Leaks

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There are so many words that keep dropping into our 21st century English vocabulary. Being 72 years old, I can remember when "queer" meant just that: odd, different. When my senior class presented "Our Hearts Were Young and Gay," we didn't think the play was about youthful homosexuals. Later language has become to me more profane with "shit" and "fuck" dropped casually in front of ministers and lay people. Until only a few years ago, there were no initials ADHD. Now, every other kid has that label, and it appears frequently to be an excuse for their inappropriate behavior. I've never liked the phrase "pissed off," but I would think that many people now-a-days think that it could be used in front of the Queen of England. I guess I'm pretty much of a purist when it comes to my English language. I just don't see the need to use profanity. I think I've reached my limit and promise never to hide in the bushes to take a "wiki leak." That would just be going too far.

At a Loss for Words

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I am appalled at the Oxford English Dictionary which recently published its list of acceptable new words. Among the list was Sarah Palin's "refudiate." Ms. Palin certainly creates news and exercises her charisma in many ways, but what in the world does the word "refudiate" add to the English lexicon? Nothing. She is a celebrity and therefore commands acceptance, even among the high-brow Oxford English Dictionary people. I think my word "alonely," which I have written about and defined in this blog, is much more deserving of recognition as it is a combination of two words, "alone" and "lonely," creating a new word that clearly adds a new perspective regarding our emotions. A few years ago, a friend of my brother's also invented a word that I thought classy. He was referring to a Georgia author who was writing about Georgia rednecks. He spoke of the author's stories about "redneckedness." Now, that's clever. How about considering that for your dictionary, Mr. Oxford?

Merry and Bright

Bloggulating

I came to be a blogger only because I received such nice encouragement from my friend who was already blogging at http://gregkaspar.com/gfk-pad/. I looked at his site, read his incredible writings and viewed the results of his photography skills. I certainly was not the photographer that he was nor was I as creative and diverse in my writing style, but I love to write so decided to make the effort. He helped me set up the site (which has since moved) and gave me some pointers. I decided to write every other day as I didn't want the blog to become a chore (and it hasn't). I knew that I had my journal to fall back on for ideas plus I began to pre-write. I am now ahead about six blogs, which pleases me as I like to look back over the writing before I publish. My writings are not deep or challenging -- they are my ideas. I love playing with words as you may have noted in some of my titles, and I love to write about what the reader may have thought about but never seen expressed in print. Thank you for being my readers, whoever you are. Please leave a comment sometime.

Dentalphobia

"You must have gum surgery" or even just, "You need to have that tooth pulled." Anything regarding a trip to the dentist or the othodontist wreaks havoc with my nervous system. It seems to me that I heard eons ago about painless dentistry. What happened? Where is it? Why do we still sit in a chair and listen to that piercing drill and that grinding sound, the same sound you would hear outside with someone drilling cement. Where are the earphones with music playing to keep our minds preoccupied so that we can ignore some of the activity going on in our mouth. I had gum surgery recently. The doctor was capable; the two assistants were very helpful and professional; the job was done. But, for thirty or forty minutes, I was as tense as someone who is facing execution. I prayed for the orthodontist, asking God to give him wisdom as I was certain the procedure was never-ending and might even be fatal. I'm extremely grateful for the dentists who have worked so hard in order to give me chewing capability and a nice smile, but please come up with something to occupy us during the ordeal that takes place in a dental chair.

At Sea with Thom

I have never considered myself an avid cruise ship traveler, but then I have only done three cruises: one to Greece and the Greek isles; one around the Mediterranean starting and ending in Rome; and this last one in the Caribbean (St. Thomas, St. Lucia, Barbados, Granada, Tobago, Aruba and Curacao) from which I just returned yesterday. I learned on this trip that it is not so much where you go but with whom you are traveling. The Caribbean islands, although each has unique qualities to offer, become pretty much of a jumble of scenic memories. It was my traveling companions -- eleven of them, all from Kenosha, Wisconsin -- who made this adventure at sea on the Celebrity Constitution most memorable.

Kyi (piano) versus Palin (forte)

[If you do not remember the reason why the piano is formally known as a pianoforte, it was the first instrument of its type to be able to be played both soft and loud.]

Here I go political again. With the release from house arrest of human rights advocate, Suu Kyi, I can't help but compare her to our Tea Party leader, Sarah Palin. What a difference. Ms. Kyi is a political force who is most often compared to Ghandi, one of the most non-agressive leaders in world history. While Sarah is Tweeting, Ms. Kyi is speaking in a mild manner, offering peace to both the people of Burma and to the military junta that imprisoned her for seven years. I wonder what would happen if Sarah Palin were put under house arrest for seven years. Of course, that wouldn't stop her Tweeting, but perhaps it would mollify her strident "Mama Grizzly" manner and mouthing off at Fox News. Certainly, Sarah Palin could learn a lesson in positive imagery from the likes of Suu Kyi.

Readers, I am going to be away from my computer for the next two weeks. I'll miss you, but I need a break. This "break" will take place on many of the islands in the Caribbean, a location I have never visited. I will, of course, have much about which to write when I return as I will definitely keep my journal during the trip. Be patient with me. I expect to publish again on December 19, the day after I return.

The New John Wilkes Booth

When Barack Obama was elected President of the United States, I worried greatly that he would be assassinated by some racial bigot, just as Abraham Lincoln, the other President from Illinois, was slain. Obama is known to revere Lincoln as his idol. Certainly Obama, like Lincoln, is dealing with a United States that is almost as polorized as it was during the Civil War. Now that two years have passed, I have seen a president wrestling with an economy that almost fell off the brink. I have seen him press for relief while dealing with a Republican party that votes no on matters that would benefit and help bring relief to those struggling with job losses, bankruptcies, and foreclosures. I have come to realize that though the President may not be cut down by a single bigot, he may be "slain" by John Wilkes Booth once more in the guise of the Republican party that has vowed to see him fail. If that happens, we will grieve once more for a great statesman who sacrificed his political future in order to insure that the United States of America will remain the greatest nation in the world.

Winning the Prize

Can you imagine what it would feel like to win an Oscar, a Pulitzer prize, or a Nobel prize? I can't either, but I came close recently when my author brother, Jackie K. Cooper, came to visit during the Thanksgiving holidays. Jackie's wife is from St. Petersburg and her 80 plus year old mother still lives here. Jackie and Terry, of course, come down to check on her occasionally although she is fortunate to have other children close by. Forty years ago, I introduced my brother to his then future wife, the best match-making I've ever done. Over the years, he and I have become much closer, especially since the deaths of our father and mother. He has authored four books and has a commitment from Macon University Press to publish his fifth book next year. Although I am a composition teacher, I have never been asked to edit anything he has written but then middle Georgia and middle Florida are not exactly trips you would make every day just to have your brother help with editing. I was therefore very pleased when Jackie asked if I would mind reading the manuscript, checking it for errors before it goes to the printer. He handed me my half and was rather coy about suggesting I look over the first three pages before tackling the bulk of the editing. The first page was the title; the second, a blank page; the third was the dedication: "Dedicated to my brother, Tommy." I was amazed. I was shocked. I was teary. I was thrilled. I can't tell you exactlyh how I felt except that it was the opposite of getting scary bad news. This was unbelievably exciting news, so far from anything I had ever anticipated that I was almost numb. What a compliment and from someone who knows my "goods" and my "bads." Thank you for this honor, my brother, who is my last living link to my history.

Two Heads

When I was in the Navy, the word for bathroom was "head." I hadn't thought of that term in a long time, but today it seems approrpriate. Although I live alone, I live in a home with two bathrooms (thank goodness) -- "my" bathroom and a guest bathroom. Last week, the toilet in my bathroom began to leak water. I immediately shut off the water, removed the top and decided that, although I am notoriously un-handy, I could repair it. The more I "repaired," the worse it got. By that time, the solution seemed to be to check out the process on Google. Google gave me the information I needed -- a new float regulator, which could be found at any hardware store. Home Depot became my destination where I found exactly what I needed for only $10.99. Armed with my new contraption, I headed to the bathroom and found that the floater that was in place would have to be cut off and removed. Because of the limited space in my bathroom, the removal wasn't so easy, but I finally accomplished that task. The next task was to figure out from the directions how the new one had to be installed. The directions were "in Greek" and were not deciphered until I got a friend over who knew as little about plumbling as I did. However, he figured out one thing; I figured out another. Now I have two working bathrooms again. Two heads are better than one now has dual meanings at my house.

Weather "Whoops!"

Have you noticed how scientific weather prognosticators have become? And we, the public, have joined in a chorus of "Tell Us More." There is even now a weather channel. In fact, when I first went cable, I could not take just the basic package as that option did not include "The Weather Channel." Everyone is interested in the weather. We now are told if and when it will rain, what the high and low temperatures will be, all sorts of information about heat and humidity. What we seldom get are apologies when forecasters are wrong, e.g., when there is a 100% chance of rain but no rain falls; when it is supposed to freeze, but the temperature doesn't drop below 50 degrees. I don't recall a weather man or woman ever saying, "I really missed the forecast yesteray." Even pollsters admit when they have blown election predictions. We don't really expect the forecast to be correct every time. But I surely could use a good "S'cuse me" or even a "whoops!"

