No this is not about biology. It is about my adventure in acquiring a mobile phone, Virgin Mobile to be precise. I very wisely decided that while traveling in California last month it would be wise to acquire a cell phone as I could let people know that my train would arrive late etc. I meant to buy one before I left but somehow neglected to do so, but did so once I arrived. I bought Virgin because I didn't want any long-term contract or any sort of contract. I wanted a low-priced phone (it was under $30.00) and paid a nominal amount of pre-paid minutes.
Then I activated it and the damned thing would not work. I could not make or receive calls. The customer rep advised reprogramming it which I did and advised me to keep trying for a few days. I tried to call from a train to say I'd be late as the train had to stop for every freight train to pass as freight pays the railroad more than passengers do. No luck. Maybe it was because the signal was blocked by mountains. There were mountains everywhere I went but other people were successfully shouting into their phones. As it happened I spent the most time with friends who provided me with a phone and even the use of a computer so the mobile one languished.
When I returned home I finally did something about it or tried to. The company promised to ship a new phone to replace the defective one. A box promptly arrived. An empty box containing three small sealed plastic bags filled with air and a couple of shipping documents.
But I'm not giving up. Inconvenience and defective equipment hasn't stopped me yet. I'll keep trying until I get a phone that works or it's time to demand my money back.
Surely it doesn't mean that I'm not meant to have a mobile phone.....?
I am writing from the scenically splendid, cooly enlghtened part of the USA, California. The weather is great here on the left coast; in the interior of the state -- not so hot, or rather, too hot I am told. After all the hot weather back home in the Hudson Valley, and all the hot weather here this summer, it was clever, or lucky of me to arrive on the first day of cool air. Exiting LAX, it was surprising to enjoy the first breath of coolness in weeks.
I spent a week visiting a dear relative still depressed after the death of her husband last Jan., a wonderful man who was like a big brother to me years ago. She also has difficulty getting about, and with her vibrant lust for life (in spite of or between bouts of sadness) and having her driving licence taken away becase of poor vision, it's like being under house arrest for her. Fortunately a few good neighbors and friends, and a daughter, give her a lift once in a while. She has a habit of saying, "Yes, but..." when people try to give positive suggestions, so I don't know how much aid is actually out there but not taken advantage of.
Then I paid a lovely visit to my dear cousins Audrey and Robert in Arroyo Grande and got to see some of the spectacular scenery in San Luis Obispo County - took walks along the beaches as well as cliff walks with great views, really enjoyed the birds we don't have back East, like the pelicans fishing in the ocean and resting on small nesting rocks just offshore at one of the beaches up there. But greatest was just hanging out with these great people. What a great addition to our family Robert is. He hails from Cheltenham, from a family with Welsh origins, and grew up as a young lad in North London, where he says his heart is, despite moving to the beautiful Cotswolds when the family began to prosper.
I hated leaving them but was also eager to get to Ventura to visit a remarkable woman of whom I am lucky enough to be a friend. We had daily adventures driving through nearby areas which are most beautiful. Despite loving the seashore and the wonderful aroma of the sea, I was awed by the beautiful Ojai Valley, and the mountains.
I want to write more but time for dinner now. Hope to continue writing of this wondrous place soon.
In a comment on my Alzheimer's blog on July 20th, a question was asked which I could not answer. It was:
"Would it also be suitable for a patient who also has Down Syndrome?"
I passed it on to the author, Lydia Burdick, and she kindly provided this answer:
"What I would say is: I have heard that my book is effective with people from age 2 through the very elderly. And, as my book can be used on many levels, it can be read to the person, the person can be encouraged to read the book if they can (and if they can't or won't the book can be read to them), the illustrations can be talked about and questions can be asked about the illustrations and text. So, it is likely that someone with Alzheimer's who has Down Syndrome will probably enjoy the book with a partner on at least one level, and probably more than one."
I hope that if anyone has any other questions they will let me know and I will pass them on to Lydia.
