Slobber Cat

I think I mentioned that I had a recent life experience with gravity and stairs that resulted in my right wrist being fractured (turn on audience sympathy tape and turn up the aw’s).  It’s made fulfilling my personal pledge to post every day for at least a year, more difficult.

  As I work the keyboard with rapid fire letter choices on the left side, the counter-point right renders some staggering errors of t’s instead of y’s and inverted vowels.  But that’s not the topic of today’s observation.  It’s just the preamble.  For in this very situation is where my cat Obediah chooses to sit in my lap. 

   Long before the wedding to my Badalona Princess, and prior to our purchasing another cat, followed by a dog, Obediah was the lone pet.  In short, he got all the attention.  As of late, his portion of human attention has been fractionalized and from time to time, I feel guilt.  Like, right now.  So instead of shooing him away, I welcome his presence.  He purrs loudly and the bond between pet and owner is reforged; until the drooling.  I mean, really slobbering,  but I am reluctant to use that word because I usually think of Hound Dogs, Boxers, Basset Hounds and a few Pit Bulls’ when I say that word; all dogs.  So what’s with the water works?  I don’t recall him doing that when it was just us.  So, I asked the vet the next time I took him in.

    Now a caveat to this tale is that over the years we’ve had to have teeth removed due to infections, so a part of me was feeling as if I had tipped the scales and now the poor critter just could no longer keep the saliva back because the gate of dental work was absent.  My vet mentioned the HISS test they use when considering cat’s and drooling. (H) stood for health, and as I mentioned Obediah experiences periodontal disease and so that was the vets guess. Yet, the vet also pointed out that drooling happens most times at meal times, so I wasn’t out of the woods yet. (I)  stood for instinct, and drooling isn’t a particularly instinctive behavior in cats, but that the sight or smell of certain foods can prompt salivation, just as a tempting meal might make my mouth water. This wasn’t about food, that much I was sure, but as I say, this was how Vets narrow the possibilities down. The first (S) stands for stress, and when a cat gets stressed, like say excessive grooming,  it may be a way of calming itself; although there is not always a direct link between drooling and stress, so that falls into the ‘what-ever-you-tell-yourself’ department.  The second (S) is symptom solver; which means, in effect, not all cats are wired the same.  Just as some impulses to knead can be lead back to nursing, and where eating can trigger salivation, then too human affection can be equated in a feline head as any of the above, even the love-hate of petting a cat only to have your hand attacked between purrs falls into this category:  unique to house cats.

   I didn’t get a conclusive answer as to why Obediah drooled,  but it did get me to wonder if there were a niche market for kitty bibs out there?  Today we’re prone to pamper our pets with indulgences as booties, rain coats and even pet diapers.  

   So maybe a kitty bib he can wear around the house might generate enough cash to keep him in litter for life?  It doesn’t erode cat dignity I’d think. I mean,  It’s not like he gets to go outside anymore and be bullied by the other cats in the neighborhood at the school bus stop.  I don’t think I’d have to worry about his self esteem being horribly stomped on by ridicule for his behavior.  But you know, I could almost hear my dog snicker whenever he passes.  But maybe that’s just my imagination.

Give Me Permission

I got started on this while watching a debate on ideals.  As the missiles were flying each contender was careful not to appear too brutish in their hostility towards disagreement.  One made a point to the detriment of the other and in rebuttal uttered “If you’ll permit me” and suddenly a starburst when off in my head

Permit?  Now isn’t that a luscious word? If you’ve ever seen 2001 A Space Odyssey you might recall near the end of the film a series of flash-backs and flash-forwards that mimicked mental processing.  But that’s the best I can do with conveying how my thoughts were rushing in different yet conjoining fashions.   In the purely philosophical context, permission is most commonly used to refer to consent. And that consent is the legal embodiment of the concept, in which approval is given to another party if so required by a perceived power to enforces its will. For permission I’d have to have an authority to grant it, for the premise to hold water.  Yet also, Permission depends on norms (ought-to proclamations as well as commands and prohibitions) or institutions, (structure or mechanism of social order and cooperation that governs behavior of individuals) where permissions and obligations are complementary to each other. Who is this authority that possesses the sacred permission?  