Thank-Full-Ness

We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing. I am full of gratitude on this day before Thanksgiving, 2010. I am 72 years old, have experienced many health challenges such as two encounters with cancer, a knee replacement, angioplasty, a ruptured appendix. No wonder when I awaken in the morning, I am so grateful for life that I say, "Thank you, Lord." That utterance doesn't only come to my lips in the morning but occurs randomly during the day as I live my life. I am not what you might call a Bible thumper, but I have a very foundational belief in a Creator Who influences my life and Who responds to my communications. I am very grateful for the United States of America and for President Barack Obama, our nation's leader who has accomplished so much already for the middle class. I believe the founding Fathers gave us a basis for becoming the great nation we have become. I am not a super patriot in that I don't believe my country can do no wrong. However, I do believe that our system of government, for the most part, works for the betterment of Americans. God bless America on this Thanksgiving eve.

The Art of Procrastinating

I am a college graduate with a degree in Procrastination. I have never been able to study, pack for a trip, write lessons plans, grade papers, make out tests until the very last minute when I'm under duress. Although I know it is a habit which causes me anxiety attacks, I have persisted following this policy all of my life. I am an excellent typist which has rescued me many times when tests were not typed up until the last minute. I am very good about getting where I'm supposed to be on time. I am blessed with a wonderful musical sight-reading ability enabling me to forego practices when I'm scheduled to play the organ or piano. Those traits have been assets to help circumvent disaster, but I am embarrassed that I have let procrastination dominate my opus operandi. Fortunately, I have learned that there is a remedy: make a list. There is something magic about making a list. It lifts me from the oncoming procrastination mode into do-it-now mode. One would think that I could therefore be writing about my victory over procrastination. Unfortunately, I don't make lists very often. Why? Then I'd have to stop procrastinating. However, when I do make lists, I am the successful careful accomplisher of many things. Yesterday, I made a list: Walgreens, Barb Billert, Gunter Funeral Home. I went by Walgreens to pick up my prescriptions, called my friend Barb whom I hadn't heard from in ages, and connected with the Gunter Funeral Home in order to make future funeral arrangements. No, I'm not dying (or I don't know that I am). I have been procrastinating taking care of that matter for far too long. See, lists work.

Barefoot Boy with Cheek.....

When I was young and growing up in a small town in South Carolina, going barefoot was a tradition. Don't get me wrong! We knew how to dress up and put on shoes and socks when it was appropriate. But, during playtime, bare feet were in vogue. By the end of the day when the color of our feet had turned to a dusty brown, Mother always insisted that we wash out feet outside before coming into the house.

In elementary school (we called it grammar school), the principal would announce each spring when coming to school with bare feet was "legal." What a great joy that was. Although as a teacher of college students, I now wear both socks and shoes to class, an observer will find that I stil lean toward slipping my shoes off under my desk at every opportunity. The socks stay on, but the shoes come off while I secretly celebrate my return to my childhood.

Mr. Cooper, not Mr. Kooker

I grew up in South Carolina, and I learned the language of that southern state. Of course, at the time of my learning, my language and pronunciation sounded just like everyone else's until I spent a summer in New York state where I learned that some people thought I talked "funny," at least to Yankees. They said "hi;" I said "hey" They said "there;" I said "yonder." They put oil in their cars with three syllables (o-i-ul) whereas I put oil (oll) in mine. When I began teaching in Florida, I introduced myself to my students as Mr. Cooper (I did not pronounce the "oo" in my name with the "coo" sound that is used in Florida). The students tried, but they sounded as though they were exaggerating or as though they were trying to imitate a southern drawl. Finally, I came up with a solution (sort of like Liza with a Z). I faced my students and asked, "Do you say that you mother is a good kook or do you say she's a good cook?" Only the class clowns said their mother was a kook. I then said, "If you can pronounce 'cook,' then you can say my name correctly: 'cook' becomes 'coop'er. Now you know you can pronounce my name as I grew up pronouncing it," and they did.

Two Plus Two

When I was assigned to spend a year teaching in a drop-out prevention program, I was asked to teach a class of 10th grade general math. I had never felt comfortable with math, had taken only the basics in high school and college and had certainly never gone beyond trigonometry. In fact, I had always allowed myself to be intimidated by math beyond addition and subtraction. However, I convinced myself that certainly I could handle a tenth grade class of general math. My other classes were English, a science class, and a social studies class. Druing the year that I taught in that program, my favorite class turned out to be the math class. Whereas a theme in my English class was elusive and could be most anything if the student could justify it, math had specific answers. Either you got it right, or it was wrong. It was like a puzzle. Sometimes you were even given the answer and had to determine the process as to how to get to the answer. Teaching math that year took away my math-a-phobia and taught me an appreciation for mathematics.

The Piano

When I was in the third grade, I asked my parents if I might take piano lessons. They were pleased with my request but let me know that my lessons would require that they invest in a piano on which I could practice. They emphasized the importance of my making a commitment if they were to purchase a piano for me. Their search for an affordable piano ended when they found an elderly lady who said that her daughter had urged her to sell their piano. So, the upright piano came to my house where I did keep my musical commitment until I left for college. During this time, my mother had passed away and my dad had remarried and brought my stepmother into our home. She was the same daughter who had uged her mother to get rid of the piano years before. The piano had returned. Since I was away in college and now using pianos in the practice rooms, I offered no resistance when my stepmother asked if I would mind her selling the piano. Now years later, when I think back nostalgically about that big black upright, I become even more grateful for the six foot Kawai grand that now sits in my living room.

The Unbalanced Teeter-Totter

I recently heard TV financial consultant Suze Orman state that "the rich are getting richer while the poor are getting poorer." I, for one, am in the latter group, and I resent all of the tax loopholes that allow the wealthy to not live by the letter of the law. Warren Buffet has argued that his secretary pays more income tax than he does.I am very much with the Democrats in allowing the tax breaks instituted by President George W. Bush to expire for the wealthiest 3% of our nation. The arguement that we should not raise taxes during a recession is now a moot point, now that the recession has been proclaimed dead. It is also ridiculous to hear the Republicans complaining about the deficit when they are willing to add to the deficit by not allowing this provision to expire. We, the middle class, are sitting on a teeter-totter that is out of balance. I'm all for allowing the Democrats more time to "level the playing ground" financially. The rich will continue to get rich, but the poor, hopefully, will not continue to get poorer.

The changing season

This writing was done when I was a senior at Furman University in Greenville, South Carolina when minds and hearts were dominated by sports and the changing season:

October 22, 1960 (Saturday) - During this week, we have had our first taste of fall weather. Cooler air moved into Greenville Thursday and has even threatened frost. However, the frost hasn’t materialized. It is good to see cold weather again. Wool clothes return to the campus along with beautiful sweaters, etc. Gail Frost and I even carried our overcoats to this afternoon’s game between the Citadel and Furman. It was warm during the first half of the game, but as the sun and hearts of the Furman student body sank during the second half, the coats felt good. Neither team seemed to feel the spirit of football as they fumbled back and forth across the field. It just happened that the Citadel scored one more point than FU. The game ended 7-6. That put the mighty Citadel Bulldogs ahead in the conference, and Furman, the last undefeated team in the state, buckled from tops to ordinary.

DST

The transition from DST to traditional time always throws me more than the inverse which occurs in the spring. I don't know why, but I lose time better than I gain time. Saturday night, I went to bed at 10:15, my regular bedtime. However, with the time changing during the night, I actually went to bed an hour early. I had trouble going to sleep, which is most unusual for me. I remember hearing the chiming clock in the living room at 10:30 and tossed and turned a while even after that. Yesterday morning when I awoke, I looked at the bedside digital clock which I had changed to regular time before I went to bed. It read 4:25 (35 minutes before I usually get up). Between then and 5:00, I probably looked at that clock ten times, determined not to arise before the magical 5:00. When I finally heard the 5:00 chime, I rolled out of bed, thanked God for the day (as is my custom), and realized that I didn't feel my usual energetic self. In fact, I felt as though I had been beaten up. Hopefully, before long I will readjust to the change and get a good night's sleep. I think I would prefer staying on DST all year.

Creeping Crudity

Although I wouldn't consider myself a prude, I'm very concerned about the crude language that now flows unabashedly from the mouths of our youth. Today's films seem to infer that "toilet" language is the current normal language of our civilization. The F-word is used not only as a verb, but as an adjective, a noun, and a hyphenated middle for a compound word. Courteous restraint appears to have been cast aside on the assumption that all consider gutter language acceptable. As a school English teacher, while the language in class is properly respectful, the language in the halls is frequently appalling. The language decline does not appear to be one-sided. Women and men are equal abusers. I'm not sure what has caused the acceptance of blatant profanity. I once taught a class in a drop-out prevention program and, when the students figured out that I wouldn't use profanity in class, one asked me, "Are you a preacher?" Although I'm not a minister, I do have a reverent respect for appropriate language.

