This is to all of you who have commented on my last post - 'On Being a Piper...'
I was caught a little off-guard by the number of comments, and by the exceedingly nice things that all of you said to me.
I don't really know what to say.
I'm not really all that good of a person. Not really. Vocation and circumstances have forced me to do many not-so-nice things, as well. I like to tell the stories where it all works out and everyone goes home happy. Or the ones that are funny. I usually stay away from the ones where somebody didn't know when to stop doing whatever they were doing, or where they refused to allow the situation to go anywhere but south...such as the sod that ran full-tilt at my wife on Seventh Avenue in front of Penn Station a few years ago, wild look on his face and arms outstretched towards her (he never touched her.. so, no worries there). So perhaps I have portrayed a skewed portrait of myself. Sometimes Bear has teeth and claws.. and, honestly, that's not really so nice. I'm glad that many of you seem to think that I am, even though I don't think it is all that true. It makes me happy to hear so many of you say so, though...
I just thought it would be honest and fair to you to let you know that the pendulum swings both ways. I'm no pillar of virtue, and I'm certainly no angel. I never, ever go around picking on folks or starting crap with anyone, but, I have my moments, I suppose...
I just wanted to put that out on the table. Since the title of my blog has the phrase 'raw honesty' in it, its only fair.
To my fellow pipers; If you have any strange or interesting gig stories, I would like to hear them! I have a few more, too.
To all of you... thanks again. I really like this blogging community. You guys are great!
Bear
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Sunday, November 06, 2005
On Being a Piper...
A number of years ago, I received a telephone call from an elderly woman who told me at the outset of the conversation that she lived in Florida.
"I called so-and-so to ask him if he could play the bagpipes at my brother's funeral, but he couldn't do it on that day. He gave me your number and told me to call you. He thought that you might be able to do it..", she began.
"I imagine there must be pipers in Florida who would be more conveniently located, ma'am..."
"No, no... I need a piper in New York. My brother lived up there. He died yesterday, and he had always loved bagpipes and had mentioned that he wanted a piper to play at his funeral. I'll pay you...??"
I asked her where and when the funeral would be, checked my calendar, and confirmed that I had nothing planned on the date (the following Saturday, this being a Thursday...) that would conflict or otherwise prevent me from being able to do the job. The cemetery was less than five miles from my house, so, clearly, I was probably the man for the job.
"Who should I contact before the funeral, ma'am?? Will you be flying up here??"
"Oh, no... I'm disabled. I'm not able to travel. I'm afraid that all of our other family has passed on. I'm the last. Nobody will be attending, I fear..."
I was silent for a few awkward moments while my brain contended with this new tidbit of information. Then..
"I'll be happy to play at your brother's funeral, ma'am. Can you tell me his name, the exact time, and whatever else I will need to know?? Did he like any particular tunes??"
She told me the time of the funeral, and the plot number. For some reason, there wasn't going to be a priest or anyone there to see this guy off... I don't know what the story was... but it struck me as being somewhat strange... and very, very sad.
"Can I have your mailing address, young man? I'd like to send you something in payment on my brother's behalf."
"Um.. ma'am.. you don't have to send anything. Its no trouble. I'll play for your brother. No charge. I'm happy to do it. Don't worry about it."
"Oh.. well, that's very nice. But, could I have your address, just the same.. I'd like to send you a thank you card then."
I gave her my mailing address, and after assuring her that I would be there, on time, and that I would play a few tunes and do the best job that I was capable of doing, hung up the phone.
The day of the funeral was grey, with a fine misty drizzle falling. I donned my kilt and drove to the cemetery. After checking in at the main office, and getting directions to the gravesite, I drove over to the area, parked, and tuned up my bagpipes. After locking up the car, I walked over towards the grave.
The casket was already on the lowering belts. There was astro-turf laid down around the grave, which contrasted rather starkly with the reddish-brown dirt that had been so recently dug up to make room for the new addition.. Three hispanic workers were the only other people there. They were sitting on a berm that had been formed by the dirt that they had excavated when digging the grave. There was one small flower arrangement, looking somewhat droopy as a result of the falling rain, I suppose, which was odd, considering that they were flowers and should have liked the bloody rain... Someone had carelessly kicked dirt onto them, and they looked kind of straggly.
The three workers had, apparently, just finished eating their lunch; there were some wrappers and crap piled at the base of the berm between the feet of one of the men, as well as two empty bottles of some sort of malt drink made by Goya. The third bottle was in the hand of one of the workers, and he took a long pull from the bottle, finishing it, and placed it on the ground with the others. The three of them had never seen anyone in Highland attire, I gather, by the way they looked at me. The hint of a smirk on each of their faces. They sat there, looking at me, somewhat bemused by the whole thing, and I stood there, looking down at the casket.
"I'm here to play for him. Should I begin now??", I asked them.. not sure of whether I should get right to it, or what to do...
"No comprendo... no Ingles."
"Is anybody else supposed to be coming, do you know??"
They discussed this between themselves for a moment, then.. having determined that not a one of them had the slightest clue what I was on about, shook their heads and shrugged.
I considered that, then, feeling that there was no time like the present, filled the bag with breath, struck in the drones, and began to play.
As I played, the three of them stared at me with unmasked astonishment.. whether at the sound of the pipes, the sight of me, a combination of both, or at something else entirely, I have no idea...
After a few moments, one of the men murmered something to the other two, and they all stood up, dusted the worst of the dirt from themselves, and one of them quickly produced a plastic garbage bag from a pocket and deposited the trash into it, bottles and all. (I was unaccountably relieved by this, having been somewhat bothered by the thought that they might have tossed that stuff into the grave with our man when filling it in.) He twisted the neck of the bag, tied a quick knot to close the bag, and, still holding the bag, assumed an appropriately solemn position for a gravesite; feet together, hands folded in front, heads slightly bowed. The other two followed suit. The first guy gave his companions a quick once over, reached up and removed his co-workers hat and handed it to him, then, satisfied with the result, re-assumed his earlier position.
The three of them stood there, respectfully and quietly. Our host lay in his casket, silent and unmoving, waiting to be interred in his grave for the remainder of time.. I could feel him there, though, listening and watching, and I played my bagpipes for him. I never knew him in life, and I didn't have to to know that this was important to him. So I played for all that I was worth. Usually the pipes are played at a funeral to stir the emotions of the living, to force them to cry or to otherwise emote, so that they can get back to the business of living without carrying more than their share of grief and sadness. But this was different. This wasn't for the living. I was playing for the dead.
After a few moments, the apparent leader of the group of workers stepped forward, and, with the toe of his boot, depressed the catch on the belt winch, and the casket began to slowly descend into the earth.
