May You Live in Interesting Times...

The title of this blog is the content of an ancient Chinese curse. "Interesting times" are just that--interesting. Doesn't mean that they're good or bad; as a matter of fact, the most interesting times are those filled with the most strife, heartache, disaster, etc.

Look at history. Does any of our history detail the daily lives of regular people? Hell, no! What our history details are the wars, the conflicts, the inventiveness, of extraordinary people, or those who lived through unusual events--in short, 'interesting times."

Well, I don't know how history will judge the times we are living in right now, and looking at the big picture, it would probably be best if history just plain forgot the last 30 years or so. But I can tell you about some tiny, insignificant things that I've noticed right in my own neighborhood that I would call 'interesting'.

For one thing, the weather. Now, we all know that the rest of the country has climate, while we here in Wisconsin get weather. That's a given. But what weather we've had!

Last year between December 2005 and March 2006, my town was hit by no less than six major thunderstorms. That may not sound exceptional to those of you who live in southern climes, but for Wisconsin to get rain, much less out-and-out T-storms in mid-winter is, at best, unusual.

And that may have a bearing on this next little bit of trivia.

In my yard, I have two sugar maple trees. One is in the front yard, and one in back. The one in the front yard is old...really old. It has a semi-hollow trunk, and about a quarter of its limbs are dead or dying. This year, it leafed up later than usual, and the little helicopter-like seed pods that usually drop in late Spring never dropped then--they were in tight little clusters on the tree all summer, never grew to more than half the size they usually do, and didn't drop from the tree until the end of September. And that's unusual.

The tree in the backyard is younger and healthier, and dropped its pods right on schedule, in late May. I've been waiting for it to turn color (usually a golden-orange) and drop its leaves, because it really sucks trying to rake those leaves up once we've had our first snowfall. But, alas, the tree [as of this writing] has still not changed color.

However, two days ago, just after dawn, I went out into the backyard to have a smoke, and almost got smothered by all of the leaves raining down from my green-leafed maple. The leaves rained down for nearly an hour, and then stopped.

The tree still looks as bright green as it did in July, but my yard is full of maple leaves. How did this happen? Where did they come from? And why hasn't my tree turned color? It's certainly gotten cold enough.

Two more oddities, and I'll let you ponder this at your leisure.

One night about two weeks ago, I was sitting out in the parking lot at work about 2 a.m. The wind was blowing from the north, and chilly. A few minutes later, the wind abruptly shifted around from the south, and of the 20 or so trees in the lot (all of the same variety), only one of them--the one in the center of the lot--dropped all of its leaves to the ground. I'm not exaggerating here--I mean every one of its leaves. But none of the other trees did more than rustle in the wind. Almost scary.

And the last thing, and I don't know if this is unique to Wisconsin or not. We have an abundance of gray squirrels in this state. Probably more of them than there are people. And they've become weird. They are not timid, and they are barking.

Not barking like a dog, but a high-pitched, guttural shrieking that is rhythmic and quite scary. I didn't even know the little suckers made noise until this year, and now it seems that they're communicating, and quite vocally at that.

Believe it...or not.

And so it goes...

The Hardest Job

Being a parent is a big responsibility. No shit, right? Well, what you aren't told when you become a parent is that it is also the hardest job that you'll never get paid for.

That's right...there is no monetary compensation for being a parent. Instead, you pay through the nose for [at least] eighteen years, with absolutely no return on that investment.

Okay, so I'm full of shit. There is the potential for a big return on that investment, but it doesn't pay in cash. Rather, the payment you receive is something much more intangible, but when you get it, seems more valuable than any amount of money.

"What's that?" you ask. I'll tell you. In the long term, you can count on your children loving you, and often respecting you. When they're young, that love and respect is almost overwhelming, and is given to you freely. When your children get into their teens, they may still love you, but the respect seems to disappear, and they probably won't even like you.

But that's okay. There's plenty of time (if we're lucky) for them to like us later. The love is nice, but the respect would be better. If they respected us, then maybe they'd fucking listen to us!!!

But alas, they don't. Being a good parent, though, means continuing to do the best we can even if the 'payment' seems long past due. Someday, we might collect--if my children grow up healthy and happy and moderately successful, I will have been paid in full.

I recently reminded one of my kids that when they were born, the hospital didn't hand us a book that had all the answers to perfect parenting. The most we can do is the best that we can, and try to set our kids upon a path that will allow them to eventually lead fulfilling lives, with as few regrets as possible.

But sometimes, as parents, we have to let our children make mistakes; let them trip and fall without us there to pick them up; in short, to let them live their lives.

We expected no less when we were their age...

And so it goes...

Pussy Ticklers

I was on vacation last week, which for me meant many things...not the least of which was the activities that I engaged in that I usually don't have the time to do. However, even more important to me were two activities that I usually do have the time for, but really hate doing:

1. Working
2. Shaving

The not-working is pretty much self-explanatory, but also leads into the not-shaving, since my work does not allow beards of any kind in the workplace. So, vacation for me means goofing off, and growing a beard.