   Most times we’d agree that our collective society creates laws that describe standards of behavior, limits and boundaries; otherwise known as Deontic logic, or logic that affects acts. With that then to support distinctions would be to elect consequences for not upholding agreed upon covenants.  We would also create a body to enforce those laws with apprehension, judgment and finally punishment.  But hidden, behind the façade is the power plant of action.  What makes it work is force: by default, threat-or actual, violence.

Short version is then: violence is the authority by which we must obtain permission.  Permission absolves behavior from violent consequences. A good example would be: The prohibition of taking life.  Accept in specified situations, as in war, saving oneself or loved one from attack that would result in death, or upholding the law as an officer of the court while protecting life of citizens.

   Why the big deal about permission?  I suppose it was recognizing how I was conditioned to submit.  I have ample life experience to suggest why that is so, from submitting to the authority of my parents, to by extension, the institutions of society; School and then church, then ultimately to my employer who controls the source of funds that meet my daily needs.

Fundamentally my employer can’t use physical violence on me to get me to comply, he can coerce me by withholding pay (via job) in which I am left to resolve how do I meet my needs?  The fundamental contract is pay for work, so all employers use the same trade of meeting personal needs as incentive to cooperate with their goals.

If we perceive we cannot obtain permission from the institutions we recognize to have authority to grant it, then we are left with the necessity to liberate ourselves from the reaches of that institution.  

Responsibility, as in creative alternatives can be a heavy burden, heavier it seems, than the weight of chains we willingly accept as limitations.

A Woman's Heart

As fragile as the hopes of a child; as delicate as translucent China; does her trust abide. A woman's heart is, to the undiscerning eye, displayed as precious, but whose true nature as oh so undisclosed.  For in the course of her travel she must bundle up warm, for the world is a cold, cold, place. As well as the air sometimes is thick with the smoke of its funeral pyres.

            So it’s prudent to protect the silken feathers; to not stain the brilliant white of divine providence her wings of flight.  So she clips them clean of their plumage.  Then tucks them under a heavy Gabardine cloak; unobtrusive and indistinct. They tarnish easily, and the stains remain for eons if given chance to set.  Better to hide them carefully until one of her kin shall come to recognize her in the disguise of ordinary; then bring to her words of encouragement and wisdom so that they have counsel upon what they both have found on their treks to the frontier; combining their studies, their knowledge that they purchased with their very wounds.  So then in shared knowing the light of wisdom and compassion bleaches out the dark injured places.  In quiet communion they gain the warmth of the suns life sustaining sustenance.

   On that meeting of minds and heart they can then fly high.  Yet the launch often requires the loving gentle hands of caring to hold the delicate fingers of a doubting flyer.  As she stands on the edge of her nest there are misgivings.  Looking at the beauty about the world she wonders at its invitation.  Its activity invokes fear of the unknown, so she attempts to shield herself.  Oh the heart aches for sharing such vivid colors, as too beautiful music waiting to be sung; to be heard.  But the lonely soul walks its path for a reason.  Not for suffering in and of itself.  No, those are the lost that are absorbed with accumulating more comforts from their cold; from their suffering of predisposed lack.  The solitary soul that walks with wings folded is the sojourner of enlightenment.  As she lies in her bed and contemplates her true self.  

There is a spirit that continues to tend his thoughts and emotions on caring for her.  Yes, she is that delight...that perfection with the glowing presence.  She is all that light and more.  Awakening perhaps....or perhaps she is the light that awakens in him the recollection that he too is of her cloth.  That if in communion of hearts and thought they hold each hand in courage.  Then smiling, with quivering lips and hesitant footholds on the rim of their security, should they loose footing, a strong support is waiting to steady.  A partner to stand with, not take on their burden, Not seduce to believing that anyone but themselves is sufficient to face the world as they are.  

No promises beyond acceptance, where wisdom is adequate to empower confidence in themselves; then they both have courage.  With great glee they leap to fly with new wings. Replete with lift, they are carried high above the mundane.  High to where clouds grow; to embrace heavenly energy so dense and golden that waves can be seen with the naked eye.  Their eager fingers pluck the weaving bands of flowing amber honey and linger on the elegant flavor.  Taking great gulps of its life force, exhale and bust with the souls heartfelt laughter; embracing it with fervor in their flight of joy with being home.

