What a Weekend

Normally, like many others, I lead a rather munduane life. I go to work, return home, eat, sleep etc. in a pretty regular pattern. For relaxation I might read (both from this LCD screen and the printed page), watch a little TV (not more than 10 hrs / week) , listen to music or pursue one of my hobbies. The days glide by (the weekends faster than the weekdays - go figure) and life is generally good. This past weekend was different, but in a good way.

First there was ( and is continuing) a 4+ day visit from my older daughter. Since she lives in Texas and I only get to see her about twice a year, this is a big deal. She arrived early Friday evening and her mother and I shared a pizza with her for dinner. Her BFF (Best Friend Forever for the unenlightened) came over and visited for a while, then the two of them went off to do other things. I watched the last installment of the PBS series on our National Parks (about which I intend to write another entry).

Saturday morning arrived wet and gloomy, but did not dissuade us from our planned trip to the cider mill (http://www.ujcidermill.com/). My younger daughter came over from where she lives on the west side of the state and the five of us (Mom, daughters, BFF and I) drove up to St. Johns, MI. We were met there by my goddaughter (who grew up, as much as a 4' 11 1/2" person can grow up, with my kids) and her boyfriend. We had a good time, drank cider, ate donuts, browsed the gift shop (which had, among other kitsch and tchotchkes, an anatomically correct gummi heart!) , did some wine tasting / purchasing and bought some baked goods. We left monetarily poorer, but enriched in spirit. The rain held off and the sun even peeked out once or twice. Hopefully the others enjoyed themselves as much as I did, even if it meant that I missed the first half of The Game.

"Which game is this?", you might ask, but only if you do not live in Michigan. It was the big one, the annual slugfest of a football game between Michigan State University (hereafter known as MSU or, alternatively, the good guys) and the University of Michigan (aka the Wolverines, a disgusting carrion eating (well, they are omnivorous) relative of the badger, referred to from now on as the evil enemy). This is the rivalry game for both teams, even if those other guys try to downplay it by saying "Our real rivalry game is with OSU" ( which is someplace way south of here - I've been close to there "once or twice"). I will grant that they hold the edge in the series, but that goes back to when U of M was a national powerhouse and MSU (then known as MAC - Michigan Agricultural College) was a dinky little land grant school populated with future farmers and, yes, cows.

In recent years the series has been pretty even, with them holding a slight edge. Most games are decided by a touchdown or less and not until the final moments of the game. This year was no exception. MSU ground out a 20 - 6 lead going into the final quarter, but that lead evaporated as they roared back to tie the game with 2 seconds left on the clock. (Aside to Rich Rodriguez, U of M Head Coach - Is your middle name Ara?*) Needless to say, this turn of events left me on the downhill side of an emotional rollercoaster. Real coasters I love, emotional ones not so much! The good guys, however, prevailed in the overtime as MSU turned them back with an improbable interception in the end zone, and then scored a touchdown on a running play that was called to merely get the ball in a better position to kick a winning field goal. Pandemonium ensued, both on the field and in front of my TV. You do not want to be in the house with me for this game, as the levels of "verbal encouragement" and "mocking derision" follow the ebb and flow of the contest and the volume of same becomes proportional to the closeness of the score.
(*semi obscure reference to 1966 MSU - Notre Dame "Game of the Century")

The emotional exhaustion from this ordeal led to my doing little of note that evening, other than comisserating with a friend, over dinner and later, about blown calls by the refs and missed opportunities by MSU to stretch their lead sufficiently. I dragged my weary but satisfied self to bed and slept well.

Sunday I awoke and gleaned the news from the 2 papers we receive while drinking coffee and enjoying a fresh cider mill donut. I've always been an avid newspaper reader, even as a child. There is nothing better (well, almost nothing) than a morning spent in a comfy chair with a paper in my hands and a fresh cup of coffee by my side. I mourn the decline of the newspaper industry in the USA. And no, reading it on my monitor is just not the same, nor as satisfying.

Most of Sunday afternoon was consumed by my going to a friend's place to watch NASCAR (that's "stock car" racing for those of you living under rocks) on a big HD (high definition - ditto the rocks etc.) TV. After the race my visiting daughter and I went out for a "Dad & daughter only" dinner at the Texas Roadhouse, which I understand is an extremely popular place with certain younger people I know that live near Toledo. Steaks were consumed and conversation flowed easily. We returned home and talked some more until her aforementioned BFF arrived and they went out.

I read for a while, then went to bed. I was tired but satisfied, physically, emotionally and, in the broadest sense, spiritually. For when I am with my children, and the friends that they have chosen, I see the adults that they have become. And I am happy.

