Desperately Seeking Closure

Did you draw your mother’s ire when as a kid you left (or if you still are a kid, leave) the door open when you came in from outside? Or let the refrigerator hang open? Or had an array of dresser draws intrude into your room, socks spilling onto the floor? Well, I didn’t. Not back then. Oh, I wasn’t perfect either. I probably had a door stay open to the elements on an urgent run from outdoor playing when all the trees were taken. (What can I say? The rest of the neighborhood kids weren’t perfect either.) But now I’ve turned into a man with seemingly not enough strength to get a cupboard door closed all the way.

If you were to look into my kitchen after I cooked up a good healthy breakfast you would find the refrigerator closed but not quite completely, the silverware drawer open, the cabinet where the oatmeal resides with its lid half-cocked not shut quite all the way, and the dishwasher where the used plates and tableware have been carefully placed quite uncarefully left ajar. Certainly the cabinets where the plates and glasses are stored would be similarly left agape except that those items are stored in racks on the counter. There are even times when the under-sink cabinet chemicals remain unshielded when I take the time to wipe down the counter after enjoying my healthy if a bit harried morning meal.Door

This carelessness isn’t restricted to the kitchen. In the bathroom drawers and doors are more likely to be open than closed upon entering. (I am good about lowering the toilet seat. Years of living in predominantly female households will do that.) In the bedroom the dresser drawers are almost always opened just a crack. Somehow even the roll top on the desk that now qualifies as my longest lasting relationship never quite makes it all the way to the writing surface, even with gravity helping along my now apparently feeble shutting action. The front door manages to get closed but on a nice day with the patio in use that door stands as great a chance of being as open during the night as it was during the day since I’ll often go to bed and simply forget there is a door there. (Note to potential local burglars, there’s nothing behind that unlatched entrance worth taking except perhaps the aforementioned rolltop desk which is much too heavy for one person to handle. Especially if that one person has a strong desire to maintain a certain level of stealth. And baby making ability.)

This failure to get doors, drawers, and other front pieces into their fully secure positions can’t be age related, can it? Certainly it’s not because I forget to secure the offending openings, patio access notwithstanding. I’d not think it’s a strength issue since I seem to do well enough with car doors which are certainly heavier than veneered particle board cabinet doors. I’d say perhaps it’s a laziness thing but does it really take any more effort to push a drawer that last quarter inch than not? Could it be that I’ve developed this propensity to leaving things standing open sometime after adolescence and just had a sufficiently active adulthood that I didn’t notice I was leaving doors and drawers open until recently now that I have more time to hang around the not closed openings? That seems doubtful in that you would imagine at some time I would walk into a hanging drawer front or notice the milk had soured from a refrigerator left open for an entire week’s worth of work days. No, age doesn’t seem to be a factor here other than one of coincidence.

I think the culprits are the house fairies that I had been hoping would have shown up during those years of weeks’ worth of work days to do things like clean the counters and match the socks tossed haphazardly into the dresser. They finally got around to me on their list of houses to work on and when they got here found that everything they had been dispatched to do is now being dealt with. Since house fairies are notoriously reticent to leave a place once they have been assigned, they are obviously looking for something to do, cook, eat, write, or wash, and they leave the room within which they are so searching somewhat hastily upon my entrance. The doors and drawers are left open just a smidge because, let’s be blunt about it, fairies don’t take up that much space and can get in and out of places through just a crack. That clearly explains the cabinets and dressers and even the desk doors and drawers that seem to never make it completely closed.

There. I feel better about it already. All except for that patio door business. I think I might have to take the blame for that one.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Walk This Way…or That

I haven’t done a “Today is…” post yet this year. Well, I did Presidents Day which really isn’t but you already know that, and I alluded to Groundhog Day a day or two before. But those are real days especially the latter which is as real of a day as you can get. What I haven’t done a “Today is National Purple Plastic Paperclip Day” type post. Well today is the day. Today is…oh! I can’t decide!

I’ve been having a problem with indecision lately. If you’ve been reading for more than just a couple weeks you can tell. Having gotten through the first 4-1/2 years with one blog design and the second style making it almost 6 whole months, I’ve gone through three schemes in four weeks looking for my voice. It’s out there somewhere. This could be it. But even that uncertainty is nothing like the dithering I’ve gone through to pick out today’s day.HMNI

Economists call it “Consumer Glut” when you are faced with multiple choices of essentially the same item. According to an article I read recently, there are 30 varieties of Tide liquid laundry detergent. That’s among 25 different brands of detergents. All of them right there on your mega-mart shelves. All just waiting to be taken home to wash your clothes. No wonder you actually come across people in the supermarkets standing in aisles staring. Just staring.

I had the same problem today. No, I wasn’t staring at 700 soap bottles trying to pick one. I have been trying to decide between two very auspicious observances to hail in today’s post. I suppose you could say my problem is actually more akin to Buridan’s Donkey rather than Consumer Glut. After discounting such notable notables as Panic Day, Name Tag Day, and Get Over It Day, I still had to choose from two.

World Kidney Day should be a natural for me. I am one of the one in ten worldwide affected with kidney disease. Not only am I one of the 748+ million people with kidney disease, I also get to be one of the lucky 2 million to have reached End Stage Renal Disease (ESRD) requiring dialysis or a kidney transplant. It’s estimated that in the U.S. alone over $48 billion is spent on chronic renal disease. While 100,000 patients are on the kidney transplant waiting list only 20,000 kidney donations are made annually. Unfortunately for me and 747,999,999 or so others, kidney disease doesn’t go away. It can get better or it can get worse but it always is. So it would be in my best interest to publicize World Kidney Day.

