Ponderings and Musings

I’m sitting on the sofa in the living room, enjoying the thunder and lightning show outside. This makes me wonder, why do we call it a thunder and lightning show? Thunder and lightning. It’s usually not said “lightning and thunder”. This is strange to me, because the lightning comes before the thunder.

I remember fellow classmates in elementary school talking about thunderstorms and how it was the angels bowling in heaven. One particularly religious girl claimed God was crying for our sins when it rained. I mentioned something about snowstorms and dandruff and there were laughs and I was told I was going to hell.

Instead I was invited to go roller skating with other classmates which turned out to be a big prayer circle in the middle of the rink with our feet sticking out. I just wanted to roller skate; I had my own time to talk to God.

The weather forecast has thunderstorms predicted for a good share of the week. It’s that time of year and quite frankly as long as I’m not flying I’m happy about it. I just hope it clears up by the weekend so I can go flying as scheduled for Saturday morning.

In the meanwhile I’ll enjoy the light and rumble show.

I didn’t know Juneteenth was a thing until well into my adulthood. I don’t know the exact date I became aware of Juneteenth but I do remember thinking it was odd that we didn’t learn about this sort of thing when I was in school. It seems rather important. I know back in elementary school it was extremely important for me to know the history of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers back when dates were in the B.C. range, Marie Antionette did something, and of course George Washington was the first president. Oh! New York was one of the original 13 states. Modern-ish history was always raced through late in the year: there was one World War, then another, then a couple of other wars, and Jane Fonda did something, but now it’s time for your final exam. That’s pretty much how all my civics classes went. My school had an accelerated Social Studies program for sophomores and juniors; college bound students tended to skip World History I to take World History II and American Studies I as a sophomore and American Studies II and Ethics as a junior. I remember Regents students took American Studies while non-Regents students took American History. I don’t know why there was a delineation or what the difference in curriculum was. Maybe they learned about Juneteenth in American History. The accelerated program moved the New York State Regents Exam to January of my junior year, which helped balance exam loads in June, I guess. We didn’t even talk about Juneteenth in Ethics, even as we sat with our desks in circle and discussed the merits of various things in society. Gays? Some would counter not equal. Juneteenth? Never came up.

Over the years I’ve quipped that I came from a town that had no racial diversity. None. We didn’t even have a Chinese or Mexican restaurant until well after I graduated in 1986. Today I got to wondering if I was just not remembering things correctly so I went through all of my yearbooks, grade 8 to my senior year. Among all the smiling faces of classmates of various teenage years, there was one non-white face amongst the smiles two years behind me. Her name is Tammy and I vividly remember her with pleasant memories. She doesn’t appear after her eighth grade photo; I don’t know where she went to. She lived down the road from us in town with her mother, her older brother, and younger sister. I remember kids being mean to Tammy and in my obnoxiously present ignorance I could never figure out why they were being mean. She was nice, had a great laugh, but she could be as tough as nails when she needed to be. I liked that about her.

So out of approximately 1200 students, aside from the occasional AFS Exchange Students that would drop in once in a while, we had three non-white members of the student body. That’s 0.0025% of the student population.

Small wonder I don’t remember them discussing Juneteenth in what I sometimes jokingly call “snowy Alabama”.

We are trying hard to support local businesses in the neighborhood. While many of the restaurants and other businesses have done their best to weather the quarantines and other challenges associated with COVID-19, some places have been forced to shut down. Jeri’s Grill had been open for over 57 years when they made the decision to close; the big note in the window indicates it’s solely due to lockdown related economics.

While I fully support the quarantines and associates social distancing and mask wearing measures, it is a little disheartening to see legacy businesses such as Jeri’s affected in this way.

In 1975, Saturday morning cartoons featured a partially live action show from Filmation called “The Secret Lives Of Waldo Kitty”. The star of the show, Waldo, is shown in his live action form in the photo above.

Based on “The Secret Lives of Walter Mitty”, Waldo Kitty delighted my sister and me as we watched it on our black and white television set in our mobile home sitting in the middle of a cattle pasture.

Shortly after the premiere of this show we adopted a kitten and promptly named him Waldo, as he very much resembled the live action star of his namesake television show. Waldo was a part of the family, and treated as the “king cat” amongst the number of cats to come and go in our household, for many years. I believe Waldo moved on to his great reward in 1989.

He was a big cat. We didn’t get him fixed until we was six or so years old, so he had this nifty bass-voice “meow” when he decided to speak. A couple of times he disappeared for a week or two at a time. Months later there’d be kittens all over the place from the ladies that swooned over Waldo and he’d feel smug. After he was fixed his voice stayed low and he napped a lot. He’s the only cat that would be allowed to stay inside at night; the others would sleep in the garage. Dad would leave the garage door open a small gap so the cats could get in from the Great Lakes snowbelt we lived in.

Waldo took a strong liking to my sister and while he’d lay around with me, if my sister was in the room he’d relocate himself near her. I was fine with that. I laid claim to one of the cats in his harem, namely a long haired black cat we called Cinders, and their offspring “Half Pint” who had the markings of both Waldo and Cinders. Looking back they probably weren’t related but they looked the part so we went with it.

Cinders liked to chew on the strings of Christmas lights I put all over the house and greenery at the appropriate time of year. She actually chewed through the wires on more than one occasion. I remember her shorting out a brand new string of 35 lights purchased at the Rite Aid for $1.99. She had a kitten we named Leo until Leo had kittens and then she became Leona. I mistakenly ran over her tail with the car and it hung limp for a few weeks and then it just fell off. She survived just fine with just a stump of a tail and the vet didn’t find anything wrong after it literally fell off her body.