I speak affectionately of my new optical mouse, especially as it doesn't have that nasty ball so prone to getting dirty. But I wasn't loving it this morning when the brilliant red light which replaced the ball turned dark. This happened in just a couple of hours while it sat idle -- machine not turned off, no electrical storms (which have been frequent this past month) on which I usually blame any untoward mechanical or electric event.
So after the usual, e.g., insulting it, calling to the gods of electronics for help, bemoaning my cruel fate, turning the computer on and off a few times, plugging and unplugging mouse which still languished on my table, I called Staples, the computer store. They're usually nice about returning and exchanging stuff so was about to head off there as invited by voice on phone, when I turned computer off and on just one more time. And the cursor moved. Go figure.
I was glad not to have to take the time to drive to the store as I am in the midst of packing and checking and rechecking to-do list in preparation for leaving for 3 weeks in California on the third of Aug. Any sane person would be planning a stay in Antarctica during this heat wave instead of going to a place which has been having an even hotter, murderous wave. But Calif. weather reports indicate the heat may ease up for awhile. Still, from LAX I will be going directly to Orange County, the O.C. of TV series fame, and that's sort of cool.
My visit there has been put off too often as I am planning to visit, at Seal Beach in the O.C., (among other people and places) an elderly much loved relative whose husband recently died and she's been wanting to see me again after years apart. So, although I will have access to computers from time to time I may not be blogging for awhile.
But soon I will be able to send my international postcard exchange card to Scotland from my vacation spot. I have already received a lovely card from Romania.
Whether you are in one of the healthcare professions, an Alzheimer’s caregiver, or have a relative or friend with that disease or suffering from a form of dementia, I think you will be interested in a book I recently learned of. It is called, “Sunshine on My Face: A Read-Aloud Book for Memory-Challenged Adults.” To learn more about this book please see http://www.twolapbooks.com/index.htm
To contact the author, Lydia Burdick, write her at lydia@twolapbooks.com
For overseas orders please go to your national www.amazon.com
You can also check her book at her publisher's website: http://www.healthpropress.com/store/activity.htm - -where the published book and her soon-to-be-published next book are written up.
Reading “Sunshine on My Face” aloud with a patient or someone you love has been reported to bring about positive results. Alzheimer’s patients who have hardly spoken for long periods have begun to communicate and can read this book aloud. But please read about it yourself and see if you are not favorably impressed by the results of its use. I do think that it can help people all over the world, not only Alzheimer's patients, but people who love them, and health professionals interested in learning of new techniques of communicating and treating them.
By the way I have not personally met the author yet, but she is a good friend of one of my daughters and that is how I learned of it, read about it, and decided that more people could benefit from learning about it.
It's Not Paranoia if Things Really Work Against Me
(woodbridge, July 13, 2006, 10:48 pm)
The Things I speak of are technical - the whole evil world of electronic thingies.
All I did was buy a new mouse. With my old mouse trying to make the cursor click where I want it to (or making it move a playing card to the one of your choice) is like trying to make a wildly wilful scent-crazed bee in a field of purple coneflowers alight on the flower of your choice, not his, so you see I really need a new one. But instead of buying one like the old one, I had set my sights on a cordless mouse. I bought one. A half hour or so ago I pulled out the old plug and tried to plug in the new one which is attached to the base of course, not the mouse, and it does not fit!. It is a different shape from the one the old one fitted in. That hasn't happened since I tried to buy a new mouse for my old computer and found it was already so obsolete that no mouse would fit it. I bought this new computer less than a year ago so can it already be obsolete? I'll find out tomorrow when I try to exchange it for a mouse that fits.
Some mornings it doesn't seem worth it to gnaw through the leather straps. -- Emo Phillips
As Jack the Lass - http://www.wibsite.com/wiblog/jackthelass/ - and I were both going to be away from home this summer, I gratefully responded to her call for a postcard exchange rather than participate in the WISE book exchange. Yesterday I received a very nice card from her of St. Michael's [Catholic} Church in Cluj, Transvylania. It's a panoramic photo so gives a great view of the imposing structure dating back to the 14th C. A very interesting note from JtL too but I won't share the contents as she has kept us informed in her blog of much of what she's been up to with tourist activities, studying, etc.
