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.

Eek! A Spider

I've always enjoyed games, especially games that involved intellect and not just chance. Three of the games I most enjoyed when I could find a good, competitive partner were Jotto, Scrabble, and Boggle. I learned to adapt Boggle to my classroom by putting the squares up on the board so that teams within the class could compete. Jotto, which involved a writing implement and paper, could be played almost anywhere. Scrabble required a Scrabble board (at least before the advent of computer games) and was usually played seriously. It was after I retired and became interested in computers that I discovered Spider Solitaire. I read recently that it may be the most played of all computer games. I have found it both addictive and challenging. By the way, I always play the Intermediate level, having long ago dismissed the lowest level as too easy and the highest as impossible. The middle level is winnable and keeps my wits sharpened. I find myself playing Spider Solitaire when I have a few minutes left before church or when I'm waiting on a friend who is a bit late. It soothes my impatience and makes me use my mind to reason out the best solution. And, on top of playing a challenging game, the computer goes into a little fireworks demonstration when a game is won. You certainly don't get that in Scrabble.

Nearby Paradise

My son and his family live in Nashville, TN. Both he and my daughter-in-law travel some with their jobs, and they ended up taking a business trip to St. Petersburg and were able to bring along Luke, my three-year-old grandson. I knew they were staying at St. Pete Beach and planned to visit them during the day. Boh called early and suggested I come on out to the hotel and have breakfast with them on the beach. Good idea! More time with Boh, Jeri, and Luke. The drive from my home to the beach was only a twenty minute drive so I was there in no time. I parked in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn and ambled through the lobby. Boh had told me they were eating on the beach. As I exited the door to the patio area where breakfast was being served, I suddenly felt as though I was Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz" as she stepped into the Technicolor magic kingdom. Was it possible that I was still in Florida and had driven only twenty minutes to arrive at this Paradise on Earth or had I been magically transported to Hawaii? It certainly didn't look like this at my house on 15th Avenue North. The visit with my family was fantastic, as always, but the realization that I live so very near Paradise was a revelation.

Funny Bones

I believe laughter helps keep a person healthy. Humor is certainly an important part of my life. When I run across a cartoon that causes me laughter, I scan it and put it in my cartoon folder. Here are a couple from my cartoon archive that tickled my fancy.

Being a church organist certainly made this cartoon one that touched my funny bone.


















I enjoy humor that catches me unawares, and the characters in ancient history are certainly not usually the butt of jokes.


















Keep laughing. It's contagious!

Overheard

Although I have been an English teacher for forty-or-so years, I have never been a snob regarding the use of language. I taught my students: The best language is the language that gets the job done. That means that there is a time for formal language and a time for informal language. I believe in the equality of language although I also believe that some language, such as profanity and hurtful language, have no place anywhere. I believe the gift of language is God-given and therefore a treasure. I love the grammar of the English language and enjoyed showing students how our language has structure.

However, the beauty of language is also that it can’t be totally structured all the time. I caught this conversation among two elderly ladies when I was traveling on a bus to Bainbridge, Maryland. I wrote down several of their verbal repartees, enjoying the brokenness and the naturalness in that it was being spoken without the knowledge that anyone but the partner was listening:

Never pick up anybody -- even a woman -- might be a man in disguise.

Wire keeps crows out of a garden - no, a string - they fly down to get tomatoes and get tangled up in it - two strings.

I need a hearing aid, but those things cost $300.00.
Aw, you can get them for $250.00 - Anyway Mr. Brown says the only thing he can hear with his is the TV.
Well, you have to get ‘em tuned up. Those Zeniths are good.

Any car I am in I’m driving too.

I drink a Coke every day of the world. It gives me a lift.

Disjointed, fragmented, yet an example of our ability to communicate with one another and to be understood without resorting to a formal language which, in this instance, was totally unnecessary. I love the English language.

Church Wit

My church is diverse and accepting of many different Christian beliefs. The members of the clergy wear robes, communion is observed every Sunday, and there are candles for worshippers with a Roman Catholic background. Communion is open to everyone, regardless of whether or not they are members or our church or any church. My pastor has a wonderful sense of humor and frequently weaves stories of different faiths into her sermons. The following story was a story that delighted me as a former Southern Baptist:

A man had shaved himself all of his life, but he decided he was going to give himself the luxury of going to a barber for a shave. The shop happened to be owned by the Southern Baptist preacher in town and his wife, Grace, did the facials. When the guy finished his shave, he stepped down and Grace said, "That'll be $20.00." Shocked by the cost, he nevertheless paid and left the shop. The next morning he got up, reached up and touched his face, and was amazed that his beard had not returned at all. The same thing happened for several days until at the end of two weeks, he returned to the barber shop. Grace was not there, but the barber was. The man told the barber, "I came in two weeks ago and had a shave and my beard has still not yet grown back out." The man said, "I'm not surprised. You were shaved by Grace. Her policy is: once shaved, always shaved."

May I Have A Word With You?

