Sunday, August 25, 2013

In a World full of Controversy?


Dear Blog Reader:

I hope this finds you doing well. I am fine. Better than fine, I must admit I am a bit giddy. This past week I was validated. Like a conspiracy theorist who has found out that the N ational S oda A ssociates really are listening to our phone calls and reading our emails; I have have been validated. No matter that the suborning perjurists lied to Congress, the theorists were validated. My validation came last week, I received my registration for the Hilly Hundred. Deep in the recesses of the information booklet, between the "Guidelines for safe cycling" and "In Case of Emergency" the following tidbit was hidden in the minutia. "Be alert for fast moving deer."

I told you so. Now the organizers of the Hilly Hundred have given voice to the assassin deer plague. "Be alert for fast moving deer." The assassin deer have infiltrated the bicycling tour circuit. And why not? Any assassin worth their salt has to have a target. Assassin deer are no different. Why wait along a deserted country road wondering when a group of cyclists may pass by the assassin trying to identify the weakest link for proper culling when you can have thousands of them stretched out before you on a brisk autumn afternoon?

This new approach in the assassin deer community has really taken hold. My spies found the following in a brochure in the DNR pavilion at the state fair. "Come to Monroe County and enjoy a convivial hunt. The Hilly Hundred provides a target rich environment with more that 5000 cyclists unwarily enjoying the fall scenery; an autumn palette of soothing hues. As the name implies, the terrain is challenging; inducing over 1/2 of the riders to abandon their rides to walk up the steep inclines. That is 2500 slow moving tasty morsels slowly perambulating into your target zone. So sharpen up those antlers, fill up those coolers and enjoy one of the last free weekends before the hunt starts. Vengeance is sweet." DNR spokespersons had no comment for this blog.

It has been a long week of controversy. First, it appears that a group of engineering students were intimidated into pulling a parody video from youtube. Who knew there were standards for parody or Youtube? Watch out Weird Al.  Whatever happened to if you don’t like it don’t watch it, don’t tune in. They are sophomore engineering students for goodness sake. Second, Ben Affleck has run into a maelstrom of criticism about playing the super hero Batman in Batman vs Superman. Really? Not to worry Batman fans, the franchise survived Michael Keaton. Besides, it’s acting--and Ben did a very good job “acting” like a true life superhero playing that dude who got the Iran hostages out in Argo.

The final controversy of the week struck a little close to home. Ben our son is a real live teacher now. He is working in Bloomington, his hometown. He has signed up for Adopt a Classroom. Adopt a Classroom helps connect those with disposable income with those who need to dispose of income for a good cause and help kids out at the same time. Ben’s page is


Ben sent out a note to those who had contributed that he had bought several dry erase boards, pens, and dry erase paper. This helps the children (it’s for the children) while they are doing math. They have more room to spread out their work. They can correct mistakes quickly and move on. It helps boost their confidence and with a boosted confidence and Ben’s fantastic teaching skills they will be doing calculus by the end of the year. (Please, there is no sarcasm in that. Ben is a very good teacher.)

That is not where the controversy started. There is no controversy in dry erase. Dry erase is universally loved and adored and recognized for the magic that it is. Controversy raised its ugly head in the last line of his post. “I got a three hole punch because it is a pain in the ass borrowing one from the other teachers.” Well the internet world erupted. You would have thought that he cast Ben Affleck to play Batman.

Here are some of the comments posted.

Ben Sharritt: I can’t believe you. Three hole punches are taking away work from one hole punch operators there by taking food out of the mouths of their children. Sure they can be retrained to operate the three hole punches but by definition you need 2/3 fewer operators. – the one hole punch Luddite.

One hole punch Luddite: dude get over it. The world is moving on. Everyone knows that this new technology is relieving the onerous one hole work that no one really wants to do. – three holes are better than one.