I'm looking forward to my trip to California where I will spend time with my very scarce relatives. My parents were by far the youngest of their siblings, so I was (am) the youngest of all my cousins, which wasn't much fun on family get-togethers. No one produced a lot of offspring either, most of whom are living in California. So that gives me the opportunity to visit after a long time between trips and to explore some sites which I have never seen.
I am looking forward to swimming in the Pacific again, which I haven't done since I visited Hawaii. It's a marvellous experience. I miss swimming too because there's no convenient place to swim here. The closest is the high school swimming pool. Other, nicer outdoor spots require a longish drive to reach. It would be nice if we could swim in the Hudson River, but maybe it's still too polluted although some cleanup is going on. Slowly. Also it probably the current would be too dangerous. It would be quite an adventure to be swept downstream and carried all the way to New York City and be rescued by a N. Y. C. fireboat or the Staten Island Ferry! That's if one made it alive.
..... or anyone else who talks too loud in public, with or without an amplification device, whether in public conversation or on cell phones -- will you please lower your voice. (Fat chance)
As you probably know, once again the UK has taken the lead in practicing good manners in the Case of the Oxford Circus Preacher who faces jail time for violating ABRO.
Reading about it in my Reuters Oddly Enough bloglines feed today reminded me of the long-ago-time that I was enjoying my morning subway ride to my job in Manhattan, trying not to stay awake, when the sancrosanct hush was violently broken by a man in civilian dress, holding a bible, and shouting at the top of his powerful lungs that we'd better get saved or he'd know the reason why. By the time we reached my stop, Grand Central or Times square (can't recall which), I was a headache-wracked wreck, not even fit for work. I alit from the car, so did the preacher, I spotted a transit cop, pointed the peace disturber, cried "Arrest that man for disturbing the peace!" The cop cried, "I'll get him for you!" and darted off.
The preacher, aware of the the danger he was in, slipped through the doors of another train across the platform just as they closed.
Can you imagine my frustration at being balked in my public-spirited effort to punish a law-breaker? The cop was disappointed too. I know that the Lord has said that vengeance is His - but this was righteous, a crime-fighting citizen on the job. Couldn't I have had just one test case? It would have been a cause celebre.
And now the time has come when the peace and quiet lovers will have their day in court.
Gosh I'm a poor proofreader. Hard to believe I one was paid to do it.
Now I think that there must have been a typo in trinouncement when I googled it the first time, as thankfully it's now there and looks good too. So if anyone noticed my previous blog and agreed that I am not too bright, they were right -- that one time at least!
Most of you are aware that Dave Walker is not only a talented cartoonist but also a gifted neologist. The Cartoon Blog is a place where he tries them out and where they seldom fall on deaf ears. Yet the latest, TRINOUNCEMENT, although hailed with great interest and applause, is still to be found by googling! Last weekend I was blocked from blogging it, then forgot until a few minutes ago.
So let's blog it, speak it, and use it to our hearts' content until it catches on in the English-speaking world and then some.
I just noticed I misspelled it at first, which is really not too bright but I think its okay now.
My daughter made a trinouncement about her wedding yesterday to me: 1. they've ordered the wedding cake; 2. it's going to have fresh flowers on it; 3. she's going to wear fresh flowers in her hear, hopefully from her garden, on the date, Sept. 30.
It's still raining, but not in torrents any more, for the moment. Extended forecast: rainy and cooler.
But that's not why I'm posting again mere hours after my last post. I feel I must say that just because I haven't encouraged my girls to have big long-and-carefully-planned weddings doesn't mean that I don't admire them, have enjoyed being a guest at some, and respect any couple who can focus that long, even a year or more in advance. It's just lazy me.
I love to watch the grand weddings on TV sometimes, with fittings, caterer consultations and addressing many invitations (and thank you cards). And I really admire someone like Maddie (Mad Teacher wiblog), who while holding down a fulltime job and boyfriend (I don't think that sounds right but fix it later maybe) has been doing that planning and preparation in a relatively short period of time.
