74

King of the Jungle in Washington, DC

74. Just a number. Nothing more. Well, maybe more. That is the number of times I’ve been around the sun. Doesn’t seem like a big number. Howsomever, I did the math (dangerous). Seventy four times around the sun is just north of 43,000,000,000 miles. 43 BILLION. That is one long road and maybe is why I get tired so easily.

“I’ve seen the elephant,” was a phrase I’d read as a kid, something a mountain man or pioneer or some other American adventurer would say when answering a question about his life. (Always a “his” in those days, women weren’t allowed) To me, the phrase meant the speaker had been to the Big City, civilization, and seen the most exotic things…an elephant being the most exotic of them all. I know variations exist to the meaning but the mountain man one sticks in my head.

Have I seen everything? Well, no, certainly not. But, I’ve seen quite a lot of things. Many of these things I’ve actually seen and touched. Other things I’ve not seen, just felt the impact.

I’ve seen iron lungs and people with polio, and I remember the vaccines and the excitement of my parents when I got the shots and the oral sip. I have a round scar on my arm from a small pox vaccination, you don’t see that anymore.

In October 1962 I remember watching the sky and wondering if I’d see nuclear warheads raining down on my head. I remember walking into my high school building and hearing that JFK had been murdered. I remember turning the news on at night and watching the horrors of war in my living room. I remember going to an RFK rally and then a few days later he was murdered.

I remember camping in Canada and listening to a tiny transistor radio as man landed on the moon for the first time. I learned about American apartheid and white supremacy, first on television and then in person when I lived in Alabama years later. I learned about reservations and the horrible poverty and racism in my home state.

During college I learned to protest, how to march in support of a cause and how the institutions resist change and even kill the protesters. I watched a president of the U.S. openly lie to all of America and then resign in disgrace.

I learned to fly jets, I went faster than the speed of sound and flew where the sky is black. Over the years I stood at attention during taps as ten of my pilot friends were buried.

I went to a cooking school that taught me French cuisine with words I still can’t pronounce. I practiced law long enough to know I didn’t like it and was not very good at it.

I bought my first computer, a Commodore 64, in 1982. In 1984, I met and talked with Grace Hopper, a pioneer in computer programming.

Hmmm. That’s enough. The first half of the 43 billion mile journey. But, I think I’ve seen the elephant. Of course, I wouldn’t mind seeing another, just not today.

TV, Radio & Me

TV in Baltimore’s Museum of Industry

Believe it or not, there was a time in my life without television! I have vivid memories of sitting with my parents in our living room listening to the radio, mostly KIJV, because we had no television! And the radio was huge! My dad was always into sound and the radio set we had was consistent with his acoustic desires. For the life of me, I don’t remember the shows we listened to at night. I do remember the big round, compass like dial on that radio.

One day, I came home from school and right there in the middle of the living room was a television. I was six. I’d seen televisions…other people had them, but not us. To say that I was excited was an understatement. Of course, I had no idea what made a TV work and demanded that it be turned on NOW…there was a show I really wanted to watch. Dad said he had to put the antennae up. What?

We went out to the side of the house and he showed me this contraption of poles and rods, and screws and nails and wires and, well, lots of stuff. He put a ladder up, climbed to the roof, and mom handed all that stuff up to him. Lots of hammering and swearing and up and down the ladder and hammering and swearing and…at last he attached a flat, strange looking wire to the back of the TV. We turned it on, and waited. And waited. I remember the humming and then the screen would slowly start to glow. But no picture! Dad climbed back onto the roof and was turning the antennae to and fro while mom was hollering about the picture. At last we had something to see! It was nothing I was interested in but it was TV, TV in my house!

The next day I came home from school, mom turned the TV on and I watched “Captain 11” on Channel 11, KELO-Land TV. Do you remember: “One man in each century is given the power to control time. The man chosen to receive this power is carefully selected. He must be kind. He must be fair. He must be brave. You have fulfilled these requirements; and, we of the Outer Galaxies designate to you the wisdom of Solomonand the strength of Atlas. You are Captain 11!”