Mini Mania

I've had my new Mini Cooper S for 2 weeks now and I love it. We are still in "break in" mode so I have not yet exercised its true potential as far as the "speed and quickness" part of the performance equation, but the handling is fantastic! It is easily the most agile and responsive car that I have ever driven, including my 2 Triumphs and my Sprite. Driving has become fun again, rather than a chore to be endured. I could go on and on with cliches containing the words "go kart" and "on rails" but I won't. And let's not forget the "creature comforts" that were (or are) lacking in the aforementioned sports cars. AC that works, power mirrors, sound deadening, cruise control etc. make for a more pleasant driving environment, especially on a long trip. Yeah, I admit it, I've "gone soft" (and not just around the middle) but at this point spartan (unless you're talking about MSU) is not superior. What is superior is the amount of fun I have behind the wheel of this little rocket. So as the Mini motto says, Let's Motor!

I Remember

I remember when we all thought we lived in the greatest, strongest country in the world, a colossus astride the globe, second to none. I remember watching the news or reading the paper and thinking how lucky I was to be here, and not where the facade of civilized society had been torn yet again by senseless violence. I remember when many of us thought that firefighters had a pretty cushy job with all that time off in exchange for spraying water on burning buildings. I remember when my biggest worry when flying was if there would be room in the overhead bin. I remember a Manhattan skyline, viewed from across the Hudson River, that ended with an improbable double exclamation point. I remember a morning with an azure blue sky...

Music, Music, Music

Anybody that knows me is aware that I am a musical onmivore. There is only one genre ("rap") to which I steadfastly refuse to listen and one that I need be be in exactly the right mood (opera) to do so. Everything else is fair game. Being a baby boomer, I grew up with a variety of songs on the "soundtrack to my life." Rock and roll, for sure, but also "50s pop" (think Pat Boone, Doris Day etc.). There were Broadway show tunes as well as classical muisic. There were TV and movie "theme" songs and advertising jingles. Let's not forget folk and protest music too. But rock and roll dominated.

First it was the seemingly bland commercial rock of the late 50s and early 60s. Then The Beatles changed everything. People besides teenagers started paying attention. The music morphed from "I Want to Hold Your Hand" to "She's Leaving Home." Instead of telling us what we should be feeling, it told others what we were feeling. The Viet Nam war had a lot to do with that. So did drugs. But no matter what your views on either, there was still the music.

To this day, I will hear an "oldie" (meaning a song contemporary to my lifetime) and I will be transported back to a time and place that are inextricably linked to that song. "MacArthur Park?" It is spring 1968 and I'm in my friend's 62 Chevy on our way to high school. "American Pie?" 1971, driving in my Triumph from Ohio to Michigan. "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band?" I'm listening to the first Beatles album I ever purchased in my bedroom in N.J. "Que Sera, Sera?" It's at my cousin"s house in Canada and I'm 6 or 7. I'm sure you get the picture, and I'll bet it happens to you too.

Don't get me started about concerts. I've been to a few. Any music from any of those groups that I've seen is hard wired into my memory of those events. Rock, jazz, pop or classical, it does not matter. Some were great, some were just OK, but they are all there.

These days I listen to a lot of vocal jazz, especially The Manhattan Tranfer (my all time favorite, thanks to Thom Cannell way back when) and the "great American songbook" (vocal "standards" of the last century). But I still love Rock and Roll. Especially if it's got a good beat and you can dance to it.

And That's The Way It Was

We have lost yet another American icon. Notice I said icon, not movie star, entertainer or pop culture hero. Walter Cronkite, once accurately described as "the most trusted man in America," passed away today at the age of 92. He was the genial "Uncle Walter" who we let into our home to tell us what was happening in the world around us. I grew up watching him as he reported on the day's events. And what events they were : "Here is a bulletin from CBS News. In Dallas, Texas three shots were fired...."; "Man on the moon! Whew, boy...; "we shall try tonight to pull together the threads of this amazing story."

If the news was bad, his manner and the gravity of his voice were reassuring, as if to say, we will get through this together. If the news was good, his eyes would twinkle and the hint of a smile would emerge below his moustache. In any event, we believed him. And he believed in us, in the American spirit and that the truth, however ugly and painful, needed to be told. He reported what he saw, not what he was shown.

He will be remembered as an ardent proponent of the manned space program, which he reported upon from its onset. His enthusiasm and emotion were never more evident as he watched and reported when Neil Armstrong's boots touched lunar soil that first time. One could almost believe that it was Cronkite up there taking that "small step."

Walter Cronkite did not invent broadcast journalism, but came to be its public face. He did not lead public opinion, but reflected it. His voice was not strident or inflammatory, but was heeded. And when he stated" That's the way it is," you knew that you had heard the truth.

