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 |  I've maxed out. Closed this blog. |
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This is a way of making myself write something coherent and grammatically correct almost every day. I'm opinionated and need an outlet. I'm also prone to flights of fancy. Thanks for stopping by. |
| Nothing makes me sadder than hearing an older person say that he or she is just waiting for the grave (more often a he). Frequently, those people have tied up the meaning of life with work, so that when they stop working by choice or by health, they have little reason to keep living. What makes me mad is when I hear younger people writing off older people, like they can't continue to be creative, productive, vital, sensuous, or active. Did you know that Michelangelo started the final Sistine Chapel painting when he was 59? It wasn't a short term job. Grandma Moses sold her first painting at age 78. But it's not just artists. Sir Isaac Newton was the first scientist to be knighted when he was 62. John Glenn manned his second space flight at age 77. Benjamin Franklin invented the first bifocals at age 78. Guiseppe Verdi, the Italian composer, wrote "Ave Maria" when he was 85! I've studied cowboy legends and found a woman who ran a riding school for girls and young women. She died at age 101, not from illness or "old age", but was thrown from a horse while teaching girls to rope from a moving horse. Now that's living a full life! In the entertainment industry, you have Betty White who stays busy, but maybe doing easier things than she used to do. There are other tougher jobs being done by Robert Duvall and Clint Eastwood, both pushing 90. Paul Newman made personal appearances right up to the end, and still looked good at 94. Never plan on resting on your laurels. Retiring from a job doesn't mean retiring from life. And being over 50, or 65 doesn't disable a person or diminish their worth. They can still be vital in the workplace, in volunteer work, in politics, in the arts. We need to clean up our attitudes for ourselves, our family, and our friends. Let seniors have a full life. Encourage them to continue pursuing their dreams. |
| The daily news is depressing. It seems as though we are living in the most intolerant time in my lifetime. With all of our emphasis on cultural diversity and political correctness, we are meaner than ever and hate more than ever. If you believe the Ten Commandments, you are politically incorrect. If you do business with gays with no problem, but you say you don't believe in the sanctity of gay marriage, then your business is threatened with fire and vandalism, and your family has to go into hiding for safety reasons. If you eat or sell pork products, you are violating the rights of people who want to believe that pigs and pork products don't exist. If your church or synagogue, which have voluntary attendance, teaches that it is wrong to live with someone to whom you are not married, you are offending people who don't believe the same way. We can twist the law and the truth to mean anything we want and use it to attack anyone with whom we do not agree. We want to dictate to every business owner and organization what they practice and how they operate. Whatever happened to "live and let live"? That's a concept of the past, like freedom of speech apparently. If it's vile and disgusting, no one objects. TV humor just gets raunchier every year, and body parts are discussed in prime time in demeaning and crude ways. "Tolerate me! But I don't have to tolerate you!" That seems to be the words many people live by. Those of us who feel offended by the whiners, complainers, and litigators and all their anger feel powerless to do anything. But we shouldn't. I believe there are a lot of people who practice democracy and individual freedom every day, but they don't stand up for their beliefs when challenged. They don't point to themselves as examples of tolerance for contrast. We need to find our backbone, and stand up for our neighbors and personal freedom. |
| I must have been born after my time. I love the older music. I'm listening to Robert Goulet at the moment. I love Mel Torme, Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, and Johnny Mathis. Let's not forget Ella Fitzgerald; she does every song better than other performers. She makes her music sound effortless. I'm not a Sinatra fan. And Perry Como sings so slow, you want to fall asleep even in your favorite song. I think I like the older songs because they were romantic sounding, and you can sing along. The words were something you could understand. Apparently, others agree, because these songs reappear in the movies from time to time. Even in this modern age, some of the old songs just say it best. Big band sounds will stay around forever, but not so many big bands. It's expensive to pay that many musicians, I have my own repertoire that I sing fairly regularly, when no one is listening. "Fly Me To the Moon", "It's Wonderful, Wonderful", "The Way You Look Tonight", "Chances Are", "Hold Me", "Our Love Is Here To Stay", and "Misty" get me started. If I really want to tackle some tough intervals, I try "Ebb Tide". Then I mix in some newer ones. I guess someday, a person somewhere will marvel that he or she likes The Beatles of The Beach Boys and will mix it up with some old Madonna and Lady Gaga. |