A Warrior's Dream

I had this odd dream, where I was in a war torn country, with a host of other Americans, some journalist.  We were in a city controlled by rebels so the surroundings were austere amongst a graveyard of automobile hulks.  And every person I met, wanted me to write a poem about them.  I had to keep asking their name, none of them familiar to our Anglo way of naming. I never had any paper.  So I was trying to take these mental pictures of the person and attempt to catch the character of them scribbling down on scraps of this and that.  There was a man with a purple turban and he explained in his broken English that many asked him why he kept it on in the appalling heat.  But wearing it was his devotion to God, and when it became too much for him to bear, he said, God always sent a breeze to cool him.  

  I had commented that yes I thought life was like that.  Where something that appeared to be suffering was just stripping away what we had attached to in a way, making us aware of the gifts that life was right before us.  There was a woman, named Joyce.  She was fierce in her manner and abrupt in her movement.  None of her efforts were wasted on superficial motion.  She was purpose in carnet.  I wondered when I awoke why she was so compelling, in my dreams.  I recall she carried her scars without remorse and her eyes would tolerate no disquieting masquerades. 

 I suppose that in my fashion of seeking that characteristic, I see reflected my own uncompromising attitude toward adventure.  Come prepared to dissolve into its seduction.  Because like that rebel woman warrior who had such charisma; commanding almost reverend respect amongst her peers ~ what really mattered were actions on your principals.  She was the lioness for her clan, so it was obvious and agreed within the host, that she was invincible; almost to the point of  sacred, possessing a magically protection of righteousness.  She aroused a seductive magnetism to me.  But then, confident women in a world who rejects what they've been taught about submission are a rare precious find. It's a feminine oxymoron for our social order that praises models and demure bright eyed sirens.  Forgetting the true character of feminine creation; powerful tempest, relentless in her objective, and destructive to any barrier that prevents accomplishment of her purpose.

A Good Idea

It seemed like a good idea, harmless in fact.

Your friends assured you that everybody does it, that employers rarely check resume facts anyway. Going on blind faith, convinced that unembellished fact hasn't been helpful so far, you would seriously consider fabricating information on your resume. You embrace the school of thought that a little elaboration never hurt anyone, it could even be deemed as entertaining; from a point of view.  Misdirection on a resume is just a little white lie.
Cheating on a resume can be tempting, especially when one has been searching for a job for months or even years. However, we all know that fibbing is never a good idea, and the likelihood that you'll be caught is predictably high. Even should your "creativity" slip through the cracks, karma has a way of catching up with you. So either way, lying gets messy.

   As attention from living quality shifts towards the excitement of risk, these infractions increase in frequency; they instill zest that resides with living on the edge.  Like an infestation of weeds into a pristine untarnished geography, it’s no longer a justified divergence but a preferred choice.   Soon, minor violations of integrity began to collect throughout all aspects of what had once been defined as a boringly routine life.  Gossip becomes fuel to the engine of avoidance.  Rationalization develops into a poetic repose embellishing the character of a cavalier-daring individualist rather than a self-serving culprit. Even Rhett Butler ~ blockade runner was exalted as a desirable romantic figure. Oh yes, that was fiction wasn't it? 

 Compounding these seemingly minor and unfettered rule breaking's, are, by measure in degrees of despicable, a presumption that mine are rather insignificant.  Its not, after all, genocide!  More in keeping with actions viewed as that of childish innocence unhinging the intricate knitted links of a treasured ancient comforter we call society.

  Yes, we didn't mean any harm we just wanted to indulge the notion of entitlement that special people enjoy.  Darn if that attitude doesn't appear to be more prevalent, no longer the exception. What's the benefit of refraining from our impulsive nature if others are given license to indulge? Consequences are difficult to see; and we, the obedient?  Well, we've been raised on punishment so when that's not meddled out for misbehaving it can be rather a harsh disillusionment. The unraveled yarn gathers in heaps; there is no running away when our ankles are entangled with delicate shackles ensnaring our feet.  

Change can be that way. It takes a lot of evidence of what we don't want in order to see what we prefer. What is that phrase? About the mother of invention?  Oh yes, necessity.  It's rather ironic that I'm reminded of making cookies...ya got to give 'em time in the over in order to get ‘em cooked.

A Night Cat with Reason

It seems to me, that many folk believe in a world of absolutes.  I am puzzled by such a practice.  More often than not, I fall prey to taking it personal; as if I were lacking in the ability to feel confident and comfortable in demanding existence be in such a way as my preference. 

   It’s taken me a lifetime to unravel that knot of discord between me and my fellow human sojourners, as well as this persistent whisper of a sense of separation from others obvious believed sensible values and principals.  Subtle and soft as nature can appear, she can also be considered cruel for not providing haven to a zero defect learning process. 