Confessions of a Substitute Teacher

After a thirty year plus career of teaching everything in the English curriculum at the high school and college level, one might think I would be ready to sit back, relax, and enjoy my retirement. I have had fellow retired teachers say, "Once I walked out of that classroom, I've never wanted to go back again." Not so for me. I loved my teaching career and began seeking teaching opportunities soon after I retired and finished taking advantage of some travel opportunities. I learned that St. Petersburg College hired substitutes for teachers who missed classes. What an opportunity -- no lesson plans to make and no papers to read and grade. Just the essence of conducting and teaching a class. Occasionally, I turn down requests to sub when it is in conflict with my schedule. When I do, the secretary says, "We'll call on you next time." What a great retirement job, and they even pay me.

Politics, duh .....

This is the second time I have written about the lack of political savvy among college students. Working as a substitute in the Communications Department at a local college, I have access to students along with a chance to gauge their interests through their writings. Recently I asked a writing group, who were studying cause and effect, to have a discussion of the Tea Party movement by utilizing a pre-writing discussion method. The assignment evoked puzzling looks. Blackberries and I-Pads were quickly put into use. Reacting to their obvious confusion regarding the assignment, I questioned them about their reason for concern and learned that only a few of them were aware of the Tea Party movement. Are our college students so busy in school or so distracted from politics or the news of the day that they don't know or care about their government? Do they only watch reality shows on TV and skip completely local and national news? The rumor is that there will be a dearth of young people and minorities who will vote in the November 2010 elections. Based on this response from the students in my class, the assumption that young people won't exercise their voting rights is probably true. Our country so needs an educated electorate in order to insure that our government will not be hijacked by fringe groups who specialize in extremism. I hope you have voted.

Halloween 1961

(I wrote this journal entry when I was 23 years old and in the US Navy, stationed in Pensacola, Florida)

October 31, 1961 (Tuesday, Halloween) - I wonder how Halloween got started. It has certainly lost much of its appeal lately. Perhaps children aren’t so gullible and easily frightened as they used to be. I can remember going out Trick or Treating when I was at home and being scared to death at the slightest stir in the dark. I did get the full impact of Halloween though late tonight. I was walking across the bridge separating NAS Pensacola from Warrington. It was pretty close to midnight as I took my first steps on the bridge. Suddenly dense fog surrounded me. The street lamps seemed to dim, and their white globes cast a blurry light. Below me the water lapped at the pilings. My imagination began to exercise control over my mind and I saw rats running in and out of the metal water pipes along the base of the side rail. Then the fog lifted and my senses cleared. I had crossed the bridge and was once again safe.

A Post 9/11 writing

[This blog is a journal entry that was written just after 9-11] One lesson in this life I hope I've learned is that people should not be condemned by the actions of others. Right now in America, Arab-Americans are under suspicion because of the hijackings on September 11. America is deciding how to root out terrorism not only from the United States but from the world. Many in America are targeting those of Arab descent for blame, regardless of their loyalties. I hate this. It brings tears to my eyes. Recently, a friend confessed that he would complain were he getting on an airplane with single Arab men on board. I felt sympathy for him at the moment but have come to realize after more thought that that is an intolerable idea. The ripple effect of the bombings has been to generate the best and worst in people. Donations have poured in. Many of the firefighters and policemen who labored to rescue people in the ashes of the World Trade Center have paid with their lives. It is the individual in America who makes up his/her mind whom to trust and whom not to trust. We must trust as we have trusted in the past, regardless of the cost. What happened to the Japanese at the outset of World War II must not happen to people in America again. Our security has been violated, but our bond with mankind of all races and creeds is unbroken. While our government sorts out its options for extirpating terrorism, we, the citizens, must recognize the worth of individual Americans, punishing only those who are dedicated to under-minding the fabric of our democracy. These heinous individuals cannot be recognized by their race or creed but by their deeds. It is not an easy task but must be done in order to preserve the freedoms of every American.

Not to the Rescue!

Based on the old adage, "Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime," I have come to believe that there is a big difference between helpful assistance and rescuing. How wonderful it is to help someone who is having problems dealing with things -- going for groceries, making decisions that are difficult, getting to a doctor's office, for example. These are things to assist with that are helpful. However, if you take over those responsibilites past the time that the person was unable to do those things himself, then I believe you have begun to rescue them. I'm a big believer in independence and doing everything that I can myself when possible. I live alone so must depend pretty much on no one but myself. However, if I have a bandage on my back that I can't remove, I may call on someone to help me. When I was young, my mother usurped many of my duties by doing them herself -- picking out my clothes, calling someone about a job for me, dealing with bullies at school. I resented her interference and vowed that I would raise my children to be independent. I think I have raised three who are self-sufficient and successful. They sometimes rely on me for inspiration and advice but not for much else. When you do something for someone that they could do for themselves, that is a rescue.

My thoughts at age 23

As I have told you, I have been keeping a journal since 1954 (off and on). This is a writing I did on this date just after I joined the US Navy and was stationed in Pensacola, FL:

October 25, 1961 (Wednesday) - It is funny how I can turn back in this journal and flip from 23 January when I graduated from Furman University to now -- 275 days of a life completely different from anything I have ever done. Great Lakes, Bainbridge, Camp Perry and now Pensacola. Who would have thought a year ago that I would have been traveling around like this? Who knows, this time next year I might be on the other side of the world or I might be at my same desk in AMO [Aircraft Materials Office]. The world is so changeable as are we. One day we are young; the next we are old. My life seems to be speeding by so quickly. I have so many things I want to accomplish. My friend Julie Martin once asked me my philosophy of life to which I replied that it wanted to make people happy. How can I best accomplish that? I don’t even know whether I have been half-way successful so far. It is funny how a question such as the one Julie asked can stimulate a person and challenge him. She probably didn’t even think of that. There is so much challenge for young people in the world if we only accept it.

New old words

I love words. I recently learned two things about two words that I have never thought deeply about: the words are "temple" and "infantry." When I recently read the book, The Lost Symbol, I was intrigued about Dan Brown's writing concerning our mind and how much more powerful our mind is than we give it credit for being and how being "created in the image of God" has a deeper meaning than most of us understand. In the book, one of the characters questions why we call the top of our head the "temple" if it does not imply that our mind is the seat of incredible potency. I like that. Although I subconsciously understood that the head was called the "temple," I never associated that nomenclature with anything spiritual. The other word, "infantry" is certainly a word I have flung around without thinking of the implications regarding its meaning. In Roman times, when men were sent into war, it was the younger men-- the recruits, the junior officers -- who were put on the front lines. Ergo, the word "infantry" came from the youthfulness of these who were sacrificed. Wow! I am always amazed at the words that have so much more meaning than we understand without having it pointed out to us.

Cartoon time again

It's time for a couple more of my favorite cartoons. The two I've chosen today are political cartoons, or at least they are about people in politics -- President Obama and Sarah Palin. The first is from Mother Goose and Grimm, one of my favorite cartoon strips drawn by Mike Peters, a genius. Here Mother Goose gets a delightful answer when she asks about Obama's father's home country.








Here is the infamous "Sarah," caught in the Atlanta Journal by political cartoonist Mike Luckovich doing her famous palm-reading routine.











Enjoy life; laugh a lot!

Frere Jacques

My brother Jackie and I enjoy a most unusual comaraderie. He is a Palinesque Republican while I am very much an Obaman Democrat. My brother is the cell-a-phonist while my cell phone lives in my car. However, despite my antipathy toward cell phones, I appreciate his phone calls when he is enroute to some destination. These calls are sometimes as light as the latest movie but other times are laden with controversy concerning our Republic. He has even said, "How did we grow up in the same home?" There is certainly reason to question that. However, we are as close right now as we have ever been though he lives in Georgia while I am here in Florida. We disagree on so much and yet there is enough that we agree on that we end every phone concersation with "I love you." My brother is an author and a book and film critic. I am a retired school teacher. He is three and one-half years younger than I am. We don't look alike, we don't think alike, but we enjoy and appreciate each other alike. Jackie once told me: "You are the only one left who knows my history." That is so true.

50 years ago

October 16, 1960 (Sunday) - I must say that I’m not at all keeping my diary up to date now. After seven years of constant daily undertaking to keep this journal vivid with each day’s thoughts and experiences, I have finally grown negligent. Here I sit on Thursday, October 20th, like the man in “The Lost Weekend,” trying to recapture the fleeting events of this week. The memory part of my brain must be terribly immature or weak for I shudder to think that I would be forced to fill this page with Sunday’s happenings. Sunday was just another Sunday. Perhaps I paid a little more attention to the service because it was conducted by the women of the church. I remember avoiding Eleanor Goss, because I had not purchased the organ music which she gave me $5.00 for. The afternoon sped by on the wings of sleep as this journal lay neglected in its corner of my desk. Diary, I promise to keep you up to date henceforth.