The rain fell on all of us in equal measure, plastering hair to faces, chilling us, and dampening our spirits. It was a perfect day for a funeral.
I finished the set, started another and nodding farewell to the three other living gentlemen, I turned and slowly walked away towards my vehicle, negotiating a path between the headstones as I played.
Epilogue:
Over the years, when I have told this story to others, I would sometimes be asked a very odd question; "Why did you go? You could have just stayed home and nobody would have been the wiser!"
Honestly, it never once crossed my mind to not go. It seems to me that a final request is just something that one honors. It is something that we do for one another. You don't just not go. It isn't done. Period.
A couple of days after the funeral, the mailman delivered an envelope with a thank you card, unsigned, containing two crisp new $100 bills. There was no return address.
I went to the florist and bought a two hundred dollar flower arrangement and drove back to the cemetery, where I placed it in on the man's grave. There were no workers present that time, and the day was bright and sunny and beautiful. Birds were singing, and clouds were floating past overhead. It occurred to me that this man would never enjoy another day like this, at least not in this life. I'm not completely clear in my mind whether I put those flowers on his grave for him, or for me... whichever it is, I still feel that it needed to be done for some reason...
I have never told this part of the story to anyone before now. Only he and I ever knew... and now you know, too.
"I called so-and-so to ask him if he could play the bagpipes at my brother's funeral, but he couldn't do it on that day. He gave me your number and told me to call you. He thought that you might be able to do it..", she began.
"I imagine there must be pipers in Florida who would be more conveniently located, ma'am..."
"No, no... I need a piper in New York. My brother lived up there. He died yesterday, and he had always loved bagpipes and had mentioned that he wanted a piper to play at his funeral. I'll pay you...??"
I asked her where and when the funeral would be, checked my calendar, and confirmed that I had nothing planned on the date (the following Saturday, this being a Thursday...) that would conflict or otherwise prevent me from being able to do the job. The cemetery was less than five miles from my house, so, clearly, I was probably the man for the job.
"Who should I contact before the funeral, ma'am?? Will you be flying up here??"
"Oh, no... I'm disabled. I'm not able to travel. I'm afraid that all of our other family has passed on. I'm the last. Nobody will be attending, I fear..."
I was silent for a few awkward moments while my brain contended with this new tidbit of information. Then..
"I'll be happy to play at your brother's funeral, ma'am. Can you tell me his name, the exact time, and whatever else I will need to know?? Did he like any particular tunes??"
She told me the time of the funeral, and the plot number. For some reason, there wasn't going to be a priest or anyone there to see this guy off... I don't know what the story was... but it struck me as being somewhat strange... and very, very sad.
"Can I have your mailing address, young man? I'd like to send you something in payment on my brother's behalf."
"Um.. ma'am.. you don't have to send anything. Its no trouble. I'll play for your brother. No charge. I'm happy to do it. Don't worry about it."
"Oh.. well, that's very nice. But, could I have your address, just the same.. I'd like to send you a thank you card then."
I gave her my mailing address, and after assuring her that I would be there, on time, and that I would play a few tunes and do the best job that I was capable of doing, hung up the phone.
The day of the funeral was grey, with a fine misty drizzle falling. I donned my kilt and drove to the cemetery. After checking in at the main office, and getting directions to the gravesite, I drove over to the area, parked, and tuned up my bagpipes. After locking up the car, I walked over towards the grave.
The casket was already on the lowering belts. There was astro-turf laid down around the grave, which contrasted rather starkly with the reddish-brown dirt that had been so recently dug up to make room for the new addition.. Three hispanic workers were the only other people there. They were sitting on a berm that had been formed by the dirt that they had excavated when digging the grave. There was one small flower arrangement, looking somewhat droopy as a result of the falling rain, I suppose, which was odd, considering that they were flowers and should have liked the bloody rain... Someone had carelessly kicked dirt onto them, and they looked kind of straggly.
The three workers had, apparently, just finished eating their lunch; there were some wrappers and crap piled at the base of the berm between the feet of one of the men, as well as two empty bottles of some sort of malt drink made by Goya. The third bottle was in the hand of one of the workers, and he took a long pull from the bottle, finishing it, and placed it on the ground with the others. The three of them had never seen anyone in Highland attire, I gather, by the way they looked at me. The hint of a smirk on each of their faces. They sat there, looking at me, somewhat bemused by the whole thing, and I stood there, looking down at the casket.
"I'm here to play for him. Should I begin now??", I asked them.. not sure of whether I should get right to it, or what to do...
"No comprendo... no Ingles."
"Is anybody else supposed to be coming, do you know??"
They discussed this between themselves for a moment, then.. having determined that not a one of them had the slightest clue what I was on about, shook their heads and shrugged.
I considered that, then, feeling that there was no time like the present, filled the bag with breath, struck in the drones, and began to play.
As I played, the three of them stared at me with unmasked astonishment.. whether at the sound of the pipes, the sight of me, a combination of both, or at something else entirely, I have no idea...
After a few moments, one of the men murmered something to the other two, and they all stood up, dusted the worst of the dirt from themselves, and one of them quickly produced a plastic garbage bag from a pocket and deposited the trash into it, bottles and all. (I was unaccountably relieved by this, having been somewhat bothered by the thought that they might have tossed that stuff into the grave with our man when filling it in.) He twisted the neck of the bag, tied a quick knot to close the bag, and, still holding the bag, assumed an appropriately solemn position for a gravesite; feet together, hands folded in front, heads slightly bowed. The other two followed suit. The first guy gave his companions a quick once over, reached up and removed his co-workers hat and handed it to him, then, satisfied with the result, re-assumed his earlier position.
The three of them stood there, respectfully and quietly. Our host lay in his casket, silent and unmoving, waiting to be interred in his grave for the remainder of time.. I could feel him there, though, listening and watching, and I played my bagpipes for him. I never knew him in life, and I didn't have to to know that this was important to him. So I played for all that I was worth. Usually the pipes are played at a funeral to stir the emotions of the living, to force them to cry or to otherwise emote, so that they can get back to the business of living without carrying more than their share of grief and sadness. But this was different. This wasn't for the living. I was playing for the dead.
After a few moments, the apparent leader of the group of workers stepped forward, and, with the toe of his boot, depressed the catch on the belt winch, and the casket began to slowly descend into the earth.
The rain fell on all of us in equal measure, plastering hair to faces, chilling us, and dampening our spirits. It was a perfect day for a funeral.
I finished the set, started another and nodding farewell to the three other living gentlemen, I turned and slowly walked away towards my vehicle, negotiating a path between the headstones as I played.
Epilogue:
Over the years, when I have told this story to others, I would sometimes be asked a very odd question; "Why did you go? You could have just stayed home and nobody would have been the wiser!"