Stuff

Why do we (and by "we" I mean "I") collect, accumulate, acquire and store"stuff?" By way of definition, "stuff" are those items and possessions that have no immediate bearing on our health, safety, welfare, sanity or nutrition. For example, a refrigerator is not "stuff," but a never used wok is. A television is not, but a 4 year old magazine is. A hammer is not, but a container of 4 1/2 million (approx.) twisty ties is. A winter coat is not, a pair of elephant leg windowpane plaid polyester pants most definitely is. I think you get the picture.

I have kept stuff for so long I don't remember why I kept it. I have some stuff so old it could vote (if it had a picture ID.) Some of my stuff was given to me and some I actively sought. And at one time I thought it might come in handy "someday!" Well guess what, boys and girls, "someday" seldom arrives. But I still have my "stuff" just in case it does.

One of the Gas Laws (no, not the one about never eating beans and broccoli in the same meal) states that "A gas expands so as to fill the available space" - or something like that. Well, my "First Law of Stuff" states that "Stuff expands so as to overfill the available space." And lately, my stuff has gotten past that point. So I have been trying to get rid of "stuff." And it is hard, on several levels (and by levels I do NOT mean the unexcavated piles that defy carbon dating.)

First you have to identify exactly what kind of "stuff" it is. This follows a continuum from "Oh, that's where that went!" through "What was I (or whoever gave this to me) thinking" to "What the hell is this anyway?" Next comes the critical act of classification - "keep" or "toss." To those of us with packrats in our family trees (mea culpa) this decision can be agonizing. Many times a declutterization project has been derailed at this juncture. A common yardstick applied to wardrobes is "Have I worn this in the last year?" Some of us, myself included, need to ask "Have I seen this in the last year?"

Once the retention dilemma has been resolved there come more questions. "If I keep this, where do I put it?" is a common one, for, at least if you are me, if you had a place for it it would not be "stuff" but rather a "necessity of life as I know it." This begets a giant game of Tetris, where you try to fit all the pieces together as compactly as possible. Unlike the computer game, however, the "stuff" does not disappear when this is accomplished! Or if the item is classed as "toss," how to dispose of it. ("Sure I could landfill it, but is that the "green" response? Maybe someone else wants it....I'll ask all my friends / coworkers / random people in the street. Better yet, I'll E Bay / Craigslist it! Make some money off it, yeah, that's it! ") Stop yourself right there, Buster (or whatever your name is) because unlike the aphorism, one man's treasure is another's trash.

So slowly I have been identifying, classifying, moving and either keeping or tossing my "stuff."
I am nowhere near done, but I have made progress. Not just physical progress, but mental progress as well. For I have found that freeing myself from my "stuff" has been liberating. I no longer look at it and think "I should do something about this 'stuff'." I have met the enemy and it is "stuff." My two best weapons are my paper shredder and my trashbags. My greatest allies are Goodwill and Freecycle. See you at the landfill!

D Day + 65

June the 6th, 1944 - forever etched into the world's consciousness as D Day, occurred 65 years ago today. It will forever be remembered as a day that marked the "beginning of the end" of World War II in Europe, the first step in the liberation of France and one of the most remarkable events in the history of the world. It is right that it be remembered as such, and more.

But to me it is also a date upon which to reflect upon and honor those men and women of a generation, slowly vanishing, that experienced their "day of days" on that date. They were called, most notably by Tom Brokaw, the "greatest generation." They set aside their hopes and aspirations, and in many cases their lives, in pursuit of a common goal. This, in itself, is remarkable enough, for they set aside what they wanted and took up the challenge of what needed to be done. But to me, the truly extraordinary thing was was their aim, not to conquer or aggrandize or even survive, but to liberate the oppressed.

I fear that never again will we stand united in pursuit of such a lofty vision. We have become polarized and fragmented. The "Me generation" has replaced those who fought and sacrificed.
I often wonder how our country would now respond to a similar challenge. I know, we displayed unity and resolve in the days after 9/11, but what have we sacrificed as a country? Surely the lives of soldiers and sailors and airmen and marines, but not on the same scale. 10,000 Allied casualties were suffered in one battle, on one day. We have to take off our shoes at the airport, in 1944 you couldn't even buy shoes. We complain about the price of gas while then most civilians were limited to 5 gallons a week. We "slave away" at our jobs for 40 hours a week, but many defense plant and shipyard workers put in 12 - 18 hours a day, six or seven days a week, for years.

Now they are passing on at an increasing rate, yet they are mostly invisible to us. We see not the corporal, or the seaman, or the defense worker. We see the greeter at Wal Mart, or the usher at Church, or the older person sitting alone at the cafe. So I raise my hand in a salute to them, the dwindling ranks of the World War II veterans of either the war fronts or the home front. And if you happen to come across an " eighty or ninety something" person, buy them a beer, or an iced tea, or a cup of coffee and ask them, "What did you do in the War?" You might be surprised.