This is my journal entry of 50 years ago. I'm afraid I didn't live up to my commitment as there are gaps in my journals, some for years. Still, I will never regret the days that I wrote, the memories they evoke, and the evidence they occasionally give that my existence mattered.

My In-Laws Made an Outlaw out of Me (repeat)

My brother is the writer in the family. He has published four books, all about our family and his life in central Georgia. One of the cleverest stories he has ever written concerns the family cat, Fluff, who had to be housed with a vet during the visit of my brother’s mother-in-law, Mary Lou, who is allergic to cat hair. After I read my brother’s story, I wrote the following country music song for Fluff:

My In-Laws Made An Outlaw Out of Me

My life though blessed with loving care
Began to spin ar(eow)nd;
When Joe and Mary Lou, my in-laws,
Aimed to come to t(eow)n.

Her nose is plagued with allergies,
She says cat hair’s the curse.
But when I’m told to shed no hair
It makes me shed it worse!

My owner said, “Fluff, you must stay
Down at the kitty p(eow)nd;”
He packed my bags, gave me a pat,
My life flipped upside d(eow)n.

The other cats were mean as sin,
And treated me real rough;
For five days I was hardened;
I emerged as “Flo, the Tough.”

So when they came to take me home,
I treated them aloof;
And as they tried to scratch my head,
I swigged on 100 proof.

I guess I will forgive them soon,
They didn’t mean to hurt me;
And I will be a purrrfect cat,
If they don’t re-desert me.

(Chorus) My in-laws made an out-law out of me,
They put me in the clink without a key;
It hurt me, so I sing this melody.
My in-laws made an outlaw out of me.

DADT

Under President Clinton, a law was passed that was supposed to make it easier for gay people to serve in the military. It was given a title about as silly our word for moving pictures, the "movies." The legal designation was "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." That was seventeen years ago. President Obama promised to repeal this law which would then allow gay servicemen and women to serve without fear of being outed and kicked out of the service. During the time since this law was passed (a part of Defense Spending Act), thousands of gays have been separated from the military even though many of their areas of service were essential to the military mission. It is definitely time that this law was repealed. However, it appears lately that the courts are ahead of the politicans in justifying its repeal. Recently, a federal court ordered that a lesbian nurse who had been dismissed from the military be returned to her rank and place in the military. It was ruled that her dismissal came at the expense of the military in that she served a very important role as a nurse, one that is difficult to replace. Hopefully, this reversal is the beginning of the end of DADT.

Guilty, though not charged

When something breaks or is lost, I immediately feel guilty. Where this guilt came from, I don't know. I just know I always feel guilty. I remember when the Vietnam Memorial was opened in Washington, D.C., and Americans one and all told of their emotional reaction to the Wall, I wondered if I would be emotionally moved and, if not, was I warped? That was in 1989, and that year that I had a chance to visit Washington and determined to find my way to the Memorial, which I did. As I approached the area, I remember the apprehension I felt, fearing that I might be found lacking in emotional response to what others had so easily found moving. Then, there it was -- the wall of names, stretching on and on. All names of men and women who had given their life to insure my freedom, freedom to feel an emotional contact but also the freedom to feel nothing. But I didn't feel nothing. I felt tears well up in my eyes, and I thanked God for my ability to feel love and honor for these dead heroes.

Her Big Brothers

My children are the joy of my life -- Boh, Todd, and Robin. Boh has been involved in music most of his life. Todd, while also musical, has not had some of the breaks his brother has had and has, for the most part, had a regular job and played music on the side. Both boys began working musically in the Christian music community and eventually moved into secular music. Boh's big break came when he connected with Peter Cetera, former lead singer with the music group, Chicago. He began to do concerts with Cetera which eventually resulted in his auditioning with David Foster who is a friend of Peter Cetera. Boh's keyboard skills were strong enough that he was hired by Foster and did six concerts with him. Since then, he has been playing for both Cetera and Foster. Later this month, he will do an Asian tour with Foster. Recently, Boh learned that the Alan Parsons Project was looking for a saxaphone player and vocalist. Enter Todd, the younger son. This connection happened only a few weeks ago, and the next thing I knew Todd was on YouTube singing and playing with Alan Parsons. My daughter, Robin, who is not a musician, recently sent me an e-mail cheering on her brothers. My joy is vicariously enjoying music through them as they accomplish things in music that I only dreamed about.

Birthday Present

Pat Archibald is a teacher friend. We worked together for several years, but I retired while she continued to work. She became an administrator in an elementary school where she was incredibly successful. Pat and I belonged to a mutual admiration society and, while we didn't see each other as often as we used to when we were both working in the same office, we maintained contact via e-mail and occasional phone calls. I certainly never intended to miss her birthday, but I realized one morning that her birthday was that day, and I had not remembered to buy a card and get it in the mail. So, I did the next best thing: I called her office at school. Her secretary answered: "Ms. Archibald's office, who may I say is calling?" I responded, "Just tell her it's Tom." I had hardly finished that sentence when the secretary screamed, "Really!" I was left on the line wondering what all the excitement was about when Pat came to the phone. I immediately questioned her as to why her secretary had gone ballistic. She said, "You won't believe the coincidence. Just before you called, she asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I said Tom Selleck." No further explanation needed.

Star over Perry, GA

I beat my brother to the draw on having grandchildren so had the grandparents all to myself for a while. However, when his first was born, Jackie Junior, my brother became the claimant for the greatest child ever born to humanity. He wrote about, called me about, exaggerated about, went on and on about his son, JJ. It was almost Messianic. After hearing so much about this marvel, we decided to make a trip to Georgia to visit the blessed parents. Just prior to our visit, Joe and Mary Lou Millard, the proud grandparents, had driven up to see this child. It was the first time we had spent time with my brother and his family in their new home so, when we walked in, the first thing Jackie said was, "Did you have any trouble finding the house?" I replied, "No, we just followed the star." He immediately jumped in with, "Good, Joseph and Mary have been here and just left." Joe and Mary Lou probably never knew how well they set up the ending for this story.

Rainy Days and Mondays

I was born with far from a perfect teeth. I learned early in life that I had four teeth, two on either side of my front teeth, that had no permanent teeth coming behind them. Dentists were perplexed, saying that I should keep those "baby" teeth as long as they lasted as they didn't know how they could replace them with something affordable that would look good. When I went into the Navy, one of the requirements was to have your teeth checked. When the lieutenant who examined my teeth saw those four teeth, he said, "Why hasn't someone pulled those?"When I gave him the explanation I had always received, he said, "Well, I'm going to pull them, and they'll have to do something." And he did; and they did. He was chewed out, but the office went to work to see what they could do to replace those teeth. What they came up with was a permanent bridge that hooked onto my front teeth. Permanent is not the best word for that bridge as I did have trouble with it later on. One of the facings kept coming off which prevented my saying plosive "s" or "f" sounds. Try that sometime. During one of my not infrequent dental visits, a humorous event occurred. My civilian dentist was quite nervous about getting a new bridge to set, connect, and look natural. As he was working to cement the bridge in place, Karen Carpenter was singing "Rainy Days and Monday" in the background. When she came to the words "Nothing ever seems to fit," Dr. Easter and I both burst into laughter.

In Context

When I was teaching in the English department both in high school and at the college level, I stressed vocabularly study. I love words. However, I learned when I first started teaching that more important than the definition of the word was the ability to use the word correctly, which is called "the word in context." When I tested, I gave the students a sentence with one blank in it requiring that they choose which word would best fulfill the meaning of the sentence. If a student could choose the correct word, regardless of whether or not they knew the formal defintion, then they had a new, usable vocabulary word. I am not averse to knowing the definitions. Recently, my pastor referred to the definition of "faith" which is found in Hebrews 11:1. "Faith" is defined as the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. What an awesome definition, a measurement for that which can't be measured. The same wonder I find in the definition of drama: the willing suspension of disbelief. Somehow these two definitions define for me the power of language and our challenge to acquire as extensive a vocabulary as possible. The limits of our language are the limits of our world.

A post 9-11 writing

[This blog is a journal entry that was written just after 9-11] One lesson in this life I hope I've learned is that people should not be condemned by the actions of others. Right now in America, Arab-Americans are under suspicion because of the hijackings on September 11. America is deciding how to root out terrorism not only from the United States but from the world. Many in America are targeting those of Arab descent for blame, regardless of their loyalties. I hate this. It brings tears to my eyes. Recently, a friend confessed that he would complain were he getting on an airplane with single Arab men on board. I felt sympathy for him at the moment but have come to realize after more thought that that is an intolerable idea. The ripple effect of the bombings has been to generate the best and worst in people. Donations have poured in. Many of the firefighters and policemen who labored to rescue people in the ashes of the World Trade Center have paid with their lives. It is the individual in America who makes up his/her mind whom to trust and whom not to trust. We must trust as we have trusted in the past, regardless of the cost. What happened to the Japanese at the outset of World War II must not happen to people in America again. Our security has been violated, but our bond with mankind of all races and creeds is unbroken. While our government sorts out its options for extirpating terrorism, we, the citizens, must recognize the worth of individual Americans, punishing only those who are dedicated to under-minding the fabric of our democracy. These heinous individuals cannot be recognized by their race or creed but by their deeds. It is not an easy task but must be done in order to preserve the freedoms of every American.

