If someone prefaces what they are about to say with “not to be rude, but…” rest assured the next words out of their mouth you will likely find to be rude.
I was driving recently and the Phil Collins song “In The Air Tonight” came on the radio. There I was…neon colored clothes, an open sunroof with the wind blowing through my feathered haircut as I glided my sports car in between other cars at a high rate of speed while the lights of the Miami skyline in the summertime shimmered off the immaculately clean exterior of my car. As the drums pounded ominously I realized it was just like a scene from “Miami Vice” except I was wearing brown pants. And I had the sunroof closed. And I kept glancing in the rearview mirror at how my cowlick is accentuated by my recent $6.99 haircut from Great Clips as I dodged an empty Hardees bag someone had dumped in the street while the glare of a neon sign from an auto-title pawn business bounced off the hadn’t-been-washed-in-six-months exterior of my car. Other than that it was just like a scene from “Miami Vice”.
It seems there is a lot of talk these days about how much money “greedy rich people” have and often those comments seem couched in some snide manner which seems to question the fairness of one person having lots of money and the commenter apparently not having as much money. Maybe that is valid, maybe not. It does though seem to me that being envious of someone else or wanting what someone else has are not sterling personality traits either.
Three words to finish off any dining experience…bacon flavored toothpicks.
I took my car by the shop for a regular check-up the other day. While I waited I noticed one of the guys working there looked familiar. After a few minutes I realized the man somewhat resembled 1970s comedian Rip Taylor. From that point forward I expected him to slam a hood on a car and then go through the garage tossing confetti at everyone. I was a bit disappointed when this didn’t happen.
Unless you are the one popping bubble wrap, listening to it being popped is really annoying.
What’s the deal with folks saying things like “I am officially over this” or “I am officially through”? When we hear this should we expect trumpets to blare from out of nowhere and news alerts to break into the latest episode of “Judge Judy”?
I left work after a rather long day recently. As I made my way through the spacious parking lot I stepped on something. Rather haltingly, I looked down not sure what to expect. As I lifted my foot I was surprised to find a chicken bone. I wasn’t sure if it was Colonel Sanders’s top secret recipe. I didn’t take time to investigate as I was worried I might step in some mashed potatoes next.
Sometimes it is nice to choose to just sit in total silence and let the world race by.
I caught myself chuckling not long ago when someone referred to me as Mr. Dills. From his tone of voice he did this in a respectful manner, not in a manner of a sixteen year old that does so because Mom and Dad are in the room and expect him to be that way because they are there. He didn’t say it in a manner which included the roll of the eyes as if he were saying what he was saying just to be sarcastic. Later, I considered how instead of chiding this person for referring to me with a name I feel should be reserved for my grandfather that I should have accepted his good manners graciously with the good will he intended. I hope I remember this lesson learned the next time it happens.
I wonder if someone walked into their kitchen today and muttered, “You know I need to do something with that leftover fruitcake.”
The months of November, December and January seem to last so long to me because I often leave for work in the dark just before sunrise. While I enjoy the spring and summer months more I must admit I find it hard to take my eyes off the sky as the sun begins to rise during this time of year. The view of an unveiling morning sky, and the promise a new day holds, never gets old.
1.27.2010
1.21.2010
The First Day of Class
Back in the day, the first day of class always seemed like such a letdown. Summer was ending. No more sleeping late, no more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with orange flavored Hi-C for lunch under the backyard shade trees and, in such a young mind, no more freedom…until next summer. All these things would be replaced with long bus rides and chalk dust and desks with slightly uneven legs. The first day of class would then be about used textbooks with the names of those who traveled down this same road before inscribed inside the front cover. It was about the inevitability, subtle or not, of trying to determine where you fit in the popularity pecking order with your classmates while you also tried not to do something that would make your own standing drop you down that list in the eyes of those ahead of you in that order.
Thinking more about the first day of class makes me think of new notebooks with plastic covers and yellow number two pencils and cheap, leaky Papermate pens. The first day of class also brought new clothes, which hopefully fit in with the cool style of the moment, and new tennis shoes that had yet to get enough wear or tear on them to turn them from an eye-shielding white to slightly white. I think of seeing friends after what seemed like years although it had really only been a few weeks. Then there was the anticipation of who would be in your class and who your teachers would be. Hopefully, in the midst of all this, the importance of learning during the time ahead seeped into my brain.
