Friday, August 31, 2018
Word of the Day--- Tistrya
A star, like other stars, having the brilliance of waters.Some believe Tistrya was the star that led the Magi to Bethlehem. An influence, no doubt, on the Houghtling parents who named their daughter Tistrya.
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
Childhood Fears
My sister as a child was afraid of many things. Probably as a result of a vivid imagination, but no one ever explored then the reasons.
My father kept his violin behind the couch, enclosed in its black case. She thought the three silver rivets on one side of the case looked like a face, a scary face and she wouldn't go near it. The old barn behind our "house on the hill" was where our father stored the old tires from his automobiles. To my sister, they loomed dark and large and ominous, and she was afraid of them. I have a memory of our father placing me on top of a tire and giving me a ride on it in an attempt to allay her fear. I don't know if that helped her, but I was thrilled at the attention.
When our family drove "over home"to our grandmother's house, we would drive by way of the reservoir from the house we lived in near there. We kids would be in the back seat of the big car, of course unrestrained in any fashion. When we approached the brick building on the bank of the reservoir, my sister would start to worry: her eyes would tear up and she'd say she hated it because it scared her. And soon after that the trip crossed an old silver bridge which then had a structure across the top. She would drop down to the floorboards of the car because she was afraid the bridge would strike her head. I remember not understanding her fear, but accepting it as part of her nature. That's what young children do.
Later on, and into her young adult years, she developed a deathly fear of wind. We shared a bedroom then and she would sometimes wake up screaming and crying when the sound of wind would enter her dreams. And the same became true for fire. At night time, she would be terrified by the thought of fire. I suppose, looking back, that the specters of fire and wind could have been based on true-life events which caused a sense of real but transient terror. I can think of a few such incidents, but she lived with the fear for much of her young life.
Our brother, for reasons unknown to us, was afraid of thunderstorms. He did not exhibit mere nervousness at an impending storm: he would hide away. He would disappear into either the downstairs closet, huddled in the back with the door shut, or he would go to his bed, cover himself completely up by all the available blankets, only to emerge, all sweaty and blurry-eyed, when the storm was over.
I, as a child, had only one fear of natural events, and I never told anyone or expressed my fear in any demonstrable way: at night when I heard the sound of an airplane flying overhead, I would feel sick to my stomach with the fear we were going to be bombed. Attributable, no doubt, to the early years of air raid siren tests,and sheer terror from the blackouts when all the lights in the house had to be extinguished and we had to stay away from windows. In case the Japanese forces were targeting a rural area with minimal population. War is hell, you know.
My father kept his violin behind the couch, enclosed in its black case. She thought the three silver rivets on one side of the case looked like a face, a scary face and she wouldn't go near it. The old barn behind our "house on the hill" was where our father stored the old tires from his automobiles. To my sister, they loomed dark and large and ominous, and she was afraid of them. I have a memory of our father placing me on top of a tire and giving me a ride on it in an attempt to allay her fear. I don't know if that helped her, but I was thrilled at the attention.
When our family drove "over home"to our grandmother's house, we would drive by way of the reservoir from the house we lived in near there. We kids would be in the back seat of the big car, of course unrestrained in any fashion. When we approached the brick building on the bank of the reservoir, my sister would start to worry: her eyes would tear up and she'd say she hated it because it scared her. And soon after that the trip crossed an old silver bridge which then had a structure across the top. She would drop down to the floorboards of the car because she was afraid the bridge would strike her head. I remember not understanding her fear, but accepting it as part of her nature. That's what young children do.
Later on, and into her young adult years, she developed a deathly fear of wind. We shared a bedroom then and she would sometimes wake up screaming and crying when the sound of wind would enter her dreams. And the same became true for fire. At night time, she would be terrified by the thought of fire. I suppose, looking back, that the specters of fire and wind could have been based on true-life events which caused a sense of real but transient terror. I can think of a few such incidents, but she lived with the fear for much of her young life.