On my own in D.C.

I recently wrote a blog about how difficult it is to get me out of my home. I love home. However, two good friends, Ed and Broder, who live and work in Washington, D.C., accomplished the impossible -- getting me to visit them for a week in the nation's capital. I flew up knowing that they would be working much of the time and that I would be on my own to navigate D.C., if I was going to see the city -- and I did. I got a Metro pass, learned how to "read" the color lines, and set out to discover and enjoy the "people's city." Although the week passed quickly, I managed to see everything I wanted to see except the Lincoln Memorial. I toured the Capitol, photographed the Supreme Court and the Library of Congress, spent a morning at Mt. Vernon, attended a concert at the Kennedy Center, toured the Smithsonian. My two main goals, however, were the Newseum and the Phillips Collection gallery. I spent hours in the Newseum, seeing the studio where "This Week" is filmed and even being photographed delivering the news just like one of the big TV news people, and made two visits to the Phillips where I saw my favorite painting, Renoir's "Luncheon of the Boating Party." I'm glad I let my friends coax me out of my home so that I would take this trip. I think they helped loosen my grip as I am now scheduled to take a Caribbean cruise in December.

Send Out The Clowns

I suppose we all have things that frighten us. Even the most macho of men feel fear regarding something that has ominous qualities. Some people suffer from vertigo so can't stand to be high up looking down. Others, like some of my family, are terribly afraid of electrical storms and cower during lightning and thunder storms. Others are afraid of crowds and avoid them as best they can. Some love the thrill of a roller coaster while others can think of nothing more unappealing. Me, I have two bugaboos -- clowns and balloons. I don't know the source of these phobias, but they are strong. Because of my aversion to them, I have never greatly enjoyed birthday parties if there were balloons, and most of the time there were unless it was my own party. And I never particularly enjoyed the circus, where clowns abound. Clowns, to me, were garish and surreal. I thought perhaps I would outgrow my problem with clowns and balloons, but it persisted even as my children began to have birthday celebrations. Will anybody join me for a clown-less and balloon-less celebration? I hope so.

A-political

I am a substitute teacher at a local college. I love my job. I can say yes; I can say no. I never know when I'll be called, but I usually say yes, even when I have only an hour or so to prepare for a class. Several weeks ago, I was called twice to sub, both times in composition classes. The professor who was scheduled to teach these classes was ill. These were the first two classes of this fall term, increasing the pressure on me to do a good job of teaching yet knowing very little about the methods the professor planned to use for instructing these students. However, I was able to get enough information to teach what I think were adequate beginning instructions for both the Composition 1101 and the Composition 1102 classes. I knew that I was to teach a writing technique necessitating the ability to determine cause and effect, and I wanted the class to be certain they knew what they were doing and what to look for. I therefore came up with some hypothetical topics which I would have groups brainstorm for cause and effect. I assigned one group the Tea Party movement. Watching them as they were getting started, I saw that they were somewhat perplexed with their assigned topic. One student had a handheld device out and was googling the topic. When I intervened, asking the problem, they said, "Are you talking about the Tea Party pre-Revolutionary or the 2009 Tea Party?" I was aghast that they had almost no idea about this movement which is in the papers daily and revolves around the likes of Sarah Palin. Are our students totally ignorant of the politics of the day? I don't know for sure, but if this class is any indication, political information is not reaching our young people.

Building Trust

Ever optimistic in the face of negativity
Is nowhere in the realm of possibility.
Even strong believers in the art of living positive
Are oft beset by inward feelings of their inability
To carry out their altruistic goals.

When I think that all my life, I tried so hard to please my wife
While wrestling with my gay side all the time.
I am amazed that I survived and lived to write this little verse
To illustrate the point--you can be you.

If you trust your inner self to be what you were born to be
Regardless of what others think, you’ll find yourself okay.

Some men think that they can’t be the person they were born to be
And strap themselves so tight that they can’t breathe.
Until their savior comes along, gives them a part, sings them a song,
And points them at themselves--Hip, hip, hoorah!

When Emerson said, “Trust thyself, “ he plucked man’s inner iron string
And played a melody not played before.
So trust yourself and play your tune,
The world will someday come into focus
And applaud your worth for being you.

My Political Manifesto

We are living in difficult times. The economy almost went off a cliff, and the recovery is slow. Fortunately, the economy seems to be creeping towards improvement. However, many companies are down-sizing to a "new norm." That is one of the things keeping unemployment high.

I don't envy our President the job of leading this nation through a recovery period. No matter what he does, he is criticized. When the criticism is justified, I understand. When it is not, I don't understand. In my opinion, the Republican party has been dedicated to seeing that this man fail as per Jim DeMint's infamous quote concerning "Obama's Waterloo." Republicans have done so by voting no on almost every bill. They have helped disseminate lies, untruths, disinformation, and innuendo. They have failed on almost every account to present alternatives and have supported bills which, when presented by Democrats, they have then voted against.

I admire President Barack Obama greatly. I read The Audacity of Hope before he was elected president, followed his campaign, and contributed to that campaign. If he is successful, it will not be with the help of the Republican party. It pains me when I see him besmirched as a non-Christian, an illegal immigrant (the birthers), and as a Nazi and racist. I find intolerable the vitriol that flows from the mouths of Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh, Michele Bachman, and Sarah Palin.

I respect one's political beliefs because we live in a free country where we can disagree. However, we also live in a country where we are told to pray for our leaders. I can't imagine what it's like being the President of the United States with problems and challenges criss-crossing his desk every day.

I believe that Barack Hussein Obama will historically be proven to have been one of our great presidents, regardless of whether or not he serves one term or two. His accomplishments so far have been phenomenal although he has gotten little credit for the achievements of this administration that is filibustered on almost every bill.

God bless America.

My First GPS Trip (repeat)

Early one mid-October morning, I hopped into my Lexus LS430 that I had recently purchased, aiming to break in my built-in navigation system on a trip eventually to lead me from my home in St. Petersburg, FL, to Nashville, TN, where I would visit my two sons and their families. This was to be an eight day trip with four stops: my brother’s home in Perry, GA; my friends who have a mountain home in Franklin, NC; my elder son’s home in Franklin, TN; and my younger son’s home in Nashville, TN. The sun was shining as I headed north up I-275. I had planned this trip and had plenty of CD’s to keep me company during the drive, including one CD of an Annie Proulx short story. The trip to Perry was uneventful, and I was greeted when I arrived in Perry by my brother and sister-in-law who spent the afternoon and evening feeding me and catching me up on recent events. The next morning, my brother and I headed for a Cracker Barrel on the interstate, knowing I would be heading to Franklin, NC, after breakfast. The weather was marginal with some fog and a threat of rain. After my brother left, I began programming the GPS and had some trouble for some reason getting it to accept Franklin, but eventually it “took” and I saw my destination. I then headed, as directed, toward Atlanta and the by-pass. When I arrived at Commerce, GA, realizing I was going to arrive much later than I had thought, I called my friends in Franklin, warning them of the delay. By this time the rain had increased to the point that there were electronic road signs flashing warnings of flooding. As the afternoon progressed and the rains increased, I felt sure that the GPS would soon announce a turn that would be more northerly although I was traveling on I-85 North which was reassuring. When the GPS “lady” finally indicated that I would exit I-85, I shuddered when I read the exit sign: Franklinton. I had been lead astray. Where was I? Calling my friends in Franklin, NC, I learned that I was some 200 miles off course and needed to double back in order to reach my intended destination. Because I had had a hamburger the day before for lunch, I had eaten only a bag of chips and some sweet cookies. Although I was hungry, I didn’t feel like eating. I just wanted to get to my destination so I began driving again. I had just run out of the rain in Franklinton and now headed back into it. It was intense. The next wake-up call came when a light on my dash flashed a large red exclamation point saying “Tire Low.” One thing about these fancy cars is that they can tell you when you have low tire pressure. I would have preferred that my Lexus had been programmed to tell me, “You’re not going where you think you are.” The car was driving smoothly so I decided to go as far as I could before retiring at some motel for the night. That motel was a Day’s Inn in Marian, NC, near Asheville. Rising the next morning, I purposed to have a better day. In order to assuage my concern about the tire, I decided I would call AAA and have my tires checked before proceeding. Soon Jimmy showed up, friendly and ready to help me get on my way. However, he could not find his tire pressure tool. When he suggested going back to his shop for a tool, I admitted I was hungry as I still had not eaten breakfast and that bag of chips and cookies were long gone. He then asked, “What do you want to eat?” When I suggested that a sausage biscuit would suffice, he said, “Follow me. I’ll take you to a McDonalds, and you can eat while I go for the pressure gauge.” And that’s what we did. I ate my sausage biscuit and drank a cup of coffee until he returned. Checking the tires, he found all four to have exactly 30 pounds of pressure. Grrrr The rest of my trip was spent visiting the people I had aimed to visit, including my two grandchildren in Tennessee. My friends in Franklin, NC, suggested that had I not had the mis-direction, it would have been just a trip. As it was, it would always be remembered as an adventure. I’m sure it was somehow I who mis-programmed the GPS but, regarding the trip I can only say, “Franklinton, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Home is where the heart is