College brought more first days of classes. Here those first days of class began to change. Goals actually came into sight. Reasons for taking certain courses made more sense than ever. Still, there were textbooks to buy and sometimes use. There was a need to fit into the college world. There were no ringing bells signaling the end of second period. There was one class on one side of campus and the next class on the other side and virtually no time to get from one to the other. There were class notes and comprehensive final exams and study groups and group projects and no Wikipedia or Google. There was learning how to balance a bit of adulthood and freedom with the reality and pressure of starting and finishing a journey of study and research and writing and reading that ended with enough hours and credits deemed to be worthy of a degree.
Now, I go to school every working day. I am not sure I ever imagined I would be doing this after I briefly considered and dismissed becoming a history teacher many years ago. Today, I don’t teach but I do support faculty and students with my skills. To me, going to school every day is all just part of the day to day of my life. During the past decade I have witnessed around thirty first days of class. On these first days of class I have noted notebooks and pens and pencils have been replaced by laptops and other electronic devices. Now many young women try to fit into clothes excessively tight and many of the young men try to wear their jeans so loose the jeans droop around their knees, all done seemingly to fit into some social pecking order they value. Chalk dust has been replaced by marker smudges on white boards and by smart boards that react to your touch. Some things change while some things really don’t change much or at all.
Of course I see the first day of class much differently from this side. I see a bit of chaos from this side. I see a million puzzle pieces coming together at the same time. It’s a roller-coaster ride, a bit scary and intimidating but still exhilarating and thrilling. What I now note that I sometimes failed to see when I was on another side of the first day of class is all the potential, all the possibility that is just there for the taking. Maybe I saw that when I was a student. If I did, it wasn’t very often. It sometimes seemed it was all about reciting some list or rehashing cold, hard stats that didn't really have much meaning beyond their place in achieving a grade. It all seemed to be overshadowed by the goal of getting to the final bell at 3:14 in the afternoon or getting through that paper to the next one or through that project to the next one and ultimately on to that degree.
I suppose time has helped me appreciate each first day of class for being about more than the latest styles, who’s in and who’s out and having the right protractor and slide rule. Over time, those who don’t care or don’t apply themselves will be revealed by their own apathy. Now, with the appreciation of the potential of a first day of class seeped into my brain, knowing how some will squander the opportunity before them disappoints me when before I probably wouldn’t give it a second thought. On that first day of class there is still time, still the opportunity, still the possibility of learning things that can make a difference in how a person thinks, feels, behaves and lives. It can also open the door enough to spur a person to continue to read and write and research and study beyond the last day of class.
And it’s there where the real learning truly begins.
Thinking more about the first day of class makes me think of new notebooks with plastic covers and yellow number two pencils and cheap, leaky Papermate pens. The first day of class also brought new clothes, which hopefully fit in with the cool style of the moment, and new tennis shoes that had yet to get enough wear or tear on them to turn them from an eye-shielding white to slightly white. I think of seeing friends after what seemed like years although it had really only been a few weeks. Then there was the anticipation of who would be in your class and who your teachers would be. Hopefully, in the midst of all this, the importance of learning during the time ahead seeped into my brain.
College brought more first days of classes. Here those first days of class began to change. Goals actually came into sight. Reasons for taking certain courses made more sense than ever. Still, there were textbooks to buy and sometimes use. There was a need to fit into the college world. There were no ringing bells signaling the end of second period. There was one class on one side of campus and the next class on the other side and virtually no time to get from one to the other. There were class notes and comprehensive final exams and study groups and group projects and no Wikipedia or Google. There was learning how to balance a bit of adulthood and freedom with the reality and pressure of starting and finishing a journey of study and research and writing and reading that ended with enough hours and credits deemed to be worthy of a degree.