But just as the donkey stood on that field I was trapped; trapped between the benevolence of World Kidney Day and the deliciousness of National Meatball Day. How can you not savor an entire day devoted to those scrumptious orbs of palatability? Whether beef or pork or chicken or lamb or all of the above, whether smothered in tomato sauce or sausage gravy, whether on a bun or nestled atop a mountain of spaghetti, there is nothing more mouthwatering than a piping hot ball of gastronomic love. Don’t let the name fool you. The best meatball emporiums will also serve those luscious little globes made of cod, shrimp, crab, rice, and beans and cauliflower. As one who spent years being told to get in shape I was delighted to have these flavorful rondures as my model when I proudly said “Round is a shape.”

So that’s the dilemma: to be kind to my kidneys or true to my tummy. I know what you’re going to say. Don’t panic. You’ll get over it.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

PS – Don’t forget to move your clocks ahead this weekend. If you do that sort of thing.

Spare Change

Saturday evening I was in the car and spun the dial on the radio. Figuratively, that is. What I really did was touch the SCAN button but how pretty of a picture does that paint. The dial landed on the beginning of “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye.” The original.  steamBy Steam. From 1969. If you don’t know it or any of its copycatters, check it out here.

See, it’s a real song. A whole song. Not just a chorus you hear at baseball games after the pitcher is pulled.

I thought while listening (I can multitask) “God, I hated that song.” And then I went on to think more while listening more (still multitasking more) “Hey, hey, that’s not a bad song.”

I really did dislike it then and I even disliked more (or stronger) Banarama’s 1983 knock-off. But back to the sixties. I disliked Steam’s greatest hit though I shouldn’t have. If you’ve paused reading this post to check out the above noted video you’ll know why. That was me back then. Dressed and groomed pretty much in the form of… well, in the form of whoever they are. Steam wasn’t even a real group but one of those fake front bands to stick a name on a label when a bunch of studio musicians happen across a catchy little ditty some record producer thinks might make a few bucks. And that was me in high school. A fake front. Not quite nerd, not quite popular, not quite athletic, not quite stylish in my long collared, puffed sleeved, vested, flaired, and not quite straggly look. Somehow, like Na Na Etc Etc, I endured well into the 21st century.

Probably it was because of the changes that we made and/or were subjected to that we endured as well as we did. Na Na shifted from catchy little ditty requiring greedy producer to be popular to catchy little hook requiring bored baseball park organist to be popular. I’m now quite stylish.

The moral of the story is be true to what you are now, but be ready to change. Just in case.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

(Video by kenwaman via YouTube)

Euphemistically Yours

I was going to write a light, breezy post about something humorous that happened to me. But all of that changed when I saw what was on my coffee table. Let me start in the middle. (The beginning would make this just WAAAAYYYYYYYY too long.) A couple of weeks ago I bought a new television. Sometime over the weekend I read the instruction manual. At least I got around to it eventually. Actually I didn’t get around to it. It somehow ended up on the table instead of the recycling bin and as I was walking it over to said bin it fell out of my hands and broke open. And that’s when I started reading.

At first I wasn’t sure I was really reading it. I thought that maybe I was having a dream but one of those dreams that is so lifelike that you wake up thinking that you really did just have lunch with Aunt Ella even though she died 12 years ago and even more that you don’t have an Aunt Ella. Now that’s a dream. But I thought that maybe that’s exactly what I was having because no company on Earth could actually put into writing what I was reading right there in black and white.

About halfway through the “IMPORTANT NOTICES” was, in bold letters, “End of Life Directives.” This is why I at first thought that I was having and/or had had a dream. And probably a bad dream. To someone who spent 40 years in health care, “End of Life” has a very specific meaning. Usually, no, always, end of life means someone’s life has ended. Died. Checked out. Kicked the bucket. 86’d on out of here. Gone. Never to return. Dead.

On top of it, I’ve spent the last few years in and out of hospitals where the first thing anybody asks (after “are you bleeding?”) is, “Do you have a living will or advance directives?” And just last week the dialysis clinic social worker brought to me a stack of papers to be signed for this year and at the top of the stack was a pre-formatted form labeled “End of Life Directives.”

So you can see why when I saw that associated with an Open Box Internet Special yet still over-priced television set I thought I was hallucinating. Or at the very least way past my bedtime. We have enough things that are challenged, sufficient opportunities, plenty of stuff that is deprived, depressed or disadvantaged, that we don’t need to borrow an actual sentiment to be euphemistic for something that really doesn’t need to be spoken of gently.

Exactly what is this “end of life” that the manufacturers of electronic components are afraid to call a spade? Apparently, as I learned upon further reading, it’s when the TV has reached the end of its usefulness to me and the manufacturer wants to make me aware that there are environmentally responsible means of disposal that are at my umm, disposal.

I know it’s terribly politically incorrect to call a shovel a shovel but hasn’t the need to call everything anything but whatever thing it is gone too far now? We can’t even put in an instruction manual that this thing you just bought might break, fail, quit, or stop working. We have to speak gently so that if you actually paid full price for the item you won’t file an wrongful breakdown suit against the manufacturer. Bull shit. It will break and when it does either recycle it or throw it away. Those are your choices. Directives or not.