Honestly, it never once crossed my mind to not go. It seems to me that a final request is just something that one honors. It is something that we do for one another. You don't just not go. It isn't done. Period.
A couple of days after the funeral, the mailman delivered an envelope with a thank you card, unsigned, containing two crisp new $100 bills. There was no return address.
I went to the florist and bought a two hundred dollar flower arrangement and drove back to the cemetery, where I placed it in on the man's grave. There were no workers present that time, and the day was bright and sunny and beautiful. Birds were singing, and clouds were floating past overhead. It occurred to me that this man would never enjoy another day like this, at least not in this life. I'm not completely clear in my mind whether I put those flowers on his grave for him, or for me... whichever it is, I still feel that it needed to be done for some reason...
I have never told this part of the story to anyone before now. Only he and I ever knew... and now you know, too.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Jumping Through My Ass!
For some reason, it has gotten absolutely crazy at work. I am running my ass off from the moment I arrive, and am not able to get out of there until about thirty minutes after I supposedly am done for the day... We don't have time to eat, or time to go to the bathroom... it's insane.
You can tell that folks are getting burned out, because instead of the usual constant banter and ceaseless insults, jibes, and antagonisms; everyone is eerily quiet.
Nothing much to do but to deal with it...
I just wanted to pop in and let everyone know that I still live and breathe, and that I am still an active (active??) blogger... I am just shot when I walk in the door, and am basically drooling in my food and falling asleep... (I know how to paint an attractive image, do I not??)
Hopefully, we will find a way to better deal with the huge (HUGE) increase in business... until that time, we are simply moving at lighting speed!! (We aren't getting anywhere, mind you.. but we're making very good time!)
Tonight is Celtic Studies, where we study the Gaelic language, history, customs, and all that sort of stuff... and all in Gaeilge!!
'Is Fearr Gaeilge Bhriste Ná Bearla Cliste!!'
(Better Broken Irish than Clever English!)
I'm off to do some household chores, and get ready to hit the road again.
You can tell that folks are getting burned out, because instead of the usual constant banter and ceaseless insults, jibes, and antagonisms; everyone is eerily quiet.
Nothing much to do but to deal with it...
I just wanted to pop in and let everyone know that I still live and breathe, and that I am still an active (active??) blogger... I am just shot when I walk in the door, and am basically drooling in my food and falling asleep... (I know how to paint an attractive image, do I not??)
Hopefully, we will find a way to better deal with the huge (HUGE) increase in business... until that time, we are simply moving at lighting speed!! (We aren't getting anywhere, mind you.. but we're making very good time!)
Tonight is Celtic Studies, where we study the Gaelic language, history, customs, and all that sort of stuff... and all in Gaeilge!!
'Is Fearr Gaeilge Bhriste Ná Bearla Cliste!!'
(Better Broken Irish than Clever English!)
I'm off to do some household chores, and get ready to hit the road again.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Pumpkins, Pie, Rollercoasters and Stories!
Today was a wonderful day! For one thing, I am off for the entire weekend!! My boss tried to pressure me into working both Saturday and Sunday, but I wasn’t having any of it!!
We had a reenactment group event planned for this weekend, but, due to our schedules of late, we both decided that we wanted the weekend to spend together.. meaning only us so, we aren’t going to be attending…
I was so shot last night, that I dropped off at about nine o’clock. I slept until I woke up, no alarm clock, no schedule, nothing… just sleeping until I couldn’t sleep any longer. I got up at around seven-thirty this morning and spent about twenty minutes just standing at the window watching the critters playing in the garden. There were the usual squirrels, sparrows, starlings, blackbirds, and mourning doves… but there were also a pair of blue jays and a couple of cardinals. They were all pushing and shoving and chasing and cavorting about the feeder! I enjoyed the feeling of being able to do absolutely nothing, and not have to worry about being late for anything… I also love the feeling of having a whole weekend ahead of me, and being up early enough to feel all of the possibilities laid out before me…!! After looking out the window, I wandered in to the computer room and went online for a while… again, no time pressure, no purpose… just fuffing about, enjoying the tranquility.
Once Elysia woke up, I started a pot of coffee and we decided to go out and join Costco. We picked up a gift basket for the UPS Store folks who are retiring on Monday. We love them, and we’ll be sorry to see them go. We dropped the gift basket off, hugs all around, and a few tears… then we met the new proprietor, and wished him luck in his new enterprise. We’ll be getting to know him over the years, I suppose. We came home and offloaded the stuff we picked up at Costco, then headed out east (the east end of Long Island has a number of farms and vineyards… this time of year you can go and pick pumpkins.. other times you can pick strawberries, buy corn, peaches, beans, tomatoes, and all sorts of fresh produce.. but this time of year its all about the pumpkins!) picked a few pumpkins, bought a fresh pie (wildberry!), then stopped at one of the beverage places out there for some pumpkin ale.
We listened to the newest Diana Gabaldon story on tape (“Breath of Snow and Ashes”) while we drove, holding hands.. (Puking on my blog is strictly prohibited, by the way…) and enjoyed the fall foliage.
** for those of you who haven’t read Diana Gabaldon, I recommend her. The first book in this series is entitled “Outlander”, though in the UK, I believe it was called “Cross-stitch”, but I’m not entirely sure. I have conversed with Diana via email, and she is a very cool person. (So is Charles De Lint, by the way… and his books are fabulous! See that?? Read my blog, get book reviews, next I’ll be handing out cups of coffee and giving you all back rubs. This is a very cool place to hang out!)
When we got home, we put on some coffee (we roast and grind the beans ourselves… yummy!) and heated up a couple slices of pie, put on “Nightmare Before Christmas” and snuggled up. We got a cryptic phone message during the movie, (we blow off phone calls during movies, just so you know….) which turned out to be Elysia’s dad. He referenced an email, which turned out to be a clue to a treasure hunt here at Thistlebright Cottage! We put on our shoes, grabbed our coats, and armed ourselves with flashlights, and went tromping around the property in the dark finding little but spiders and frightened raccoons and such…. We came back inside, puzzled and befuddled, and wracked our brains over the clue; “Many Phrases…Fifty!”. Finally, it occurred to me that the only time that Elysia’s dad was out of anyone’s sight the last time he was here was when he went upstairs to use the bathroom. In the bathroom there is a book of phrase and word origins! I breeped upstairs (yes.. I said ‘breeped’) and turned to page fifty, and there before my very eyes was the treasure!! I closed the book and called Elysia up to join in the hunt, and she then turned to page fifty to find a crisp new fifty dollar bill snuggled in between page forty-nine and page fifty. Sneaky, clever Dad!!
