for example a few years ago I read a fine book on FDR, The Man He Became: How FDR Defied Polio to Win the Presidency, but, as I said, there have only been a few that held my attention.  I think I'll go with Bryson, even if he isn't his own genre.

Visiting Hospitals, Urgent Care Centers Doctors a Dentist and an Endodontist--A Lesson

You know the expression "Some things never get old?"  It really doesn't apply all that much when you're one of the "old things."  Actually, visits to the above-entitled institutions recently have made me feel younger and healthier, which are relative terms of course, and if you're coming out of these places Imagining yourself as younger and healthier, consider the case of the Chinese sage, Chuang-Tzu.  He awoke one day from a dream in which he was a butterfly, or, he wondered, was he really a butterfly who was now dreaming he was Chuang-Tzu?      

But forget about whether it makes you feel younger or healthier (if someone your age can imagine something like that); reflect on any recent experience you have had and consider whether it left you feeling more joyous, more whole, more comfortable, more satisfied (perhaps even healthier?)--whatever.  A trip to the doctor's office, the urgent care or even the hospital bears the potential to leave you feeling worse off.  Even if they do leave you feeling better off, I will wager you wish you had never had to go there in the first place (hey, that's not fair for those of you who go there to work and to help others to bet me, you are the exception, although some who do this work find it less than satisfying, too--but I am wandering off the point).  The bold statement I wanted to make was this--this stuff gets old.  Give me six months (6 weeks?) without the need to visit any of the aforementioned places and that, my friends, would indeed be a thing that would never get old.

Now the fact is that none of these visits was caused by a life-threatening condition, but that only makes it that much more annoying,  Shame on me, I complain about all these humdrum things that led up to my visit, when there are people who go in there in extreme circumstances.  And we don't need a television drama set in a hospital to remind us of that.  The serious things, the life-threatening ones, are not the ones I am talking about.  I'm talking about the visits where the ER triage leaves you waiting until you are the last one there.  "Oh, yeah, you need treatment, but not nearly as badly as this or that other person."  Even at the endodontist's office, he apologizes for taking three hours to do your root canal, which ended up taking him about 15 minutes of actual work.  "Sorry," he says, "I had an emergency come in."  It gets old.  

But everything is relative, and "what is important and necessary" for you is not the same as what is "important and necessary" for everyone else.  Think about the man who was praying to God.  "Lord," he prays, "I would like to ask you a question."  Believe it or not, Our Lord answers him, "No problem.  Go ahead."  He asks, 'Lord, is it true that over a million years to you is but a second?"  Our Lord replies, "yes, that is true."  So the man asks, "Well, then, what is a million dollars to you?"  Our Lord responds, "A million dollars to me is but a penny."
"Ah, then Lord, will you give me a million dollars?"  "Sure," says the Lord, "Just a second."   

I just can't think of anything more to say.  Einstein understood relativity, not me.            

The Game Is Monopoly

Did anybody ever figure out a way to shorten Monopoly?  I remember liking that game when I was young, but giving it a pass once i realized how long it could take to finish.  And I have lived most of a lifetime never regretting it.  But now, I have to face this all over again--My wife wants to buy the grandkids a Monopoly bored or is it "board?"

Maybe Google knows..

I'm back, and--I am not making this up--there is, in fact, a way to shorten the game to only four hours (instead of 70 days--the longest game reported on that bank of all intelligence that is Google)--JUST FOLLLOW THE RULES!  

It seems that Monopoly, which was created in 1935 and sold by Parker Brothers (Since taken over by Hasbro), is played by most people "the way we've always played it."  This usually means that people or, rather, little kids are taught the game by playing it with others --like parents or older siblings.  This demonstration approach is easier and more fun than actually reading the rules.  Not only do you get the actual game started faster.  It''s a ton less boring than reading the rules. 

