Manifest Destiny's Child

Dear Blog Reader,

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. The world spun on its axis recently and a truth that was beaten out of me has been re-established as true. Once a long time ago, a very long time ago, I was forced by a well-meaning educator to adjust my world view and accept, through a coercive grading regime, what I at the time thought was obviously wrong. We were learning about countries and borders. As any child would notice, I figured out that not all countries are the same size. As any competitive child would have noticed, the USA was larger than the evil Soviet Union. For all of those in your 20’s and younger, the USSR was the country who had the US targeted with their InterContinental Ballistic Missiles. Fairness dictates that I point out that we had our missiles aimed at them. So it wasn’t like we and they were not following the Golden Rule.

Being a second grader, I intuitively knew that size mattered, and that while staring down your nemesis in a game of mutually assured destruction, bigger was better. You could imagine my shock that any teacher could be certified when they could not make the visual spatial comparison of the obvious. The United States of America was larger than the USSR. She was none too pleased that a mere 2^nd grader could so patently show her the error of her ways. I am guessing the Mrs. Gesundheit felt the same kind of inferiority when little Albert Einstein corrected her regarding the relations between energy, mass, and the speed of light.

I was patient. Our country was called the United States of America. The size of North America was bigger than the USSR. Mrs. Torrence told me that North America contained both America and Canada. What? What nincompoop let that happen? It was called North America not North America and Canada. Sure there wasn’t much happening in Canada past the southern 100 miles or so except herds of reindeer. Who knows? In a great conflagration with the evil empire, it may have been the reindeer that turned the tide; releasing a Vixen could have had devastating effects on those Russian commies. Then we could have unleashed Rudolph’s red nose on them and it would have been game over.

I was heartened three years later to find that second grade Roger understood more than he knew when in fifth grade I learned that other great Americans thought that Canada should be annexed through the Monroe doctrine. For those of you saying “huh, the Monroe Doctrine, Manifest Destiny? We didn’t talk about that in school.” I pity you for your lack of education. I suppose that you can have binge watching House of Cards on Netflix as a substitute teacher.

In the end, like Monroe I had to give up the idea of a United States extending from the Rio Grande to Santa’s workshop. It is a shame when the political will expends itself before one’s destiny is fulfilled. Then last weekend 46 years later, I was reading the international news in Flip Board and this headline caught my eye. “Chinese General: “Of course we have the right to build islands in the South China Sea. It has China in its name.” God love his little commie heart. He did not succumb to the strictures of an onerous grading system. He simply had his teacher killed in the Cultural Revolution and suddenly he was getting A’s for such stellar thinking. Rather than bend to the will of his teacher, he broke her and was able to start looking for a really big dredging machine to fulfill his Machiavellian schemes.

I would condemn the Chinese General for being an imperialistic goon, and wag my finger at him and go tsk, tsk, tsk. He should know better. Sure I thought that the United States of America would include all of America. However, I was in second grade. I got over it. He should get over it to. I would condemn his egotistical, center of the universe way of thinking, but then I realized that we all live in glass houses.

It hit home as I was reading another newspaper article recently. In last week’s Indianapolis Star, they were desperate for news. So in the life style section, they had an article answering the age old question “What if James Dean had lived?” Which is a little stupid. Of course he lived. I suppose they meant what if James Dean hadn’t been killed in an automobile accident 60 years ago at the tender age of 24 (not very catchy but more accurate.) The question was posed to a variety of people of no particular importance. It was good to see that a cousin and a high school classmate were asked. At least they knew him, had spent time with him. As a result their hypothesis seemed the most plausible. “He would have continued to make movies,” said one. The other, “I think he would have stayed in show business.” People who knew him thought that he would stay in his world of make believe not a world of make believe of their own design.