I've practiced my own plethora of errors in my growing years, I have come to the point of taking those hurts not as personal blame or guilt, but an indication for necessary course of adjustments in what I believe to be ‘actual’.  Prefer as I will to have kindness and consideration prevail in the human spirit, it appears more absent from my searching.  As I slowly began to understand a possible influence by the nature of things, what I wish I had from lacking, I ultimately became devoid of, so I could justify my chosen actions.  This was, by no way, a mistake or happenstance. 

    My cat, Obediah, taught me this valuable lesson at 3 AM in the morning.  Try as I would to extinguish his nocturnal journeys onto the nightstand nearest my head, for what I concluded was his focused purpose of knocking over water glasses or any other items smaller than a microwave oven.  He did this for the expressed thrill of power over my slumbers.  It struck me, during a particular morning's episode, that by my overt reactions to his antics I inadvertently created a situation of interest for him to continue to go there; even to return.  He does not bother exploring the other nightstand.  Just the one, when visited, gets great exciting things to bubble up. I can just imagine his cat inner dialog speaking,

   "Oh look how he gets excited!  I must be doing something important to have him respond to me.  I must be wonderful!"

Yeah, well, that may be the fantasy cooking in my skull, and churning on that conclusion gets me pretty annoyed; to the point of throwing things at him.  Which of course, could be construed as an impromptu game of dodge ball; oh boy more fun!  As this cat gets signals that I'll be playful with these sports, he may think it is necessary to jump on the nightstand and knock things over in order for me to come and play.  For me, at 3 am, it is a death wish I am prodded to help become a reality!  Most likely my logic and processing is fuzzy at this time of morning I have no reason to think he had any intent beyond being a curious cat; it was just my assumption. 

Could just as well be that perhaps because I don't have other things buzzing around in my head, I actually have an increase in clarity and I’m right on target! It is not the event, but what meaning I assign to it that matters. I wanted to appreciate the idea and its pure usefulness in managing annoyance.  It struck me as meaningful. Just as expressing it this way somehow helps to bring it more into focus where the power-of-happiness exist. Maybe that's what we should be about, learning? How to focus by removing distractions?  It could be; .not a concrete idea, more like oatmeal. I think I'll have that for breakfast.

A Festival of Words

I was talking the other day as I heard the tinkle of lament
"Why must things be accompanied by disaster?"
I smiled at the meter of the statement; 

without notice my mind began its playful shaping ~

thoughts of comparison and contrast eschewing contradictions,

weaving unlikely bonds together for attractions sake.

I found myself surrounded as if at a great festive ball, where emotions were dressed in finery and ostentatious filigree.  Announcing themselves as important.

 Ornate and sparkling ~ grandiose coiffeurs accenting elegant, delicate shimmerings.
   " Oh look, here comes Avarice with stealth!" What a magnetic couple.
   "...and look, behind them, is that Arrogance and Lust?" If ever there was a
perfect match.
And mentioned as just in passing, the Nuevo richness,

  "Blind ambition accompanied by Disaster"...what a charming and entertaining enterprise
   "Have you ever visited their home? No? Exquisite and expensive!
Flamboyant and ever in the poise of being remodeled"
as if it were a game to guess, just whence they all had come

Error of Definition

I'm beginning to suspect an error of definition. And perhaps it is a product of social conditioning.

Where justice is promoted as being equal, rather than the natural law of equity: The species that tries; survives.

Perhaps it is just me; perhaps that's the fundamental difference between the two major political groups as well. One see's fairness as equal shares none deserving more than any other; Their opponents see the system should reward those who labor, and rewards be portioned out according to effort invested. Both have their strengths, both have their blindness.

What I perceive most is the absence of acuity. That being, clarity into how to re-establish homeostasis beyond a zero sum gain. Rather than value respect, consideration, empathy and the benefit of mutuality, it has become a king of the hill struggle.  Selecting who is to loose in order for another to be the benefactor is just a round of Russian roulette. It will only end in tears.

Why are the self-interested motives of powerful companies being elevated to a philosophical principle? Did that hatch with the Supreme Court ruling a corporation is an entity with the same rights and privileges as private citizens?