| I don't know if temple is exactly where I'm heading with these thoughts. We can always say that nature gives us pause to contemplate creation, life, and existence. It allows us to contemplate on the Creator and how it all came to be. But that's not really what I'm dwelling on. As I walked in the park today, it was very windy and cold. The sky was ominous, and I feared it would rain before I got back to my car. I decided that would be okay, because I wasn't going anywhere but home, and wet, wavy hair wouldn't matter. I had contemplative music on my I-Pod, but as the wind beat my hair about my head, I was reminded of other moments in nature. For instance, when I'm wading in the waters off the Atlantic shore and feeling the sand pelting my ankles, and the salt water spraying against me, I feel some connection to the ships that have come in to the shore or set out to sea over the centuries past. Pictures of women waiting for their men to come home with fish or cargo or passengers come to mind. Somehow their stories, their hardships, their joys still remain in the waves and the wind and cry out in a haunting, hollow way. There are times when I look into the night skies and see the stars, I think of others gazing on the same skies. These are the same skies that guided Columbus and Marco Polo, the stars that guided the Magi to Bethlehem. Our soldiers looked on these skies, these very stars in every war, and gaze on them now in other parts of the world. They tie us together, these stars, these comets, this moon, through distance and time. We are all human with similar thoughts and feelings, the same longings, fears, and hopes. Fashions and things, even languages, have evolved, but mankind is the same, with the same heart and ego and needs. I saw children in the park trying to fly kites, none too successfully. I thought of Ben Franklin, and how others in his day must have flown kites without keys. Suddenly, history wasn't linear any more. Playfulness and joy were as alive back then as they are now. The same winds that blow around the earth and toss the kites and the clouds keep blowing. We aren't so cool, so advanced. We are much the same. We cannot escape being human. And the world keeps turning without our help. |
| I've just read two works of fiction in which the authors grapple with the changing world of writers. In the first one, the main character is a writer who teaches college literature not because he loves it, but because it supports him between novels. He has long term writer's block and isn't forced out by a jealous colleague. The scheme backfires, and he learns to use social media one step at a time, and becomes inspired to write his next novel in the fight for his job.He uses the media to excite and engage his students, and both sides learn. The next novel is about a couple of writers who find themselves jobless when their traditional magazines and newspapers fold. They are the children of successful traditional writers. Amid complicated plot twists, they must also learn new tricks. Where will they use their art or ply their trade? Will they give it up? Both seem to point writers, at least non-fiction writers, in a different direction. They must learn new means of using their gifts and compete in a larger field where badly written texts, how-to's, and editorials are prolific.The Internet and telecommunications appear to have overtaken the world of books and lectures and even preaching. The public wants their information and inspiration in "bites", not in depth. We have to weigh the value of preserving the language in grammar and punctuation, as texting and tweeting prevail in the younger generation. Quite possible, the study of English, or any language, will fall to the scholars, like Latin and ancient Greek. Meanwhile, writers have to avail themselves of modern outlets, like blogging, Ask.com, or Wikipedia. Maybe editing for self-publishers can become a career choice.Lecturers and public speakers need to learn about Pod-casts.(Imagine Booker T. Washington using a Pod-cast for the great speeches he made.) I don't have any answers, but it certainly seems a lot of people are giving it some thought. For writers, and serious readers, "We're not in Kansas any more". |
| My friend told a story today about someone whose parents had a big garden that grew over the years. They added walkways, a bird bath, flowers that bloomed at different times, color patches, different heights to orchestrate, and some that drew specific birds or butterflies. People loved to visit their gardens and comment on the love and care, the planning, the variety, the serenity, and the beauty. But there was always someone who looked and immediately pointed out the weeds. Some people can't help themselves. Isn't that true with so much of life? I'm guilty at times. Granted there are times the weeds are threatening to take over, and I may be a little too Pollyanna-ish and see only the pretty wildflowers. But most of the time, it's easy to overlook the beautiful things for the weeds that need to be uprooted. My focus may be too much on the weeds, blinding out the peace, the beauty, and the wonder. I find it easy to point that out in other people who always rain on the parade, who complain after a lot of hard work by others. But to be fair I have to own up to my flawed focus. I might make that my mantra-- you know, write a note and put it on the mirror or by my alarm clock. "Focus on the flowers, not the weeds." I'll try and see if I get different results or at least more peace of mind. |
| As I recall March came in a little on the lion side, but it seems to be going out that way, too. Today it was wintry and windy. I wore my winter coat, and was freezing. I skipped the park and opted for indoor exercise. Tomorrow is Palm Sunday, and I'm having company. Baby toys are ready. Breakables are up. All doors of off-limits rooms will be firmly shut tomorrow before I go to church. When I get home, I can change and not worry about little ones wreaking havoc before I'm ready. I'm all for going out to eat, but I'll probably have to cook for them all.I have plenty of fruit and salad vegetables. I might have time to do beef stew. Or I could order some pizzas to have with salad. Next week I plan to fix a leg of lamb, coconut cake, and deviled eggs. They probably won't show up for Easter, because I have plans for them. I've seen Noah's Ark on the INSP channel. It's not bad, and worth a look see if you are interested. Many Biblical movies and TV shows badly alter the material, but this one seems to fit the framework fairly well. Of course, like historical fiction which mixes facts with art, the details are from someone's imagination and are not from the Bible. It's a British production, so the accents are British. |