But if I should happen to outlive the newest electronic member of my family I will be certain to dispose of it in a responsible and thoughtful manner. I’ll hold a respectful gathering of its friends, we’ll have a non-denominational service with a few of the other appliances offering their thoughts and best wishes for the survivors and afterwards some light refreshments and fellowship. We will then gently load the life-challenged inanimate object into the back of my pre-hybrid automobile, drive several times around the county looking for a recycling center that accepts electronics, pay $1 per pound or $45 per dropoff whichever is less, and then hightail it back home. In air-conditioned comfort.

California will be proud.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Five Minutes Wait

If you don’t like the weather just wait five minutes. It’ll change. How many times have you heard that, said that, or wished that? Unless you maybe live on St. Lucia not during hurricane season. Around here those five minute changes are actually getting fairly commonplace. It’s sort of scary sometimes. Let me take you through 48 hours of last weekend.

Friday morning followed a couple warmish days for February north of the 40th parallel. With temperatures expected to be around 40 degrees at midday we had just completed a week of daytime highs in the 50s and 60s. At wakeup time it was about 54 degrees. We should have expected it to be closer to 24 degrees but a warm week happens just as often as the cold week.

It shouldn’t have been unexpected. The forecasters actually predicted warmer weather. Even though over half of the month to date had been at or below average for February, the half that was higher was high enough to predict that this month would be the warmest February on record. Days and weeks and months of weather being any but what’s expected are expected around here. A warmest February on record didn’t get the global warming proponents any more excited than the coldest February on record in 2015 got the global warming opponents excited. We’ve come to learn to expect the unexpected. (Trite, but descriptive.)

Anyway, Friday I woke up to 54 degree weather and a morning forecast of it getting warmer. Indeed, by 1:00 it had breezed past (with calm winds) the previous date record of 70 degrees on its way to a high a few hours later of 76 degrees under clear, sunny skies. I got to see none of this being locked away against my will at the dialysis clinic. When I emerged from their binds a bit after 4:00 in the afternoon my car thermometer confirmed I was living in a parallel city that should have been occupying the Southern Hemisphere. As pleasant as it was I could honestly say I didn’t like it and wished it would change.

You see, I wanted it to change because it is still winter. As much as I have been less tolerant of colder days as I have entered my older days I still want seasons. If I didn’t enjoy a few weeks every year of rain and new growth flowers in the spring and falling leaves and brisk mornings in the fall and even cold and snow in the winter, I’d move to St. Lucia. I also wanted it to change because there a hockey game was scheduled to be played outside Saturday evening. Who wants to see outdoor hockey in mid70 degree weather. I don’t even like to go to baseball games when it’s that hot. Not to worry. God is a hockey fan and He’ll take care of it I told myself. It took a few more than five minutes.

Saturday at wake up it was the same 54 degrees that greeted me Friday morning and at 1:00 in the afternoon the weather service was still recording temperatures in the 50s. But then (probably because I was outside rather than chained to a medieval medical machine yet dressed like I was outside the day before) the temperature took a dramatic plunge. An hour later it was ten degrees colder, another hour another ten degrees and by 4:00 as I was finally home and changed into more appropriate clothing for February weather, February weather returned with a gusto (and with wind gusts approaching 40mph).

At 6:00 when the gates opened for the game the temperature had dropped to 36 degrees and snow flurries were flitting in the glow of the high intensity lighting. At face-off the recorded temp was exactly 32 degrees. And all was right with the world.

Sunday morning I woke up to the temperature at 26 degrees, a drop of 50 degrees in 40 hours. Maybe a little chilly for some but according to the weather people exactly average for the date.

Exactly average. How unimpressive is that? But it’s ok. If you don’t like it, just wait five minutes.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Forty-five Weirdos and Counting

This is a long post. I hope you’ll stick around to read it all, maybe a bit at a time if you have to. I had fun researching and writing it. I’d like to think you’ll have at least as much fun reading it.

mtrushmore

In the United States today is Presidents Day. Actually, it isn’t. Technically it is Washington’s Birthday. But actually it isn’t. That’s Wednesday. February 22. What is today is Washington’s Birthday by an Act of Congress. Actually, by Public Law 90-363 passed on June 28, 1968 Congress decreed that Washington’s Birthday, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Columbus Day, and Veterans Day to be celebrated on a specific Monday rather than whatever willy-nilly day the actual previously recognized date might fall on during the week. This same act, by the way, declared that New Year’s Day shall be celebrated on January 1, Independence Day (colloquially known as The Fourth of July) will be observed on July 4, and Christmas can be held on December 25. At least they were until that was amended that if those last three mentioned holidays might somehow fall on a Saturday or Sunday (which we know that almost all government employees and all Members of Congress already get off), the observation shall be shifted to either the preceding Friday or following Monday. And we question the dedication of today’s Congress.

Well, even though we might actually question the need to recognized 44 other questionable human beings who shared the American Presidency with Gorgeous George, most of us are taking today off to do just that. Questionable? Did I just say questionable? Yes, I did. It didn’t take much research to determine that every one of those 45 elected had something somewhat awkward in their background. Or foreground. Every. Single. One.  Even George. Let me count the ways.