As soon as I post this, I’m off to watch scary movies, carve pumpkins, and eat more pie and drink more coffee! Elysia will doubtless spend much of the evening drying out pumpkin seeds in the oven.. and then I plan on climbing up one side of her and down the other (evil grin!)
Tomorrow, we are going to Six Flags Great Adventure for ‘Fright Fest’. We have a pair of free passes, and we are going to make use of them!! We are hoping to ride ‘King Da Ka’, which is currently billed as the tallest and fastest roller coaster in the world!! I’ll let you know how it went!
I’m having a blast with my beautiful wife and time to enjoy her company.
Bear is happy!!
We had a reenactment group event planned for this weekend, but, due to our schedules of late, we both decided that we wanted the weekend to spend together.. meaning only us so, we aren’t going to be attending…
I was so shot last night, that I dropped off at about nine o’clock. I slept until I woke up, no alarm clock, no schedule, nothing… just sleeping until I couldn’t sleep any longer. I got up at around seven-thirty this morning and spent about twenty minutes just standing at the window watching the critters playing in the garden. There were the usual squirrels, sparrows, starlings, blackbirds, and mourning doves… but there were also a pair of blue jays and a couple of cardinals. They were all pushing and shoving and chasing and cavorting about the feeder! I enjoyed the feeling of being able to do absolutely nothing, and not have to worry about being late for anything… I also love the feeling of having a whole weekend ahead of me, and being up early enough to feel all of the possibilities laid out before me…!! After looking out the window, I wandered in to the computer room and went online for a while… again, no time pressure, no purpose… just fuffing about, enjoying the tranquility.
Once Elysia woke up, I started a pot of coffee and we decided to go out and join Costco. We picked up a gift basket for the UPS Store folks who are retiring on Monday. We love them, and we’ll be sorry to see them go. We dropped the gift basket off, hugs all around, and a few tears… then we met the new proprietor, and wished him luck in his new enterprise. We’ll be getting to know him over the years, I suppose. We came home and offloaded the stuff we picked up at Costco, then headed out east (the east end of Long Island has a number of farms and vineyards… this time of year you can go and pick pumpkins.. other times you can pick strawberries, buy corn, peaches, beans, tomatoes, and all sorts of fresh produce.. but this time of year its all about the pumpkins!) picked a few pumpkins, bought a fresh pie (wildberry!), then stopped at one of the beverage places out there for some pumpkin ale.
We listened to the newest Diana Gabaldon story on tape (“Breath of Snow and Ashes”) while we drove, holding hands.. (Puking on my blog is strictly prohibited, by the way…) and enjoyed the fall foliage.
** for those of you who haven’t read Diana Gabaldon, I recommend her. The first book in this series is entitled “Outlander”, though in the UK, I believe it was called “Cross-stitch”, but I’m not entirely sure. I have conversed with Diana via email, and she is a very cool person. (So is Charles De Lint, by the way… and his books are fabulous! See that?? Read my blog, get book reviews, next I’ll be handing out cups of coffee and giving you all back rubs. This is a very cool place to hang out!)
When we got home, we put on some coffee (we roast and grind the beans ourselves… yummy!) and heated up a couple slices of pie, put on “Nightmare Before Christmas” and snuggled up. We got a cryptic phone message during the movie, (we blow off phone calls during movies, just so you know….) which turned out to be Elysia’s dad. He referenced an email, which turned out to be a clue to a treasure hunt here at Thistlebright Cottage! We put on our shoes, grabbed our coats, and armed ourselves with flashlights, and went tromping around the property in the dark finding little but spiders and frightened raccoons and such…. We came back inside, puzzled and befuddled, and wracked our brains over the clue; “Many Phrases…Fifty!”. Finally, it occurred to me that the only time that Elysia’s dad was out of anyone’s sight the last time he was here was when he went upstairs to use the bathroom. In the bathroom there is a book of phrase and word origins! I breeped upstairs (yes.. I said ‘breeped’) and turned to page fifty, and there before my very eyes was the treasure!! I closed the book and called Elysia up to join in the hunt, and she then turned to page fifty to find a crisp new fifty dollar bill snuggled in between page forty-nine and page fifty. Sneaky, clever Dad!!
As soon as I post this, I’m off to watch scary movies, carve pumpkins, and eat more pie and drink more coffee! Elysia will doubtless spend much of the evening drying out pumpkin seeds in the oven.. and then I plan on climbing up one side of her and down the other (evil grin!)
Tomorrow, we are going to Six Flags Great Adventure for ‘Fright Fest’. We have a pair of free passes, and we are going to make use of them!! We are hoping to ride ‘King Da Ka’, which is currently billed as the tallest and fastest roller coaster in the world!! I’ll let you know how it went!
I’m having a blast with my beautiful wife and time to enjoy her company.
Bear is happy!!
Where is My Muse?
I am a piper. I am also an artist, and a craftsman.
Or... more accurately, I was a piper and an artist and craftsman.
It has been a great while since I have picked up the pipes, or for that matter, the chanter... it has been a great while also since I have picked up a pencil and put it to paper with the express intent of creating something artful. It has been even longer since I have made anything.. be that leatherwork, woodcarving, beadwork, embroidery, metalwork, or anything.
I haven't baked any bread or brewed any mead... I haven't planted anything.
I don't know why.
In this house, we are usually in the middle of a number of projects.. projects that express our spirits, our love for beauty, our talents and abilities....
Elysia has been hitting the keyboard lately... so there has been some rather wonderful music in the household... but I haven't played a note.
Elysia completed some mosaic projects and is currently working on some crochet. But, I just can't seem to focus on anything lately....
I suppose when it is right for me to jump back in, I will... but I am starting to wonder why this part of my life is missing, or, more importantly... why I have allowed that part of my life to go missing...
Elysia told me that she may have a piping job for me in December some time... somebody wants a piper to play at their ordination ceremony.
I guess I had better start practicing, ay??
Music, Language, Art, Craft, Cooking, and Beauty... these are the things that make life wonderful.... it seems strange to me that I would let myself drift away from it.
I guess I'll have to see what happens.... the fact that I am posting about this is probably a good sign....
Come to think of it... I miss the skirl of the pipes...
Or... more accurately, I was a piper and an artist and craftsman.
It has been a great while since I have picked up the pipes, or for that matter, the chanter... it has been a great while also since I have picked up a pencil and put it to paper with the express intent of creating something artful. It has been even longer since I have made anything.. be that leatherwork, woodcarving, beadwork, embroidery, metalwork, or anything.
I haven't baked any bread or brewed any mead... I haven't planted anything.
I don't know why.
In this house, we are usually in the middle of a number of projects.. projects that express our spirits, our love for beauty, our talents and abilities....