Broken Promise

Broken Promise: Where countries promise their citizens a service (Education, Medical services, income supplement) and then reneges on their promises (or create a bureaucracy that denies certain social groups such as the elderly, based on arbitrary criterion, and where the deciding members of that board are shielded from accountability or redress).

Delusion:  Living life under the belief that promises will be fulfilled; when they are not, then appetite for victimhood will substitute responsibility, thereby eclipsing the flawed concept of trusting others to fulfill personal wishes.

Freedom:  There is long term evidence of our society perpetuating slavery; disguised as this enamored notion of deserving entitlement. Where the illusion that being unaccountable somehow gives reason to not aspire to more than ready-made excuses for not trying.  Liberating oneself from expectation is the greater freedom there can be.

Brave Choice

Consider a minor change to your routine

imagine

no email

minor by most standards, but really.

What if suddenly you didn't get the dedicated attention those you trust provide?

personal tragedy huh?

You got that grief in hand? Feel the tightening in your throat, the tears breaking at the rim of your eyelids to flood out?

It's important to make it personal so you might entertain that every living person around you is fighting that very same battle.

To keep from totally surrendering to the grief of living with loss.

In that awareness do you feel a spark of compassion?

A hint of warmth towards those who just a few heartbeats ago were the bane to your existence?

It wasn't them after all.

It was how they were framed in a conditions that makes them stand out.

I believe our pain echoes....

That other people are sounding boards for that din.

I think, our hearing is the vanguard to make us alert

So we then we listen and discern

Then look to see

Fear not, you were born to notice

And feel change

I am glad you were listening.

Oh, and by the way, vulnerable is how we actually are.

Consider kindness a condition to communion.

No one can obtain the thrill of intimacy without risk

Eventually learning that it is WE who create comfort, as we laugh at ourselves with someone we've grown to trust.

They are in our lives because we empowered ourselves to choose quality

That comes from caring; without caring we're deluding ourselves that something good will somehow be magically delivered.

I'd rather be a grown up and take the reins of possibilities

Then trust in hope that some reward is waiting for me if I behave.

No way

We got to work at it...like mining precious minerals....little valuable pieces mixed in with all the rest of the dredged up dirt.

It's on us to pluck those treasures out.

Speed of Light

Getting my mind around something unfamiliar is a challenge.  To think, for instance, the accepted notion that light moves at 186,000 miles a second is staggering.  Compound that with multiplying seconds into years; (it's 3,153,600 seconds in a year by the way, and heck, that's five trillion, eight hundred and seventy-two billion, three million miles a year ~ there I did the arithmetic.) But then to say light moving at that alarming speed would take hundreds, even thousands of years to reach objects we're told have this much girth or is made up of these kinds of elements is just dubious to my mind-that-needs-comparisons. 

My wife is suspicious of things like that as well, because she doesn't have a reference point either.

   "OK, I can believe in prehistoric times because they have dug up bones, but history?  I don't trust people who wrote it." Fair enough, I agree.  Historians are supported by bill payers who have agenda's. Just as painters in the Renaissance painted religious paintings because the patrons who had the coin to cover bread and wine bills happen to be the church.  I digress.

  I did my research to demonstrate to my bride the soundness in accepting the conventional wisdom on the speed of light.  Turns out we're still in the approximate value department when discussing the absolute speed. (as in vacuum speed versus speed through glass, these variables matter.) So there's wiggle room in the discussion about what we accept as the stated speed of light.

  That's something that struck my speculation.  Our demanding exactness in a world devoid of absolutes.  For my wife, she's learned to be skeptical over things lauded as 'absolute fact'.  I salute that disposition because I too have been hoodwinked by populace dogma.

I'm reminded of a scene from the 1997 movie Men in Black where Agent Kay, Played by Tommy Lee Jones, is recruiting James Darrell Edwards III, who is played by Will Smith. Edwards asked why didn't they just tell people the truth, people are smart, they'll understand when told aliens existed on the planet.  Agent Kay made a profound response that I keep near ever since hearing it.

   "A person is smart. People are dumb.  Everything they've ever Known has been proven to be wrong.  A thousand year ago every-body knew as a fact, that the earth was the center of the universe.  Five hundred years ago, they just knew for a fact that it was flat.  Fifteen minutes ago, you knew we humans were alone in the universe.  Imagine what you'll know tomorrow"

 So yes, I may be stretching to challenge a well accepted obscure mentioning of light moving at a given speed.  I mean, what's the big deal if that's wrong anyway?  What my caution consist of is my automatic surrender to proclamations I have no tools to test if they are accurate or not; that is what is alarming for me.  As a practice I mean. Sure, I know proclamations can be true or false, but I believe it is best I stay clear on which one is which.  Perhaps as in the MIB movie where Edwards asks when told he had until sun-up to decide to leave everything he ever knew behind; where no one would ever know he ever existed.

