From the Archives – July 15, 2008

I was sitting in my office trying to come up with a topic for today’s blog. For some reason, it was difficult to hone in on one. Should I comment on The New Yorker’s skewering of the Obamas? Should I describe the wonderful kayak trip I took this morning? Should I comment on tonight’s baseball All Star Game? None of it really inspired me.

So I stared out my window and a giant spider web caught my eye. Given that our house is on the market, I don’t particularly like giant spider webs; to me they give the impression that the homeowners are sloppy. Yet living on a river means that flora and fauna get ahead of you quickly if you’re not vigilant.

Under other circumstances I would fully appreciate a beautiful spider web. They are works of art. Especially when they glisten in the sun or just after a gentle rain. And who hasn’t read Charlotte’s Web, where the Charlotte the spider saves Wilbur the pig’s life with her exquisite messages written in spider web fashion? I cry every time I read that story.

Nevertheless, tomorrow I’ll be out with my broom (or maybe I can cajole Earl to use the broom) to get rid of some ambitious spider’s work of art. It always creates a little pang of remorse, for I’m sure the spider can’t read our “For Sale” sign and thinks we’re meanies.

From the Archives – August 22, 2004

If you think this essay is going to be about football, then don’t read any further. You’ll be wasting your time.

Sacking 101 is a course I’d like to see supermarkets offer their employees, especially those who stand at the ends of the checkout lines and put the groceries into paper bags or plastic sacks.

Case in point: Yesterday I went to the grocery store and bought 21 items, including such small items as tuna and cheese. The largest items were the half gallon of milk and the ten pound turkey. While loading my trunk, I counted the number of plastic bags needed to hold my purchases. How many do you think?

The milk was alone in its own sack. So were the extra coat hangers I’d bought, and the box of stuffing mix. The tuna, all two cans, shared with a banana. And so on. Ultimately, it took ten plastic bags to hold the 21 items.

Perhaps I looked frail, and the person who bagged my groceries didn’t want me to collapse under their load. But I’m the sort of the person who wants to make as few trips from the garage to the kitchen as possible. I’m also the sort of person who doesn’t want a lot of extra plastic to dispose of.

Once upon a time, there was no choice but paper sacks with flat bottoms. Those who filled them seemed to know a system whereby heavier items like tomato sauce and canned corn went in the bottom while lettuce and grapes went on top. Cereal and pasta made good bottom fillers too. Somehow, grocery employees figured this out, which is why I’m suggesting that Sacking 101 be updated. I’m sure my hangers, stuffing, tuna, cheese, and banana would be willing to ride home from the store together. I’m equally sure I could manage the collective weight of them in one sack.

From the Archives – July 31, 2006

Every now and then I get an email from a faithful reader with a suggestion for a blog topic. WD-40 is an example. Ken W. alerted me to the fact that this famous degreaser/oiler/cleanser/sparkler turned fifty this year; and, while I hadn’t heard any hoopla for the occasion in the Big Press, I decided it was worth a mention in my little online publication.

WD-40 began life as an experiment to find a rust preventative solvent and degreaser for missile parts. In other words, the product needed to protect an item from the effects of water. Three technicians in San Diego, California, worked to find an appropriate formula and were successful on the fortieth formulation, which was called Water Displacement 40; hence, the commercial name.

WD-40 had a myriad of undiscovered uses beyond the protection of missile parts; and, as time passed, these uses came to light and led to the product being sold commercially. Currently about 2.5 million gallons of the secret formula are manufactured each year.

What can WD-40 do? Well, in the hope of enlightening readers, here are just a dozen uses for the slimy film that is sprayed from a yellow and blue can.