Elysia has been hitting the keyboard lately... so there has been some rather wonderful music in the household... but I haven't played a note.
Elysia completed some mosaic projects and is currently working on some crochet. But, I just can't seem to focus on anything lately....
I suppose when it is right for me to jump back in, I will... but I am starting to wonder why this part of my life is missing, or, more importantly... why I have allowed that part of my life to go missing...
Elysia told me that she may have a piping job for me in December some time... somebody wants a piper to play at their ordination ceremony.
I guess I had better start practicing, ay??
Music, Language, Art, Craft, Cooking, and Beauty... these are the things that make life wonderful.... it seems strange to me that I would let myself drift away from it.
I guess I'll have to see what happens.... the fact that I am posting about this is probably a good sign....
Come to think of it... I miss the skirl of the pipes...
Thursday, October 27, 2005
'Line-Puppy' Diplomacy
Line Puppy - noun; "Line Infantryman, an infantry soldier, a grunt, a ground-pounder"
When I was a young Staff Sergeant, stationed in Korea at the U.S. Army Garrison-Youngsan, I had a close friend (who, by the way, remains one of my closest friends to this day) with whom I worked and hung around with quite a bit.
It was our custom to go to lunch together each day. On one particular day, we decided to go the NCO (Non -Commissioned Officer) Club for some chow.
On Yongsan, the NCO club that we patronized was located on North Post (Yongsan is divided by a major roadway into North Post and South Post) near one of the smaller gates, a pedestrian-only gate.
There is often foot traffic there, but no vehicles. Additionally, there isn't anything much in that area other than the NCO club.
I include this information because, on this particular day, as we approached the NCO club, we spied a General Officer, replete with an entourage of approximately 10 to 12 officers, ranging from Major to 2nd Lieutenant following him like ducklings following mama duck (some have also made a comparison to lampreys and remoras surrounding a shark...).
We both noticed that this particular general, who was dressed in his Class A uniform (the dark green uniform that is the military version of a business suit) with garrison cap (This piece of headgear is what Sgt Snorkel in the 'Beetle Bailey' comic strip always wears... it is fondly ((or, perhaps.. not so fondly...)) called a different name by most soldiers, a name that points out the similarity of the shape of the cap, with its rather unique folds and shape with a part of the female anatomy that most soldiers in fact *do* view with great fondness) happened to be wearing his garrison cap backwards.
The officer's version of this headgear has a gold metallic trim that ornaments the sedged edges of the cloth, as opposed to the enlisted version which is sedged in the same colored thread as the rest of the hat. The result of this is that it quite apparent from a distance when the headgear is not being worn properly... particulary when it happens to be on backwards. The fact that the four huge silver stars, the general's insignia of rank, are not in the front of his cruller where they belong, is also a rather obvious clue...
In the army, there is something called an 'on-the-spot correction'. Basically, everyone is required to follow each and every regulation when they are a soldier. This includes the wear and appearance of the uniform. The regulation that governs the wear and appearance of the army uniform; AR 670-1 also states that general officers may design their own uniforms. This means that a general can do whatever the fuck he pleases... he's a general!
It was also quite apparent, however, that this was not something that was done by design. This officer had simply put his headgear on backwards, and was walking around looking like a clown and making an ass of himself without realizing it. Nobody would want to be in this situation.
Now, it is part of the army subculture, specifically the subculture of the combat arms, meaning the branches of the army that actually do the fighting, to be sharp and tight and to follow regulations to the letter.
I started out as an Infantryman, a foot soldier... what most folks think of when they think of a soldier... you know; G.I. Joe, a rifleman... I had been an infantry sergeant, leading my own team, and then my own squad. I was a combat leader, and proud of it!
I had standards, and I adhered to them. Ranger standards!! (Which are very stringent, and very unyielding when it comes to following the rules). I was now assigned to an Army Special Forces unit, I considered myself to be one of the best of the best, and when I saw somebody who looked like a slob, or who was not wearing their uniform properly, or who was otherwise 'showing thier ass', I let them know about it. As diplomatically and quietly as possible to start with.. or as aggressively as the situation warranted, if the subject of the correction refused to make the appropriate correction.
I was a non-commissioned officer in the United States Army, a Staff Sergeant, and we NCO's run the day to day business of the army... seeing to it that each and every soldier do things the right way, and that everything is done properly and kept ship-shape. Any good NCO worth their salt felt exactly the same way. We make sure that everything is done the right way.. every time. Period. THAT is what an NCO does!
So. Here I am with Sergeant Mike, and here comes this general officer with his headgear on backwards, looking like a moron, and Sergeant Mike decides to challenge me, as we were both wont to do to one another (we took immense joy in placing one another in uncomfortable and awkward situations).
"Sergeant Bear, you don't have a single hair on your ass if you don't make an on-the-spot correction on that general officer!"
The gauntlet had been dropped...
What did I do??
What else? I picked it up and ran with it!!
Understand, now... this is an extremely dicey situation! Rub that general officer the wrong way and you can find your ass out of the army, busted down a few stripes, cleaning toilets for the next year, or god knows what... also, this is a General. He can do whatever he damned well pleases. He is under no obligation to wear his uniform properly... and if he were, a mere Staff Sergeant has absolutely no authority to enforce it!!
However! I have never known a general who achieved that rank by being a slob or a moron... the opinions of the lower ranks notwithstanding. They are sharp, and intelligent, and hard-charging as a rule, though many become quite removed from the soldier in the foxhole. The point here is that if I approach the situation with the proper level of diplomacy, any general officer will gladly and willingly comply with an on-the-spot correction.
The rub is that I was an infantry sergeant. Diplomacy isn't usually what first springs to mind when they think of us... maybe pig-headed, stubborn, aggressive, hard-nosed, tough, unyielding, or demanding... but diplomatic??? Not hardly. Most of us are about as diplomatic as a bulldozer going through a plate-glass window.
I was wearing a patrol cap on that day... the cap that looks sort of like a baseball cap, with a stiff brim. On the back of the Patrol cap was my name tag, on the lower hem of the cap, and above that, two 'cat's eyes' (luminous tape cut into geometric shapes to denote unit affiliation - for instance triangles with the point up may be Alpha Company, vertical rectangles could be Bravo Company, upside down triangles could be Charlie Company, and horizontal rectangles Headquarters company... or something.. the point is that they are pretty visible, day or night).
I turned my patrol cap around so that I, too had my headgear on backwards and continued marching towards the general and his entourage. Sgt Mike bravely crossed the street and got the hell out of the line of fire (Nice!).
As the general and I got closer, I snapped a salute and rendered the appropriate greeting of the day, "Good Afternoon, Sir!", I said, as cheerfully as possible.