I do think that I could spend endless hours planning a honeymoon because I've always loved trip planning and found it a most enjoyable part of the whole travel experience. So here's to the marital state, whether one arrives there via a brief civil ceremony in a municipal office, a "destination wedding" on a barely accessible tropical isle, in a grand ceremony in a marvellously decorated ballroom, in a humble but lovely country church, in the eyes of god or of L. Ron Hubbard. Let's salute all the lovers and romantics who take that path.
Some mornings it doesn't seem worth it to gnaw through the leather straps. -- Emo Phillips
I believed I had probably run out of excuses for not blogging, e.g., my creativity is being stifled, starved, or this or that calamity has caused me to run out of ideas. But, lucky me, I have come with a new one. After two or more weeks of rain my so-called creativity has become too soggy to ignite and the passion is gone.
Have you noticed that the word "passion" has become over-used? For example, people, asked for their pet peeve might reply, "People without passion!" or, chatting about dining out, one might say, "I don't care for what used to be my favorite bistro because the food no longer seems made with passion." It's not always clear what they mean by passion. I never knew it could be such a multi-use word. (The plumber who fixed the drip was simply oozing with passion!)
Speaking of passion daughter C. and her admirer, Jim, are engaged. To be married. I am pleased. Especially since I haven't been called upon to calm a hysterical bride to be for a year in advance of the ceremony. She's very sensible. At first I thought she was improbably turning into Bridezilla but that stage seems to be a thing of the past.
But then I was sensible too, and like C. we planned only an incredibly short time ahead because that was the way we wanted it. Family and friends, just a few, and that was it. Vows, exhortations, we were crowned, did the "dance," in and out of church in record time with the rings on our fingers, off to a a nice restaurant, thanks, tears, blessings etc. and we were on our way. Oh, and I shouldn't forget a few laughs, which bring smiles even today, such as on the way to the church, we met the priest, fr Iustinos, I think was his name, hurring anxiously along to find us because the wedding party was a bit late! Late for my own wedding! How much sang-froid does that reveal. Or inconsiderateness.
But what was I thinking to abruptly change course, so back to the fair C. 's nuptials. Worried about the Bridezilla effect, I even laughingly suggested an elopement to Las Vegas with an Elvis performing the rites. Then a wedding abroad. Too much red tape. Now it is to be performed in a park overlooking the Hudson River in mid-September. The groom's family is huge, and so is the number of his friends, but although C. is blessed with many friends, our family is small indeed. There'll be a multitude to be fed but I haven't learned about the nature of the feast.
The fiance has been showering his fiancee with gifts, the latest a fig tree. I recently read that it was probably the first plant that was cultivated by hunters and gatherers and sounds biblical and appropriate.
Anyway, it's all a pleasing prospect and makes me happy.
On May 3 I posted a blog about time I spend looking for lost objects, as per Dave’s cartoon, “My Life Broken Down in Segments,” in which I claimed that the amount of time that I spent looking for items which I just had just put down was over 12 hours annually. Last week, however, I believe that more that 75% of my time was taken up by searching for mysteriously disappearing objects. Here’s a partial list:
Monday, reading glasses. Located after an hour of wearing glasses with an old prescription, the frames of which are so heavy they caused deep indentations in the bridge of my nose which took a year to disappear after purchasing feather-weight frames. Location found: kitchen table, where I usually leave them, hidden under a plastic bag.
Tuesday, house keys. Had another safety-net set made a few months ago but it has long since been reported missing and confined to the Cold Case Files. I was confined indoors for the rest of the day and so preoccupied that I forgot to put out the recycling bin. I could have gone out to do this without being locked out if I had gone out through the back garden and been careful not to let the door slam behind me.
Wednesday. House keys found in a folded up umbrella which had been drying in a corner and which, when picked up to put away in a closet, gave up the keys.
Thursday. I must have done something good once as the key karma gremlin didn’t strike.