The down side of this is that nearly everyone misses a crucial rule.  If a player lands on a property and chooses not to buy it, "The banker then auctions the property, and the property goes to the highest bidder."  And, "The bidding may start at any price."  All players may bid, including the player who landed on the property and chose not to purchase it in the first place.  It is said that this speeds the game up by allowing people to acquire the full set of properties and thus begin building properties, which raises the rent and so on...

The auctions immediately create more interaction among the players earlier in the game, as they try to bluff, trick and otherwise dupe the other players into doing what they want them to do.  In short, to behave like little capitalists. Once that is accomplished, Monopoly becomes more instructive about life and business in general; making it more fun for all your young, budding capitalists.   

It turns out there are a couple of other rules that are not included in the word-of-mouth approach by which we were all taught--money may be borrowed only from the bank, and only by mortgaging property.  Borrowing from other players is forbidden.   The other little known rule is that only one hotel may be placed on a property.  I can't remember the intricacies of the game well enough to tell you what effect the latter rule might have, except to prevent overly dense development.  But I do remember the loans between players that taught another important life lesson about dealing with loan sharks that only television series and movies about gangsters will now teach.

Now I fear, we will soon have the chance to see it in action--I'm pretty sure Grandma had made up her mind already and would buy the game regardless of my objection.  Furthermore, I think I will be compelled to play myself to ensure these long-lost rules  about the  auction process, loan-sharking and over-developing are applied.    Or maybe I can just leave it to another of the estimated 1 billion people who have played Monopoly since it was introduced. If I live to tell, I will report back.
   

Journal Entry April 27, 2016

(In his mind's eye he owned a small aluminum fishing boat, which he took out when he needed time to  harbor a pleasant image of mindfulness when he found himself dwelling on something that got him down.)

He'd hooked his old aluminum fishing boat to his truck
and taken off at dusk the night before,
and found room at a small inn, where he could listen to
those small waves, and they'd listen to him. too

To make this trip pleasant, he had to do a thing or two
He'd have to be up early, early in the morning to do
So there he was out hunting--before breakfast--
but not coffee, that was true

In the early morning light of that sleepy Carolina fishing village
along the river to the sea (of these only a few remain),
he took a walk along the docks and looked about
for what he'd need to make a go of this last-minute trip.

There are a few chores necessary to this periodic quest
for a peaceful respite from his daily far-too-normal world.
One was launching his little boat
alone in the cold morning of each day,

Another was the daily grind of lining up for fuel
to fill his little outboard, with those over-sized behemoths--
the cigarette boats that fill the waters these days,
sounding like denizens of truck stops, what a pain.

The remedies he sought this early morning were two
a little space to dock, to tie up and rest when he'd need to,
and a couple of those small red tanks to carry a bit of fuel.
If he used it sparingly, he'd have gas enough for a day or two.

Along the dock, he saw some spaces that might work.
But he kept finding there was no one to tell his story to
Then he came across a fair-skinned woman,
likely half his age who sat right down to listen.

With a bit of patients patience, he cajoled a special rate
almost free of charge in fact, just a little space
along the stretch of dock she ran
there, along the river front.

He mentioned almost in passing,
his distaste for his next task, floating over
to that fuel pump, to fill the smallish tank
of his old outboard motor, over and over.

She nodded sympathetically, and told him
if he'd invest a bit of time and muscle to refill on his first visit
all those tanks lined up there against her stand,
she'd lend him two at her special rate--free of charge in fact.

Back in his room at the inn,
he made an entry in his journal,
more to Christina than to himself:
"Good buy--dock and tanks"
(Good bye, doc--and thanks)    

The Active Lifestyle

...and we danced all night
'til the morning light
came billowing from the East.

Still it should be told
as we're growing old,
that we've had fun at least.

We waited so long
but now we'll sing our song
to the once-feared local beast.

"Come back, little laddie
and you'll be our caddy
as we run the cart
through the wildest part
and drive all the way to the sea."