But when the same question was posed to those who didn’t know James Dean the person; only knew James Dean the persona, the answers flew off into flights of whimsy. According to some, he would have taken movie roles away from Dennis Hopper in Hoosiers and have been the God Father instead of Marlon Brando. He would have come out of the closet at age 80 “like his good friend Jim Nabors.” A closet, which according to the internet, whose door was not completely shut even in a more circumspect time of the 1950’s. Others thought that he was going to be the next Paul Newman and worry more about race cars than acting as he aged. The oddest prediction was that he would have beaten Ronald Reagan for the Presidency. Of course that would have put him in his early 50’s for the first presidential run. He would have had to put his political career into over drive to go from Rebel Without a Cause to the Oval Office in 25 years.

It intrigued me that when describing James Dean’s destiny, others were merely proposing what they wished to be true. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. One wisher said that James Dean would have pushed through the Gay Rights Act in 1966 just two years after the Civil Rights act got African Americans off the back of the bus.

Why don’t we realize that destiny is really wishing? Dangerous wishing since manifestations of destiny are wishes of people who have set themselves at the center of the universe and projected their wishes out to the ends of time and imposed them on all of God’s lessers.

To know the design of the world is a practice we all participate in. However, it is a game that should be left to 2^nd graders. It just seems safer that way.

Take care.

Roger.

Sweet and Crisp

Dear Blog Reader.

Well we went and did it. We let summer get away from us. You have spent entirely too much time reading this blog and not finding the cure for cancer, or discovering the secrets of teleportation. You could have become a fairly good marathoner for your age group, grown the biggest pumpkin at the state fair, or hiked the Appalachian Trail. However, you have chosen to fill your time reading this blog. You might as well validate the decision and become a follower of this blog. Go ahead and hit the button to the right and declare to the world that you would rather be entertained with odd ball observations of life. You will join the ranks of the thirty other followers of “You Said What, Roger?”

Summer was rolling along without any problems; highs in the 90’s, lows in the 70’s. Suddenly, it rains, and we have to go scampering for the sweat shirts and jackets. I hope that you were blessed with a found $5 bill or $20 bill that was abandoned one day last March or April. Aren’t those the best? It makes you wish that you had a 90 degree day so you could go to the ice cream shop for a double flavor of the day in a waffle cone. So you decide to leave that $5 bill in the pocket and wait until that first warm day of spring when you will go out and get yourself a cone.

Yes, we have turned the corner. We are headed towards fall. The days are shorter but at least there exist honey crisp apples. I sometimes wonder it honey crisps are God’s way of distracting us from the shortened days.

“Oh no the days are getting short. I am moments away from seasonal affective disorder.”

“HERE HAVE A HONEY CRISP APPLE. EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY.”

“Oh my gosh that is so crisp and good. I love these apples. What are they called?”

“HONEY CRISP. THEY ARE GOOD. AREN’T THEY? WE ARE PARTICULARLY PROUD OF THOSE. THEY ARE THE PERFECT BLEND OF SWEET AND CRISPY.”

“Yeah, what was I worried about? OMG, these are good apples.”

“THANK YOU. IT IS NICE OF YOU TO SAY.”

Why is it that so many bible stories center around apples and distraction?

Last weekend, we had a wonderful opportunity to spend time with family friends whose young daughter tied the knot. It was even more fun because yours truly was invited to help cut up watermelon for the reception. I quickly harkened back to our wedding reception. While cutting up the thirty watermelons, the lovely Miss Beverly and I realized that we must have given away a ton of watermelons at our wedding. I had shared my misgivings with the father of the bride when informed that a mere 30 were purchased for 275 people. As recollected in a recent blog, the Lovely Miss Beverly and I had 100 melons for 300 people. After this most recent watermelon endeavor we still had seven melons left. So using the same proportions, we probably gave 65 melons away to well-wishers.