I love home. In fact, I think my feelings are even stronger than that. I adore home. I enjoy coming home from wherever and dropping into my recliner. I love listening to my music in stereo in the living room. I love dropping into my bed at night and waking refreshed in the morning. I love my neighborhood, my yard, my flowers, my car. With this much adoration, I imagine you're thinking that I must have lots of worldly things that make my home plush and appealing. That's not the case at all. When I moved into my home almost twenty years ago, I bought all the furniture I needed, and I have bought almost nothing since. I love my home because it's my home. I once lived in a tiny garage apartment, and it too served very well for home for a while. I'm a homebody. In fact, I'm such a homebody that I'm glad I have the gym and my substituting job at the local college to make me get me out of the house occasionally. When I was teaching high school and was still married, the family sometimes scheduled trips at which time we planned to leave right after school so as to make the most of the little time we had. Almost always, although time was precious, I would insist on going home for a few minutes before we left. It was almost like "touching base" in a game. The songwriter has written, "Home is where the heart is." Well, my heart is indeed at home.

Funny Bones III

Here we go again with two more of my favorite cartoons. First of all, you must know that I am not a coconut eater. I love whole coconut chunks but don't care for shaved coconut. Once in the Florida Keys, I actually tasted coconut milk which was very nice. However, I agree with Charlie Brown in this cartoon.




This cartoon reminded me of the health care debate. I was reading an article today regarding the misinformation that was disseminated during the long period of debating universal healthcare for Americans. I sat in church one Sunday listening to a gentleman behind me misleading a lady who was agreeing with his every word. At least, we can laugh with these two ladies.

The English Class Rap

I'm not deeply into Rap music, but I can appreciate it as I was the inventor of Rap. You don't believe me, eh? Well, when I was teaching middle school years ago, I was frustrated trying to teach my students about English grammar. How do you engage students with inanities such as punctuation, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, etc., when their hormones are going beserk? The only solution I could see that might work would be tying grammar to something they did like: rock music. I never went very far with it, coming up with only three jingles, but boy did it ever work. I would get the class clapping, and then I would teach them: "A gerund, a gerund, is as cute as can be .... It is a verbal noun. It ends in I-N-G." That took care of gerunds. Now for participles: "A participle is a verbal adject'uv: it asks which, how many, or what kind 'uv." Finally there was my rap for learning the verb "to be." It must be sung to the tune of "Obla Di, Obla Da," a Beattles song of the period. "Am, is, are ... Was, were, be ... being been, OMPH (shouted). Now you know the verb to be." Again! (and repeat). I have even used these raps with my college students. It still works. Admit it -- you like it!

Separation

From 1999 to 2004, I enjoyed a friendship with a Dutchman from Amsterdam. Jos and I had connected online and discovered that we had many mutual interests, strong enough that he agreed to fly over here for a visit. Trusting our instincts, we decided the first visit should be for two weeks. When those two weeks flew by, we decided his next visit should be extended to three weeks. Eventually he was coming over for 90 days, the maximum time he could visit on a visa waiver. I also made five trips to the Netherlands during that period of time and saw Europe as I had never seen it before, as a non-tourist who went to the grocery store as well as visited the sites of the Netherlands plus one trip down into Belgium. When Jos would visit here, I began to hook him up with a friend who owned a tutoring agency. I worked at that agency as a tester, going into homes and doing assessment tests to determine what help students needed. My boss was an avid golfer as was Jos. As for me, I had played some golf but always got more excited about finding balls than scoring low. Besides setting him up for golfing, I also took him to visit Florida sites, and we even took one trip to the mountains of North Carolina. As we became better friends, I began to notice that three or four days before Jos' departure for Amsterdam, he would seem depressed. It was certainly not strange as we always enjoyed each other's company a great deal and dreaded the separation. What was strange was his diagnosis caused by the separation we would endure until the next visit which he called pre-partum depression.

Language Magic

My mother-in-law was the epitome of the malaprop user. She was an Italian lady, straight from the old country. She was verbal, loud, animated, and wonderful. She was also the best grandmother my children could ever have had. But, back to her use of language, which was both confusing and delightful. Once she came in and reported a strange phenomenon. According to her, "I saw three twins today. I think they were triplets." Another instance of her confusing word choice occurred when she told me she was a great admirer of Marlo Brandon. I never probed her to learn whether that was Marlon Brando or Marlo Thomas. It didn't matter. After my father-in-law died, "Mama" eventually ended up as our responsibility and moved into our neighborhood. Just after she moved down, I took her over to meet friends of ours who lived nearby and would be good neighbors to her. As we went into the house, the friend's dog, Patsy, came into the room, sniffed at my mother-in-law, sat down on the floor and began to scratch and lick herself. Our hostess was embarrassed as the dog continued to clean her privates while we tried to get acquainted. Finally, the hostess said, "I don't know what's wrong with Patsy. She never scratches like this" to which my mother-in-law replied: "Don't worry. It's only human for dogs to scratch."

The Diary of Tommy Cooper

In 1954, I was chosen to play clarinet at an all state high school music clinic in Rock Hill, SC. Little did I know that that workshop would provide me with an idea that would last to the present -- keeping a journal. At the close of the workshop, each participant was given a little one-year diary. It was difficult to write more than a few lines, but I began. At the time, I was 16 years old and in my junior year in high school. From that tiny journal, I "graduated" to a 5 year diary which provided more space for writing. During the time I wrote in that journal, I was in college. Then I discovered a journal that offered a page for every day of the year. Those provided me space for documenting my early years of marriage. Finally, I learned to use a computer and to this day, I journal every day on my computer. Since I retired, I write whenever I have an idea during the day or when something happens that is worth remembering. I have transcribed all of my journals into my Journals folder, and I back up these journals every three or four days. The question now is what am I going to do with my journals? They are personal and are the story of me. I'm glad I've kept this record of my life, my childhood as a young person with very low self esteem, my college and military years when I began to emerge, my marriage which proved to be faulty when I admitted after twenty-three years of marriage that I had fought being gay for as long as I could remember, my divorce, and my emergence as an honest human being who could accept my strengths and my weaknesses. From Tommy to Thom.

Cancer Redux

I had my first cancer scare when I was 54 years old. I was teaching full-time and had learned after a routine PSA test that I had a fast-growing form of prostate cancer. The recommendation was for me to have radical surgery, which I did. Of course, I missed quite a bit of work during my recovery and returned to my classroom only after I had regained most of my continence. The cancer made me realize that life might not be as long as I had thought so I applied for retirement and retired four months after I had the surgery with credit for more than thirty years of teaching.

My second bout with cancer occurred not quite ten years later and had nothing to do with the previous cancer. This time it was non-Hodgkins lymphoma, and the cancer was in my chest. I had learned of the cancer after going to my physician when my neck swelled up. The diagnosis was to have chemotherapy and radiation. I agreed to both and found myself twice a week at St. Anthony's where the doctors and nurses there treated me with loving care and encouragement. Following the chemo, I underwent the radiation, and it too was administered with tender-loving care.

I am now a cancer survivor. I look back at both scares and realize that I didn't let it turn me into a negative person. I was the eternal optimist during both "sieges" and believe that is the reason I am alive and well today. I walk about thanking God many times a day for life and health. I believe strongly that when it is my time to die that I will be ready.

Sincerely yours,

One of the most used words in a social context is the word "sincere." We have traditionally used it as a complimentary close in personal and business letters. It's meaning is clear. The use of the word means that you are not being false in any way but are writing, in the case of a letter, with no hidden intent. In other words, you mean what you say. The same applies to the oral use of this word. When someone says they sincerely believe that they are going to be successful, they truly believe it. I learned years ago, certainly before I read about it in Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol, that this word takes on even more clarity when its derivation is revealed. "Sincere" is derived from two Latin words: "sine," meaning without, and "cera," the Latin word for wax. It seems that, in the days of Roman and Greek classical architecture, some columns were made of wood. The more expensive the wood, the fewer flaws or holes it contained, caused by decay or insects. However, in order to conceal some of the flaws of imperfect wood, wax was sometimes poured into the holes so that the wood would appear more unflawed. Therefore, the perfect wood columns were sine cera, without wax, and therefore more stable and worthy of the classicism they illustrated. Would that we could count on the "sincerity" of many of today's politicians who appear to campaign quite insincerely, "not without wax."

