?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Bridge of Spies

It was either a trip to Costco an hour away or a trip to the movies just up the road for our Saturday time together.  The first snow of the season settled it for us, so Earl and I headed to the cinema.

We don’t go there together often, because one of us likes blood and guts and one of us likes cartoons.

But both of us wanted to see “Bridge of Spies,” a film about the cold war between the United States and the USSR in the 1950s. About American pilot Francis Gary Powers and Russian spy Rudolph Abel. About one man, Jim Donovan, who helped both sides win.

Earl and I lived that period.  While he was older and remembers the Powers story more do, I remember the school drills in case the USSR bombed us. It’s all portrayed in the movie.

We went out to dinner afterwards and talked about the film. We loved the acting, the cinematography, the music.  We quite possibly came down on the same side of the political fence too. (It’s amazing what a good movie can do for détente.)

Today is the anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, he who inherited the Cold War situation. By the time he was elected President, Powers and Abel had been exchanged and the wall had been firmly fortified between East and West Berlin.

Kennedy had other fish to fry, so the swap between East and West faded.  Until now, when the movie “Bridge of Spies” comes along to remind us in the middle of the present refugee crisis what our country is really about.

In case you’re unsure, it’s about the rule book called the Constitution. ”Bridge of Spies” shows us that; we are who we are because of the Constitution. I only hope that today’s citizens read it

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Cat Care

I have a new, temporary job: Cat Sitter. A neighbor sent out a plea for someone to take care of her cats while her husband and she left town for four days.  I don’t know what possessed me, except that I really like cats while not wanting one of my own at this age.  So I applied for the job.

I have credentials.  My two sons love cats, and we had Patches and Harold when they were growing up.  Today each of them has three cats: Lucy, Vern, and Charlie (This cat has “papers”.) live in upstate New York; Gracie, Hero, and Woody live in Fargo, ND. Let it be noted that I have no biological grandchildren, so perhaps these are my substitutes.

I’m cat sitting Winker and Bubbles, both older felines which makes them more docile.  (You would never think of Woody, for instance, as docile.) They are sweet and companionable and let me pet them. Perhaps they’ve caught on that I’m their food and water source, which is why they like me. Even if that’s my main attraction, I’ll take it for four days.

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Always Bring Something

You might think the title of this blog is about being a gracious guest when you’re invited to someone’s home for dinner.  It’s not. It’s about using time wisely when delays occur.

This week’s Economic Club guest was Pulitzer Prize winning author Charles Krauthammer.  While I don’t always agree with his politics, I do think he is an excellent writer; and I looked forward to hearing him in person. But O’Hare International Airport in Chicago made it difficult; because the airport closed for a while and Dr. Krauthammer’s plane was unable to land on time. So it was announced there would be a delay of his presentation of at least forty minutes as he and his driver hurried to Benton Harbor.

I guess some people look to their cellphones to fill such voids, but I don’t. I prefer to have something in my hands to occupy the time; and unfortunately I didn’t bring any reading material or yarn crafts with me.

This was the third time in a week that I’d had to wait somewhere without something productive to do. So in the future I shall always take a book or a crochet project and be ready to use found time in a constructive way.

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Political Processing

We are finally inside a year before the next presidential election.  Up to now, I have ignored much of the sturm und drang that’s happened with various debates, Congressional hearings, and television rantings; because I don’t think the election process should take so much of our attention for so long.

But now that there’s just a year to go, I’m coming out from under my rock and will become more intellectually curious. I promise to see more debates on both sides, although I would prefer they were actual debates instead of brick-batting sessions. I promise to read articles from both sides of the aisle, if you will. And I promise not to vote for any first term senator from any party who might win the nomination. I already did that, and it’s taught me that such people really don’t have the connections, the communications, or the control to be in charge.

It comes down to the old saying credited often to George Santayana: “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

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On the Tip of My Finger

Last night, while slicing lemons, I accidentally mistook the tip of my index finger on my left hand for the final slice. Blood and pain alerted me to my error.

And I’ve been alerted in more ways than one ever since.  For instance, the cut is in the exact place where I hold dental floss to clean my teeth.  It’s in the same place where this finger pushes a piano key or one on my keyboard. It’s also in a difficult place to bandage, since the adhesive part extends over my finger and gets in the way.

Of course, this tragedy isn’t on the par with the Paris attacks or an auto accident or even a health issue.  I’m not claiming it is.  But it does make me aware that when some small incident – such as a sliver under the skin or something in the eye or a tiny cut in a problem place – occurs, it makes that part of the body paramount in importance.

Eventually the cut will heal; my teeth will survive; and my various keys on the piano and the keyboard will once again be struck unconsciously. In essence, life will return to pre-cut normal.

If only real tragedies could be like that.