Now, I go to school every working day. I am not sure I ever imagined I would be doing this after I briefly considered and dismissed becoming a history teacher many years ago. Today, I don’t teach but I do support faculty and students with my skills. To me, going to school every day is all just part of the day to day of my life. During the past decade I have witnessed around thirty first days of class. On these first days of class I have noted notebooks and pens and pencils have been replaced by laptops and other electronic devices. Now many young women try to fit into clothes excessively tight and many of the young men try to wear their jeans so loose the jeans droop around their knees, all done seemingly to fit into some social pecking order they value. Chalk dust has been replaced by marker smudges on white boards and by smart boards that react to your touch. Some things change while some things really don’t change much or at all.
Of course I see the first day of class much differently from this side. I see a bit of chaos from this side. I see a million puzzle pieces coming together at the same time. It’s a roller-coaster ride, a bit scary and intimidating but still exhilarating and thrilling. What I now note that I sometimes failed to see when I was on another side of the first day of class is all the potential, all the possibility that is just there for the taking. Maybe I saw that when I was a student. If I did, it wasn’t very often. It sometimes seemed it was all about reciting some list or rehashing cold, hard stats that didn't really have much meaning beyond their place in achieving a grade. It all seemed to be overshadowed by the goal of getting to the final bell at 3:14 in the afternoon or getting through that paper to the next one or through that project to the next one and ultimately on to that degree.
I suppose time has helped me appreciate each first day of class for being about more than the latest styles, who’s in and who’s out and having the right protractor and slide rule. Over time, those who don’t care or don’t apply themselves will be revealed by their own apathy. Now, with the appreciation of the potential of a first day of class seeped into my brain, knowing how some will squander the opportunity before them disappoints me when before I probably wouldn’t give it a second thought. On that first day of class there is still time, still the opportunity, still the possibility of learning things that can make a difference in how a person thinks, feels, behaves and lives. It can also open the door enough to spur a person to continue to read and write and research and study beyond the last day of class.
And it’s there where the real learning truly begins.
1.09.2010
Everybody Complains About the Weather But Nobody Does Anything About It
It's as cold as a mug outside. The last two weeks have seen much of the country host the coldest temperatures in twenty or twenty-five years. Then as this week neared an end locally, we actually saw a bit of snow and ice while much of the rest of the country saw a rather heavy snow storm.
As the wintry weather approached here, kids and adults who still have a bit of kid living inside them flushed ice cubes down commodes, wore their pajamas inside out and backward and did some sort of mysterious snow dance in order to assist the process of making it snow. At the same time, the local grocery stores had a run on bread and milk. This happens every winter in the South with just the mere mention of either snow, ice, sleet or freezing rain since if bad weather does come and we get stuck at home we like nothing better than to apparently sop the bread in the milk to form some really bad bread pudding. I have never quite understood this. I understand the thought that the weather may be bad enough to actually keep people in for a few days but if that is the case then I am willing to try to live on Pop-Tarts, Cheetos and saltine crackers washed down with some Cherry Coke. If I have to go to the grocery store to stock up to be barricaded for a few days I might as well have some food to really enjoy.
As the inclement weather arrived, the local news shows were a typical sideshow of unintended hilarity providing us with repetitive live shots from various locations around the area where believe it or not...news flash...it was snowing. Thanks to that crack investigative effort I didn't have to get out of my easy chair, walk to the window and see that for myself.
The snow and ice that did arrive amounted to maybe an inch at the most. At our house, we could still see the tip-top of the blades of grass in the yard as they were surrounded by the icy white of snow. It was enough snow and ice so that neighbor kids, bundled up in their heaviest coats and caps and boots, braved sliding down the hill in front of our house in homemade sleds made out of anything that might be slick enough to slide.
Since this is the South this small amount of snow and ice shuts down most everything. Those who no longer live in the South or have never lived here like to poke fun at us here because things come to such a standstill for something that to them is so routine. That's okay with us though. At least when we talk we don't talk with weird accents like they do.
This down time saw my work close for half a day one day and totally for the next. While there was some work I could do from home I soaked in the unexpected time off. I watched some television, read some and wasted some time on the internet. I also think I napped briefly only to awake when I dreamed I had run out of milk and bread.