Our brother, for reasons unknown to us, was afraid of thunderstorms. He did not exhibit mere nervousness at an impending storm: he would hide away. He would disappear into either the downstairs closet, huddled in the back with the door shut, or he would go to his bed, cover himself completely up by all the available blankets, only to emerge, all sweaty and blurry-eyed, when the storm was over.
I, as a child, had only one fear of natural events, and I never told anyone or expressed my fear in any demonstrable way: at night when I heard the sound of an airplane flying overhead, I would feel sick to my stomach with the fear we were going to be bombed. Attributable, no doubt, to the early years of air raid siren tests,and sheer terror from the blackouts when all the lights in the house had to be extinguished and we had to stay away from windows. In case the Japanese forces were targeting a rural area with minimal population. War is hell, you know.
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
The Big Black Bear / Bete Noir
"Yes," I said. "I saw it." Back in the time when parents, at least ours, asked very few if any questions of their children, my mother was intensely questioning me as to what I had seen on the porch next door. We lived then in the tenant house of a working farm on Route 40 in Melrose. The main house was directly across the driveway from where we lived, its porch in direct line with our side porch.
My mother was upset, young as I was I knew that, but of course I didn't understand the reason why, though understanding would come later: My mother's older sister, Marguerite, was for some reason "not quite right." Medical conditions at the time were not understood and therefore not spoken of, not even among the family. It seems, from a later viewpoint, that Marguerite nay have had epilepsy, or some seizure disorder that prevented her from being completely healthy, She was to die in the great flu epidemic, so no other information about her ever became known.
But, strong as she was, my mother had a deadly fear of anything that affected the workings of the brain. When any of her grandchildren came down with fever, that was a time for prayer and the lighting of candles before the statue of the Virgin Mary. She probably did the same for her own children, but that was lost in our memories.
Back to the story of so long ago, my mother had asked me if I had seen a black bear on the porch next door. I told her I had. My brother had pointed it out to me. Could it have been a dog, she asked. I said no, it was a bear. That was what I'd been told and that was what I saw. Even now I remember the sight of it---a big black bear, on the porch, Over there. I may have been three years old or even less, but I'd seen it.
Turns out my brother had come down with a fever, and, as it was called then, was raving. Something about the claw feet of an old mahogany chair had triggered the vision of a bear to him. Why I saw it, I can't say.
My mother was upset, young as I was I knew that, but of course I didn't understand the reason why, though understanding would come later: My mother's older sister, Marguerite, was for some reason "not quite right." Medical conditions at the time were not understood and therefore not spoken of, not even among the family. It seems, from a later viewpoint, that Marguerite nay have had epilepsy, or some seizure disorder that prevented her from being completely healthy, She was to die in the great flu epidemic, so no other information about her ever became known.
But, strong as she was, my mother had a deadly fear of anything that affected the workings of the brain. When any of her grandchildren came down with fever, that was a time for prayer and the lighting of candles before the statue of the Virgin Mary. She probably did the same for her own children, but that was lost in our memories.
Back to the story of so long ago, my mother had asked me if I had seen a black bear on the porch next door. I told her I had. My brother had pointed it out to me. Could it have been a dog, she asked. I said no, it was a bear. That was what I'd been told and that was what I saw. Even now I remember the sight of it---a big black bear, on the porch, Over there. I may have been three years old or even less, but I'd seen it.
Turns out my brother had come down with a fever, and, as it was called then, was raving. Something about the claw feet of an old mahogany chair had triggered the vision of a bear to him. Why I saw it, I can't say.
Irene, 7 years ago
Dorothy was here, as she was every weekend then. The wind started to blow and she hated the wind. She was terrified of wind ever since childhood, and of fire. The wind blew harder and Dorothy looked out the window and saw something that horrified her. The sky was green and the trees were blowing sideways. She grabbed some comforters and pillows and told us to go down into the cellar. I told her the cellar windows were glass and full length, so we closed all the doors and sat on the floor in the hallway.