1. Cleans guitar strings.

2. Removes lipstick stains.

3. Prevents flies from landing on cows.

4. Eliminates noises in rocking chairs, door hinges, and electric fans.

5. Keeps pigeons off balconies.

6. Stops rust from forming on saws and saw blades.

7. Removes the leftover sticky from duct tape.

8. Supposedly attracts fish without expensive lures.

9. Removes tomato stains.

10. Untangles jewelry chains.

11. Prevents water spots on glass shower doors.

12. And, finally, according to the State of New York, WD-40 is used to protect the Statue of Liberty from the elements.

If it’s good enough for the Statue of Liberty, then maybe the rest of us should spray some on ourselves when winter sets in

From the Archives – February 28, 2012

The world of the super-pack is upon us, and I don’t mean the political version. I mean the world where you have to buy twos and threes when you only want ones.

For example, I needed a roll of paper for my old-fashioned calculator. You know the kind where you run a tape and you can see your error when the answer doesn’t make sense. One roll of paper lasts me a year or two. But the smallest quantity I could find was a pack of three rolls.

I also wanted one of those flat cardboard boxes you fold into a storage container for various papers you need to keep for posterity. But the smallest quantity I could find was a bundle of four. I didn’t have that much posterity in mind.

It’s the same with red pens. Really, how many does one person need? The pen manufacturer thinks I need five. The file folder manufacturer is positive I need one hundred. It isn’t just with office supplies that I’ve noticed this trend. It’s sneaking into grocery stores and drug stores and convenient marts as well. Even pizza restaurants and donut shops.

Perhaps manufacturers and merchants figure it’s more economical to package things together than individually. Perhaps they would rather have the money for three rolls of paper all at once and wait three or four extra years for me to run out. Perhaps it’s our culture’s mentality of making sure we have enough “stuff.”

Whatever it is, I probably will need those extra cardboard boxes just for storage.

From the Archives – May 26, 2008

It was four years ago on May 20, 2004 that I wrote my first blog. Called “Gauging Voices,” it was about how I listen to weather reports on the telephone. But I didn’t mean the standard variety. I meant that because my sons live far away from me, much of our communication is by telephone and I’m always trying to gauge how they’re faring in their respective corners of the world. I likened their voices to a barometer.

Since then I’ve written 861 more blogs on a myriad of subjects ranging from memories of my own childhood, opinions regarding current events, books I’ve taken a liking to, and anything else that catches my fancy. Often I find inspiration while driving and then return home to put it down on the virtual paper of the Internet.

Along the way, I’ve broken the one rule that started it all but made a couple others for guidance. Originally, I intended to write each blog in ten minutes. Sometime I do, but other times I don’t. Author Natalie Goldberg, who subscribes to this writing practice, probably wouldn’t scold me too much, given my output.

Rule #2: I made a conscious decision never to write anything I wouldn’t sign my name to or shout from the corner of State and Madison. I’ve kept this one, because one’s words are on the Internet forever and it is too easy to have them misinterpreted. Rule #3: I decided not to air any family grievances or disagreements with friends as I’ve seen other bloggers do. For my rationale, see Rule #2.

In the beginning I wrote daily, but as time has passed I write as the spirit moves me. It obviously moves me often as my average over the four years is a blog every day and a half. Adding them all together, I’ve written 249,636 words.

This is approximately half the length of Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Not that I’m comparing myself with the great Russian author, but his word count is certainly impressive. Including serious revisions, he did it in six years. As for me, at the current rate I’m writing, it will take another four. And Tolstoy’s work isn’t even considered the longest well-known novel in existence; that honor goes to Marcel Proust and In Search of Lost Time. Nobody’s every actually counted his words, but estimates are around three million.

I don’t even want to do the math to learn how long I’d have to write to join his company.

From the Archives – June 14, 2007

Ten years ago I moved into an industrial loft in Chicago’s Fulton Market District. My unit faced north, and I spent many evenings on my balcony admiring the sunset to my west. That area was an industrial corridor unobstructed by high rises; so the sun fell onto railroad tracks and warehouses and falling-down buildings, bathing them in gold in its wake. I never tired of it.

Eight years ago Earl and I moved together to another loft, only this time it faced east. You would think we would revel in sunrises, but that was not the case. Our unit faced the Chicago River, across from which was a tall office building completely encased in glass. The redeeming factor was that the sun, which actually set behind us, reflected in the glass each evening. So we enjoyed the sunset as much as I had in my previous home.