President, the First. George Washington. (1789-1797) Even though almost everyone who has ever petitioned his or her state assembly to legalize marijuana believes that Washington was the first to inhale in office, he didn’t. He liked wine and whiskey, and probably women and song. But not weed. He did grow hemp on his plantation. But that was turned into rope for the shipping business. What he did do in his spare time after leaving the Presidency was turn neighboring plantation owners’ cast-off grains into moonshine. And made a pretty good dollar (at that time without his face on it) at the venture.

John Adams. (1797-1801) Anybody who has seen “1776” on the screen or the stage might walk away with the feeling that our second President (and first Vice President) might have been the least liked of the Founding Fathers. They would be right. John Adams was unpleasant on his most pleasant days. He disliked almost everything that wasn’t his idea, and several of those. He was also brilliant. He graduated from Harvard at age 20 earned his law license a year later, yet another Harvard degree two years after that. He was a two term appointed member of the Continental Congress, authored the Massachusetts Constitution, drafted the Declaration of Independence with Thomas Jefferson Roger Sherman, Robert Livingston, and Benjamin Franklin, negotiated the peace treaty with England, served as Ambassador to France, Holland, and England, and became President. All the while (even the while while he was going to Harvard) (the first time) drunk by today’s standard.  As a skunk. No wonder he was so mean.

Thomas Jefferson. (1801-1809) Jefferson may be best known as the primary author of the Declaration of Independence. That’s far from the only thing he ever wrote. And you can read all of them (or at least be in their presence) at one of the many libraries of Jefferson’s writings. That’s because he saved every single piece of correspondence that he ever wrote. Over 40,000 items. Obsessed?  He owned slaves but they were never seen in the main living quarters of his mansion. He designed a series of dumb waiters and servers so his servants wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on his conversations. Paranoid? Although credited with nine sustained inventions he never patented any so that everybody could use them. Putz!

James Madison. (1809-1817). Madison was the youngest member of the First Continental Congress. He is known as the Father of the Constitution as the primary author for the document and for the Bill of Rights. (You know, the first 12 amendments. Oh, you think there were only 10? Check your history.) He fostered the idea of the three branches of government and the separation of powers. Madison was a gifted and important man. He was also the proverbial stuffed shirt. But his wife, Dolly, was the life of the party. In fact, is was his Presidency that saw the first Inaugural Ball. He might have been a stuffed shirt but he was smart. His motto may indeed have been “Happy Wife, Happy Life.”

James Monroe. (1817-1825). If you check those dates closely you’ll see he became President shortly after the War of 1812 ended. One of the casualties of that war was the White House. It was during Monroe’s early years that the White House was being repaired and remodeled. Thus, he took the opportunity to visit the masses and spent two years on the road.

John Quincy Adams. (1825-1829). When Adams the Second took up residence of the newly remodeled executive mansion he found a room that had not yet been furnished. Since it looked the right size he had it outfitted with a billiard table, chess sets, and other games of chance of the nineteenth century. He also kept an alligator as a White House pet.

Andrew Jackson. (1829-1837). The first Washington outsider to be elected, Jackson, a general from the War of 1812, was considered the Peoples’ President. He brought his military temperament to his elected position, often intimidating staff, visitors, and reporters at the White House, and always carrying his service revolver on his person.

Martin Van Buren. (1837-1841). Van Buren was the ideological opposite of his predecessor Jackson. But one thing did not change.  The 8th President had the same proclivity as the 7th for Presidential weaponry and often wore loaded pistols (2!) when addressing the Senate.

William Henry Harrison. (1841-1841). (Yes, he’s the one. Only 32 days in office, March 4 to April 4.) (Yes, March 4. They didn’t move the inauguration to January until 1937.)  Harrison famously delivered his 8,400+ word address in the wind, rain and cold without hat or coat. Three weeks later he was diagnosed with pneumonia and died 10 days later, the first President to die in office.

John Tyler. (1841-1845). Dubbed “His Accidency.” Need more?

James K. Polk. (1845-1849). Polk’s weirdiosity was not as frivolous as some of the preceding chief executives. In fact, he was as anti-frivolous as you could imagine banning liquor and dancing at all Presidential functions. Definitely not foot loose.

Zachary Taylor. (1849-1850). Our twelfth President spent only 16 months in office before passing away. His party didn’t fare much better. After selecting Taylor, an inexperienced, unqualified, wealthy outsider to be its nominee, many party members questioned how their party could compromise its ideals, trading the path to victory over party principles. (Sound familiar?) The American Whig Party, known for its ideological principle of elevating Congress over the Presidency, fractured by internal arguments became irrelevant by 1854. Oh, what did in President Taylor? Maybe it was bad milk, it might have been spoiled vegetables, possibly it was heat stroke, or it could have been arsenic. The first three were considered in 1850 when he died. The last was proposed in 1991 when his body was exhumed and tested for poisoning. He wasn’t. Just unlucky.

Millard Fillmore. (1850-1853). Millard Fillmore very seldom gets his name printed on anything so I’ll use his full name at least twice here. Oh heck, how about three times. Millard Fillmore didn’t really do anything as President. He was actually called a secondhand president by one of his own staff.

Franklin Pierce. (1853-1857). The “Hero of many a well fought bottle,” Pierce was known to have a drink. Pretty much one long drink throughout the four years of his Presidency.