   "Is it worth it?"

Kay replied, "You find out, you let me know"

I should open up to the possibility that what I swear is the way things are, could be just place holders for the way things actually are.

Fashioned

Your mind is fashioned to wear as comfort from the elements

 while you recognize, reconcile and harmonize with creation…..

Your heart,

a compass,

that provides passion for the exploration ~Zen of Chance

Big Enough

Standing at the edge of the ocean, looking out at the expansive horizon my mind is hushed into what can only be called reverence.  A single word echoes in the silence of my skull out from the din of competing concerns.

“Big”

   I’ve felt similar humility whenever I’ve climbed to the summit of a mountain, or when I watch National Geographic and those awesome films about places I’ll only visit through the marvel of television. 

   I’ve seen the photos of the size comparisons between the planets of our solar system.  I was amazed at how small the earth was.  Then when comparing our earth to the sun, and then again to the hyper giants in the far reaches of our galaxy, well, I couldn’t put them into context:  So I worked with the numbers and found everyday objects to serve as comparison that puts things into perspective for me.

   If the Earth were to be represented by a sphere one centimeter (0.39 of an inch, or about the size of a pencil eraser) in diameter, then Our sun would be represented as a sphere with a diameter of 109 centimeters (about 3 ½ feet, or as I found, a hoola-hoop). That is marvelous by itself, but remember my mentioning the hyper giant?  That’d be VY Canis Majoris (frankly that name is so totally lame, I’m renaming it Fat Albert because this is my blog and I have all the authority).  But, using my numbers comparison game, Fat Albert would be represented by a sphere 2.3 kilometers (about 1.43 miles or the entire base of the Eiffel Tower.)  Now granted these are rough estimations because frankly it’s extremely difficult to find a well known circular object that is that large, (even Disney world is only half that much).

   So how’s that for comparisons?  Now how about I wind this up with something meaningful?  OK…when I was in Elementary School there was this kid named David Green.  I mean he was head-and-shoulders taller than every other boy in the 5^th Grade, even had muscle definition in his arms.  Everyone wanted Dave on their lunch recess softball team because he could really hammer that ball.  He was the object of both adoration and scorn to us guys...in those years.  But as time passed we all began to grow and catch up with David.  Slowly his awesomeness faded as we all became competent in our own rights. Moral of it all I guess is the comparisons of the great mass of an object is relative.  We don’t see Fat Albert so we don’t tremble with the awesome size of it, like say the boys of the 5^th Grade class and David Green.  That’s because of the distance when comparing worlds.  Just as we don’t consider much significant other people’s concerns are compared to our own.  Or how insignificant we appear compared to the vast ocean until we’re standing at its boundaries.

  I wonder if the little creatures in the tide pools are doing the same thing? You know, busy with ferreting out the solution to their current pressing challenges with the least bit of concern on how big other things are out there?  Actually, what can be done about it anyway?  I dunno…just wondering.

Caring

The philosopher John Dewey commented that we are made caring by the environment 

we live in.

We choose to become caring as a result of our experience.

I agree with that, gratitude projects us into a new level

 of seeing the world kindly.

If ever you wonder why bother, what's the point?

Know this; you are the environment that grows kind hearts

to change the world.

They don't pop up out of nowhere;

Mother Theresa didn't just arrive.

She was nurtured into becoming the agent 

of compassionate change.

Just as you have been, and are, seeding the world around you 

for more.  

Perhaps then, what we want is at the tip of our tongue.

Where the marvel arrives when we are able 

to reveal

to our wondering mind…

what love is all about

Beater Boys

    When I was a boy, I got to work on my best friend Darwin's turkey ranch.  I was just a 'beater', but for the incredible fee of a dollar sixty-five an hour I could amass a veritable kid fortune just waving a croaker sack! 