The ceremony was beautiful. The vows were beautiful. It is always interesting to see the things that the young put into their vows. Love is young and bold. Promises are made. The reception was fun. As the lovely Miss Beverly and I have matured, we have enjoyed the anniversary dance more and more. It is interesting. The pace of moving the couples off of the dance floor based on marital endurance is leisurely at the beginning. “Those who have been married less than a day, a year, two years, five years, and ten years. Then the deejay panicked, he had 2 minutes left on the song and the dance floor was still crowded with old coots and coot-ettes, enjoying the strands of “Stand by Me” and dancing really close. In an effort to clear out the love birds, the countdown jumped to 35 years, then on to 45 and finally fifty. What’s the big hurry? Skipping through those tough years, it was like someone had put banana peels on our walkers and we were sliding right off the dance floor.

 We were down to the final two couples; grandparents of the bride and grandparents of the groom. Then there was one. The grandparents of the bride had been together for more than sixty years. That was amazing. We are barely half way there. I cannot imagine how well I will get to know this lovely in 30 more years. Who knows? We may find a way to short circuit the fight that we have where I don’t include the Lovely Miss Beverly in decisions about the farm. We may come to some agreement about living on the farm or moving to town in a smaller house.

The hurried pace of clearing out the enduring couples gave me pause. Did we make the young folks uncomfortable? Were we unattractive? I am sure that I didn’t mind giving short shrift to the old fogies when the lovely Miss Beverly and I tied the knot. We were just paying lip service to the old ones. Thankful that they had contributed to the towel and toaster fund, let’s get on to more fun things. Now I see that they had tried to provide much more. We put up with firm handshakes from uncles and hugs from aunts. But from this side maybe I should have thought to ask are these vows too much or do they ring a little empty. What was that “as gold refined by fire so our love will be tested and made more pure?” I am sure that Nanny or Aunty Mid would have encouraged use to ask for a little less fire and a few more cool iced teas on the porch.

How much would we learn by giving those married for fifty years the microphone and asking a few pointed questions? How do you make it work? What happens when she won’t help with the housework? What do you do when he wants to change you? You thought you were fine while you were dating. How do you recover from the personal tragedy of a miscarriage, a sick or dying child? How can you stand that he is a worrier about everything? How did you ever get her to save for any rainy day? I hear that she was quite the spender back in the day. What caused you to lose faith in him? How did you rebuild your faith in her?

Certainly, you wouldn’t want to ask all of the old ones out on the floor after 40 years. Some of us don’t age well. Some of us turn moldy and rotten instead of gaining a rich patina of age and maturity. They are easy to see and easier to ignore. The others? You would think that they would have good advice to give if asked.

What would the answers be? “Of course we were too young. We just held on. I looked at myself and changed the parts that would make me a more loving person. I let her wash her own cloths and dishes. Those were hard times. I am not sure how we made it through them. We were just both so sad. His worrying prepared us for some things that allowed us to spend all of that money on your wedding present dear. He made some pretty dumb decisions. I decided that I liked her once. Those things were still there. I decided to like her again.”

“I promise the world to you my love. Will you love me back?”

“HERE HAVE A LOOK AT THIS LONG LONG MARRIAGE. IT MAY HAVE BEEN TOUGH BUT LOOK AT HOW SWEET AND CRISP IT IS.”

“Oh my gosh! that is so good. They have ripened well. How did they do that?”

“OH THEY WERE MARRIED. IT IS GOOD ISN’T IT? WE ARE PARTICULARLY PROUD OF THOSE. THEY ARE THE PERFECT BLEND OF MATURE AND GIDDY.”

“Yeah, what was I worried about? OMG, a good marriage is possible.”

“THANK YOU. IT IS NICE OF YOU TO SAY.”

Take care.

Roger

Sweet and Crisp

Dear Blog Reader.