James Buchanan. (1857-1861). Buchanan, perhaps undeservedly, is considered the worst President to have served. His critics base this by saying he set the stage for the American Civil War. Indeed, it was the Supreme Court that ruled Congress had no power to deprive slaveholders of their property rights. That led the Democratic Party to push for the separation of northern and southern states and Buchanan argued, rather weakly, that although the states had no right to secede, the government couldn’t stop them.

Abraham Lincoln. (1861-1865). Although a member of the new Republican Party and a political conservative supporting many of the former Whig ideals including the censure of some individual states’ failure to decry the abuses of slaves even if not specifically supporting slavery itself, and a return to nationalism, Lincoln was also considered a classic liberal opposing artificial hierarchies and a champion of human liberties. His is considered by many to be the greatest American President and when many polls ranked the top three Presidents it was always Lincoln one and Washington, and Franklin Roosevelt trading two and three. Unfortunately his one escape from his arduous Presidency was the theater.

Andrew Johnson. (1865-1869). Johnson was an unusual successor to the Presidency. He was a Democrat serving as the Republican Lincoln’s Vice President. And he was a Southerner (from Tennessee) who did not join the Confederacy. In 1864 when Lincoln was preparing for his second election, he replaced his then Vice President, Hannibal Hamlin, with Johnson as his running mate considering Johnson as a unifying figure to the War Democrats. When Lincoln was assassinated just 6 weeks after his second inauguration Johnson got to practice his unifying skills. He used those to oversee the reconstruction of the Union though not always in concert with the plans of Congress for reconstruction.  Did I mention he was the first President to be impeached?

Ulysses S. Grant. (1869-1877). U. S. Grant absolutely paints a picture of the U. S. in the west during the 1800’s. Rough, ready for anything, and raring to go! But…Ulysses Simpson Grant isn’t the name he was born with. That would be Hiram Ulysses Grant. It seems somewhere at the U. S. Military Academy at West Point a document ended up identifying him as Ulysses Simpson Grant. Rather than take a semester off to have the paperwork corrected, Cadet Grant adopted his new name and carried on.

Rutherford B. Hayes. (1877-1881). So you think some people were shocked when they woke up the day after the election in 2016? You should have been around in 1876. That was back when the state election committees really did use the popular vote to appoint electors and the electors who voted for the President were really considered the people to actual elect the President. And everybody was fine with that. It was also a time that state election committees often didn’t always consider the popular vote when appointing electors depending on who they wanted to see elected as President. To make a long story short, when three of the then 38 states appeared to have confirmed voter fraud and others had challenges made in their electoral appointments, Congress set up an electoral commission to resolve the conflicts. Still with challenges from both parties the commission, through a series of several votes and finally by March 2 just two days before the scheduled inauguration, Hayes was awarded the disputed states and won the election. He pledged not to run for reelection. Whew!

James A. Garfield. (March 1881-September 1881). Although President Tyler was called “His Accidency” following his rise to the office upon Harrison’s death forty years earlier, Garfield really got to the office (or at least the nomination) by accident. He was actually the campaign manager for then Secretary of the Treasury John Sherman. Through 35 ballots neither Sherman, nor rivals U. S. Grant and James Blaine could secure the nomination. On the 36th ballot Garfield was selected as a compromise candidate. He went on to defeat Winfield Scott Hancock (who at least had a sufficient number of last names to be President) and is noted for proposing the Civil Service Reform Act calling for federal jobs to be awarded based on merit not political ties. That could have been his demise. Just six months after taking office Garfield was assassinated by Charles Guiteau. Since there was little radio or television in the nineteenth century, politicians used professional speech makers to spread their platforms to the masses when and where they could not speak themselves. Guiteau was one of these, though not a very often used. He still felt his contribution to Garfield’s election win was enough to earn him an appointment in the American embassy in Paris, a position for which he clearly was not qualified. Although he spoke for Garfield he personally supported Chester A. Arthur and his opposition to civil service reform. Guiteau was convinced that he did not get the appointment because of this and that the only way to end the party internal conflicts was to see that Garfield was eliminated. On July 2, 1881, he shot Garfield twice, once in the back where the bullet was never able to be retrieved. After 78 days of partial paralysis, fevers, and finally pneumonia, Garfield died, the second President to be assassinated.

Chester A. Arthur. (1881-1885). A true accident, Chester A. Arthur gets my vote for worst President, but that’s a different post. A New York socialite, he managed to wrangle the nomination for Vice President through political cronyism, the antithesis of his President, James Garfield. Everyday dinners at the Arthur White House typically consisted of 14 course meals with up to eight different wines accompanying various courses. State dinners ballooned to 21 courses. He hired Louis Comfort Tiffany to redecorate the White House (he was quoted in the New York World “You have no idea how depressing and fatiguing it is to live in the same house where you work,”) and was the first President to hire a personal valet. Yet somehow he never got around to appointing a Vice President upon his ascendency to the number one job.

Grover Cleveland. (1885-1889 and 1893-1897). The only President to be elected to non-consecutive terms, Cleveland is best known for being the only President to be elected to non-consecutive terms.

Benjamin Harrison. (1889-1893). Finally a Harrison got to serve a full term. The grandson of William Henry Harrison (of the 32 day Presidency) won the electoral vote but not the popular vote (not the first and not the last to do that) and got to be sworn in 100 years to the day that George Washington took the first oath of office for that, um, office. Four year after defeating Grover Cleveland he lost to Grover Cleveland.