I love words. That's why I'm an English teacher. I have stressed vocabulary learning in every class I've taught. "The limits of my language are the limits of my world" was one of my favorite axioms I employed in my classes. I emphasized the importance of using words in context rather than memorizing the definitions. I also taught that some words are to be spoken while others, such as the words "facetious" and "penurious," are more commonly found as written words. I remember too encountering words repeatedly without being able to determine their exact meaning, such as the word "ubiquitous." I saw that word everywhere. What a surprise to learn that was what it meant -- everywhere. Some words are difficult to remember, such as the word "funicular," which I first heard when I was in Norway and rode a funicular up the side of a mountain. I have trouble remembering the word for artistic sculpting with plants such as is done at Disney: "topiary." That word always escapes me. Then there are the words that I abuse by overuse, such as "really." I think the abuse of "really" is southern, and I certainly have availed myself of it to the extreme. I have even had to "de-really" my journal. My brother's favorite repeat word is "again," which he uses to show contrast. Language is magical, and I love it. I REALLY do.

Wink

While most people’s soft drink of choice is either Coke or Pepsi, my soft drink of choice is Wink. Wink is a bottled soda that has a strong grapefruit taste but not the strong aftertaste of grapefruit juice. It is carbonated and, to me, is about perfect as a soft drink. For years, I would buy the two-liter bottles, refrigerate them, and share them with house guests. My crossword puzzle partner who would come over to work with me to conquer the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle also became a Wink addict. Occasionally we would work the puzzle at his house when he would have to buy the Wink. However, he swore that Wink did not taste the same at his house as it did at mine. A couple of years ago, Wink disappeared from the grocery shelves. When I first asked clerks about it, they would just wink at me and say, “There’s your wink.” Very funny. Finally, I gave up but didn’t substitute another soft drink for my preference. There was no substitute. Recently, when my elder son was visiting this area, I mentioned to him how I missed Wink. He immediately went to his laptop and came back a few minutes later and announced, “I ordered you a case of Wink.” When I questioned him where he had found it, he said, “Amazon.com.” It was true. Amazon had Wink, and a few weeks later I had nine bottles which I drank as precious liquids. After my supply was gone, I ordered a case that I paid for myself, but the shipping cost was prohibitive. I have now made out a work order for Wink that I am passing out to the grocery stores I frequent. Surely, someone can find the source of Wink and can replenish the shelves. In the meantime, if there are any “Winkers” out there, please let your grocery store know that we are determined to see the return of Wink.

USPS Snake Patrol

I live in a quiet residential area of St. Petersburg near an elementary school. I feel very safe in my home though I have no alarm system or even a dog for security. All I have is my confidence in the integrity of my home. My safety was challenged though one day while sitting at my computer checking my e-mail. I was sure I heard a rapping in the front part of the house. At first, I ignored it, thinking it was perhaps the refrigerator which frequently emanates gastronomic sounds from its innards, but then I heard the sound again. Getting up, I followed the sound which lead me to the front door. When I peered out the peep hole, I saw my mailman. Figuring he must have something from the post office that required my signature, I began to unlock and open the door. From the other side, I heard him shout, “No!” I quickly pushed the door shut again, wondering what in the world was going on. Shortly, I heard “Okay, you can open it now.”

When I opened the door, there was my postman holding a stick he had obviously picked up in the yard. He began to tell me that, as he walked up to deliver my mail (I have a mail slot in the door), he saw two black snakes on my front porch. Knowing they are basically harmless, he picked up the stick and tried to scare them away from my front door. In the process, the stick knocked up against the door which was what had drawn me to the door. He said that, if I had opened the door, one of the snakes might have come in the door. Eureka!

I will always have a warm place in my heart for the postal service and especially for those who do snake patrol to protect us citizens.

Gay Friendly

When I first accepted myself as a gay man at age 54, I was afraid of what I might become. Fortunately, I met three wonderful gay men in church who befriended me and guided me into a very satisfying platonic relationship.

I have three friends--Scott, Matt, and Dean;
Their friendship means the world to me.
I sometimes want to change my friends,
But I can only change me.

Scott is the friend who taught me how
A friendship really should be;
Now when Scott isn't all I need,
I can't change Scott--God, change me.

Matt's prayer life I do emulate;
He taught me You are in me;
But Matt said, "I can let you down."
God, don't change Matt--just change me.

Dean's friendship has been one of time;
In games he can defeat me;
Don't take away Dean's winning edge;
Give me new goals--Lord, change me.

Life is a challenge, each new day
Demands some alteration;
Lord, bless my friends--let us begin
A friendship restoration.