Friday. Plastic lid of refrigerator container. No matching lid available. Rather than shift the contents to another container I shoved the lidless one in a plastic bag and stuffed in the fridge. Not sure if that lid turned up or not but another one did.
This makes for a tedious existence. My creativity, such as it is, is being stifled. I am thinking of putting an ad in the classifieds for someone to follow me around and take note of where I leave things. Or, better yet, I could have cameras installed at many points to catch me in the act of putting things down. Maybe there ought to be a rehab center where one could go for group therapy to learn how to control forgetfulness. Maybe some pharmacist or M.D. reading this knows of an injection that could help. I've already tried gingko biloba but it won't do. I once tried it and learned I'm allergic to it after winding up in the emergency room. I once had a nice little basket where I put my keys immediately after entering the house but, er, it's filled with other things now. help .....
Recently I received a summons for jury duty. This act made me profoundly uneasy. I'm not sure why - it may be a throwback to the days when I lived in a place where that meant traveling to a city not far from home but where parking was difficult and or expensive. Or meant that I would use public transportation, convenient enough, but entailing listening to other people's conversations on unmentionable or disagreeable subjects. Sometimes it even meant traveling to a more distant city in New Haven County.
Now the courthouse is within walking distance and parking is convenient if I wished to drive there. I might even be called to a fairly interesting case. Still, one still has a chance to be let off if your name is on the right list. So I went to the .gov website where I was given the information that all jurors are excused from duty as all trials were cancelled on the date I was summoned. Great news. Even better, I will receive a four-year good service disqualification from further jury service if I fill out and return Part A of the summons for jury duty within ten days.
Since I am keen on doing my civic duty, consider it unthinkable not to vote and don't litter, I am not sure why I am averse to going to court. Part of it is I do not like judges, based mainly on those I have encountered while serving as a juror, as well as by reading of some judges' horrible decisions. Judges are often annoyingly egomaniacal, speaking of "my courtroom" which makes me want to shout, "no, it's the people's courtroom." They speak condescendingly to lawyers which is inappropriate whether they deserve it or not. The law is implacable and inexorable, but why should I, law-abiding and believing in the motto, "If you don't like a law, change it, don't break it" not wish to be in the presence of officers of the court?
Thanks jack for your great suggestions - ferns for shade garden sound great. Daughter C. loves lavender and has some and is planning to plant more. I recall that she loved forget-me-nots as a child and will remind her to put some in. As for the alpines I really like that idea and will bring some along and plant it myself the next time I visit her.
Ah, the spears, bed planted last year and providing its first crop this year. My first experience of cutting it myself, lightly steaming for couple minutes and enjoying with baked salmon. You can't get asparagus like that in a market. I hear that next year the crop should double.
My horticultural news ends on a feline note: while at nursery for fruit tree purchasing for C & J's envisioned orchard, I asked for catnip which they had, also about 3 other different kinds of plants which cats like to munch and which are good for them, like wheat grass (so decorative too). I've mailed the catnip seeds to daughter S. and hope the kitties enjoy their treat soon. One of them of course is the morose girl who on occasion has given me material for blogging with her gripes and complaints. I hear she still refuses to accept the status quo and will not play or be nice to the good-natured tuxedo cat boy.
A few days ago I had the pleasure of helping my daughter plant a new section of her garden. The part along the side fence leading from the front of the back of the driveway to a shed in the back. A flower border is one of the loveliest things a garden can contain and was eager to start planting. She gave me several seed packets, then gave me instructions on how to plant the seeds which were of many varieties. I started and she soon cried, "No, that's not right! What are you doing? I said scatter the seeds." I was carefully planting them in rows. Seemingly I could not take in the concept of scattering.
After years of having first a moderate sized garden, then a smallish one, I had learned to be very meticulous about allotting space. A display of many different kinds of flowers all vying for attention is a charming sight, as is a naturalized area of spring bulbs followed by annuals. But I never had enough space for that sort of thing. So I had to pull myself together and get into a different mind-set, one where there was freedom to scatter. It was quite fun once I allowed myself to scatter caution and seeds.