Now two days into this bad weather event, some snow and ice still linger as the temperature struggles to get near the freezing mark. This morning I stood on our porch and surveyed the neighborhood. In so doing I noticed a lone icicle hanging off the front of our house. This icicle and the wintry mix that is still around made me recall the saying I used to hear when I was kid likely from my father, who likely heard it from his father. That saying is something akin to "if a snow is on the ground for three days, then it's waiting around for another one." That's fine with me if that old saying comes to truth. That old saying though made me think about my Dad and snow and cold weather and work in light of the freezing temperatures and the extra day and a half off from work I had this week.
My Dad worked with the same company for forty years before he retired. In that time I do not recall him missing many, if any, days from work, and especially none when the weather turned foul. Lots of rain could fall, storms could rage, snow could pile up and the temperatures could boil or freeze and he would be there. Much of the work he did he performed while in the elements and their extremes.
Standing on the porch this morning looking at that icicle I thought about Dad and that work ethic. He worked because he had to, yes, he worked because he enjoyed doing what he did, yes, but I also believe in some part he worked because he wanted his children to have a better life than he did and he understood one way he could do that was by working hard and being dedicated to the work he knew how to do. His hard work would then enable his kids to have opportunities he never had which would open us to opportunities to pursue careers and lives we wanted to pursue and feel fulfilled in doing so, not to settle for a life and job to just get us from one week to the next. I believe he understood his hard work and the dedication to doing what was expected of him in that work would someday stand on it's own to be seen for itself, even if the only ones who may have seen it were his children.
In light of this, I have to chuckle thinking about how me and my generation complain so easily about so many things. My Mom and Dad weren't unique in wanting their children to have things better than they did. Most, if not all of my friends, had parents who wanted the same for their children. And guess what? For the most part, they succeeded. We have cars with seat warmers, in-board DVD players and a system that tracks the car's movements from a satellite. We have phones that provide more information than the most-loaded computers did a just few years ago. We have home entertainment set-ups that bring images of people into our homes that are as lifelike as if they were standing right beside us even though we wouldn't really invite these people or their values into our homes for anything. We have more time on our hands, more money to use in a discretionary manner and more opportunities to do whatever we really want to do than any other generation in recent times, yet we grumble and complain constantly. We do this despite our parents working and sacrificing for years so that we might have it better than they did. And our parents succeeded in providing us such a world but we don't really understand or appreciate what we do have.
Right now, most of us are grousing about the cold weather. And it has been cold even though...news flash...it is winter and this is how winter is supposed to be. And while the cold weather is biting I understand I didn't have to stand in the cold for six hours fixing a broken water line, knee deep in muck and mud with water dripping all over the place as my feet and hands numbed from the cold and moisture. I didn't have to risk my neck driving to work on slippery roads surrounded by drivers sliding along on a wing and a prayer. I couldn't help but think that if my Dad did dream of his kids having it better than he did that he did succeed in this significant way, at least one of his kids didn't have to get out in the snow and the ice and the mess like he did, time after time, year after year.
On this Saturday afternoon, I gaze out the back wall of our house which is a wall of large windows which provide a view of the woods behind our house and into the subdivision several hundred feet away which is slowly creeping toward us. I walk toward these windows looking toward the sky, noting it as overcast. As my eyes drop I follow a rogue snowflake or two all the way to the ground below which remains an icy cover of snow. "If a snow is on the ground for three days, then it's waiting around for another one." I suppose this old saying will be tested soon enough as it appears some snow may still be around Sunday. If it does come true and another snow day happens that also means it will have to be cold. Cold as a mug. I hope that will be fine with me because while outside it may be cold, I plan to be inside. And, thanks to my Dad, inside it will be warm.
As the wintry weather approached here, kids and adults who still have a bit of kid living inside them flushed ice cubes down commodes, wore their pajamas inside out and backward and did some sort of mysterious snow dance in order to assist the process of making it snow. At the same time, the local grocery stores had a run on bread and milk. This happens every winter in the South with just the mere mention of either snow, ice, sleet or freezing rain since if bad weather does come and we get stuck at home we like nothing better than to apparently sop the bread in the milk to form some really bad bread pudding. I have never quite understood this. I understand the thought that the weather may be bad enough to actually keep people in for a few days but if that is the case then I am willing to try to live on Pop-Tarts, Cheetos and saltine crackers washed down with some Cherry Coke. If I have to go to the grocery store to stock up to be barricaded for a few days I might as well have some food to really enjoy.
