Posted on October 20, 2004
I cannot bring myself to say that apathy is a good thing, but I have come to understand it. And I think sometimes that good people, decent people, appear apathetic because they are not up to the fight. Or the debate. Or the intense passion that is often necessary to create change.
Of course, there are some who are apathetic because they are lazy. But others, the ones I’m talking about, strike the pose of apathy as a protective measure; because when they get involved it tears them apart.
I myself am working hard to be rational rather than emotional about the looming election, because I don’t want to become too involved. If my candidate loses, I still need to be able to watch the news or listen to the talking heads for the next four years.
Is this apathy? In a sense, yes. Because, while I am committed to vote for the candidate of my choice, I am not so committed that I shall campaign for him or send money to his organization. My friend Carol, on the other hand, is volunteering to help make sure everyone gets to the polls in a city distant from her own, starting the weekend before Election Day. She is, as they used to say last year, walking the talk.
The really important thing for the election, however, is that whether we are apathetic or fully engaged in the process, we all need to get to the polls on Election Day. We need to make our votes count, because this is going to be close. And it’s not going to be nice.
By voting, at least, we keep true apathy at bay.
See more 10 Minutes in category 2004 Election, Things to Ponder
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Posted on October 19, 2004
So . . . this ten minutes is about whimsy as the presidential candidates swagger and bluff.
For me, Alan Alexander Milne exemplifies whimsy in the shape of Winnie the Pooh. I don’t mean the Disney travesty; rather I mean the original text and the original wispy illustrations by Ernest Shepard.
Winnie the Pooh was there when the child I once was wanted a bedtime story to carry her through the night and into the next day on the wings of basic emotional honesty. He was there when that little girl needed someone or when, as Piglet says in The House At Pooh Corner, “I just wanted to be sure of you.”
Pooh was my first companion, my favorite pal, my original best friend. Now I consider myself grown, and Pooh is still the constant in the ever-changing Hundred Acre Wood of Life. When I’m sad, he reminds me that sadness has a sweet side. When I’m content, he helps me recall how simple things make for the greatest contentment. Others may choose Updike and his Rabbit, Bach and his seagull, different authors and their symbolic animal companions, but I hold fast to my bear.
After two marriages and four (two biological and two step-)children and 28 different places that have been home, I live on a beautiful river in Michigan with my partner, Earl. We each have an office in our home and mine is decorated with Pooh memorabilia.
There is a stuffed Pooh and a stuffed Piglet. The first I bought for myself while the second came from my friend, Judi. There are several photo frames evoking the Pooh theme, and each of them is filled with a favorite friend or family member of mine.
This is what Winnie the Pooh really stands for:
Always be there for your friends; they are your most important possession. Treat your family as you would your friends, not the reverse. Apply this axiom, and you have it 95 percent correct. Pass it on and you’ve got 100 percent.
Author Milne died in 1956. I was 12 years old and don’t recall being aware of Milne’s passing. But then he was not the one who was real. Rather, what was real was the casually illustrated but permanently affixed image of Winnie — as solid as today, as ephemeral as yesterday, and as promissory as tomorrow.
See more 10 Minutes in category Nostalgia
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Posted on October 18, 2004
Things get complicated really fast in today’s world. I work part-time for my son and his partner who own a business in New York City. They are considering changing banks because they think they might get better service from a different provider.
But it’s not as easy as strolling over to the competitor bank and opening an account. What I’ve learned in researching what’s involved is that there is a lot involved.
My son’s business is a virtual retail store, which accepts all major credit cards whose charges are then automatically deposited in the company’s current bank account. So we’d have to alert the credit card companies that we’re switching banks. Furthermore, my son’s company pays its bills and its payroll electronically. So we’d have to alert those companies to subtract the funds from the new account instead of the old. Then there’s the application process, canceling the old line of credit, switching the automatic debits, establishing a new line of credit; and it’s no wonder businesses often stay where they are rather than go through the difficult process of getting better suppliers.