The front garden is a different matter. It is much smaller than the back, and a bit formal since its recent enhancement with belgian pavers which divide it into sections separated by paths. Last summer various herbs were planted as well as low flowering plants like columbine and creeping phlox, plus, lambs ear and hens and chicks. I brought some tricolor stonecrop and planted them, some right near the edge of a path as I like to see them extend over it. That was the most fun for me as I love digging a hole and sticking a plant in it and then filling it in. I suggested she place some ornamental boulders in these beds as I love to see flowers growing right up against the rock. I hope she does get them and if she doesn't it will be very wrong!
Next up, a mini orchard is to be planted along the other side of the house where there is a large empty area, perhaps a dozen trees, cherry, peach and I don't know what else but not apple.
I enjoy digging, but some years ago while starting a new garden on virgin land in Connecticut, I discovered the difficulty of dealing with the hard, rocky New England soil. A builder, working on a house across the road, noticed my problem and came over and silently handed me a pick. I took it gratefully although not believing that I would be able to actually swing such a large heavy tool. But I did. It did the job. The next day I bought one of my own and thanks to it landscaped the front and back yards. The only real problem I encountered was my inability to remove large rocks which got in my way and for them I regretfully had to find a muscular fellow willing to help out.
I'd appreciate any suggestions for other perennial plants in the front garden (it's sunny and last year annuals did very well filling in parts, like purple petunias.) Also please let me know ideas for a shade garden - I can only think of hosta, bleeding heart, lily of the valley ......
[Warning: No links can be provided today because my computer taking interminable time downloading so can't copy and paste anything]
Reading in Mad Teacher, Comments, Apr 27, '06, where Jack the Lass wrote, "It's amazing, isn't it? Dave just knows everybody's life. Actually that's probably more scary than amazing. Hmmm." Referring to Maddie's use of a Dave cartoon which illustrated a part of her life.
I don't really agree with jack's last sentence but wanted to quote her in entirety, which is often helpful to do. Thanks, jack.
Anyway this reminded me of another of Dave's cartoons, "My LIfe Broken Down Into Segments." This surely illustrates jack's comment too. I imagine the segments might be of different sizes for different people, and the "Working" segment might include all the other activity segments, as well as Staring into space, Having fun, Doodling, Watching the clock, etc. What I am getting at is the Looking for Things I Had Just a Minute Ago takes up an inordinately large segment of my life.
I worked out how large a segment on a yearly basis just now and it came to 12.13333333 hours. (I'm not good at math so it could be wrong, I'm sure the number is much greater.) But even 12 hours! There's so much I could do with that much time lost if only I could lose fewer things. Like sleep, blog, read, work, solve cryptograms, paint.
But perhaps I could make up some of that lost time by not brooding so much about things I have just put down and which immediately fell into an alternate univrse.
I was recently honored as an expert by someone whose opinion I sometimes really respect! While visiting a friend she asked me to help organize her kitchen. Fortunately for me few (in fact, none) of you know me well enough to laugh raucously and insultingly at that. As if any of you would do that. But if you just look around my home it would seem that I am not terribly well-organized. At this moment there is a shoe box on my desk (it may contain sewing supplies but I hardly ever sew.) At the far end is a jumble relating to my new hobby of oil painting with glass jars, cans holding brushes and various implements, and a can of turpenoid. There are several notebooks and papers on top of unseen documents etc. but I am sure I know of what at least one or two are that are lying unseen under the piles.
So it was with not a little surprise that I heard her ask me to help organize the pantry shelves. Perplexedly, I asked, "So you believe that those who can, do, and those who can't, teach?" (GBS quote?) Apparently she agreed but I think she was just desperate for any help at all. But she had chosen well, because a part of me is an organizational genius, just not of my desk. So I immediately went into organizing mode, explained the philosophy and rationale of my grand plan for the groceries and even went as far as clearing some shelves that the man of the house had put up and transfered the less heavy cans and boxes to them.