Three holes: Your industrialized hole making processes eliminate the artistry, the soul of whole punching. In your sterile environment, all holes are precisely placed. There is no nuance. The paper and student have no say in the placement of holes. The student learns nothing about the attention to detail that is needed to thrive in today’s world. - The one hole punch Luddite.

One hole: Thank you for making my points. Everyone knows that imprecisely placed holes from your artistic process is the slippery slope that has long proven to be the downfall of incalculable three ring binders in the past. The first two holes are fine but the last is a quarter of a hole out of place and the student has to put a little tear in the paper. A tear that will snag and rip with the repeated opening and closing of the binder. Soon the paper will be flapping in the wind catching the dog’s eye at home. The next thing you know the pup has eaten the homework. Also attention to detail is grossly overrated. The dictionary Luddites were up in arms with the advent of autocorrect. The corresponding fall in spelling skills has not predicated the end of the world. – three holes are better than one.

Three holes: You gaseous wind bag . . .

As you can see things have gotten personal and spiraled out of control. These things rarely get settled once they get personal. Either watch the video or not, either watch the movie or not, either donate or not, it really is up to you.

Take care.

Roger

Monday, August 19, 2013

An Apple a Day


Dearest blog reader

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. Yesterday was a red letter day. Last evening as the sun was sitting in the west, we were entertaining the limerick contest winner, presenting her with her cherry pie reward, surrounded by family and friends. As the festivities progressed, I opened the season's first gallon of cider and enjoyed it out on the patio. A gallon that was delayed for a year. A delay caused by last year's warm spring and some of my reader's cavalier attitudes surrounding the weather moderating effects of improper flannel sheet deployment. That unseasonably warm February and March coaxed the apple blossoms out in early April. Those tender blossoms were aborted by three days of below freezing temperatures on April 14, 15, and 16. No blossoms, no fruit, no cider, no lip smacking goodness.

Taking a long drink, the first sweet cold drops surrounding my tongue while listening to the fire crackle in the fire pit, thinking that delayed gratification can be okay in moderation. Taking a long drink, smacking my lips in satisfaction, I know that this isn't just any apple cider. It is unpasteurized apple cider. That makes it better for a lot of reasons. It tastes better. It gives the drinker a daring feeling of living on the edge with those natural germs and all. Well okay, it's better for two reasons.

I know what you're thinking. "I thought that unpasteurized cider was illegal." Not so uninitiated one. If you buy "pet grade" cider, you are fine. Nahhhhh! I'm just messing with you. That's milk. As long as you buy it from the orchard and not a third party, it can be unpasteurized. Fortunately, I have lived a mile and a quarter from such an orchard for fifty years. Tucked away in a faded white barn, up against a hill side that holds three hundred trees, hundreds of bushel apple crates will be filled with Gala, Granny Smith, Mutzu, Red and Golden delicious apples. Most years a bumper crop will come down the hillside, into the back room, onto the sorter and into the cooler. The discards into the press room where they are ground into pulp and pressed into higher golden nectar service.

Most years a bumper crop, but about every third or fourth year, a crop failure is visited on Tranbarger's small orchard. Rarely, do they experience one as severe as last year. Anticipation of the annual crop report means that the first fall visit is always the most important one. Walking under a low porch roof on that first day, I always ask, "good crop?" As good neighbors, they know that the question is really, "how long will the season last?" In the past, a good year was mid-November; a bad year mid-October. However, recently, a new elementary school opened just down the road with 15 soccer fields full of after school, snack loving, single serving, cider guzzling, waifs. A situation that has shown the need for recalibration. Now, a bumper crop may see a trick-or-treater, but it is unlikely.

So an eight week window has opened. It is fueled by doctor repelling cliches. Can you eat five apples a day for 56 days and will the effect be cumulative? Either way this cider and these apples remind me of my favorite time of year. As the year would slip past Labor Day, Sharritt's little dairy farm would start the calving season; sixty calves in ninety days. Each evening, it was our responsibility to walk through the dry cow pasture field looking for new borns, evenings with longer and longer shadows, broken beams of sunlight illuminating golden rod and iron weed. Looking high and low, we would find a calf and its mom and start herding them toward the barn.