My Wise Friend

While teaching high school, I had the privilege of riding to and from class with my department head, Gene Beeman. Gene had been the band director at my school but, after a heart attack, he agreed to become an English teacher in order to stay in education. Beeman, the man, was a superb teacher, always on task, always working for students. As a friend, I admired him for his rapport with his wife and family, his boys in particular. When I was frazzled, Gene was not. He was Mr. "Cool, Calm and Collected," but he accomplished that laid-back demeanor without demeaning others. He was just being Gene. The reason we rode to school together was that we lived in close proximity to each other, and the drive was all the way across town, south to north. It made sense for us to trade driving days.

One morning, I overslept. In fact, I didn't wake up until Gene blew the horn to let me know he was out front. I went into overdrive, rushing here and there, wondering what I could not do and still be presentable at school. Should I brush my teeth later? Would my hair comb without a shampoo? My wife had already gone out and told Gene what was going on and that I would be there as soon as possible. When I finally came out of the house, I was a mess. I was frustrated, upset with myself, and anything but "cool, calm, and collected." As we drove off, Gene was driving the car, but I was pushing on the accelerator although it wasn't on my side of the car. He seemed not to realize that we were late for school. We were only about half way to our destination when Gene pulled over to the side of the road next to a little coffee shop and stopped. "What are you doing? We're going to be late," I shouted, wanting to remind him of our need for haste. Gene looked at me and said, "Yes, we're late. I've called. They know we're going to be late, and you need a cup of coffee."

I've never forgotten the wisdom of that morning and the very wise man, my friend--Gene Beeman.

Practice Doesn't Make Perfect

How do athletes become top-notch? Is it just natural ability and coordination? Is it luck? Is it the ability to concentrate? Certainly it must be a bit of all three. I am not a qualified resource as to how athletes become adroit at their sport, but I do have some ideas about the sacrifice it can take to get to the top. Many kids in high school dream of making it into the NFL or the NBA. It is their dream and incentive to excel. When someone does achieve the pros, it is definitely reason to cheer and applaud. Some would say that all one needs to excel is drive. I would strongly disagree with that opinion as not all who have the drive to succeed actually make it to the pros. What prevents their making it? First of all, it depends on breaks and being at the right place at the right time. Secondly, it means staying healthy and free from injuries that can derail a career. Finally, there's one reason that needs mentioning because it is frequently misleading. The culprit is the idea that "practice makes perfect." That saying sounds good, but there is a flaw that can cause failure. Practice doesn't make perfect; only perfect practice makes perfect. If you practice without adjusting and raising the bar, you can be doomed to failure or mediocrity. I will confess that I taught myself to play the organ, and I taught myself using incorrect methods. I am grateful that I can play the organ and make it sound rather good. However, no amount of practice using the methods I use will ever allow me to become a concert organist.

Thank you for trying

My senior English teacher at Clinton High School was easily the most polished grammarian as well as the politest person I have ever known. Whenever she orally quizzed a student, her reply to an incorrect answer was inevitably, "No, but thank you for trying." Her policy of humility paid off too in the respect she earned from her students. Besides her primary task, she was also our senior class sponsor. Just prior to our departure for the traditional senior trip to Washington, she called to the auditorium first the girls, then the boys, to discuss a subject we males decided must be taboo amid mixed sexes. The talk turned out to be nothing but a warning to stay together in groups of three or four to avoid the perils of the big city. Returning to our classroom, one member of our class was heard to remark, “Well, if anyone should try to pick her up, she'd just say, "No, but thank you for trying." According to a tale told at a Clinton High reunion, Miss Shealy was caught failing to come to a complete stop at a stop sign. The policeman who stopped her had been one of her students and reprimanded her by saying, “Miss Shealy, that was a period, not a comma."

Suicide, Emerson's way

Although I can never imagine myself committing suicide, I had a rude awakening when studying Emerson in an American literature class as a high school student and reading about what he considered "suicide." I learned that Emerson was a transcendentalist and was in the same genre as Thoreau, Hawthorne, and Melville. He was widely admired and is still known for many of his axioms which have become imbued in the American ideology. He and Thoreau were close friends and once, when Thoreau was in jail for civil disobedience, Emerson visited him. Emerson broached the following question to his friend, "Why are you in jail?" Thoreau's reply, "Why aren't you?" The quote from Emerson that caused me to do some self-examination was "Imitation is suicide." During my youth, I had a bad inferiority complex, which I blame on no one other than myself. However, I envied many of my peers and especially those in the public eye who had managed to become either heroes or stars. I was from a little nowhere town in South Carolina and didn't particularly like my looks. How often I must have said, "I wish I were as smart as or looked like so-and-so." According to Emerson, I was "committing suicide." It was true. It was only when I could accept myself as the one and only "me" that I began to become a real person. Thank you, Mr. Emerson, for your helping me become myself, thus preventing my "suicide."

On a scale of 1 - 10

I feel pain just as anyone else does. However, I have been told by physicians that I need to let other physicians know that I have a "high pain tolerance." I have trouble remembering pain after it has happened. If asked the question, how bad was your pain, I have trouble answering that. I remember that the pain was severe before I had my knee replacement surgery, but I don't remember how bad compared with my other knee now. In the hospital, one is frequently asked, "How much pain are you feeling on a scale from 1 - 10?" I have no idea and am frustrated with the question. If you're confused thinking that anyone can judge the severity of pain, know that in 1980 I had a bad stomach ache which sent me to my doctor's office. He diagnosed the ailment as well as he could based on tests and my description of the pain and sent me home with some remedies. A day and a half later, my appendix burst, sending toxicity throughout my body. I had not relayed to the doctor the severity of the pain I had been feeling. There is a reason for pain. It is an indicator of a problem. Because I have trouble determining the level of my pain, I must be careful not to let myself get into trouble before getting medical assistance. While my difficulty is with physical pain, others have trouble knowing the level of their emotional pain. That can certainly be just as serious a problem.

Senior to Senior

When I started high school as a freshman in 1953, I entered knowing there was a big reward at the end of my senior year -- a trip with my classmates to Washington, D.C. It was a tradition. During my high school days, the class had many fund-raising activities to insure that all 64 of us could afford to make this wonderful trip to the nation's Capitol. It involved traveling by train, bus, and boat. Most of us had never been out of South Carolina, and many had never traveled without their family accompanying them. The trip included not only sightseeing in the Capitol but also, on the way up, visits to Richmond, Virginia, and the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. Of course, the time in Washington included tours of the Capitol, the White House, the Smithsonian, and other symbols of our nation's heritage. It was a marvelous experience and the culmination of my high school education.

I will soon be getting ready for another senior trip to Washington. This time the word "senior" takes on a different meaning. In September, I will spend a week in the Capitol, visiting friends who live and work there and have invited me up. I'm excited, almost as excited as I was anticipating that first senior trip.

Seniority

I feel my age, and look it too,
I love to spend time telling you
About the weather or the news
That doesn't always fit your views.

I don't go out much, so have time
to think about the days when I'm
most happy as I go my way --
Although some days may pass real slow.

When evening comes, I yearn for bed,
To have a pillow neath my head
And dreams to aid my need to have
adventures without rest.

Then soon the night is over and
it's time to face a new
day in the line of them that started
oh so many years ago.

My routine doesn't change a lot--
I read, I walk, I pay the bills,
And hope today some person will
See me, a smile upon my face,
And know I have kept the faith.

Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles

I'm not sure whether or not I believe in miracles. I used to joke about "minor miracles," a radio that starts working again suddenly or something like that. I believe that Jesus must have done miraculous things as people were amazed at him. I don't feel a need to try to explain miracles away, but I have asked myself, "Why would God go against the rules of Nature which He has created?" Regardless, there are things that appear to be miraculous. Everyone has read about someone who has incurable cancer that disappears miraculously. The school bus that dangled precipitously over the washed out bridge in Minnesota could be called a miraculous event. A child surviving a plane crash is frequently described as a miracle. One day here at my house, I saw something that amazed me. The phenomenon occurred in my living room where I have an overhead fan and a skylight. I walked into the living room and saw what appeared to be a miracle. It has never happened again, but it was indeed amazing, and I'm so glad my curiosity caused me to photograph it. (This photograph has not been altered in any way.)