I desperately wanted to be on that show with all those kids but some things are better hoped for than actually done. At least that’s what I told myself, I was never on the show. Dave Dedrick was Captain 11 from 1955 to 1996, a huge run! Maybe the longest running children’s show in America. I also religiously watched the “Walt Disney Show” every Sunday afternoon. I outgrew Captain 11 eventually and migrated to “Paladin,” “Wanted Dead or Alive,” etc., but I still do Disney, especially now. When we moved to our house on 14th Street, we got a color TV! That was very exciting but quite frankly, not as exciting as the huge window air conditioner we got, that was very cool. Literally.

Ironically, as a teenager my attention turned back to the radio. I had a little transistor radio, the size of a cigarette pack. Each night I would tune it to WLS or KOMA, the 50,000 watt stations that were the lifeblood of midwestern teens in the early 60s. I could only listen to them at night because the signal wasn’t strong enough in the daytime. I am guessing that they weren’t allowed to broadcast at 50,000 watts while the little stations were on the air during the day. Maybe. Who knows.

It just dawned on me…there was one other time in my life without TV…when I lived in Iceland. We had something we called A-Farts. Armed Forces Radio & Television Station. No one watched it.

p.s. Thanks for all of the birthday wishes. It’s great to hear from everyone…it kicks off many memories! Thank you!!!

Butterfly & Rhubarb

Butterfly at Ginter Garden

Today I went out on a short walkabout, the first time in months! My rusty old body creaked and groaned and protested but I prevailed! A few of us went to the Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden for a walkabout and lunch. The gardens aren’t in full bloom now but we enjoyed ourselves. In parts of the gardens there were small signs with “thought prompts.” One was “Think of a plant you admired when you were young.” And so I did.

When I was young and lived near the school football field on Illinois Avenue in Huron, SD, our neighbors next door, the Kupers, were pretty cool, or at least they were fun. He was retired and old and wrinkled. He smoked Camel straight cigarettes and would tell us kids funny stories; we laughed and laughed and laughed with him. And then to end it all, he’d take his LIT cigarette and somehow curl it in his tongue and take the whole thing into his mouth. Smoke would come out of his nose and then his mouth would open, his tongue would uncurl, and voile, the cigarette was there, still on fire. Amazing.

In their backyard, right next to the fence, was a garden and in the garden was rhubarb. A lot of rhubarb. He would say, “Come on, let’s have a stalk of this, it’ll make your mouth shrink!” And it did. I loved it. He told me that I could have a little each week, he still had to have some for canning or pies or something but I could help myself to a stalk or two when it was hot. And I did. So today, seventy years later, Mr Kuper still lives on in my head every time I eat anything with rhubarb and when I think of plants around me as a kid.

The blue and black butterfly is from Ginter Gardens. Patience was the key in getting this shot. The blue butterfly reminds me of the Morpho butterfly in “The Big Door Prize” TV series.

Boys

“Spirit of South Dakota” in Huron

From the 5th grade on, I lived on 14th Street, a one block row of modest homes in small town America. The unusual thing was the block was chock full of boys my age, Ev, Steve, Dan, Dave, and me; we lived within four houses of one another. If you drew the circle a couple of blocks further out, there were even more boys, Bill, Rick, Steve H, Dud, and many I don’t remember. Most of us played together for those years, the years before we became boys with ambition. That is, before girls, sports, and other semi-adult activities. I digress

My favorite game was our version of hide and seek. A game we played only after the sun went down because darkness was our friend. And speed, oh the joy of running fast at night in the cool air, I can still feel the adrenaline of the speed and derring-do that we all took for granted.

“Home base” was the street light on the corner in front of Ev’s house. It was very, very bright. Very. I don’t know how they slept in his house because of the brightness. The seeker would stand with his head against the light pole and count to 100. Loudly. The hiders would race off to find the darkest hidey hole possible.

The playing area was the entire neighborhood, everyones’ yards were fair game, especially the backyards because they were typically very dark with great hiding places. Imagine sitting on your back porch enjoying a quiet evening and suddenly a group of adrenalin-driven boys is racing through the backyards, one-by-one disappearing into a bush, under a wagon, into a garage, behind a tree, and so on.