A group of nine and ten year olds gain a world of knowledge about influence and pressure moving a cow and calf down a country road. A well placed and timed step produce a much better outcome that wild gesticulation and iron weed sword play; too aggressive and momma bolts, heading out through town. Not persistent enough, she doubles back on you wanting to return to the old haunts.

 After registering the cow's id number and the sex of the calf, we would run to my grandmother's kitchen for an apple and a glass of cider. Then back out to the evening with more chores; feeding the weaned brothers and sisters, picking pumpkins or shucking Indian corn, hopefully finishing early enough to play a game of kickball or two games of hide and go seek. It was the frenetic action of kids trying to play before night time and homework collapsed around our shoulders.

I hope this finds you doing well. It leaves me doing very well indeed. Cheers!

Take care

Roger

Sunday, August 11, 2013

The Power of Residual Embarrassment?


Dear Blog Reader

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. We continue to glide through August. Kids are going back to school in a staggered start. The Amish child gardening efforts continue to pay dividends. My current tomato intake has crossed the mouth sore threshold. I know that the high acid levels are the culprits, but I can't stop eating the lovely miss Beverly's salsa. Finally, Hoosiers all over this great state are in the throes of that great agricultural, hot tub lovin spectacle, the Indiana State Fair. We lift our favorite fried food on a stick in salute.

Last week in the winning limerick blog, I had requested that you, the readers, send in any examples of Doyle's limericks. Thank you Danielle for two shining examples.

I had a rooster named Red.
Who could get Danielle out of bed;
With an early morning crow,
He'd be up and ready to go.
And make Danielle happy, "she said"!

I had a rooster named Red.
He was feisty and very well fed.
On a hot summer day,
He got sick on the hay.
And now my rooster is dead!

Doyle, we lift our collective pens in salute.

I had the strangest experience the other day at work. I was taking a break and quietly sitting there in revelry. Suddenly, I was struck by a memory of an embarrassing moment. I devolved into a shaking mass of emotion. I found myself saying over and over in my mind  "that was embarrassing, that was embarrassing, that was embarrassing." I was immediately transported back to a personal moment of shame.

It is even stranger that right now, 4 days later, I cannot remember what I was so vividly recounting 96 hours ago. Paging Dr. Freud, paging Dr. Freud. It is an epic battle of the conscious and the subconscious. The subconscious lobbing embarrassing memory hand grenades and the conscious cleaning up,  encouraging passersby to "move along, nothing to see here."

I remember thinking 4 days ago, that it really wasn't that embarrassing. It wasn't event that defined me. I survived. I learned to not act that way again; at least less and less often. I haven't done that in a very long time. Like the lesson of the hot stove, it is a lesson learned. And yet this semi embarrassing non-repeated event can still fill me with dread.

It reminds me of an essay by Gene Shepard, a Hoosier author of some renown. In a book of collected essays, "In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash," he writes about the difference between the famous and the rest of us, the great unwashed.

He writes, “There are about four times in a man’s life, or a woman’s, too, for that matter, when unexpectedly, from out of the darkness, the blazing carbon lamp, the cosmic searchlight of Truth shines full upon them. It is how we react to those moments that forever seals our fate. One crowd simply puts on its sunglasses, lights another cigar, and heads for the nearest plush French restaurant in the jazziest section of town, sits down and orders a drink, and ignores the whole thing. While we the Doomed, caught in the brilliant glare of illumination, see ourselves inescapably for what we are, and from that day on skulk in the weeds, hoping no one else will spot us.”

Ain't it the truth? Gene Shepard, we lift our blushing red faces in salute.

Take care

Roger.