Irene blew just past the back of our house after taking down a number of trees and our shed and went straight through our neighbor's backyard, leveling everything in its path.
As terrible as that day was, I'd give anything to live it again.
Irene blew just past the back of our house after taking down a number of trees and our shed and went straight through our neighbor's backyard, leveling everything in its path.
As terrible as that day was, I'd give anything to live it again.
August 28, 2018 Some like it hot.
At 3 o'clock and 5 o'clock outside the kitchen window, in the shade.
Sunday, August 26, 2018
Next in Line
If John McCain had won the presidency, who would be President now? Maybe not as bad as at present, but I had a friend who loved John McCain and deeply regretted that she was unable to vote for him because of his choice of running mate. If she only knew...
Friday, August 24, 2018
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
Fauna
This guy is sitting on top of the trash can, unfazed. His kin are evidently living under the ramp in front of the house when not hanging out under my car.
Also note the abyss formed by the runoff from the ill-fated Gutter Helmet: you could lose a family member in that cavern. Alas!
Joseph Sylvester Madigan
He got himself drunk for the holidays---those dreaded family-centered holidays. Usually a taciturn man, he would express his scorn for his god. He lived in a time of harsh reality when you dealt with the hand you were given: it was a time before social services or organizations or counseling groups to help you through your personal tragedies. And Joe had tragedies.. His wife, Phoebe, died young.Their only son and only child drowned at age 11 in the river near where he lived. He lost his arm in an industrial accident at the Powder Mills. So he came to live, a broken man with nothing of his own, with his younger brother.
He could not find regular employment, but did work from time to time as a painter, and even did wall papering. He loved kids, especially when they were little, and was kind to small weak animals, an advocate for the runt of the litter. He lived in a single room. He had nothing of his own. He presented as relatively cheerful, except for those holidays; Christmas time was the worst. He would remark that his wife bought their son, Joseph, to church every Sunday, and what did it get them but horrible suffering and death. He was angry at God for letting that happen to them and he could not find solace. And there was no one to listen or try to understand.
After he died, in that solitary and sparsely furnished room where he lived out his life, there were no personal belongings to be found other than his few items of clothing, only a bunch of religious cards and pamphlets filling a drawer of his small dresser.
He could not find regular employment, but did work from time to time as a painter, and even did wall papering. He loved kids, especially when they were little, and was kind to small weak animals, an advocate for the runt of the litter. He lived in a single room. He had nothing of his own. He presented as relatively cheerful, except for those holidays; Christmas time was the worst. He would remark that his wife bought their son, Joseph, to church every Sunday, and what did it get them but horrible suffering and death. He was angry at God for letting that happen to them and he could not find solace. And there was no one to listen or try to understand.
After he died, in that solitary and sparsely furnished room where he lived out his life, there were no personal belongings to be found other than his few items of clothing, only a bunch of religious cards and pamphlets filling a drawer of his small dresser.
Word(s) of the Day
Congealed Salad---Now I know that the word "congeal" means to change from a liquid or soft state to a thick or solid state, but I don't think I ever heard the term "congealed salad" until today when a guest on a TV talk show said it was one of his favorite dishes. Though it sounds revolting, turns out a congealed salad is any gelatin-based recipe from fruit to seafood. Familiarly known in these parts as a Jello salad. Congealed is a term used in the South. Oh, those Southerners...
Tuesday, August 21, 2018
Me and J. Alfred
I may not measure out my life with coffee spoons, but rather, of late, the measure of Cryptograms. Yesterday was abject failure: today a roaring success. So I may dare to eat a peach.
From Daisy and Carmen
Monday, August 20, 2018
Let's Parse This
Must we all pretend that the English language is not being destroyed? Can't we at least try to maintain a modicum of structure in our native language.