He returned the salute automatically, as did his group of minions... saying, "Afternoon, Sergeant..." then, noticing that my patrol cap was on backwards he snapped, "Sergeant!"
"Yes sir?"
"Do you know that your headgear is on backwards?!", he demanded.
"Yes sir, I do!" I replied.
"YOU DO!!??!!", he asked, obviously indignant at my temerity.
"Yes sir!", I repeated. Standing at attention. Hat on backwards, probably looking for all the world like a complete and utter horse's ass.
"Any particular reason, Sergeant??", he asked.
"Yes sir, there is, sir. I am simply following your example, general. Your headgear is on backwards as well, sir, and I wanted to bring it to your attention without being rude. Sir."
He stared at me for a few seconds, then reached up and fingered his headgear. Removing it, he looked at it for a few seconds, then turned to the group of officers that were walking with him. "MAJOR!" he barked. "Sir?" replied one of the officers, who was sporting the gold leaf clusters that marked him as the target of the general's attention.
"Do you think that even one of you assholes might have noticed that I had my goddamned headgear on backwards and let me know about it??!!"
"I, er... that is, um... well, sir.. it's just that..."
"Nevermind! I suppose I should just be damned thankful for good NCO's like Sergeant Bear, here!"
"Sergeant, that was by far the most diplomatic and well-executed on-the-spot correction that I have ever personally witnessed. Thank you!"
"Thank You, sir!"
"I see that you found your calling in Special Forces. They want people who can think outside of the box, yes?"
"Yes sir, they do."
He nodded, then... "Perhaps you can do me one additional service, Sergeant. We've been wandering around for twenty minutes trying to find the Navy NCO club, but none of my staff seem to know where the hell it is, or where the hell we are right now, for that matter. I don't know where the damned place is, either. We have to attend an awards ceremony at 1300 hours. Can you give us some directions??"
(** 1300 hours = 1:00PM)
I gave him directions, saluted again, and started to head off...
I was brought up short by the general's voice, "Sergeant!?"
"Yes sir?"
"Do I have to turn my headgear around again, or should I just tell you that your headgear is still on backwards??"
I gaped at him for a few seconds, feeling my ears begin to get hot with embarassment... until the general burst out laughing. I quickly turned my headgear around, saluted the general and his staff, and stepped off.
As it turns out, I apparently DO have a hair on my ass!!
When I was a young Staff Sergeant, stationed in Korea at the U.S. Army Garrison-Youngsan, I had a close friend (who, by the way, remains one of my closest friends to this day) with whom I worked and hung around with quite a bit.
It was our custom to go to lunch together each day. On one particular day, we decided to go the NCO (Non -Commissioned Officer) Club for some chow.
On Yongsan, the NCO club that we patronized was located on North Post (Yongsan is divided by a major roadway into North Post and South Post) near one of the smaller gates, a pedestrian-only gate.
There is often foot traffic there, but no vehicles. Additionally, there isn't anything much in that area other than the NCO club.
I include this information because, on this particular day, as we approached the NCO club, we spied a General Officer, replete with an entourage of approximately 10 to 12 officers, ranging from Major to 2nd Lieutenant following him like ducklings following mama duck (some have also made a comparison to lampreys and remoras surrounding a shark...).
We both noticed that this particular general, who was dressed in his Class A uniform (the dark green uniform that is the military version of a business suit) with garrison cap (This piece of headgear is what Sgt Snorkel in the 'Beetle Bailey' comic strip always wears... it is fondly ((or, perhaps.. not so fondly...)) called a different name by most soldiers, a name that points out the similarity of the shape of the cap, with its rather unique folds and shape with a part of the female anatomy that most soldiers in fact *do* view with great fondness) happened to be wearing his garrison cap backwards.
The officer's version of this headgear has a gold metallic trim that ornaments the sedged edges of the cloth, as opposed to the enlisted version which is sedged in the same colored thread as the rest of the hat. The result of this is that it quite apparent from a distance when the headgear is not being worn properly... particulary when it happens to be on backwards. The fact that the four huge silver stars, the general's insignia of rank, are not in the front of his cruller where they belong, is also a rather obvious clue...
In the army, there is something called an 'on-the-spot correction'. Basically, everyone is required to follow each and every regulation when they are a soldier. This includes the wear and appearance of the uniform. The regulation that governs the wear and appearance of the army uniform; AR 670-1 also states that general officers may design their own uniforms. This means that a general can do whatever the fuck he pleases... he's a general!
It was also quite apparent, however, that this was not something that was done by design. This officer had simply put his headgear on backwards, and was walking around looking like a clown and making an ass of himself without realizing it. Nobody would want to be in this situation.
Now, it is part of the army subculture, specifically the subculture of the combat arms, meaning the branches of the army that actually do the fighting, to be sharp and tight and to follow regulations to the letter.
I started out as an Infantryman, a foot soldier... what most folks think of when they think of a soldier... you know; G.I. Joe, a rifleman... I had been an infantry sergeant, leading my own team, and then my own squad. I was a combat leader, and proud of it!
I had standards, and I adhered to them. Ranger standards!! (Which are very stringent, and very unyielding when it comes to following the rules). I was now assigned to an Army Special Forces unit, I considered myself to be one of the best of the best, and when I saw somebody who looked like a slob, or who was not wearing their uniform properly, or who was otherwise 'showing thier ass', I let them know about it. As diplomatically and quietly as possible to start with.. or as aggressively as the situation warranted, if the subject of the correction refused to make the appropriate correction.
I was a non-commissioned officer in the United States Army, a Staff Sergeant, and we NCO's run the day to day business of the army... seeing to it that each and every soldier do things the right way, and that everything is done properly and kept ship-shape. Any good NCO worth their salt felt exactly the same way. We make sure that everything is done the right way.. every time. Period. THAT is what an NCO does!
So. Here I am with Sergeant Mike, and here comes this general officer with his headgear on backwards, looking like a moron, and Sergeant Mike decides to challenge me, as we were both wont to do to one another (we took immense joy in placing one another in uncomfortable and awkward situations).
"Sergeant Bear, you don't have a single hair on your ass if you don't make an on-the-spot correction on that general officer!"
The gauntlet had been dropped...
What did I do??
What else? I picked it up and ran with it!!
Understand, now... this is an extremely dicey situation! Rub that general officer the wrong way and you can find your ass out of the army, busted down a few stripes, cleaning toilets for the next year, or god knows what... also, this is a General. He can do whatever he damned well pleases. He is under no obligation to wear his uniform properly... and if he were, a mere Staff Sergeant has absolutely no authority to enforce it!!