Sky Lightning

When I had my house built in 1989, one of the items I wanted to include was a skylight. I also wanted a fireplace (or thought I did), but the builder said I had to make a choice: fireplace or skylight. Fortunately, I chose the skylight in my living room. The original skylight was plastic and, while it was clear when it was installed, it became opaque over the years, baked by the sun. While I had heard others complain about leaking skylights, mine was sturdy and leak-proof until that summer morning when I heard a strange sound. There was a tropical storm way out in the Gulf, nowhere near us. However, the storm had spawned a squall line with pounding rain and strong wind, and I was to learn that this storm was the cause of the strange noise I had heard. The rain and wind had abated quickly as I walked the house looking for the source of the noise. When I walked outside, I saw nothing but, when I turned around, there were leaves on the floor in my house. Then I looked up -- no skylight! I learned later that a downdraft from the storm had lifted the skylight from the roof. I could not have been more lucky that day as I went into action to cover the hole in my roof before we had more rain. The rain held off, and a blue tarp was laid down and anchored to protect me until a new skylight could be installed. The replacement skylight was glass. It has now been five years since the old one was replaced, and the skylight is still as clear as it was the day it was installed. I can once again hear raindrops, see occasionally the moon and stars, and every once in a while watch lightning streak across the sky. You can't do that with a fireplace.

My One and Only

I am a musician as well as an English teacher. I have written in this blog about my choice not to major in piano when I was in college but to to get my BA in English. That choice was a wise one and has turned out to be very satisfying. But music has also played an important role in my life. First of all, it allowed me to start as my elder son's first piano teacher. I taught him the way I wished I had been taught -- accurately, including the techniques of good piano pedagogy, and not just learning the notes. Today he is a professional keyboardist and traveling with the likes of Peter Cetera and David Foster. As a retiree, I now have an outlet for my musical ability that is so very satisfying. I have one piano student. My student is in his 40's and is self-taught. He first came to me for piano lessons ten or fifteen years ago. He did not progress and eventually dropped the lessons. A year and a half ago, he came to me asking if he could restart lessons. At first, I was dubious, remembering the missed lessons, the non-practice, and the lack of progress. I therefore made it very clear that I would charge him an hourly fee, would charge him that fee should he miss without arranging a make-up, and that we would not use any of the piano hour for visiting. He agreed. I have challenged him once regarding his seriousness about the lessons to which he responded: "This is therapy for me." From that time on, he has progressed rapidly to the point that I look forward to his coming for his lessons and pray that his confidence some day will allow him to play before an audience. I would be proud to tell someone that he is my student.

I Speak Anglish

When I was teaching high school English, one of the mottos of my classroom was "The best language is the language that gets the job done." What I wanted my students to understand was that while one of the goals of the class was to teach students formal English, informal English was also an important element of one's everyday experience. Although formal English would be necessary when interviewing for a job or making a presentation, formal English spoken outside on the campus or at a social with one's peers could be awkward and stilted. Therefore, rather than learning just formal English, it was necessary to learn when to apply the appropriate language to different experiences and situations. While I didn't require that my students learn black English, I taught them that there was such a thing and let some of the black kids talk black English to each other, using terms that the white kids did not understand but which were understood readily by other black students. I also taught my students that our language originated from the Angles, the Saxons, and the Jutes. It was the Angles who dominated those three tribes, and it was their language that became ours. Only country folks would call our language "Anglish," but that's where the name English originated, sho' nuff.

Alonely

[If you're experiencing deja vu with this blog, you are right -- it was published on May 31st, Memorial Day. I thought it bore repeating since it's another holiday with the same challenges. Happy Independence Day!]

Being single involves, of necessity, eating alone, watching a movie alone, going to bed alone. I have learned to handle all of those things without being terribly lonely. However, my having overcome loneliness fails the test on holidays, such as Memorial Day. Somehow or other, holidays regain the upper hand, and I become a holiday casualty. I am not only alone on holidays, but I am “alonely.” There’s a big difference between being alone and being alonely. “Alone” is just being separated from others; “alonely” is an emotional low that cannot be easily handled. My dad was a person who didn’t handle being alone well. When my mother died at an early age, he quickly located her replacement so that he wouldn’t be alone. I chose to be married to a lovely lady who was company to me for twenty-three years although she turned out not to be my partner for life. When we divorced, I worried about living my life alone. It has now been over twenty years of living alone, and I have done it rather well. Nevertheless, I can’t help but think of the years ahead as I grow older and wonder how I will care for myself if I become disabled and am still alone. I have enough confidence in myself to think that I’ll be okay most of the time, but those damn holidays are pitfalls I can’t avoid. No more holidays, please, and I’ll be fine. It’s on holidays that I am “alonely”.

Hello, Young Lubbers

I am a mild-mannered person, soft-hearted and gentle. I love the creatures of the earth, even the black snake that scares me occasionally as it darts into the bushes in my yard. I can remember when I used to find worms on my tomato plants that I would take and lay in the middle of the road in order to give them a fighting chance for survival. However, lately I have been seen stalking the yard with a pair of garden clippers usually used for cutting back weeds and such. I am not looking for weeds to snip. I am, in fact, seeking a large yellow and black grasshopper called the lubber. I cannot remember ever seeing these huge insects before last year when I caught one gnawing on an amaryllis bulb after it had decimated the leaves of the plant. I was horrified. Killing something this big is like killing a squirrel. Nevertheless, I feel no compunction about sentencing these lubbers to the death clippers. I hope lubber season is over soon as I don’t relish continuing to scan my yard for these hungry critters that bring out the killer instinct in me.