Well we went and did it. We let summer get away from us. You have spent entirely too much time reading this blog and not finding the cure for cancer, or discovering the secrets of teleportation. You could have become a fairly good marathoner for your age group, grown the biggest pumpkin at the state fair, or hiked the Appalachian Trail. However, you have chosen to fill your time reading this blog. You might as well validate the decision and become a follower of this blog. Go ahead and hit the button to the right and declare to the world that you would rather be entertained with odd ball observations of life. You will join the ranks of the thirty other followers of “You Said What, Roger?”

Summer was rolling along without any problems; highs in the 90’s, lows in the 70’s. Suddenly, it rains, and we have to go scampering for the sweat shirts and jackets. I hope that you were blessed with a found $5 bill or $20 bill that was abandoned one day last March or April. Aren’t those the best? It makes you wish that you had a 90 degree day so you could go to the ice cream shop for a double flavor of the day in a waffle cone. So you decide to leave that $5 bill in the pocket and wait until that first warm day of spring when you will go out and get yourself a cone.

Yes, we have turned the corner. We are headed towards fall. The days are shorter but at least there exist honey crisp apples. I sometimes wonder it honey crisps are God’s way of distracting us from the shortened days.

“Oh no the days are getting short. I am moments away from seasonal affective disorder.”

“HERE HAVE A HONEY CRISP APPLE. EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY.”

“Oh my gosh that is so crisp and good. I love these apples. What are they called?”

“HONEY CRISP. THEY ARE GOOD. AREN’T THEY? WE ARE PARTICULARLY PROUD OF THOSE. THEY ARE THE PERFECT BLEND OF SWEET AND CRISPY.”

“Yeah, what was I worried about? OMG, these are good apples.”

“THANK YOU. IT IS NICE OF YOU TO SAY.”

Why is it that so many bible stories center around apples and distraction?

Last weekend, we had a wonderful opportunity to spend time with family friends whose young daughter tied the knot. It was even more fun because yours truly was invited to help cut up watermelon for the reception. I quickly harkened back to our wedding reception. While cutting up the thirty watermelons, the lovely Miss Beverly and I realized that we must have given away a ton of watermelons at our wedding. I had shared my misgivings with the father of the bride when informed that a mere 30 were purchased for 275 people. As recollected in a recent blog, the Lovely Miss Beverly and I had 100 melons for 300 people. After this most recent watermelon endeavor we still had seven melons left. So using the same proportions, we probably gave 65 melons away to well-wishers.

The ceremony was beautiful. The vows were beautiful. It is always interesting to see the things that the young put into their vows. Love is young and bold. Promises are made. The reception was fun. As the lovely Miss Beverly and I have matured, we have enjoyed the anniversary dance more and more. It is interesting. The pace of moving the couples off of the dance floor based on marital endurance is leisurely at the beginning. “Those who have been married less than a day, a year, two years, five years, and ten years. Then the deejay panicked, he had 2 minutes left on the song and the dance floor was still crowded with old coots and coot-ettes, enjoying the strands of “Stand by Me” and dancing really close. In an effort to clear out the love birds, the countdown jumped to 35 years, then on to 45 and finally fifty. What’s the big hurry? Skipping through those tough years, it was like someone had put banana peels on our walkers and we were sliding right off the dance floor.

 We were down to the final two couples; grandparents of the bride and grandparents of the groom. Then there was one. The grandparents of the bride had been together for more than sixty years. That was amazing. We are barely half way there. I cannot imagine how well I will get to know this lovely in 30 more years. Who knows? We may find a way to short circuit the fight that we have where I don’t include the Lovely Miss Beverly in decisions about the farm. We may come to some agreement about living on the farm or moving to town in a smaller house.

The hurried pace of clearing out the enduring couples gave me pause. Did we make the young folks uncomfortable? Were we unattractive? I am sure that I didn’t mind giving short shrift to the old fogies when the lovely Miss Beverly and I tied the knot. We were just paying lip service to the old ones. Thankful that they had contributed to the towel and toaster fund, let’s get on to more fun things. Now I see that they had tried to provide much more. We put up with firm handshakes from uncles and hugs from aunts. But from this side maybe I should have thought to ask are these vows too much or do they ring a little empty. What was that “as gold refined by fire so our love will be tested and made more pure?” I am sure that Nanny or Aunty Mid would have encouraged use to ask for a little less fire and a few more cool iced teas on the porch.