| Yesterday I was in a short sleeve cotton shirt and was sweating half-way through my walk. Today, I had on a heavy zipper sweater with a big collar, and I was cold, despite walking longer and taking a big hill up an asphalt construction road at the far end of the park. Such a difference from yesterday! I managed the long stair case much better today, even after the big hill. I almost stopped when I couldn't go any faster up the hill, but I was so near the top, I kept going. The stairs didn't cause nearly so much concern, maybe because it was cooler. I may have failed to mention that I have heart trouble and two metal valves. Inclines are very hard for me to do. Stress tests are forbidden. Otherwise I'm allowed to live a normal life, and I'm not supposed to avoid exercise or housework. I just have to be aware of warning signs. That's why managing the hill and the stairs even at a snail's pace are important to me. I took a huge box of coats, sweaters and shoes to Good Will today. The box has been sitting in the foyer for a week. There's more cleaning and de-cluttering to do. We have been taking things out one box or bag at a time, so it's a slow process. There's an old truck we need to get rid of as well. Spring cleaning in the closets, the drawers, the garage, the yard, and the body joints. It all needs to be done. |
| During the winter, my walks have been on town streets, some minor hills, but always on pavement. I now find myself with free time and the weather is good. So I went to the park today. Only one ball field was occupied, but many people lolled about or lay on the grass or sat by the river. One group was having a picnic. I don't count steps, and I've never been able to set a pedometer. So I just go by the time on my cell phone. I had brought ear plugs, and thought I would listen to my free I-book, but couldn't locate it. It's disappeared. I was only a few chapters into it. So I had to walk with my own thoughts. I tried to lengthen my steps to make it more vigorous, but the park itself helps with that. There are hills and grass and ditches to negotiate. I went down the long set of steps to the lower ball fields as I have done before. Even going down takes different muscles from level or track walking. I meandered around and stopped by the river myself to sit on the bench and look once more for my I-book. I deducted that time from my total. I made the big loop around, cutting across a different field, and could feel muscles working in my legs that haven't worked much for a few months. I came to the road I had already walked and turned into it again. This went back up to the pond by other ball fields. I turned back towards the steps and determined I needed to do this. They looked formidable, but I took a deep breath and proceeded. I couldn't let anyone see me slow down or pause. Each set was separated by a platform. I'd breathe in on the platform and breathe out on the steps. After about 4 sets or so, I was not breathing so smoothly. I kept going. My knees started to feel a little weak. I kept climbing and concentrating on breathing. My hip joints started to feel the wear. Finally, I thought as I looked only at the set of stairs before me, I must be near the top; I'm done for. I looked up and there were three more sets! I took a bigger breath and went on with the routine. By the time I made it to the top, my breathing was ragged and I was ready to lie down. I kept going. I was on the asphalt of the parking lot. I got to my car and circled around it. I pulled out the phone and determined that it was not as long as I had intended, but maybe that was enough for now. I counted leaning over for my water jar in the car as a stretch. I drank water and did side steps by the car, trying not to look overly stupid (just a little was okay). I finally did some lunges just to stretch the legs before scrunching into the car. I went home feeling like I had made a first step, but planning to do some stretches and moves later. Now tonight, my lower back is hurting, the backs of my knees are hurting, and my ankles ache.I fear it's going to be a while before I get a spring back into my step. I'm not throwing in the towel. I'm leaving winter behind. |
| I'm not a natural when it comes to music. I can't sightread. I learned to play a wind instrument, not a piano; so I can only read one line of notes at a time, in fact, one note at a time. A pianist can see a whole chord over two staffs at one time. I can't. I don't have perfect pitch. Tell me to sing middle C and I probably won't come close. But I like to sing. I learn the notes in solitary, with a keyboard, or a piano if I can find one. I pick out the notes, not in rhythm because I'm not fast enough. I learn what note to go to, then I work out the rhythm, and try to connect it to words. It's hard work, actually. Then I still have to practice with the group, and not be overwhelmed by the other parts. And over so quickly. Once you learn it, if you do a performance, it's over and gone. But somehow it's so worth the effort. Otherwise, why would so many people work at it? It's not just the performance, the success, or just getting through it. It's the process, the struggle, the getting there. I like the discipline. You have one individual following the rules-the written music-and following directions, "softly", "crescendo", etc.You have a group, working together, following a director, breathing together, blending their voices or their instruments. In a band or a choir, you must have team work. The discipline, the uniqueness, the teamwork all come together to make something beautiful. |
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