But we’re a determined bunch. We don’t want to be held captive because of the bureaucracy involved. In fact, that’s why I was hired. It’s my job to do the necessary research, not only on banks but also on credit card processing companies, insurance plans, shipping alternatives and the myriad aspects of the business side of the business. And what kind of business is it? Go to www.fredflare.com and find out.
Posted on October 16, 2004
I’m staring out the window watching leaves swirl in the wind. On our property, there is an indentation across the front lawn, and many leaves huddle there; perhaps it’s because the wind affects them less.
It’s really the indentation that has caught my attention, and I’m wondering what the naturalist’s term for it might be. It’s smaller than a ditch and less symmetrical than a trench. Excluding those terms, I ponder words that might fit. Gully. Dip. Rill. Vale. Not your everyday sort of nouns.
As usual, Webster’s is close by, so I check the meanings of these terms to find the exact one to describe the little leaf haven. A gully, it turns out, is originally formed by running water wearing away the soil. No, that’s not what my indentation is. A dip, among other things, is a hollow or depression in the land. That sounds close, but I press on.
A rill is a small rivulet or brook, while a vale is synonymous with valley. Neither of these words is remotely correct, which illustrates Mark Twain’s observation. He said, “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug.”
See more 10 Minutes in category Flora/Fauna, Writing
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Posted on October 15, 2004
With all the angst in the world today, I’m choosing to focus on gentle things, those people or things or ideas that calm our souls and give us temporary pause in the craziness of our existence.
But first a disclaimer: Gentle things are probably different for each of us. So I offer this ten minutes a day as a description of my gentle things in the hope that readers identify their own. It’s all right if they don’t match mine.
The wind tossed leaves everywhere today, as if autumn’s season is speeding up. My yardman, Mike, worked extra diligently to batten the garden hatches down. I had a fire in the fireplace for no reason at all. Earl filled the bird feeder and we reveled in the eagerness of its visitors. We call it the Bird Buffet.
It didn’t rain, when the forecast said it would. I heard from many friends because I sent a mass email on an issue of importance to me. The weekend looms lazily. There are no more presidential debates. I have lost two pounds. Christmas is coming, and I’m on target to be ready.
Love seeps into everything if you are willing. Love tries its best even if you are not. So it’s a good idea to give in, and love, love, love . . . that’s what gentle things encourage.
See more 10 Minutes in category Me/Family
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Posted on October 14, 2004
Well, they’re over. The debates, I mean. They reminded me of homework that we all had to do to be ready for the big exam on November 2.
I was at an Oktoberfest event last night, and almost everyone I talked with was going home to watch some part of the debate, after filling their stomachs with bratwurst and sauerkraut. Oops . . . this menu probably wouldn’t pass White House muster these days.
Earl and I came home too and watched the debate under the same house rules as we watched the other two. No talking, no emoting, no raised eyebrows or funny expressions. Truth be told, in an unguarded moment, I broke the rule with a snide comment about George’s not answering a particular question. Lowering his crossword puzzle, Earl glared at me. “You can have a free shot,” I said.
My overriding impression of the debate can be summed this way: 1. Both men wore the same color tie. At least it appeared that way on our TV. 2. If you practice something long enough, you can improve. You may even get good at it. And J and G certainly improved their rhetorical skills. 3. Both men tossed facts in the air like jugglers in the circus. 4. The man who won the debate was Earl, for never taking a free shot.
See more 10 Minutes in category 2004 Election, Me/Family
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Posted on October 13, 2004
Advertising is becoming as inevitable as taxes and death. The only time I haven’t felt subjected to it lately was during the various presidential and vice-presidential debates where, for ninety minutes, burger hawkers, car vendors, and purple pill providers didn’t interrupt.