How much would we learn by giving those married for fifty years the microphone and asking a few pointed questions? How do you make it work? What happens when she won’t help with the housework? What do you do when he wants to change you? You thought you were fine while you were dating. How do you recover from the personal tragedy of a miscarriage, a sick or dying child? How can you stand that he is a worrier about everything? How did you ever get her to save for any rainy day? I hear that she was quite the spender back in the day. What caused you to lose faith in him? How did you rebuild your faith in her?

Certainly, you wouldn’t want to ask all of the old ones out on the floor after 40 years. Some of us don’t age well. Some of us turn moldy and rotten instead of gaining a rich patina of age and maturity. They are easy to see and easier to ignore. The others? You would think that they would have good advice to give if asked.

What would the answers be? “Of course we were too young. We just held on. I looked at myself and changed the parts that would make me a more loving person. I let her wash her own cloths and dishes. Those were hard times. I am not sure how we made it through them. We were just both so sad. His worrying prepared us for some things that allowed us to spend all of that money on your wedding present dear. He made some pretty dumb decisions. I decided that I liked her once. Those things were still there. I decided to like her again.”

“I promise the world to you my love. Will you love me back?”

“HERE HAVE A LOOK AT THIS LONG LONG MARRIAGE. IT MAY HAVE BEEN TOUGH BUT LOOK AT HOW SWEET AND CRISP IT IS.”

“Oh my gosh! that is so good. They have ripened well. How did they do that?”

“OH THEY WERE MARRIED. IT IS GOOD ISN’T IT? WE ARE PARTICULARLY PROUD OF THOSE. THEY ARE THE PERFECT BLEND OF MATURE AND GIDDY.”

“Yeah, what was I worried about? OMG, a good marriage is possible.”

“THANK YOU. IT IS NICE OF YOU TO SAY.”

Take care.

Roger

One, Two, Three, Go?

Dear Blog Reader.           

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. I received quite a surprise two weeks ago. I started writing one blog and another came out. It was a very nice one if I do say so myself. I had intended to write about riding a tandem bike with the lovely Miss Beverly. It might be better to say learning to ride a tandem bike with the lovely Miss Beverly. As I started writing two weeks ago, it had been on my mind.

We had gone on an excursion in southern Indiana the weekend before: 32 miles in hilly Brown County. As we turned our Subaru with our tandem bike in the back, onto the back road leading to our start point, we were faced with a huge downhill followed by an equally daunting uphill. The lovely Miss Beverly said “That’s a reality check.”

Reality before that moment of clarity had been several 8 mile rides on the flats around home. We were game and plucky. We were committed to riding the 32 mile “Nuthugger” route of the Tour de Upland. Yes, that Upland. The little brewery that could in Bloomington Indiana. They were in the vanguard that thought that they could carve out a niche and brew beer better that the big boys. They seem to be very popular and keep expanding the store.

I am afraid to say that they are not good at logistics. In retaliation for the disappointing experience, I am encouraging everyone who goes to their wonderful Bloomington store to take a Subway sandwich with them. Go ahead order your favorite Upland Brew, pull out your cold cut combo special and enjoy. If the wait staff seems indignant, simply respond with two words. Tour de Upland. Or is that three words. It’s so hard to tell when southern Indiana hillbillies mistaken think that they are a distant cousin of the greatest annual biking event in the world. It matters not. Those two or three words will shut them up. I know that it may make little sense to you. But isn’t it better when faced with a complex issue to shout out a couple of words in solidarity with the cheated? I digress.