Then, on top of all that I solved a really important problem. She complained that the said handyman kept his vitamin and supplements on part of a shelf that she really needed for groceries and it bothered her. I asked her if she had a shelf that was just too inconvenient to be of use to her and could she relocate its contents to another inconveniently located shelf? She did have, and cleared it, and I neatly lined up all the little bottles on their very own shelf.
The back story of all this is that Jim did not get around to putting up the shelves despite urgent requests until a visit from his much older sister who, hearing of this Mexican stand-off, told him to put on his shoes and get going to the lumber yard. Baby brother wasted not a moment in obeying big sister and those shelves were on the wall by day's end.
But the story is really about me, a seemingly unlikely candidate for organizing anything other than a stroll to the pub. There might be a moral here; maybe it's, If you are really desperate for help try pursuading a friend who's generally useless that you see previously unrecognized talent in him that needs expression.
Education is not usually my thing. I've had rather a lot of it, learned that it doesn't stop after leaving school (for some of us), enjoyed some of it, and remember very little of it. But the subject of education has been in the U.S. news a lot recently in several respects: 1. the "quality" of public education; 2. what can be done to fix it by spending more and more billions and billions of dollars; 3. the necessity of charter schools (newly established privately funded schools, with government-financed vouchers to attend private schools, religious schools etc., especially in areas where the public schools are substandard or unsafe.); the horrendous cost to taxpayers of educating the children of illegal immigrants.
Re no's 1 and 2, I have only to say that I have always revered public education and have long admired Horace Mann, the 19th C. champion of secular public education but am taking a new, more appreciative look at charter schools for what they seem to be accomplishing.
But now the new immigration law, voted down I believe, just yesterday. While I have yet to familiarize myself with it in detail, I do have opinions, just like every other fool who thinks they know what's best for the country (even the highest in the land). But, although considered a wild-eyed liberal by my more conservative friends, I have a strong law and order streak in my makeup. How can you have freedom without the rule of law? So to all nuts who run around declaring It's a free country to justify antisocial acts, (vandalism, loud talking and carrying noisy boom boxes on public transport ((oh no, I just dated myself haven't I - it's all ipods now)), or not paying taxes) I have to say no, it isn't a wholly "free" country, not if you want it to be relatively free and keep your civil liberties. Eavesdropping on my telephone conversations is a no-no -- I don't really mind except that listening would induce drowsiness and I don't approve of government employees sleeping on the job.
What I really intended to say is much briefer than all that. It's a quote from a conservative newspaper columnist who usually irritates me a lot, but I prefer to read writers I mostly disagree with, not just ones who make me feel warm and fuzzy because they think my point of view is the only correct. Even if I loathe the writers, damned if I don't often learn something from them. They may even make me think.
This writer, Rich Lawry in the NY Post, writing about the myths of open borders and of the benefits of completely free immigration, says at the end of his article, "Advocates of a lax immigration policy should admit that their policy has a humanitarian, not an economic rationale, and its beneficiaries aren't Americans but mainly people from rural Mexico. If we really need more poorly educated workers here, we can always rely, unfortunately, on the public schools to produce them indigenously."
Are people justified in calling those who are asking that the laws be obeyed, bigoted and xenophobic?
I probably have put my foot in it by writing of such controversial subjects but, hey, I tried to stop short of being offensive and am always open to changing my mind because it usually means that I have learned something.
This is a test. Just a test. Anyone not caring for this type of concept-less update please complain to the old gentleman who sits in the park every day from 1-4PM, summer and winter, wearing a black bowler hat, long black overcoat, smoking a meerschaum pipe. Check the bench near the fountain. Your patience is appreciated.
It seems that I am a poor communicator. Or at least I should keep anything I have written (except checks I suppose) for awhile, then read it over and edit it before I show it to anyone. I am talking about my last post, the part about my favorite Dave Walker cartoons. I want to clarify: 1. I didn't mean to imply that my favorites do not include the ones we can blog; 2. I didn't mean to imply that we are allowed to blog those adorable sheep or the bottled up person. If that's what anyone inferred. If not, please ignore this post.