Silver Sneakers

After going to physical therapy following my knee replacement surgery, I found myself dismissed by the therapist but not feeling completely back to normal so decided to comply with my pimary care physician's recommendatiion that I begin a regimen of exercise at a gym. I had lost my last excuse -- that it was too expensive -- when my insurance company notified me that their new policy was to pay for gym menbership at Lifestyle gyms. I went for my introductory three hours with a trainer after which I was advised to continue doing any exercises that I felt were helpful. I began to build up time on the treadmill but had a fear that I might trip as my father had developed something called drop foot which had caused him to stumble occasionally. I eventually learned that I could get the same knee workout on the bike with less stress on the knee so gravitated to that equipment. I still felt though that I needed some aerobic exercises so was interested when I heard about Silver Sneakers, an exercise program for people over 55. The first day I went to Silver Sneakers, I was completely lost, almost embarrassing myself with my inability to keep up with the class. After the class, I learned that there were Silver Sneakers I classes and Silver Sneakers II classes. I had been in a II class. When I changed over, it was like Goldilocks -- it was just right -- and I attended two Silver Sneakers I classes per week for about six months. The classes met at different times, one at 8:45 and the other at 9:45. One day, I somehow mixed up the times and showed up an hour early and ended up in a Silver Sneakers II class again. My first impulse was to leave, but fortunately I decided to stay and found that my stamina had grown to the II level. Since then I have been doing the more challenging class and feel so very healthy as an exercising senior citizen. draft 6:02

Down on my Knees

I've never been much of an athlete, a bit of tennis every once in a while and some bowling, but I never participated in team sports. I enjoy watching team sports such as football and baseball, but I can't blame sports for my weak knee. I don't know what caused that ailing knee, but several years ago, it became very painful. When I spoke to my primary care physician about it, he gave me two options: get a shot of cortisone or have surgery. When I told him I had heard that cortisone shots were given with a long needle and hurt, he said, "I use a short needle, and I don't hurt." "When would I get it?" I asked, hoping for some prep time. "Now," he said and gave me the shot. It did not hurt. However, after three shots over a period of a year and a half, the shots stopped helping, and I agreed to have knee replacement surgery. I had had several surgeries in my adult life and had always bounced back almost miraculously. Not so this time. I followed all the rules with exercise, physical therapy and medication, but the knee was stubborn and continued to bother me long after my recovery should have been complete. It has now been over two years. During that time, I have started going to the gym, taking two exercise classes per week with one day of nothing but knee and leg exercises, and I can finally report that my knee feels normal again. Although it certainly was no quick bounce back, it has been a total recovery thanks to my decision to become somewhat athletic.

Close Your Eyes

I have watched three movies lately on DVD that I had trouble watching. However, the effort to watch these films was worth every minute of the time. All three films are important because the messages each conveys need to be heard. In "The Hurt Locker," we encounter the reality our soldiers face every day regarding IED's (improvised explosive devices). I don't know about you, but I do not face any such daily danger, and this film helped me better appreciate those men and women in the armed forces who risk their lives to insure that I never have to worry about such a danger. "Precious" is not about explosive devices but is about poverty, ignorance, and immorality. It is also about prejudice and sexism. Most of us don't want to see the seedy side of life although it surrounds us and affects us. There is no escaping the challenge Precious has just surviving in her environment. Finally, the movie which was most difficult to watch was "The Stoning of Soraya M.," which is based on a true story. Man's inhumanity to women is the focus of this film. It is told against the backdrop of recent news about a proposed stoning in Iran. While I was not entertained by any of these three movies, I emerged from the viewing with a greater appreciation of human courage in the face of war and adversity and a gratitude for those who risk their lives that I may enjoy my freedom.

Time after Time

I have bragged about my not having an addictive personality. I have never done drugs, I quit smoking 40 plus years ago, and I don't overuse a cell phone. However, I learned a long time ago that I was obsessed with time. I couldn't stand to be late, was a clock watcher in church, and was frequently anxiously straining at the bit in college classes that were not interesting enough to hold my attention. Time would pass painfully when I could glance down at my watch to see how many minutes had elapsed since my last glance. The result: I took off my watch, put it in a drawer, and haven't worn a watch in years. Clocks are ubiquitous so I am seldom at a loss to know what time it is. However, the benefits come, for instance, when I have been in a doctor's office waiting. So long as I don't know how long I've waited, I'm relatively fine. If I had a watch, I would have allowed myself to become frenzied and out of sorts. When I'm in a gym class, two of which I attend every week, I position myself so that I can't see the clock. I would even prefer that a car not have an odometer as I find myself counting off the miles when I'm traveling. Oh no, I think, I've only gone three miles since last I checked. As a retiree, I seldom set my alarm clock. I suppose I prefer to be time-less and mile-less. In these cases, ignorance is indeed bliss, at least for me.

Funny Bones II

As I have shared with you before, I love laughter. I recently watched the movie "Julie and Julia" (yes, I'm sure I'm one of the last to see it), and I enjoyed it as Julia Childs, whom Meryl Streep played so convincingly, kept me in stitches. It was a "laugh with" rather than a "laugh at" movie.

Here's another of my favorite cartoons, this one about a famous character in history with certainly a different take on a quote from his "Poor Richard's Almanac." [click to enlarge]


The second cartoon will appeal to those of us who enjoy music and animals. [click to enlarge]


Laughter is awfully good medicine!

Sounding Off

I love music. I l love sound! Most people go to the movies to see the movie. Me, I go primarily to hear the movie. When stereo first came out, the only way to hear it on the radio was to have both an AM and an FM radio. One channel would be broadcast on AM; the other, on FM. Wow, stereophonic sound. I've never lost my interest and enthusiasm in discrete sounds coming out of two or more speakers. Next surround sound came on the scene with two different versions: 5.1 surround sound and dts, the epitome of surround sound. Now that I have a Blu-Ray player for viewing and and a surround sound system for hearing my DVD movies and shows, I am satisfied to stay home for my "Hollywood" entertainment. I have Bose speakers and a 42 inch Sony TV rear projection screen on which to view movies. The fact that I can own a movie still amazes me: "Gone With The Wind," "The Wizard of Oz," etc. I have just recently bought a Magnavox recorder that will dub VHS tapes to DVD. I am astounded at the quality and have begun to transfer some of my old videotapes, many of which are movies taped from TV, onto DVD's. I'm glad I'm alive and living in this electronic age with what I consider to be 3-D sound.

Dicknedy (repeat)

Years ago when I was working in the Pinellas county office of education, a teacher friend and I were asked to publish a county school newsletter. I had recently taken a course in word processing on the TRS-80, the Radio Shack computer. I had always been a good typist so was thoroughly enjoying my new abilities to do things on the computer. Our task was to publish positive news stories regarding teachers in Pinellas County. My friend had written an article about a teacher in a middle school whom I knew as Dick Labrant. In the article, she had called the teacher Ken Labrant. When I saw this name as I was proofreading, I told Pat that everyone knew him as Dick Labrant although his name was Kenneth Richard Labrant. At first she was reluctant to change but only because it would mean retyping. I quickly asserted my newly-learned wisdom which included something called "global replacement." All one had to do was to tell the computer to replace "Ken" with "Dick" and Ken Labrant would automatically become Dick Labrant, and we would then accord him the praise and admiration he so richly deserved. I typed in the command, pushed the ENTER key, and voila -- Dick Labrant appeared. We went ahead and printed the newsletter and sent it out to all the schools. Almost immediately we began to receive phone calls. My wizardry with the computer had soured. The first phone call came from the assistant principal at Kennedy Middle School where their school had been identified as Dicknedy Middle. The second call was from Dr. Judith Klikken who was on the School Board. Dr. Klikken was quite upset that she had been labeled Dr. Judith Klikdick. So much for global replacement.

What's in a Name?

Have you wondered where the name for this blog was "born?" Like most names of things, there is a reason for the name. One of the rules of semantics is that "Man is the namer of things." I have no idea where the first Bobo came from (I've never delved into the genealogy of my family), but I do know that my grandmother on my dad's side of the family was named Clara Bobo. For some reason, my grandmother decided to name her last-born child Thomas Bobo Cooper, the only child in the family to bear the maternal maiden name. When I was born (the first born), I was given the same name and became Thomas Bobo Cooper, Jr. As I was growing up, I lived in fear that someone would discover that worthy-of-ridicule middle name. However, I grew into the name and later in life gladly exposed it which resulted in my wife and I deciding to continue the name with our first-born, Thomas Bobo Cooper III. For the first time, we decided to use the middle name as the given name, and "Bo" was introduced to the world. He has relished the name and seemingly has had no fear of the other -Bo attached to the name. There is a wonderful movie entitled "Front of the Class" in which the main character is called "Dr. Bobo" by his family. The movie, which is based on the life of a real person, doesn't reveal the reason for the name, but perhaps I have found a long lost relative. In case you're interested, Bo now has a four year old son named -- Luke.

Instant Success

As I grow older, I become more and more a creature of habit. My mornings are pretty much prescribed. I hit the floor, thank God for the day, turn on the computer and head for the kitchen to create my morning cup of coffee. I have been buying my instant coffee at Save-A-Lot for years (my daughter says I'm the last of the instant coffee drinkers). The process involves pouring one bag of Splenda into my Scarlett O'Hara mug (given to me by my son), adding one good shake of powdered cream, carefully measuring one level teaspoon of sugar and finally adding one heaping teaspoon of instant McDaniel's. When I finished my ministrations one morning recently, I ended up with a topless sugar bowl. That was strange. It had always worked before. As I retraced my steps, I realized something had gone terribly awry in my routine process. Reader, I'll let you figure out where I had flubbed. It gave me a good laugh with which to start my day.