   My task was to scare the flock of turkeys into a bottle neck portion of the pen where an exorbitant by-the-hour insemination team would capture and inoculate (aka give shots) to each and every bird; (Turkey's are a sickly lot and due to close living conditions apt to spread Turkey diseases!) So time was of the essence when considering the cost of the enterprise.  I was charged with keeping the birds tightly packed into where the inseminators were stationed, preventing the birds from fleeing away from the team.  Beaters were stationed at the back of the flock to make noise and wave sacks, thereby driving the turkeys deeper towards the waiting arms of the team; seemed rather simple and easy to do, I thought.

   Due to the enormity of the flock, several beaters were needed, and I, having no necessary skill sets, was selected as a reasonably good candidate for the mindless task.  I stood in the back and 'woo wooed' my little novice heart out to demonstrate my gratitude for their well-placed trust.  My fellow beater was Le Bah Ho, a foreign exchange student from South Vietnam.  His English was horribly inadequate, but nonetheless he was sent to the US for student exchange program, (I suspect it was to keep him from being drafted in his home country.)   It seemed magical that the turkeys could sense his confusion on what was actually required by beaters.  Only too swiftly a few would dare attempt an escape.  When he moved to intercept the fleeing birds, cohorts would dart out the gap he left as he attempted to thwart the effort.  So imagine several turkeys stealthily flanking movement to his right.  He'd adjust and call out 'woo woo' waving wildly his sack in reaction.  Meanwhile several others would escape on his exposed left flank.  I had to abandon my own station at the rear of the flock in order to give chase after the renegades; which made Le Ba Ho the task of attending a greater area.  It was hopeless.  Obviously part of the Turkey's ultimate over-all-plan to conquer the beater boys. The ploy continued until a good third of the flock had expatriated out of the pen into the greater freedom of the overall yard, requiring the entire team to stop what was going on in order to go fetch the escapees.  Mr. Hart was NOT amused.

   I'm tickled this morning with that recollection as I consider how in comparison our lives can be similar to that flock of turkeys.  We try to attend the entirety of our wishes, but darn if a few go skirting off on their own.  Then we, as diligent beaters, try to keep them contained only to neglect the other ones vying to get outside.  Hmm, well, visits can give you things to ponder as you pick up the clutter...that'd be mine.  Have a swell day keeping your flock under control.

Elvis Has Left the Building

Elvis Presley died on August 16, 1977, over thirty-five years ago, in the bathroom of his Graceland mansion in Memphis, Tennessee. He was 42 at the time of his death. He had been on the toilet, but fallen off onto the floor, where he lay in a pool of his own vomit. Panicked, his staff contracted an ambulance, which rushed him to nearby Baptist Memorial Hospital, where, after several attempts to revive him, he died at 3:30 pm CST.

   I was reminded of that today by my wife when she told me it was on Catalan Radio.  I remember Elvis only in the confines of my own living experience.  I wasn't a fan, I didn't dislike him. I was, for all intent and purposes, ambivalent.  So many might be able to tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news.  Much like the loss of other personalities that were bigger than life; JFK, or Walt Disney, or Michael Jackson. I am not one of those people.

  What I remember most about Elvis was not his pioneering Rock and Roll music into the American thirst for self expression, but for an obscure incident that occurred at Harvey's Casino in Lake Tahoe, Nevada.

  I was working at Harrah's across the boulevard from Harvey's and I couldn't get out of the parking lot after my shift because of the traffic jam by the crazies coming in to see Elvis perform. It was 1973. What made the experience stand out for me wasn't the delay, but hearing for the first time of the house moderator saying over the PA system, "Elvis has left the building."

  At the time they resorted to that in order to calm and disperse the crowd that was lingering in the ball room where Elvis had finished performing.  He was renowned for delivering a number of encores if the crowd was lathered up and applauding wildly. It created quite a situation for those wishing to clean up after the show; there were schedules to keep.

  Today we use the Elvis phrase to emphasize whatever was going on, it is now officially finished.

  I don't wish to get into the drugs, or conjecture on his emotional or mental disposition at the time of his death; it's been beaten to death. As with the loss of any icon, the stories just continue to become more fantastic and outrageous as the years go on. Even more fantastic than the human being they're supposed to be about.

  I wanted to pause and consider how time changes every opinion.  Whether someone was 'The Greatest' or 'The King' or metamorphosed Norma Jean. They all had history; unfortunately the most common denominator is that it was tragic history.  That seems to go unheralded when lauding how much they meant to us, the entertained, now that they're gone. So to the kid who was Elvis, as well as to all those other heroes and villains who left their fingerprints on our recollections, may you all rest well beyond our impulsive and ill-informed judgments.