In a job, years ago, my boss, the Editorial Director, said I was a poor communicator. (I didn't respond that there was a lot I could communicate to her but didn't care to lose my job.) Despite this fault she frequently asked me to write articles for the company newsletter and she insisted that I edit the Editorial Department Newsletter which she had dreamed up, probably to keep me out of her hair. To get people to read it I did stuff like put the word "sex" on the front page (although after she had thankfully left). The issue wasn't confiscated although the next Director of Editorial, sent his secretary over to ask me whether I had really written that page. He was a Brit, by the way, who had been brought over from the UK office where he had been a marketing manager. Not a marvellous fit for editorial. I think he felt it, because he would constantly mention 19th century English novels and use expressions like "have a chin-wag" which sounded vaguely Dickensian probably to impress us that he was a literary man. Not that I was negative about him because of his nationality -- it was purely personal
I have read this post over and tried to clarify things, but if there are some muddy meanings feel free to correct them. But I'll stand by those sheep through thick and thin.
It is quite impossible to say which of the cartoons Dave has offered us for our blogs is my favorite, even though some people would have no trouble. But I thought a bit, and this is my long-time, all-time favorite: Bottled Up. I very much like the man who had kept his feelings bottled up for so long ...
That and the ones with odd but cuddly-looking and adorable sheep. Those sheep get me every time; buried though they are in the distant past, they never go out of style.
Sometimes I wish I didn't read newspapers so compulsively in order not to miss anything, trivial though it may be. Of course I don't read every word of the classified ads or the sports section, but even those arcane sections get a glance or two in order not to miss some trifle that just might interest me. But it seems that sometimes most of my "free" time is about reading newspapers. When I sort old newspapers to put out with the weekly recycling I have to look at each page in case I missed something important -- and usually have to pull out a few sheet to read later. Once, after the papers were already at the curb I ran out it late at night to go through it again to find an article I recalled was unread. I can't recall the subject of it. Years ago I had to cancel delivery of the Sunday New York Times because it is so huge and I would be reading it at least until the next Sunday.
When I used to take a commuter train occasionally to NYC and saw commuters drop their morning papers in the recycling bins on the platform, I envied them for their ability to part with a newspaper of which they could not have read every word. This has been going on since my early childhood. Once as a very young but lterate child I read a science article about the eventual death of the sun and the end of my favorite planet. Deeply disturbed I turned to my father for reassurance and thankfully he explained the great amount of time that would pass before that scenario unfolded. So maybe the reading compulsion is really all about holding on to the past and feeling close to my dad.
Here are just a few things to say to make a blogger get it:
Why don't you write more stuff like the post you did about the talking cow? [posted perhaps in 2002 or 3-N.] I haven't enjoyed anything as much that you wrote since that one.
Don't write anything about your life. Everyone does that.
I really liked those imaginary meetings with authors. I think you should stick to literary subjects and forget writing about the Hudson Valley.
I hate it when you write about serious subjects -- be funny!
Why don't you take up a new hobby or sport and write about amusing experiences while learning to do it?
I wish I had the time or could remember to read your Wiblog more often. Would you e-mail me a link when you write something that you think I might possibly be interested in?
Yesterday my daughter C came by for a visit and reminded me that I had long been saying that I need a haircut. I did want one but it is my one talent to always find a reason for not doing things that are perfectly easy to do, and even affordable. I said, yes, I will get one when I get around to it. Then C said something quite astounding, that if I liked she'd cut it for me. In wide-eyed disbelief I gasped, "You can cut hair?" "Yes," she calmly replied, I often cut friends' hair."
Imagine, not even aware that my daughter had a useful talent like that. What a rotten mother I am - I suppose next one of the girls will be telling me she can fly airplanes. (C has already jumped out of one. The video was terrifying.)
So, feeling trusting and the price being right, I agreed, found shears that suited her and was given a good haircut. The only thing is that she agreed to let me give her the go-ahead every inch or so as I didn't want it too short, but she got carried away before I could see it. But it's okay. Really. My hair grows very fast. (I just had to say that - she really did a great job.)
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