As the inclement weather arrived, the local news shows were a typical sideshow of unintended hilarity providing us with repetitive live shots from various locations around the area where believe it or not...news flash...it was snowing. Thanks to that crack investigative effort I didn't have to get out of my easy chair, walk to the window and see that for myself.
The snow and ice that did arrive amounted to maybe an inch at the most. At our house, we could still see the tip-top of the blades of grass in the yard as they were surrounded by the icy white of snow. It was enough snow and ice so that neighbor kids, bundled up in their heaviest coats and caps and boots, braved sliding down the hill in front of our house in homemade sleds made out of anything that might be slick enough to slide.
Since this is the South this small amount of snow and ice shuts down most everything. Those who no longer live in the South or have never lived here like to poke fun at us here because things come to such a standstill for something that to them is so routine. That's okay with us though. At least when we talk we don't talk with weird accents like they do.
This down time saw my work close for half a day one day and totally for the next. While there was some work I could do from home I soaked in the unexpected time off. I watched some television, read some and wasted some time on the internet. I also think I napped briefly only to awake when I dreamed I had run out of milk and bread.
My Dad worked with the same company for forty years before he retired. In that time I do not recall him missing many, if any, days from work, and especially none when the weather turned foul. Lots of rain could fall, storms could rage, snow could pile up and the temperatures could boil or freeze and he would be there. Much of the work he did he performed while in the elements and their extremes.
Standing on the porch this morning looking at that icicle I thought about Dad and that work ethic. He worked because he had to, yes, he worked because he enjoyed doing what he did, yes, but I also believe in some part he worked because he wanted his children to have a better life than he did and he understood one way he could do that was by working hard and being dedicated to the work he knew how to do. His hard work would then enable his kids to have opportunities he never had which would open us to opportunities to pursue careers and lives we wanted to pursue and feel fulfilled in doing so, not to settle for a life and job to just get us from one week to the next. I believe he understood his hard work and the dedication to doing what was expected of him in that work would someday stand on it's own to be seen for itself, even if the only ones who may have seen it were his children.
In light of this, I have to chuckle thinking about how me and my generation complain so easily about so many things. My Mom and Dad weren't unique in wanting their children to have things better than they did. Most, if not all of my friends, had parents who wanted the same for their children. And guess what? For the most part, they succeeded. We have cars with seat warmers, in-board DVD players and a system that tracks the car's movements from a satellite. We have phones that provide more information than the most-loaded computers did a just few years ago. We have home entertainment set-ups that bring images of people into our homes that are as lifelike as if they were standing right beside us even though we wouldn't really invite these people or their values into our homes for anything. We have more time on our hands, more money to use in a discretionary manner and more opportunities to do whatever we really want to do than any other generation in recent times, yet we grumble and complain constantly. We do this despite our parents working and sacrificing for years so that we might have it better than they did. And our parents succeeded in providing us such a world but we don't really understand or appreciate what we do have.
Right now, most of us are grousing about the cold weather. And it has been cold even though...news flash...it is winter and this is how winter is supposed to be. And while the cold weather is biting I understand I didn't have to stand in the cold for six hours fixing a broken water line, knee deep in muck and mud with water dripping all over the place as my feet and hands numbed from the cold and moisture. I didn't have to risk my neck driving to work on slippery roads surrounded by drivers sliding along on a wing and a prayer. I couldn't help but think that if my Dad did dream of his kids having it better than he did that he did succeed in this significant way, at least one of his kids didn't have to get out in the snow and the ice and the mess like he did, time after time, year after year.
On this Saturday afternoon, I gaze out the back wall of our house which is a wall of large windows which provide a view of the woods behind our house and into the subdivision several hundred feet away which is slowly creeping toward us. I walk toward these windows looking toward the sky, noting it as overcast. As my eyes drop I follow a rogue snowflake or two all the way to the ground below which remains an icy cover of snow. "If a snow is on the ground for three days, then it's waiting around for another one." I suppose this old saying will be tested soon enough as it appears some snow may still be around Sunday. If it does come true and another snow day happens that also means it will have to be cold. Cold as a mug. I hope that will be fine with me because while outside it may be cold, I plan to be inside. And, thanks to my Dad, inside it will be warm.
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