Yes, Melania's first language is not English. Her husband can not say she "speaks perfect English." But doesn't she have people around her who can tell her the slogan "Be Best" does not parse. One can say "Be good," but the comparative and superlative forms, of good, "better' and "best" need to be compared to some other quality or quantity. One can be better than merely good, and best surpasses that. That's if the words are used as adjectives. Vanilla ice cream is good, chocolate is better, and coffee is THE best. Be good, be better, be THE best, not be best.
Oh, well, I'm over that but now, repeated as if it is really meaningful the observation that "Most children know more about social media than some adults." (Slightly paraphrased) So what does that mean, even assumed it's based on some statistics, gathered where and how we don't know.
We have "most children" over here. They know a lot about social media.
Over here, we have "some adults." They don't know very much about social media
So evidently "some children" don't know much about social media either.
Could it be that the number of "some adults" who don't know social media is the same as the lesser number of children who don't know social media? After all, "some" could mean only 3 or 4 adults, not necessarily a large number.
"Some" and "most" are not comparable.
It's enough that Melania utters these words as if they're statistically meaningful. We can forgive her: it's not her first language. And she probably doesn't really care. But for others to respond as if these are words of wisdom is of detriment to the English language, what's left of it.
We can be better (than that.)
(Maybe she meant some children know more than most adults. This makes more sense than most children know more than some adults. Or "More children than adults know social media."
I be darned.
Yes, Melania's first language is not English. Her husband can not say she "speaks perfect English." But doesn't she have people around her who can tell her the slogan "Be Best" does not parse. One can say "Be good," but the comparative and superlative forms, of good, "better' and "best" need to be compared to some other quality or quantity. One can be better than merely good, and best surpasses that. That's if the words are used as adjectives. Vanilla ice cream is good, chocolate is better, and coffee is THE best. Be good, be better, be THE best, not be best.
Oh, well, I'm over that but now, repeated as if it is really meaningful the observation that "Most children know more about social media than some adults." (Slightly paraphrased) So what does that mean, even assumed it's based on some statistics, gathered where and how we don't know.
We have "most children" over here. They know a lot about social media.
Over here, we have "some adults." They don't know very much about social media
So evidently "some children" don't know much about social media either.
Could it be that the number of "some adults" who don't know social media is the same as the lesser number of children who don't know social media? After all, "some" could mean only 3 or 4 adults, not necessarily a large number.
"Some" and "most" are not comparable.
It's enough that Melania utters these words as if they're statistically meaningful. We can forgive her: it's not her first language. And she probably doesn't really care. But for others to respond as if these are words of wisdom is of detriment to the English language, what's left of it.
We can be better (than that.)
(Maybe she meant some children know more than most adults. This makes more sense than most children know more than some adults. Or "More children than adults know social media."
I be darned.
Sunday, August 19, 2018
Schaghticoke Fair 1968
We lived in the apartment in Schaghticoke that first year so we decided to walk to the Fair. The walk was a little longer than I had expected, maybe because it was uphill, or could have been for another yet unknown reason. We were young enough then to have bought tickets for rides. We entered the first ride, the kind where you stand against the rail and the ride tilts and spins, or something like that. We were the first to get on, or nearly so, and the operator was not yet there.
So we waited. Dave, ever confident, leaned back against the rail of the ride, in his king of the world stance. He was dressed then in jeans, which he hardly ever wore: he owned a single pair, left over from when he lived in California, and had gone horseback riding on a friend's ranch. His black hair was long then, as was the 60's style. And he wore a pair of sneakers, not the usual foot attire way back then. He'd recently moved to Schaghticoke after having lived in Cal. a few years before that, and pretty much all the clothes and shoes he owned had been recently purchased for business.
In a few minutes, another couple got on, and they handed Dave their tickets, which he took without saying a word. His arms were still casually folded across his chest, and they just placed the tickets in his hand. Then others did the same. And others. By the time the operator arrived, the ride was nearly full, but he accepted tickets from the newcomers, never questioning those already on.