Grover Cleveland. (Again). Oh, yeah. See above.

William McKinley (1897-1901).  William McKinley was a very popular President in his time. He won both his elections easily and had support of his major proposals from both Congress and the public. Like Lincoln he had one quirk though his was not an escape from the rigors of the office. McKinley’s quirk was his lucky carnation. He always sported a red carnation in his lapel. While attending the Pan-American Exposition on September 6, 1901, he took his carnation from his jacket and gave it to a little girl who met him in a receiving line. Seconds later, Leon Czolgosz reached the front of the line and shot the President in the abdomen twice. McKinley died eight days later. After his conviction of assassinating the President, Czolgosz said, “I killed the President because he was the enemy of the good people – the good working people. I am not sorry for my crime.”

Theodore Roosevelt. (1901-1909). A consummate alpha male, Teddy Roosevelt (TR to his friends and frenemies), climbed the Matterhorn in 1881, herded his own cattle on his North Dakota ranch, resigned as Assistant Secretary of the Navy to form the Rough Riders to fight in the Spanish American War, swam the Potomac almost daily during his Presidency, and tried to join the Navy six years after leaving office. But he had his softer side. In 1906 he received the Nobel Peace Prize for having negotiated peace in the Russo-Japanese War at the Treaty of Portsmouth in November 1905.

William Howard Taft. (1909-1913). A big name for a big man, Taft weighed in at 300 pounds on his inauguration, after losing 60 pounds for it. He holds the distinction of being the only President to continue to serve after leaving office, then as a Supreme Court Justice. After taking the oath of office himself he got to swear in two other Presidents, Coolidge and Hoover, while serving as Chief Justice.

Woodrow Wilson. (1913-1921). Wilson looked like the PhD professor that he was. Big ears, strong jaw, pointy nose, and a perpetual scowl gave him the appearance of a banker who would foreclose on a widow with 5 children on Christmas Eve. He was the second American President to receive the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts in working out the World War I peace treaty and proposed League of Nations, the predecessor organization to the United Nations joined by 42 countries but not the United States.

Warren G. Harding. (1921-1923). Harding entered the Presidency during the first full year of American prohibition. But that didn’t stop him from celebrating his inauguration with whiskey, wine, and beer. The model of hypocrisy he voted for Prohibition while a Senator but kept a fully stocked bar in the Oval Office, partied publicly with his wife of 32 years but was known to have at least 7 mistresses and children by at least two of them, never made political enemies because he never took a firm stand on anything. Though not the worst President he is certainly right up there.

Calvin Coolidge. (1923-1929). Nicknamed Silent Cal, Coolidge’s sobriquet may have been not so appropriate. Although he wrote his own speeches and he kept them short, he delivered more speeches that any other President thus far in the twentieth century and his inauguration speech was the third longest in history missing out on the silver medal to Polk by only about 800 words. (Nobody came close to William Henry Harrison’s 8400+ word behemoth, better than doubling Coolidge’s comparatively modest 4055 word address.

Herbert Hoover. (1929-1933). Although he was active in politics and served as Commerce Secretary under Harding and Coolidge, the Presidency was Hoover’s first elected office. He won in a landslide on the platform of continued prosperity. Less than a year later the stock market crashed and the Great Depression ensued. His bid for reelection resulted in a landslide loss.

Franklin D. Roosevelt. (1933-1945). The only President to serve (though not the only to try) more than two terms, Franklin Roosevelt is considered by many to be one of the greatest Presidents. He reversed the depression, repealed prohibition, established the Social Security Administration and federal minimum wage, was instrumental in the formation of the United Nations, and partied like Julius Cesar at his toga themed 52nd birthday party at the White House. You can’t top that!

Harry S. Truman. (1945-1953). It’s hard to find anything quirky about America’s 33rd President. Except for his unique turns of phrase. We’re all familiar with “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen,” and  “It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit.” But he also made it known that “Everybody has the right to express what he thinks. That, of course, lets the crackpots in. But if you cannot tell a crackpot when you see one, then you ought to be taken in.” And “When the Liberals said they were going to create a million new jobs, I didn’t think they were all going to be tax collectors.” My favorite is, “Work Hard. Do your best. Keep your word. Never get too big for your britches. Trust in God. Have no fear; and Never forget a friend.”

Dwight D. Eisenhower. (1953-1961). The 1950s – the time of Father Knows Best, Make Room for Daddy, Ozzie and Harriet, and Leave It to Beaver. Suburbia at its finest. Although elected as a war hero, Ike’s contributions were very family oriented. He was responsible for the Interstate Highway Act, the Civil Rights Acts of 1957 and 1960, and was the first President to provide funding to education at all levels from the federal government. Just like their TV counterparts the Eisenhowers worked hard then he played golf and she made fudge and they both played bridge.

John F. Kennedy. (1961-1963). Nobody wants to hear a Kennedy quirk. It was the time of Camelot in America.  Every woman wanted to be Jackie, Every man, Jack. On his 21st birthday Kennedy received $1 million from his father (that’s about $16,450,000 today). Now there’s something everybody can relate to. Kennedy’s problems basically amounted to too much money, too many friends, too many women, and too little time.