Once a hider picked a place, they were not supposed to move, for a short bit. And finding a place was supposed to have been within the seeker’s count of 100. After some amount of time (I don’t remember what), the hiders would try to get back to the light pole which was home base (free) and if they did, they got to be hiders during the next game. Rules!

The seeker would turn around at his 100th count and begin his quest. Seldom did we hide close to the light pole but we did not want to get too far away, the best strategy was to let the seeker walk by your hidey hole and then race him to the pole where you were “free.” If a hider was tagged by the seeker, the hider also became a seeker. The game got louder and louder as seekers continued their quest while at the same time positioning themselves to guard the light pole. We had to be careful of certain yards…they had either low hanging clothes lines or grumpy adults.

In most of the games someone had found an awesome hiding place and the seekers could not find him. We would then all go back to the pole and the first seeker would loudly call, “Olie (O-Lee), Olie, Olson, all in free!” which is an unintentional modification to the traditional “Ollie (ah-lee), Ollie, Oxen free.” Ours was probably the Nordic version. Smile. The unfound, successful hider would come out of the darkness to the accolades of the seekers who wanted to know where he’d hidden. I think we had to tell.

I vividly remember that street light, it was so very bright. We would often gather there, even if we weren’t playing hide and seek. Sometimes, young scalawags from other towns or someplace else would break that light with stones. I’m told.

Once in a while, my mother wanted me to come home before I’d intended to return. She’d lean out the front door and whistle. Yep, my mom would whistle. Not a sports whistle, but a whistle with lips, teeth, and tongue.

That whistle started in the neighborhood on Illinois Avenue where I’d lived through the fourth grade. We had even more kids in the two blocks around us than on 14th Street. Most of us kids were allowed to just go out and play, even at a very young age. I think it’s because we played in packs of girls and boys and we were always in someone’s yard. Most moms did not work so in theory, an adult was always watching us. Some of the moms had developed a unique whistle intended just for their children. When one of those moms wanted their kids to come home, they stand on their front porch and whistle their whistle. When I heard my mom’s I knew to head for home. We also knew the whistles for the other kids so if we heard their whistles, we’d track ‘em down and tell them about their mom’s whistle.

The moms didn’t have that whistle in the “new” neighborhood where we played hide and seek. But, my mom still used it and I still responded. I can still hear that whistle after more than six decades. Clear as a bell.

Mothers

Diane

Everyone has a mother and everyone has a mother story. Alyssa Rosenberg collected vignettes about the wonders of parenthood, it’s a good read. The article got me to thinking about our kids and stories about them. As Rosenberg suggested, it’s not often the “big things” you remember, it’s the little things. Parenting is hard work and the joys are often hidden by fatigue, frustration, and fear.

As parents, we’ve created new people, people who look like us but don’t necessarily act like us or think like us or “be” like us. The mom usually leads the way to calmer parenting…at least, that was the way in our house. For example, at dinner one night, one of the kids would not taste the mashed potatoes (the child was about 2). I was perplexed and determined. The disagreement escalated. I threatened to throw a VHS tape away (sort of dates when this happened) should the child not take just one little bite. The child folded arms and looked away. One tape gone. Two tapes gone. Three tapes gone. And then a calming mother intervened. Ah….sweet victory, but not for me.

Another child screamed and cried every time we went into a restaurant. Every time. No amount of preparation, no toys, no special treatment, nothing would stop our child from starting to loudly cry when we’d go out to eat. We would take the child outside, show games on the phone, have games in the ever present knapsack, and more. The mom said, be patient. Me? And then one day, nothing. No screams. Like it never happened.

When we bought the first pair of family dogs, the youngest child beamed with joy. It’s hard to describe the glow, the smile, the positive energy! And that didn’t change for all the years that we had the two dogs, Jazz and Rock. The mom found the puppies and made them a part of the family and the family’s joyful play.

I thank God for the partnership of parenting with this awesome woman. “The Mom.” The challenges and joy of what the kids are becoming is because of her strength, patience, and love. She’s given them the support and space they need to grow into the people they’ve become. It’s hard to believe that it was just yesterday when those tiny hands reached up to grab our fingers.

Friends

Me on my birthday in my Chef Jacket. Just yesterday, I think.