Saturday, August 3, 2013

We Have a Winner


Dearest Blog Reader

I hope that this finds you doing well and excited. I am very excited. This is the winning limerick announcement blog. Two weeks ago, the lovely Miss Beverly using her lovely creative mind, (the creative part caused problems. I will explain later.) created a limerick contest in honor of her father, Doyle's birthday. He had loved to create limericks and share them with the family.

That's right 72 limericks to judge, to sift through, saying this one is a little better than that one, wondering if "her" and "better" are a true enough rhyme, not to mention does the meter match perfectly. I must admit that I was so overwhelmed with the overwhelming quality of entries, that I brought in help. The lovely Miss Beverly agreed then set her body of work to the side and help with the judging. It was a disaster. Remember the creative mind? Yes, Miss Beverly is of the free verse wing of the limerick party. She loves the story, the creativity, the whimsy. Me not so much. For me; does it rhyme, is it iambic, does it have five lines, then we can talk about story. How to pick a winner when coming at a problem from two opposite directions? We got so frustrated with one another that we had to get away from the other wrong headed person for the rest of the evening.

The next day a strong westerly wind blew through the house scattering you hard work all around. Still frustrated, we just left them lay on the floor for 24 hours. We considered letting Henry and Hugo sniff out the winner. Finally, twenty-four hours before the announcement, we set our petty differences aside and started working towards a solution--with a rubric that included both form and story.

Bev and I decided to divide the 72 into categories: the nearly interesting cousins, the interesting cousins, the outlaws, the siblings, and foreigners (those a bit removed from the Hoover nation as described in one limerick.) We picked two finalists in each category. Saturday morning we brought in two independent judges (thanks Julie and Becky) to verify the category winners. Then by the powers vested in me as the general commissioner of a great many things, I have selected the grand pie eating champion.

First the category winners,
The winner of the "oh I'm sorry you're late category" Bonita Hoover, It is lovely--an excellent sweet, true line at the end-- but it was late and 72 other people could meet the deadline. Life is hard and it is best to learn these lessons early in life. Here is her limerick:

Ate maggot meat balls and elephant turds
Liked to go to the barn and shoot some birds
Grew pretty hollyhocks
Picked up lots of rocks
Tall in stature and short on words


The winner of the nearly interesting cousin category (under 15):
  Max Young
Thanksgiving at the Sharritt's is best
I put a dozen rolls to rest
Though I gained two pounds
And my belly was quite round
I'll never look at this memory with detest

Winner of the interesting cousins (16 and above.)
Danielle Pyle
There once were six talented sisters,
Who easily found themselves misters.
They baked pies and desserts,
Milked cows and sewed shirts.
Their hands must be covered in blisters.

Winner of the outlaws:
Mike Stilger
Now Doyle a man of great vision,
Milking cows was his mission.
Sons will have I
Pie in the sky.
XY chromosomes have no collision.

Foreigners:
Tom Mathews
So I flopped while making my try,
At a poem to catch Roger's eye.
And my limerick did foil,
(Sorry, Grandpa Doyle)
Now Tom won't get any pie.

Siblings (bring on the rivalry):
Cindy Pyle
Thank goodness I'm not the judge.
Through verses and lines he will trudge.
The prize will be pie
But this is no lie
I prefer vanilla ice cream with hot fudge!

Someone had the thought that we could give each of the category winners a pie. Who am I kidding? It was the kindly Miss Beverly. Do I look like I am made of pie dough? Well okay, but the lovely Miss Beverly doesn't look like she is made of pie. You're out of luck.

Well the time has come; no more procrastination.

The champion is . . .
Danielle Pyle
There once were six talented sisters,
Who easily found themselves misters.
They baked pies and desserts,
Milked cows and sewed shirts.
Their hands must be covered in blisters.

We loved hearing the memories and stories that this contest evoked. It's funny that, with as much of an impact that Doyle's limericks had on people, it appears that no written examples exist; which is a bit sad. If you have one that he wrote, or remember one, let us know! But in a way, they do exist in the 72 submitted entries.

Take care.

Roger