I understand how television and radio programs are underwritten, and I’ve accepted the role advertising plays in that regard. But what about the scrolling messages that now occupy the bottom part of one’s screen, even during regular programming? What about the stuffers that come in your monthly bills if you choose not to bank on line? Even if you do bank on line, which I don’t, I imagine you are subjected to pop-up reminders that pork is the other white meat, coconut oil is the best skin softening agent, and Shrek 2 will soon be followed by the studio’s next monster. Monster movie, that is.
When I call my telephone company to haggle about a bill or my car dealer to get my oil changed, my ears must listen to advertising about the latest phone or car feature while I’m on hold. Even the renaming of sports arenas — United Center, U.S. Cellular Field — is about promoting a brand.
Blue light specials call aloud in discount stores, hoping to entice me to buy something that’s not on my list. Carrying this concept to its ultimate conclusion, some enterprising marketer will probably invent a means for the trusty stoplight to emit “Buy Me” messages while flashing the familiar green and red. So many people, so many stoplights, so much advertising opportunity!
See more 10 Minutes in category Annoyances
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Posted on October 12, 2004
The regular baseball season is over, and the playoffs have begun. I don’t follow this religiously; but I do know that, in the beginning of the playoffs, eight teams are left and they are systematically eliminated until two remain. Hopefully, those two will not be playing the World Series with snow on the field.
I don’t know where we are in the elimination process, but Earl told me that tonight the Boston Red Sox are playing the New York Yankees. Earl is a fan of whatever team is playing the Yankees, so this seemed like a natural bet for me.
“Hey, Earl,” I said, “do you want to make a bet on who will win tonight’s game, the Boston Red Sox or the New York Yankees?”
He didn’t skip a beat. “I’m a fan of whoever is playing the Yankees,” he said.
So we shook hands to symbolize that the team that loses owes the other a dinner. If the Red Sox win, I take Earl to dinner on the weekend. If the Yankees win, well . . . you understand.
I know many people love to hate the New York Yankees, but I feel differently. Since 9/11, the city and the team have struggled with such important issues that I think the angst the rest of the country has regarding New York City’s smugness is out of step. We need to support, not deride. We need to encourage, not castigate. So if the Yankees win, I will be the first to order the most expensive item on the menu as a way of being counted.
If they lose, I’ll still order large in their honor.
Posted on October 11, 2004
I looked forward hungrily to meeting Lew and Enid, our friends from New York City, at Carmichael’s Steakhouse in Chicago last night. We hadn’t seen each other since May; and Carmichael’s seemed like the perfect place to catch up on each other’s lives. For some reason, the restaurant always brings out the silliness in us.
Earl and I drove in from Michigan in the late afternoon, enduring the setting sun that planted itself smack in the middle of our windshield. Lew and Enid came even farther, but they also had business reasons to be in town. Dinner with us with the exception.
It was still light when we pulled in front of the steakhouse. Normally, a valet comes running out to park Earl’s Lexus. But last night, for various reasons, we drove my little Neon instead. No valet sprinted to the curb. No doorman greeted us.
I didn’t take it personally, but I did take note and wondered if Carmichael’s were having trouble attracting diners. Then again, it was Sunday so maybe the valet union doesn’t allow its members to work on the Sabbath. Regardless, we parked the car and went it.
The four of us arrived within moments of each other and, after the requisite hugging, were led to our table. “The piano is missing,” said Earl, smiling. The piano had always been the one thing he didn’t like about Carmichael’s. Too loud.
But the subtle changes didn’t stop there. The menu offerings were also different, to the point where the planked salmon I always order had disappeared. Salads no longer come with entrees. Sandwiches have arrived.
Over drinks, which were as good as I remember, we settled in for a wonderful evening with friends. That was just as good as ever too. However, when we parted I felt a little sad that the Carmichael’s we’d known when we all lived in Chicago isn’t the one we visited last night. Thomas Wolfe was right when he said, “You can’t go home again.”
It applies to favorite restaurants too.
See more 10 Minutes in category Dining/Food, Nostalgia
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