Every morning I try to write. Always pen on paper, three ring spiral binder; always free writing, never a plan. The words seldom leave the notebook, they are orphaned forever in the snarls of the spirals. But this morning was different and I decided to share what I wrote. In 2003, the year the picture above was taken, my birthday (the day the photo was taken) was on a Sunday, I was either cooking in the church or going to work at the restaurant after services. But that’s the church in the background so there is some relevance to this post, not a lot, but, hey, I do the best I can.

This morning I randomly picked a pen out of a large jar of pens to write my morning pages. The pen was engraved, well, maybe not engraved as much as imprinted, with “Ripley Prop Mgt.” Perfect, I thought. And then my mind took a leap…to the uninitiated, the pen might appear to be advertising a theatrical prop shop. Or, an ad for a cartoon of Garfield with lean-to planks. Or almost anything! (I can see the owner, president, CEO, et.al., of Ripley Prop Mgt giving me the side eye and a YGBSM look. She knows I’ll return the favor with a “Who me?” expression of astonishment.)

And I’m off. I jumped on the Way Back Machine and landed at Mt Vernon UMC in Alexandria, VA, sometime in the 90s. Over several years we ran into a group of like minded reprobates who somehow bonded and became friends. Very good friends, friends we spent 3-4 days a week with! Usually all of them! Every week. But, things change. Some of us moved. Some of us stayed. And some of us kept in touch.

I moved to Richmond, two folks to Southern California, two to Ohio, one to Tennessee and several stayed in Alexandria. Our group is pretty much coast-to-coast. But our “center” isn’t geographic, it’s one of friendship.

We don’t see each other often. Sometimes not for years. When we do get together, another cliche comes to life and we talk with one another as if it were just yesterday we saw each other last. Some of us talk on the phone. Some keep track on ancient Facebook. Four of us actually zoom every week or two to play virtual bridge!!

It’s been almost 20 years since we’ve all met in person, all at the same time. (And I think that gathering was at the Prop Mgt Central!!) So many moves, new adventures, COVID coping, new children, new grandchildren, sad losses, missed and received hugs, and on and on. Those people! I wished we lived closer, but maybe that’s why it works. No. It worked before the MV Diaspora. Who knows!

We have other friends from around the world who we connect with through social and normal media. And friends from all the places we’ve lived and worked. But there’s never been a group like the MV group. I’m lucky. We’re lucky. And that makes me smile.

Now, if I could only get that prop manager to handover the props so I can start the theater properly.

Pandemic Declared Over

Old Town Alexandria and Adobe Firefly Peacock

The COVID Pandemic has been declared “Over” by health organizations. Of course, by a surprisingly large number of people, the pandemic was a hoax. Most of them live in Florida. The millions dying around those hoax-nay sayers didn’t slow the denials. Science doesn’t matter. I digress.

We were lucky, we had our kids living with us and so could count on them to help. The groceries and other things we needed to live that we either bought or had delivered were hand scrubbed with disinfectant towels during the first COVID weeks, we eased that requirement as more was learned about the virus. We chose to isolate ourselves pretty completely and stay away from anyone that wasn’t immediate family. Neither of us contracted the virus which is a combination of things: good habits, timely vaccinations, wearing masks religiously, and…luck. Sadly, we lost friends in the church, our mailman, and so many others. Not a hoax. A real thing.

Eventually, I was brave enough to go out and find images. The streets were deserted, the shops were mostly closed, and restaurants were takeout only if they were open at all. Sort of apocalyptic. As more and more people were vaccinated, the restaurants started to open in outdoor settings. This is one of those settings in Old Town Alexandria. The city made the first block off the river a walking street with restaurants. I think they kept it that way even though it’s no longer a health requirement.

This is an image I constructed. The base image was taken in February 2021. Vaccinations had been available for a year and most folks had gotten them. Those that did not get vaccinated contributed to the variants that keep the virus alive even today. I played with colors to “paint” the details and I used Adobe Firefly to add the peacock.

Some day, I will put together a portfolio of images made during the pandemic. Not today.

Class Act

Elementary School, Grade ??

I stumbled across an old album that my mother made for me several decades ago. The Way Back Machine immediately started whirring away and I thought I’d share some of the images…some of you may recognize yourselves or your mates.