Lyndon B. Johnson. (1963-1969).  At his ranch outside of Austin, Texas sits a pillow embroidered with, “This is my ranch and I do as I damn please.” And that’s how he ruled.

Richard M. Nixon. (1969-1974). “I am not a thief.” Ok.

Gerald R. Ford. (1974-1977). Probably the first President that American comics made fun of. Before that Presidents were laughed with. Gerry got laughed at. Senator Bob Doyle said in 1976, “He was a friend to everyone who met him. He has no enemies.” And with friends like the American public, who needed enemies. After five and a half years of Tricky Dicky, the media needed someone they could screw before they got screwed. And they picked on Ford, the only man to serve as President without being elected President or Vice President. He was appointed after Spiro Agnew resigned. A year later he was being sworn in as President after Nixon resigned. Talk about a tough act to follow. For a man who had no enemies he was the victim of two assassination attempts. With friends like those…

Jimmy Carter. (1977-1981). He lusted in his heart. Uh huh. But he did win a Nobel Peace Prize.

Ronald Reagan. (1981-1989). Elected to the Presidency at age 69 he had already had three other careers before adding chief executive to his resume. Everyone knew about his bowl of jelly beans on the desk in the Oval Office but one of his favorite mealtime foods was macaroni and cheese and he held a fondness for hamburger soup. He was also fond of earlobes and often held them too.

George H. W. Bush. (1989-1993). Daddy Bush, Vice President for both of Reagan’s terms and Director of the CIA before that and Ambassador to the United Nations before that was no stranger to the diplomatic world. So he probably was really embarrassed when he threw up at a Japanese state dinner. It was the flu, not the sushi.

William Jefferson Clinton. (1993-2001). He lusted with more than his heart. But he didn’t inhale. Wink, wink.

George W. Bush (2001-2009).  For a President considered so horrible by his political enemies he was ranked mid-pack (20 out of 41 in 2000 (no word on the other three at the time)) by a poll of C-Span watchers, those intrepid folks who watch Congress on TV, and was elected twice by the intrepid folks who vote. Oh well, everyone has a bad day. Even Congressional TV viewers and voters.

Barack Obama. (2009-2017). Before he became the fourth President to become a Nobel Peace Prize winner, before he introduced his signature health care reform bill, before he became Senator from Illinois, before Michelle was his boss at a law firm in Chicago, before he was rejected as a model for a pin-up calendar at Harvard, before he owned a pet gorilla, before he came off Mount Tantulus, he was Barry of the “Choom Gang.” And he inhaled. And more. And still more. And more again.

Donald J. Trump. (2017-TBD). If nothing else he is responsible for more people being able to spell “xenophobe” than Scripps or Howard.

That’s a lot of quirks for a lot of people. Since 1789 forty five Presidents have occupied the White House. (Actually, forty-four, Washington’s official residence was in New York since Washington the city wasn’t done yet.) (Who else by Americans would build a new city for their leader? Now there’s a quirk!) In that same time, England who was bested for control of those famous colonies way back then, has had nine royal monarchs. Maybe their system is better. But then they’ve had 61 Prime Minister’s since 1789, so…maybe not.

Happy Weirdos Day!

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Photo: National Park Service, U. S. Department of the Interior

Brutalbee Honest

Don’t be shocked. I may get a little ranty here. I try to be fair and respectful to everybody regardless of their views. But things I’ve heard in the media lately have gotten me over my edge. One thing I insist on is honesty. At lest from my food.  Apparently food feels it no longer feels it has to hold up its end of the deal.

Once upon a time, honesty in food was a given. “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” took honest to the brutal level. (And now that I think about it, I can’t begin to count the number of women who I’ve tried to tell that honesty doesn’t have to be brutal.) (But I digress.)  But at least the Not Butter people were honest enough so that if you did pick up a stick or two of the stuff you didn’t expect it to be butter. After all, Not Butter is right in the name.

honeybeeOk, food hasn’t always been honest. Sweetbreads don’t come from the bakery. Head cheese doesn’t start out as milk. Neither does soy milk. And don’t bother to bring up lady fingers. But for the most part when you  see something that isn’t it usually says so, like salt substitute or butter flavor popcorn.

However, this latest aberration in food dishonesty has gone too far. Apparently the latest craze is beeless honey. Not only are the proponents of this deviation from good taste (and from good tasting food) dishonest, they claim that this, this, this stuff is protecting the bees. And what are they making this misrepresentation from? Apples. Bananas. Dates. Flax seed oil. All good stuff (well, three out of four) but nothing that could keep a bee buzzing for very long. If you want to sell fruit paste than make it the best tasting fruit paste you can and give it a catchy name like Kit Kat, A1, V8, New Coke. But please, leave the honey business to the experts. Honestly.

No, honesty.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

PS: Happy Groundhog Day!

Prepping for Punxsutawney

Last week I was watching a hockey game and heard mention that somebody’s back-up goal keeper is from North Pole, Alaska.  What struck me was the North Pole part. Obviously because not even a week later do I remember the who or even the team. That North Pole part struck me because I know that Alaska doesn’t make it to the North Pole. So, I just had to look it up, because, after all, – all together now – I have that kind of time. Seems that North Pole isn’t along Alaska’s northern shore, not in the northern counties, not even in the northern half of the state. It’s a suburb of Fairbanks. Now how about that. That’s almost akin to false advertising naming North Pole North Pole when it’s around 1,700 miles south of the North Pole.