That’s right. The lovely Miss Beverly and I are gingerly taking baby steps into the world of tandem biking. It fits our styles of riding very well. Actually, it makes allowances for our different styles very well. The Lovely Miss Beverly is all about the event, the rolling hills and trees opening up to grand vistas through a valley, a concert at the end of a long day of cycling, meeting new and interesting people while sharing a meal with them. Her goal for the next RAGBRAI that we participate in is having a roadside stop with free beer each day and asking those who stop one simple question. “How did you learn to ride a bike?”

I am all about the road, the next crank of my pedal, getting up the next hill coasting down the other side. While on RAGBRAI, I saw the following slogan on a jersey. “Who needs a Reason, Just give me a road.” That is me. I have been scouring the internet trying to find that jersey. It is why I don’t mind riding at 5:00 a.m. in the dark. I really don’t need to see very far in front of me to get more road which is what drives me.

So a tandem allows us to pursue these two very different pursuits in close proximity. It keeps us moving forward toward a common goal from two different directions.

Tandem riding has proven pretty challenging. After thirty years of marriage, we could justly be accused of taking certain communication patterns for granted. You can’t do that on a tandem. You have to be very clear. You have to be very clear in advance. You can’t say coasting the same second you decide to stop pedaling. There is nothing more jarring as you get ready to push down hard with your left foot as your partner with the same mechanical advantages had decided to stop. Such actions result in gritting of teeth, saying “I’m sorry”, and pledges to do better next time. The same goes for trying to gut it out a little too long. If you are experiencing discomfort in the nether regions from the bike seat, it is much better to say something than wait for your partner to tell from your body language that pedaling needs to cease immediately so that butt realignment can take place and the pressure be relieved. It won’t take a moment. However, it is impossible for your mate to know. Neither of you can see the other’s face. You are both concentrating on pedaling, the road, and staying upright. ESP does not work.

Tandem riding also is not conducive to meaning something other than what you say. I am bad at this. I confess. A perfect example occurred on Tour de Upland. In our short riding practice, we always start by putting our left feet on the pedals at the bottom of the stroke and taking three quick pushes with our right feet to get enough speed to stay upright as we scramble to get our right feet on the pedal and our butts on the saddle and starting to pedal. “Go on three, one, two, three, up.” I actually have a corollary playing in my head. “Go on three, one, two, three, up, (unless we don’t have enough speed according to my internal gyroscope and then it is four, five, or six. Whatever it takes to meet the gyroscope threshold and then up.)

It appears that the lovely Miss Beverly is a literalist. Go on three means go on three no matter how the laws of gravity will be violated without proper speed. We were struggling up a hill early on in the “Nuthugger.” We had to stop. The start was required on the uphill. As captain, I thought that we could make it (on five or six.) “On three” I said. One, two, three, Bev jumped on the pedals. I held my left foot still at the bottom stroke desperately trying to will the lovely Miss Beverly to turn the page to the obvious corollary. It was not to be. Stuck in some weird physics problem of vector analysis and center of gravity overload, we went down into the side ditch.

Did I say that this was in the first mile of the 32 mile “Nuthugger”? Yes we were not off to a very auspicious start. Maybe getting a tandem wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe, we couldn’t communicate well enough to pull this off. Two head strong people fighting for pedaling superiority. My inner voice flashed to when we picked up the bike after buying it on Craig’s list. “My fiancé and I got this so that we could ride together. She went to law school and we don’t have time to ride anymore.”

The lovely Miss Beverly kindly asked “when’s the wedding?”

After a few awkward moments, the response came, “we’re no longer together.”

It does give one pause. Is our tandem cursed? Did it cause their break up? Will it come between the lovely Miss Beverly and me?” Not to worry. We made it. The lovely Miss Beverly was very gracious to being spilled on her tuffet. We got better as the day went on. We got over walking up the really big hills. And yes go on three really and always means “one, two, three, go.”

As the lovely Miss Beverly and I like to say, the road to a lovely marriage in an interesting journey.

Take care.

Roger