Steak House Escapades

When I was still in High School I worked at a Western Sizzler Steak House as a busboy. On one occasion my best friend George and I were in the back of the kitchen attending to all of those unseen preparations that make a Restaurant work; mainly making salads and wrapping baked potatoes.  This task was usually accomplished solely by George, the dishwasher. But on occasion if the lunch crown had been large, or the most common event, the previous shift did not do their back-up so then the supplies were depleted for the night rush, well then the scum, (me the busboy) could come into the back and help out.  

   The salad was prepared in volumes that filled garbage can size containers.  The recipes were prepared by the case, and box loads.  The same was true with wrapping baked potatoes; by the box, which is to say by the hundreds.  Usually an average night’s business at the Sizzler would use up five hundred potatoes as well at least two Garbage can cache of cut salad.  

   One thing that always puzzled me was the concept that manual labor could not be fun?  Anytime laughter erupted out of the sweatshop side of the restaurant, it was automatically assumed that no work was being done.  So like clockwork whenever George and I found something amusing to yuck it up about, we were descended upon and scolded by Charles the owner-manager.  On this particular occasion, Charles was out of the shop, so we mere worker-bees were safe from reproach and free to follow our whims; sounds inviting doesn’t it?  

   Contrary to expectations, George and I accomplished our assigned tasks ahead of time, while having a good time despite all efforts to make our menial tasks drudgery. Sort of like the step sisters in Cinderella.  We had just finished and I was leaving to attend chores in the front room, when George asked,

   “Help me pull the racks from the cooler”

   I readily agreed.  During our effort of moving all of the contents from the refrigerators George speculated that someone could hide in the refrigerator once the food was removed.  I replied,

   “Let me see”, and climbed into an empty cooler. George quickly slammed the door, as I instantly realized I could not open it up.  I yelled and hammered on the door, and George opened it laughing and asked,

    “Does the light go out?” 

   I said, “Yeah, very funny, if you got locked in there you couldn’t get out!” 

   George replied, “Oh sure you can, I bet you can kick the door hard enough it’d open.” I shook my head and said,

   “I don’t think so, I was hammering on it pretty good, and it didn’t budge.” 

   “Yeah” he said, “But if you got your legs up and kicked, it would go.”  

   “Naw, I don’t think so.”

Then he said, “OK, you close the door behind me and I’ll show you.” 

So George got climbed into the cooler and situated himself so he was in the position a person gets to do those bicycle exercises. Then he said,

   “OK, close the door.”

   I was smiling and amused by my wicked impulse as I slammed the door closed.  I quickly opened the connecting cooler door and knocked heads of lettuce, green peppers and anything on those shelves over into where George was laying.  He hollered in protest and began kicking the door.  As I suspected the door held.  Laughing harder now, I raced over to an open case of lettuce on the wash counter, gathered up  armful of leaves, and tossed them also onto George as he was kicking and cursing me .

   I was really enjoying the situation when out of the corner of my eye I caught a movement outside the kitchen screen door.  My GOD! It was Charles, (What was HE doing back?!)

   I realized it was too late to liberate George and not get both of us caught, so I quickly I opened one of the doors, half whispering,

   “Charles is here. Stay put, and be quite,” I didn’t hang around to listen to his reply, I darted out of there into the main dining room and fumbled around with cleaning Ketchup bottles.  I waited to see Charles walk by the cook station, then I’d go back and let George out.

   But Charles didn’t walk by.  Where was Charles?  I visualized George in the cooler with all those vegetables on him and I smirked.  I slowly approached the pass through door to the dishwashing station. The door had a diamond shaped window cut into it to prevent kitchen help from crashing into one another as they darted in and out of the kitchen door leading into the dining room.  As I looked in I saw Charles opening the very cooler door George was in.  I couldn’t hear what Charles said, but I could see the incredulous look on his face, as vegetables rolled out. It was all I could do from peeing my pants.  I ran to the men’s room so my roaring laughter couldn’t be heard.  The idea of our serious all business manager walking into the shop, hearing an odd thumping coming from the cooler, then opening the door to find his dishwasher amongst a cascade of leafy vegetables was just too much!  Poor George! 

 How wonderful! But then, in reflection I think he got fired for that stunt.  I confessed being a partner in the crime.  They punished me by making me the dish washer.  How cruel is that?