However! I have never known a general who achieved that rank by being a slob or a moron... the opinions of the lower ranks notwithstanding. They are sharp, and intelligent, and hard-charging as a rule, though many become quite removed from the soldier in the foxhole. The point here is that if I approach the situation with the proper level of diplomacy, any general officer will gladly and willingly comply with an on-the-spot correction.
The rub is that I was an infantry sergeant. Diplomacy isn't usually what first springs to mind when they think of us... maybe pig-headed, stubborn, aggressive, hard-nosed, tough, unyielding, or demanding... but diplomatic??? Not hardly. Most of us are about as diplomatic as a bulldozer going through a plate-glass window.
I was wearing a patrol cap on that day... the cap that looks sort of like a baseball cap, with a stiff brim. On the back of the Patrol cap was my name tag, on the lower hem of the cap, and above that, two 'cat's eyes' (luminous tape cut into geometric shapes to denote unit affiliation - for instance triangles with the point up may be Alpha Company, vertical rectangles could be Bravo Company, upside down triangles could be Charlie Company, and horizontal rectangles Headquarters company... or something.. the point is that they are pretty visible, day or night).
I turned my patrol cap around so that I, too had my headgear on backwards and continued marching towards the general and his entourage. Sgt Mike bravely crossed the street and got the hell out of the line of fire (Nice!).
As the general and I got closer, I snapped a salute and rendered the appropriate greeting of the day, "Good Afternoon, Sir!", I said, as cheerfully as possible.
He returned the salute automatically, as did his group of minions... saying, "Afternoon, Sergeant..." then, noticing that my patrol cap was on backwards he snapped, "Sergeant!"
"Yes sir?"
"Do you know that your headgear is on backwards?!", he demanded.
"Yes sir, I do!" I replied.
"YOU DO!!??!!", he asked, obviously indignant at my temerity.
"Yes sir!", I repeated. Standing at attention. Hat on backwards, probably looking for all the world like a complete and utter horse's ass.
"Any particular reason, Sergeant??", he asked.
"Yes sir, there is, sir. I am simply following your example, general. Your headgear is on backwards as well, sir, and I wanted to bring it to your attention without being rude. Sir."
He stared at me for a few seconds, then reached up and fingered his headgear. Removing it, he looked at it for a few seconds, then turned to the group of officers that were walking with him. "MAJOR!" he barked. "Sir?" replied one of the officers, who was sporting the gold leaf clusters that marked him as the target of the general's attention.
"Do you think that even one of you assholes might have noticed that I had my goddamned headgear on backwards and let me know about it??!!"
"I, er... that is, um... well, sir.. it's just that..."
"Nevermind! I suppose I should just be damned thankful for good NCO's like Sergeant Bear, here!"
"Sergeant, that was by far the most diplomatic and well-executed on-the-spot correction that I have ever personally witnessed. Thank you!"
"Thank You, sir!"
"I see that you found your calling in Special Forces. They want people who can think outside of the box, yes?"
"Yes sir, they do."
He nodded, then... "Perhaps you can do me one additional service, Sergeant. We've been wandering around for twenty minutes trying to find the Navy NCO club, but none of my staff seem to know where the hell it is, or where the hell we are right now, for that matter. I don't know where the damned place is, either. We have to attend an awards ceremony at 1300 hours. Can you give us some directions??"
(** 1300 hours = 1:00PM)
I gave him directions, saluted again, and started to head off...
I was brought up short by the general's voice, "Sergeant!?"
"Yes sir?"
"Do I have to turn my headgear around again, or should I just tell you that your headgear is still on backwards??"
I gaped at him for a few seconds, feeling my ears begin to get hot with embarassment... until the general burst out laughing. I quickly turned my headgear around, saluted the general and his staff, and stepped off.
As it turns out, I apparently DO have a hair on my ass!!
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Morning Coffee
It is around 7AM, and I've just arrived at work. After a solid week of rain here, the place is hopping. People's roofs have failed, they have water coming into their houses, and they want their roofs fixed... NOW!
This is when the roofing contractor's business comes alive, and they are out in force, standing three and four deep at the counter wanting to pick up their materials and get as early a start as they can on their respective jobs (the sooner they finish.. the sooner they get paid!).
The phone is jumping off the hook, and we are jumping through our asses trying to keep up!!
I've been here perhaps four minutes, and I'm already richochetting off the walls and furniture, helping customers, answering phones, answering questions, and basically trying to do six things at once without fucking it all up. I haven't had my coffee (which I am positively dying for, and I have to pee!)
The owner has a strict rule concerning the telephones; They are to be answered within two rings at all costs. Even if we simply ask the caller to hold on, or take a telephone number so that we can call them back. He doesn't want them sitting on hold, or listening to the phone ring a dozen times. This is a bit of a sticky point when we have forty impatient contractors glaring at us, but, the boss makes the rules!
RING! RING!
"Hello, Such-And-Such Roofing Supplies, Bear Speaking, How can I help you??"
"I'm a roofa." (Roofer... this is Long Island, New York.. Get with it!!)
"I believe you! How Can I help you??" (Please tell me what the fuck you want so that I can clear the counter!)
"I gotta traila dat I carry all my shit in..."
(Great.)
".... I see... ... And?"
"It gotta flat tie-yuh.." (a tie-yuh is a rubber product that is used on vehicles. They roll. You inflate them. Get the picture?)
(Is this guy late to a jobsite where he has to pay a COD charge to receive a delivery?? Maybe he's afraid our delivery driver will split and he won't get his delivery??)
"Okay... How can I help you, Sir?? What is it, exactly, that you need??"
Chewing... chewing.... slurping.... (this fucker has coffee...)... more chewing, finished off with a rather impressive belch.. then;
"IT GOTTA FUCKIN FLAT, ASSHOLE!!! HOWDA FUCKEMY S'POSED TO WORK WITTA FLAT??"
(Alright.. this guy is obviously a dick...)
"What exactly can I do for you, sir?... I'm not quite clear on how I can be of help.."
Chew, chew... (this is really nasty...)
"Well!?!? You got the tie-yuh fa my trailuh?? I need a fuckin' tie-yuh!!"
"No sir. We don't sell tires..."
[Abject incredulity] "You'se assholes ain't got no tie-yuhs!?!? You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!!"
"I'm sorry... we don't carry tires here, sir..."
"And you call ya-selves a fuckin' ROOFING SUPPLY STAAW!?!?"
"Well... it's been rumored..."
"Where can I get a tie-yuh fa dis t'ing??"
I named off about three or four tire stores in the vicinity, trying to be helpful.
"Whattayou?? A fuckin' smartass!! FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!! I AIN'T COMIN' TA [Name of a local competitor. Not my place of business. This dude is a genius.] NO MORE!! WHATTYA THINKA DAT!!" He announced, triumph evident in his voice.