So we rode, got off the ride, Dave still with his ticket collection, laughing his head off. I can't remember the rest of the story, but I don't think we used any of the tickets. It was fun though: me and the carny worker.
So we waited. Dave, ever confident, leaned back against the rail of the ride, in his king of the world stance. He was dressed then in jeans, which he hardly ever wore: he owned a single pair, left over from when he lived in California, and had gone horseback riding on a friend's ranch. His black hair was long then, as was the 60's style. And he wore a pair of sneakers, not the usual foot attire way back then. He'd recently moved to Schaghticoke after having lived in Cal. a few years before that, and pretty much all the clothes and shoes he owned had been recently purchased for business.
In a few minutes, another couple got on, and they handed Dave their tickets, which he took without saying a word. His arms were still casually folded across his chest, and they just placed the tickets in his hand. Then others did the same. And others. By the time the operator arrived, the ride was nearly full, but he accepted tickets from the newcomers, never questioning those already on.
So we rode, got off the ride, Dave still with his ticket collection, laughing his head off. I can't remember the rest of the story, but I don't think we used any of the tickets. It was fun though: me and the carny worker.
Saturday, August 18, 2018
CryptoPhobia
Having finally solved a Cryptoquip yesterday, my dreams last night had all kinds of manifestations of that puzzle, tortuous as well as torturous. When I woke up this morning, I was anxious to see today's puzzle. Maybe the Cryptoquip is not as hard to solve as I'd thought, or maybe these last two are uncharacteristically easy, because in a matter of minutes, I found that "When you have created a weird enigmatic quality, you've made a big mystique."
And so it goes.
And so it goes.
A Tree Branch: A Bridge & A Separate Peace
Some years ago, John Knowles' novel, A Separate Peace, was standard reading for high school students. The book dealt with adolescent behavior, and the reasons, or non-reasons, for their impulsive behavior. Anyone who is trying to understand the motivation for a girl's pushing her "friend" from a bridge may find an uncanny parallel to how Phinney fell from a tree when a "friend" inexplicably jostled the branch he was standing on. The consequences were disastrous for all involved.
Friday, August 17, 2018
Self Styled Success
A rainy day, nothing to do but wait. So I tried again with Today's Cryptoquip, which I've found to be the most difficult of puzzles. Yet it's published in the daily paper, right alongside the simplest of crosswords, the always solvable Jumble, the Sudoku, solvable if you have the patience, and the mind-numbing Word-Sleuth.
I reasoned some folks must be solving the Cryptoquip; otherwise it would not be published. Would it? So I took another look, determined to test my mental faculties. The Cryptoquip consists of groups of letters, jumbled up, with each letter representing another. The "quotes" are original, not famously uttered, are quite lengthy, and often are based on a pun for the "answer." The only given clue is a single letter representing another; the solver needs to find out what each of the other letters is.Sometimes the single letter given appears in the quote only once. So other strategy needs to be used. So the -3-letter nonsense syllables may represent the words "and, but, his, you," or any 3-letter verb or preposition. And you can't be sure. I would have assumed such a puzzle to be unsolvable, but today I persevered:
Cryptocrypt contained about 90 seemingly random letters and 13 words. The only clue is that Y equals C. The letter Y appeared only 3 times among the 90 scrambled letters.
My persevering led to this quote: " Burrowing creatures that are incredibly skilled at warding off predators' attacks: Parry Dogs"
(Yes, I know---I don't really care, Do you?)
I reasoned some folks must be solving the Cryptoquip; otherwise it would not be published. Would it? So I took another look, determined to test my mental faculties. The Cryptoquip consists of groups of letters, jumbled up, with each letter representing another. The "quotes" are original, not famously uttered, are quite lengthy, and often are based on a pun for the "answer." The only given clue is a single letter representing another; the solver needs to find out what each of the other letters is.Sometimes the single letter given appears in the quote only once. So other strategy needs to be used. So the -3-letter nonsense syllables may represent the words "and, but, his, you," or any 3-letter verb or preposition. And you can't be sure. I would have assumed such a puzzle to be unsolvable, but today I persevered:
Cryptocrypt contained about 90 seemingly random letters and 13 words. The only clue is that Y equals C. The letter Y appeared only 3 times among the 90 scrambled letters.