I grow beards pretty fast. In a week, I have enough facial hair to be called a beard; give me two weeks, and it's just about ready for a trim. (Note: since my beard now has much more 'salt' than 'pepper' in it, it doesn't look nearly as thick as it did years ago.) From the time I graduated from high school until I started this job, I had a beard all but about six months--so that means that I had a beard continuously from 1977 until mid-1990.

I still miss it. It was a way to hide my rather weak chin, and gave me a bolder, more fierce appearance. And something to tug on when I was bored or wanted to look pensive.

All this leads up to what I really wanted to talk about.

This week, as I was shaving in preparation for returning to work, I decided to leave my mustache in place. I've been without one (except on vacations) for about three years. I can't remember why I shaved it off in the first place, but now it's back.

The funny part of it all is this: upon my return to work, some of my more observant co-workers remarked on the change in my appearance. But the comments they made and the questions they asked were completely off the mark.

The most common question I was asked was, "Did you get a haircut?" No.

Then I was asked, "Did you get new glasses?" No.

Not one person noticed the mustache--or if they did, they weren't talking.

You'd think that a bushy gray and black caterpillar on my lip would prompt at least some notice.

I guess that what this means is that either I'm too nondescript for anyone to care about a fairly major change in my appearance...or I'm so devilishly handsome either way that comment is unnecessary.

And so it goes...

New Names, Same Old Faces

I saw a TV commercial this morning for a drug that will alleviate the symptoms of--get this--Restless Leg Syndrome!

What the hell? Back in the day, people with RLS (as it's called) were called 'twitchy', or 'nervous', or just plain 'restless'. Now they get their own syndrome?

The National Institute of Disorders and Stroke simply defines RLS as: "Restless legs syndrome (RLS) is a neurological disorder characterized by unpleasant sensations in the legs and an uncontrollable urge to move when at rest in an effort to relieve these feelings." Sounds to me like this person needs to find an outlet for all that excess energy...like dancing, jogging, hiking, walking, etc. I'd be willing to bet that if an RLS 'sufferer' were to do any of these things for an hour a day, their RLS would diminish rapidly.

We live in an age of complacence, laziness, and sloth. No wonder people have the time to come up with syndromes to explain away the symptoms of a low-energy lifestyle. If people would spend more time just doing something physical, they'd have less time to become hypochondriatic about their 'twitches', both real and imaginary.

And on the same note...what about Attention Deficit? When I was growing up, all we needed to get our attention was a smack on the desk with a ruler, or a cuff up-side the head from our old man.

Now, though, it's so much easier to drug our kids into submission. Take an eleven year old boy who likes to gaze out the window of school and dream about running around and playing, and of course his attention is going to wander; of course he's going to be restless. But instead of channeling his energy into more studious pursuits or using his imagination to make class more interesting, we'd rather quench the fire of his creativity with medication!

No wonder we're raising such a bunch of jaded, dull children who can't imagine what life was like before movies filled with in-your-face special effects and luridly colored comic books with little or no story to fill their vacant minds.

Sounds like the 'attention deficit' is on the part of the parents and the teachers. Maybe if we all paid a little more attention to our kids, they'd respond in kind.

And so it goes...

The Weather Outside is Frightful...

I'm sitting here wearing my "Hairy Beavers" sweatshirt and a pair of shorts--and freezing my butt off.

Why are you wearing shorts, then? you may ask. I'll tell you: I rarely wear long pants around the house before November 1st. It's just my way of saying "NO!" to Wisconsin's weather. So I will freeze before giving up my shorts, unless I'm going to be outside for any amount of time. Then, good sense dictates that I dress appropriately, no matter what my personal convictions are.

Speaking of: I have to go outside for an hour or so this afternoon, and the temperature is a balmy 34 degrees F. So, while the "Beavers" sweatshirt stays, the shorts are going to have to go--for the time being. I really don't want to get frostbite just because the backyard needs some tidying up.

Winter. A necessary evil, but one that I could certainly do without. My 'leaves' don't turn colors. I don't hibernate. My growth doesn't stop for several months during the year (though lately, I wish it would--at least around my waistline!).

So, if I were a plant, I'd probably welcome the winter. If I were a squirrel or a black bear, I'd yawn, find my lair, and take a winter-long nap.

But I'm a human being. We've conquered the rest of the planet--let's get busy on the weather thing, okay?

And so it goes...

My Life...and you're welcome to it!

Been awhile. Guess there's been nothing interesting happening to me lately.

If my life were a soap, no one would tune in. There's no inter-marital sex going on, no dread terminal diseases ready to strike (at least, not today!), no supernatural happenings, no uber-rich men trying to ruin my reputation (I do a pretty good job of that myself).

If my life were a sit-com, it would be cancelled.

If my life were a movie, it would go straight to video--and get buried on the dustiest back shelf at Blockbuster.

If my life were a book--YAWN!

But my life is what it is: my life. Boring as it may be, it's all I've got.

And so it goes...