For the life of me I don’t remember which class this was. Perhaps third grade, more likely second grade. Not sure. I don’t remember the teacher and I can’t gauge how old we were. I’m in the first row, far right. I see JD, Kup, Paula, Pam, Larry, Roger, Mark and more. Does anyone have a clue? Perhaps 2nd grade at Lincoln.

My parents seldom got involved in my school life, in fact, I only remember once when my mom took action. But I didn’t see the action. Poo.

When I was in fifth or sixth grade at Madison I had a teacher who didn’t like my behavior. One day she smacked me very hard with a long ruler and it apparently left a welt. Years later my mother told me that she’d gone to the school and complained bitterly to the teacher about striking students. Hurray for her. Didn’t do any good.

At this age, I had lots of freckles and light brown, almost red hair. The kids called me “Howdy Doody” after a puppet that had its own TV show with Buffalo Bob. I didn’t like the nickname and probably acted out against it. I remember lots of bullying, especially from a couple of these classmates. But, it’s all good now, they live far, far away. Smile. Or maybe it’s me that lives far, far away.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

My mother would have been 107 years old today. The image above was taken on her wedding day, April 9, 1937. She was 21 then, dad was almost 26. Dad made $25 a month working at Armours. Mom was a clerk at Armours and made way less than that. Way less. But that’s how they met. The Depression forever changed their lives and I know I have some of those genes in my DNA, too.

I think they both look pretty good. I don’t know if dad was wearing spats or whether those were saddle shoes or what. The double breasted suit, the sharply pressed pants, right out of the Beatles generation! And mom. High heels with fashionable straps, mid-calf skirt, wide collar, modest neckline, mid-length gloves, flying sleeves…definitely the tall and lean look of the day!

Oh, and the hats. I love the hats. I miss hats.

My dad was a widower. I didn’t know that, they never said a word. One day when I was a teenager, my aunt Alberta mentioned my dad’s first wife…what?! She’d died shortly after their marriage. Who knew? Would they ever have told me? Probably not.

Anyway, Mom, Happy Birthday. If there’s a bridge table where you are, I know you’re helping others learn to play. Something you tried desperately to do for me…some of it stuck. Most of it is sadly gone; even though I play once a week, I’ve never been able to channel your skill.

Lazy? No, AI.

Diane & Sunny, base image from Adobe Firefly

I used to drive my dad (and perhaps others) crazy because I was always trying to figure out how to do things faster…clean my room (yeah, sure), mow the lawn (a particularly loathsome chore), do homework (I just wouldn’t do it), washing the dishes (have to do my homework in my room), and more. He accused me of being lazy. Lazy!! Me?

I would argue with him about efficiency, time and motion, wasted creative opportunities, etc., etc…it didn’t make any difference. He called me lazy. And that is the label that’s stuck with me for more than 70 years. Perhaps I need counseling. Smile. Or maybe I am lazy.

Being the lazy gent that I am, I became intrigued with artificial intelligence (AI). I’ve written about the Three Laws of Robotics and I’ve enjoyed the luxury of my home robots…Roomba, Alexa, Siri. My TV works with voice. My sound system is keyed to my voice and so are other systems in the house. My doors and yards tell me when someone is close by and whether I know them or not. My car wants me to stay in my lane and maintain a certain space between me and the idiot ahead. And on and on. I’ve enjoyed all that, until now. Now my “creative space” is under attack. They’ve come for me.

I started playing with ChatGPT a short bit ago and was intrigued. And worried. How easy it is to create a story, an essay, a…well anything. Can students (and adults) get by just knowing how to manipulate the AI engine. Teachers will have to become AI detectives. Of course, images weren’t far behind the AI rush. I had not played with imagery AI until yesterday.

I logged onto Firefly. There is no learning curve, you just type something and an image is created. It was fun. The image above was from a sentence: nighttime corner of an old village with cobblestone streets. Poof. I had my image. I brought it into Photoshop, added Diane and Sunny, and I had invented a new world. All in less than 15 minutes.

How are we going to trust images, videos, or the written word anymore? If I weren’t so lazy, I’d figure it out.