"I think it works well for me, too, under the circumstances... good luck with the flat, there, bright-light. Have a good day."
I hung the phone up and turned to face the mob. I still wanted a hot cup of coffee.. and I still had to pee... I suppose the coffee would have to wait...
What a way to start the day...
Friday, October 14, 2005
Irksome, Verminous Problem with Comment Windows...
Just a quick post to advise those of you who have left comments, either Blogger comments or Haloscan comments... I have lately been experiencing a tech problem with the pop-up windows not opening, so I cannot access the bloody comments in order to reply.
I have the sites on my 'allow' list, and I have checked everything else that I can think of. I am working with the Blogger techies, as well as the Tech folks over at Mozilla. Hopefully I can work it out.
I have no idea what is causing this, but it is vexing the crap out of me.
As most of you probably know, I try to answer each and every one of you when you leave comments for me. Please understand that I am not ignoring you.
As soon as I can figure out what the problem is, I will fix it.
If anyone needs to contact me, email would be best right now here is my email address for that pupose, should anybody feel the need:
Bear_Tracks_2_Nowhere@Hotmail.Com
I will be gone for the weekend, but should be back in full-swing by Monday.
If anybody has experienced this problem, and thinks that they may have a clue as to what is causing this, feel free to let me know. I think it is a problem with the browser (Firefox 1.0.7) personally, but can't quite figure out what that might be, or how to address it. [GRRRACH!! SNORT!!!]
Take Care,
Bear
:-/
I have the sites on my 'allow' list, and I have checked everything else that I can think of. I am working with the Blogger techies, as well as the Tech folks over at Mozilla. Hopefully I can work it out.
I have no idea what is causing this, but it is vexing the crap out of me.
As most of you probably know, I try to answer each and every one of you when you leave comments for me. Please understand that I am not ignoring you.
As soon as I can figure out what the problem is, I will fix it.
If anyone needs to contact me, email would be best right now here is my email address for that pupose, should anybody feel the need:
Bear_Tracks_2_Nowhere@Hotmail.Com
I will be gone for the weekend, but should be back in full-swing by Monday.
If anybody has experienced this problem, and thinks that they may have a clue as to what is causing this, feel free to let me know. I think it is a problem with the browser (Firefox 1.0.7) personally, but can't quite figure out what that might be, or how to address it. [GRRRACH!! SNORT!!!]
Take Care,
Bear
:-/
Sunday, October 09, 2005
I Don't Get It...
The one thing that I most want in my life is to spend time with my wife. It may not sound like all that much to want to some folks.. but to me, time with her is my most valuable possession (if you can call it a possession..).
In order to be able to have this time, there are certain things that must be addressed and taken care of, i.e., bills have to be paid, and all of the things that we need in order to live from day to day have to be obtained. This stuff requires money, as we all know. Now.. here's the rub; In order to get the money needed to be able to live, we both have to work. No.. that's not entirely accurate. In order to get the money needed to be able to live, we both have to work a lot.
End result?? We don't ever get to spend all that much time together. So, all of this running around and working basically turns out to be a huge cosmic hamster wheel in the end.
The question that has been swimming around in my head is this; If I don't get to spend the time with her that I want to with both of us working all this time so that we can have enough money to pay all of our bills in order to be able to spend time together.. What the hell is the point of it all?? It seems sort of counter-productive to me in a sideways logic kinda way...
I have fantasized about the both of us working at the same job, going to work together, coming home together, and thereby having more time together... but the soldier in me won't let me put all of my eggs in one basket. It just seems like a big risk. (If the company goes under.. we are both fucked, simultaneously.
The alternative doesn't work out that well, either... if one or both of us works less, then although we may have more time to spend together we are stressed out about bills, or wondering how we will be able to get the thing that we need to fix the thing that broke, or some other such friggin' thing....
So. This leaves me with this question; Is that it?? Is this how it has to be??
We just work like fucking field slaves all of our lives, living for the few hours that we get to spend together on Sunday.. the couple of minutes here and there in the evenings... and the one vacation each year??
That sucks!!
Mind you. My lifestyle is absolutely not the type of lifestyle that is dedicated to the accumulation of material wealth, or things of any shape, form, or fashion. We don't make that much money to begin with, though we work like hell to get what we do earn.
It seems like we are stuck in a loop with no way out of it...
I work probably somewhere in the range of seventy-two hours per week. Since there are one hundred sixty-eight hours in a week, this means that I work approximately 43% of the time. This leaves the other 57% to me. But, it doesn't work out that neatly. I sleep perhaps 46 to 40 hours per week. On top of this, there is cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, laundry, and all of the other nittenoid things that we have to do to keep a household going. It seems to me that we end up with perhaps one or two hours in an average week night to spend together, and almost nothing on the weekend, if I am working. If I have a day off, then we have a day.
It just seems somehow wrong to me... I feel as though I have allowed myself to get trapped into a pattern of behavior because of societal pressures, or habit, or who knows what?? It seems to me that spending time with your loved ones is the most important consideration (or should be). If one of us were to die unexpectedly today or tommorrow.. all of this other stuff would amount to shit. So why do we do it??
I just don't get it....
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Did I Get It??
I think I have isolated and removed the cause of the pop-ups...
I have never seen them, because I have my browser configured to disallow pop-ups, and to not run any scripts that I haven't given permission for.
Please, please, please... if there are any other such annoyances, let me know. I don't want that crap here... there's enough of it elsewhere.
The only pop-up you should ever see here would be asking for donations for the 'World Marmoset Conservation Society'.
My Thanx to Dan and Wraiths for giving me the heads-up as to the existence of the blasted thing, and for helping me to narrow down the search so that I could actually locate it.
(Serves me right for putting all the bells and whistles on the site... I'm a dweeb sometimes.... [Snort!!])
So. Please confirm that the pop-is gone, anybody, or let me know that it is still plaguing you, whichever is appropriate... and I'll take it from there...
Thanx guys!
Off to work... blech!
I have never seen them, because I have my browser configured to disallow pop-ups, and to not run any scripts that I haven't given permission for.
Please, please, please... if there are any other such annoyances, let me know. I don't want that crap here... there's enough of it elsewhere.
The only pop-up you should ever see here would be asking for donations for the 'World Marmoset Conservation Society'.
My Thanx to Dan and Wraiths for giving me the heads-up as to the existence of the blasted thing, and for helping me to narrow down the search so that I could actually locate it.
(Serves me right for putting all the bells and whistles on the site... I'm a dweeb sometimes.... [Snort!!])
So. Please confirm that the pop-is gone, anybody, or let me know that it is still plaguing you, whichever is appropriate... and I'll take it from there...
Thanx guys!
Off to work... blech!
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