Now we’re almost six years in this St. Joseph location. And, last night, as I finished watching the night’s fading rays, I thought to myself, “I must be getting complacent, for I don’t plan my evening around sunsets anymore.”

Maybe I’ve come to take them for granted, which isn’t a good thing. A sunset is a wonderful way to finish the day, to gear down, to quit work of all kinds. It’s nature’s version of “Taps.” Having gently chided myself, I plan to sit on our deck more often during the rest of the summer and watch the sun disappear behind the trees that line the river bank behind our house.

Because a decade of sunset memories is hardly enough.

From the Archives – September 24, 2015

I’ve kept this email in my inbox since June of 2014.  It’s a link to an article titled “14 Brilliant Pieces of Literature You Can Read in the Time It Takes to Eat Lunch.”

Isn’t that a wonderful way to feel erudite in a short time period?

Authors such at Margaret Atwood (she of the perplexing tome), John Updike (he of Rabbity fame), Lydia Davis (whom I don’t know), Sandra Cisneros (whom I know peripherally), Ernest Hemingway (whom everyone knows), and nine other equally renowned writers offer short stories that make one think.  Perhaps they also make one’s lunch taste better with the savoring of wonderful words of all types.

To visit these literary gems, go to http://mic.com/articles/90453/14-brilliant-pieces-of-literature-you-can-read-in-the-time-it-takes-to-eat-lunch

From the Archives – November 25, 2019

No this isn’t the acronym for ‘artificial intelligence.’ It’s about the Art Institute of Chicago.

I drove from Benton Harbor, MI, to Michigan City, IN, and then trained the rest of the way into Chicago to meet C at the Art Institute and spend time with each other. It was six hours total of travel for three hours together.

And it was absolutely worth it. We saw the special Andy Warhol Exhibit, which is on display until the beginning of January.

Warhol was popular in the sixties, mostly between 1960 and 1968. During that time I was in college, married, and had my first child. So Andy wasn’t so much on my radar. Even though I knew of his Marilyn Monroe and soup can arts, I was busy making pablum and changing diapers.

The exhibit is an excellent retrospective of Warhol’s work and made me realize how he used the current culture of the sixties to make a statement. Soup cans, dollar bills, Jackie O, and the ultra-sized Mao recall that time in our history.

We didn’t even get through the entire exhibit before we needed to catch trains. Still, I came away with a greater appreciation of who Andy Warhol was and is. All because my friend C. had a membership to the AI.

From the Archives – July 8, 2007

My office is the only room in our house that doesn’t have a view of the St. Joe River. When we moved in I had intended that this room would be Earl’s office, while I would have one where I could watch the river flow by. He didn’t object.

But Earl’s office furniture was too big to fit through the door, so we brought it in from the back deck through the slider into what was to have been my office. It has been there ever since. As luck would have it, my office furniture was a perfect fit for the room without the view. I unpacked my belongings and settled in.

Now, seven years later, I don’t miss the river view, because every other room in the house has one; and I gaze out the windows as I prepare dinner, practice piano, or brush my teeth. In fact, I came to appreciate the view from my office window for what it is. Our own huge front lawn, which has seasonal flowers from April through October, is restful on the eye. The road, dotted with mailboxes, offers occasional interest as bikers and runners pass by. The fields across the road resembled a French farm, pastoral and peaceful. I loved it and considered it a more than fair exchange for switching offices with Earl.

But then the house began to appear like some ghost acquiring corporal status. First the foundation, then framing and siding and finally inhabitants. Along with these changes came noise and trucks and cars in the newly poured driveway. And a radio blaring whenever the owner works in his garage.

It’s been a couple years now; and I am still disappointed by this intrusion, even though I know you can’t really protect a view unless you own all the land and air rights around it. You can resist, but the energy is better put elsewhere. In my case, I’m adjusting once again; and if Earl ever buys new office furniture there will be a discussion about its size.