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Slow

Since I let my cleaning lady go, I am now the person in charge of cleanliness at our house. And I’m up to the task. However, a recent conversation with a close friend was most illuminating in this regard.

I was whining about the amount of fingerprints and grease and gook that sticks to the outside of my cherry cabinets in the kitchen. On cleaning day, I spend considerable effort getting the cupboard doors spotless and dust-free.

I’ve never been a devotee of cabinet hardware, those knobs and handles that add to the cost of decorating a kitchen. Instead I usually opt for the “clean” look and doors that are opened when a hand pulls them from underneath.  In fact, I can tell you the last place I lived where I installed hardware was in 1997.

As I ranted, my friend gently said, “Do you have handles or knobs?”  “No,” I responded.  “Do you.”  “Yes” came the answer.  And then it dawned on me.  Keeping the cupboards in great shape is the purpose of the hardware.

Even with a Master’s degree, I am sometimes truly slow.

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No Worries

Today is Friday the Thirteenth; and, for some it is a day of fear and loathing. Although it’s considered unlucky for a variety of reasons, I have never put credence in any of them. In fact, I rather like the day since it doesn’t occur but once or twice a year. That makes it special as far as I’m concerned.

But I didn’t do anything special to acknowledge it. Instead I worked out with my trainer, as usual; went for fancy coffee with friends; came home and cleaned the bathrooms (Yeah, I know.); and then enjoyed Date Night with Earl.  We went to the Cranberry Bog inside the Grande Mere Inn, and we had a great time.

Back at home, I changed into jammies, fixed a nightcap, and spent the evening reading, as I do many Friday nights.  If there were ghosts and goblins afoot, they didn’t come near me.

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Music

I never listen to music at home, but when I’m in the car my radio is always tuned to a classical station. What I’m struck by most is how many different symphonic orchestras there are in the world when, at the same time, it seems there is less interest in classical music. Or perhaps the interest level is the same but those of us who like this genre just keep it to ourselves.

That said, I really like it when the announcer on the radio station tells me what orchestra will play the piece I’m about to hear.  Will it be the Orchestre Symphonique Kimbanguiste from the Democratic Republic of the Congo or the Cairo Symphony Orchestra or the Angkor National Youth Orchestra from Cambodia?

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard these orchestras, but they are all listed in Wikipedia; and I hope someday they will be front and center just like the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra in Canada or the Sydney Symphony Orchestra in Australia are.

So the point of this blog is to revel in the diversity and universality of classical music. Taking it a step further, let’s revel in the diversity and universality of all music. Even the genres, like hip hop, I don’t understand.

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Veterans Day

Today is Veterans Day (although I don’t understand why it isn’t Veterans’ Day) and I was curious about its origin.  Turns out it dates to the First World War that formally ended at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918.

WW I was to have been the war to end all wars, and President Woodrow Wilson declared the first Veterans Day one year later.  Only it was called Armistice Day back then. In 1954 Congress changed the name.

So the holiday is coming up on its one hundredth birthday.  One hundred years of honoring those who were in the Armed Services and served their country in war and peace.

Where I live, more than one eatery offers free meals to veterans on this day.  I think this is the least we can do. I may not always agree with my country’s storming into battles of all kinds everywhere, but I always respect the men and women who represent us there.

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Back Online

I’ve been remiss about blogging, remiss about keeping up with crucial issues, and remiss about following the myriad GOP presidential candidates’ debates.  I intend to remedy the first two situations now.

I am committed to blogging more regularly, even though I am discouraged.  My website has been in the middle of a do-over much of this year, and it hasn’t gone smoothly. This, in turn, has occupied more of my time; so blogging has suffered.  The site still isn’t working correctly, but there is no date on the horizon where things will be fixed.  So I need to get on with it.

Coffee with friends this morning got me thinking about the current discussion (I hesitate to use the work ‘debate,’ as it’s been commandeered by politicos.) regarding Starbucks and its red cup.  That’s the one that supposedly heralds the start of the holiday season. The one that has featured snowflakes and reindeer and other signs of winter in past years.  The one that curmudgeons now say is taking Christ out of Christmas this year because it simply has the company’s logo on a red background. Even Donald Trump has weighed in, suggesting we should all boycott Starbuck’s and then saying he really doesn’t care.

Let’s look at this.

First, it’s a disposable cup, not a keepsake. Second, the meaning attached to it comes from people. You think this; I think that.  It’s all opinion. Third, I don’t believe an image of Jesus Christ himself has ever been on the cup. If it had and was then removed, perhaps some people might say, “They’ve taken Christ’s image off the cup.”  And this is actually more factual than suggesting Starbuck’s is taking Christ out of Christmas.

Tonight is the next GOP debate, which I won’t be watching.  But I’ll check tomorrow’s news to see if the cup makes the list of topics that were argued about.

 

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