My persevering led to this quote: " Burrowing creatures that are incredibly skilled at warding off predators' attacks: Parry Dogs"
(Yes, I know---I don't really care, Do you?)
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Follow-Up Call
I received a call yesterday, asking how the patient was doing following a medical visit the preceding day. "Thank you for calling," I said, "Maybe's doing just fine."
Time Warp
"Enjoy the rest of your weekend," said the receptionist, as I was leaving the office. I started to reply with the usual response of thank you, but then caught myself---it was 4:30 on Friday afternoon. I'm pretty sure the weekend hadn't started yet. "Oh well," she countered, "It is Friday."
Saturday, August 11, 2018
I'm not superstitious, I'm not, I'm not.
I was sound asleep or as sound asleep as I get anymore. As is usual now, I was dreaming,one of those dreams where I'm trying to solve some problem, or find some explanation, or put strewn pieces of something back together. I was awakened from the dream by a thud, and then the sound of someone crying out. It was such a familiar occurrence, up until almost exactly one year ago.
I got up and looked in each empty room. Nothing was out of order. Maybe was lying on the stand in the living room, looking out at the night scene lighted by the outside porch lamps. The clock said 1:52.
I got up and looked in each empty room. Nothing was out of order. Maybe was lying on the stand in the living room, looking out at the night scene lighted by the outside porch lamps. The clock said 1:52.
The Fatness Factor
According to the records now on file at the health provider's office, I am not merely overweight but obese. BMI, Body Mass Index, finding is calculated on the ratio between height and weight. And it doesn't help that my height is entered as 54 inches when my actual height is 64 inches. Height measured at 5 ft. 4 in. cannot be translated as 54 in. Do the math! Medical records can be so wrong. So often. In so many ways.
Wednesday, August 8, 2018
That's Entertainment
It was a 3-hour show and I only caught the last hour of CMA Fest. It was my own fault because though the TV is on almost all the time, I pretty much ignore it and am usually in another room. But tonight, while I was doing some work at the computer in the kitchen, I was drawn in by the sound of really good music. So I watched the last hour of the show. I don't listen to country music anymore, so was unfamiliar with most of the performers. The show was concert style, with little banter among the co-hosts, just sheer musical performances, with many first-class guitarists doing their thing.Such a relief not to hear the delivery of phony dialog, nor any overdone awards. Songs were sung with no semi-naked girls writhing on the floor, no elaborate designer costumes focusing on who reveals the most body parts.
The majority of the performers, at least in the part I saw, were male, and most of the songs dealt with love for their woman, or women, as the case may be though at least one reveled in his newfound freedom: "I ain't got to see my future ex-mother-in-law anymore." Another invited his bartender to serve him straight liquor and "Lay my six foot four ass on the floor." The only female singer I heard cautioned the need to "Hide the Wine," with the audience accompanying her to the chant of "Lock it up! Lock it up." ( Maybe a hidden political message in there somewhere.) All in all, the most entertaining TV hour of the year.
The majority of the performers, at least in the part I saw, were male, and most of the songs dealt with love for their woman, or women, as the case may be though at least one reveled in his newfound freedom: "I ain't got to see my future ex-mother-in-law anymore." Another invited his bartender to serve him straight liquor and "Lay my six foot four ass on the floor." The only female singer I heard cautioned the need to "Hide the Wine," with the audience accompanying her to the chant of "Lock it up! Lock it up." ( Maybe a hidden political message in there somewhere.) All in all, the most entertaining TV hour of the year.
Monday, August 6, 2018
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