I must be going somewhere with this, you muse. And you muse correctly. It got me thinking about some of the names we call our hamlets. And the hamlet I thought of first, because it will be a Mecca for about 100,000 more people than just me this Thursday, is Punxsutawney. Even the most irregular of regular readers know I have a special fondness for Groundhog Day and the festivities that will take place at that Western Pennsylvania village. Punxsutawney Phil is so dear to me that his was the first picture to accompany a post on this blog.  (See “Six Weeks,” Feb. 2, 2012.) (If you want, it doesn’t have anything to do with this post but it still makes interesting reading.) (Well, I think it’s interesting but then I think the other 9 or 10 posts that mention Groundhog Day are interesting also.) (Actually I think all of the posts are more than fairly interesting or I wouldn’t have posted them now would have I?) (Or darn, I did it again. Where was I?)

20170129_175057All that thinking about North Pole, Alaska and how names are given to places got me thinking about just what “Punxsutawney” means. So I looked that up too. It means “land of the sandflies.” Punxsutawney was a 1700 era settlement of the Delaware nation and presumably named by them. I’m not really in a place to question their observations and aptitude for naming places, but I don’t understand how a clearing on the edge of the Allegheny Forrest, in the mountains, over 300 miles from any ocean, over 900 miles to any water hot enough to have a sand beach presumably with flies, could be considered the “land of the sandflies.”  The “land of” would indicate that whatever comes after “of” is so indigenous to that area that one cannot think of the “land” without automatically thinking of the “of.” I don’t know about you but Punxsutawney Sandflies doesn’t fall from my lips instinctively.  Not even the local high school picked the sandfly as its mascot even considering the origin of its town’s moniker. (In fact, they are the Punxsutawney Chucks, as in woodchucks, as in groundhog.)

And there we are, back to the groundhog and Punxsutawney Phil and Groundhog Day. And I am positively thrilled that inhabitants of the “land of the sandflies” got over that as quickly as they did. In time somebody noted that February 2 was midway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox and was ideal for predicting the severity of the balance of the season so the spring plantings could be planned. And no animal was better suited to make that prediction than the humble groundhog.

And now I know how Punxsutawney got its name. And so do you. Aren’t you glad you read all the way through? Yes you are.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Buffets Make Strange Plate Fellows

Yesterday I went to brunch at a local family restaurant. Not a fancy Sunday Brunch at a high end establishment. Not a how-much-can-you-pack-on-this-here-plate carnival at a big national chain. A nice, tasty brunch buffet with soups, salads, breakfast regulars, lunch goodies, baked goods, fruit, and desserts at a place you’d not be ashamed to bring your mother to. And while I was there I had one of those “did your mother teach you to do that?” moment. Several, actually.buffet

I suppose I have made some unusual looking plates at a buffet. No matter how structured you might plan your how ever many trips to those tables something in the organization inevitably disappears. Oh but yesterday’s observations took the cake. Or pancake. Or waffle. As in waffles with pierogis? Or fried chicken and sausage gravy with biscuits? Or how about mashed potatoes and scramble eggs all covered with thick, rich brown gravy?

Mind you, I‘m not saying any of those are wrong. Unusual? Yes. Unconventional? Yes.  Unexpected? Certainly to me. But then I did walk away with a plate featuring French toast, sausage patty, eggs, and a selection of olives. I wasn’t going to but I just love those briny, little fruit and it had been so long since I had any. When I heard the containers calling my name I was certain they’d be offended if I asked them to wait until my next trip when their presence on my plate might not raise eyebrows. So I succumbed.

At least I was somewhat original in my combination platter. Not like the guy who ran around from end to end selecting chicken and green beans from the lunch offerings and the waffle and bacon at the breakfast side. Where’s the dare in that? No, my vote for most unusual (at least among those on the same replenishment schedule that I was on) was the lady with a bowl of chili topped with pierogis, bacon, and pine nuts. Now there was a lady who understood the challenge of the buffet!

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Flavor of the Month

“Orange or grape?”

It was a simple enough question given the context. Where my mind went added a level of complexity three words had rarely seen. Orange or grape? Well, some orange stuff actually tastes like orange. Orange juice (the good stuff.) Orange marmalade. Chili orange stir fry sauce. They taste like orange because they come from oranges. Then there are orange popsicles, orange jello, orange baby aspirin. Hardly orange.

But at least orange has some orange tasting progeny. Grape. Poor grape. I have eaten thousands of grapes over the years. Perhaps hundreds of thousands. And I have had many grape things: juice, jam, gum drops. Some are good. Some are questionable. Some just suck. But none taste like the grapes that I chow down in when I’m looking for a tasty snack. Just what are those things flavored with? I don’t understand.

And while we’re at it, another food thing I don’t understand is why crackers are perforated. Go on. Check out your graham crackers and saltines in your cupboards. They’re not like the Townhouse Crackers are they? No, those got cut all the way through at the cracker factory. If you want two Townhouses you take out two. If you want two grahams you have to snap them apart yourself. And douse your counter/table/lap with graham crumbs.

But the question is “orange or grape?” What was it? A shot of a protein drink. I figured neither was going to taste like the real thing. In fact, they probably taste the same.

There are all kinds of flavors that when you have them the first thing you say to yourself is “yum, grape.” Unfortunately, none of them are grape flavored.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?