Truman reminds me of Waldo in attitude. Maybe it’s a ginger cat sort of thing. He enjoys my company on his terms and he’s always grateful for food and treats, but sometimes he wants to relax in close proximity, not near me.

I guess all us gingers are alike.

I don’t get ASMR. If you’re not familiar with ASMR, it stands for Autonomous sensory meridian response. You can read more here.

ASMR videos are all over YouTube. People basically whisper a regular type of activity in a certain way to evoke these tingling sensations for the listener. The enhanced focus on background and activity noises, coupled with the whispering, is suppose to make the listener feel good.

I’ve tried it a few times and I have felt no such response. If anything, I’ve found it irritating.

If other folks find it soothing and exciting and that it evokes tingling sensations I say have at it. In 2020 we need all the help we can get. I stumbled upon an ASMR video where a man was whispering his way through making a cake but he had a parrot or some other exotic bird making wild screeching noises in the background. I don’t think it’s suppose to work this way.

What does give me these tingling sensations I read about around ASMR is actually watching someone get a head massage. I’ve watched a few barbershop videos where a man is shaved by a barber with a straight razor and the barber massages the customer’s head at the end of the video. That gives me a tingling sensation in my head and I have no idea why. I think it’s because I’ve experienced the same sort of thing once in a while over the years and my brain is like, “hey yeah, that’s awesome!”. With COVID-19 being all the rage I don’t think I’m going to be in the situation to get a head massage after a barbershop shave anytime soon.

So I don’t get ASMR but I do get head massages for the tingles. Whatever floats your boat, right?

The remnants of Tropical Storm Christobel blew through the Midwest last night. We had some impressive wind and heavy rain but not much in the way of thunderstorms. The south side of Chicago and adjacent Indiana were under a tornado warning for a bit.

We have more stormy weather predicted for today. I can’t fly in this type of weather but I sure do enjoy watching and following the adventure. I have always enjoyed spring and summer thunderstorms. These days they rarely pan out to be as startling or severe as predicted. I know I’m older but I preferred the days when we didn’t really know what was coming and then we’d get startled awake by thunderclaps in the middle of the night.

Good times.

I sometimes mention that I’m cheering on the arrival of an asteroid. I really big asteroid. Given the choice this coming for November I’d probably vote for the asteroid.

Let me be clear, I’m not looking for an E.L.E., or Extinction Level Event. I don’t feel the need to do the dinosaur.

I just want an asteroid to pass by so close that it makes a really loud noise, the clouds get whipped around a bit, there’s some stronger than normal winds, and most importantly, the collective attention of humans is turned toward the Universe. I want a reminder of our place in the vastness of the cosmos. I want us to reset our perspective.

My husband and I were out for a walk this past weekend; we passed by several restaurants in the neighborhood that were opening up in a limited capacity. The current Chicago guidelines indicate social distancing measures, mask requirements, and table location requirements, namely that guests be seated in an outdoor or open air area. My husband and I, being middle aged guys at the moment, both needed to use the washroom and it was lunch time, so I hesitantly suggested we support a local business and eat at one of these newly opened restaurants.

The interior of the restaurant was cleared of tables. A space on the patio that would normally hold a dozen tables had seating for four different parties up to four individuals each. Everyone inside was wearing a mask, menus have been converted to paper editions, and there were cleaning supplies and hand sanitizer stations everywhere. Honestly, we both still feel rather uncomfortable with the idea of eating in public at the moment but we thought we’d give it a try.

The seating and server staff were fantastic. Social distancing was maintained, masks were worn properly, and it was obvious the team was going to extra mile to make sure everything was as clean as possible.

While we were eating a family of four parked their bicycles on the sidewalk out front and headed into the restaurant. They were loud and they had no masks on. Two of the kids started running around the place, and the apparent father made no effort to curb their behavior. One other party was at one of the four or five tables, so the hostess tried to seat them at a table away from the seated parties. The father wanted a different table in the corner and he insisted so they cleaned it up and over they went.

Not two minutes later the father decided they needed a different table, so he and the family went walking around, again without any sort of masks, and asked to be seated at a different table. The hostess was accommodating; they were reseated and the cleaning crew came in to sanitize the table they had just occupied.

The father then went out on the sidewalk to talk loudly on his phone; the kids ordered drinks and were making a bit of a ruckus at the table. A few moments later the father started eyeing a third table farther away from the hostess station, but then decided against relocating. Another phone call, he stepped away, and then he came back in and gathered everyone up and left the restaurant. Loudly.

The cleaning crew came in again and sanitized the second table, threw out the menus they had fondled, and tried to straighten up the place. The hostess ran to the back to cancel the drink order.

How rude.

I was hopeful that a Global Pandemic forcing us all to be responsible to quarantine and the like would help us re-evaluate our priorities and give us a sense of perspective. I know that I felt guilty the entire time we sat in that restaurant, as if it is much too early in this experience to be doing such a thing, and we decided that we’ll hold off before going out to eat again.

However, my concerns were confirmed; there are many that don’t want to embrace, encourage, or consider any sort of “new normal”. They want to go back to the selfish, immediate, hectic pace of life before the pandemic, and they’re not going to be happy until they can build the world in their image again.

I resolve this realization by imaging that asteroid swooping by, parting the clouds a bit, and forcing people into their homes. My imagination may be a little warped with this approach but it gives me comfort.

Every living thing known in the history of this planet has been on that Blue Dot shown in the photo above. We need to start realizing how insignificant we really are.

I enjoyed a bike ride today. It’s been a couple of weeks since my last bike ride, but the weather was beautiful and I was wanted to see how this fine city was holding up.

It’s holding up very well.

There were several cyclists on the street; a particular group was passing the other direction on Halsted. We were waiting at opposite corners when one of them called out to me and simply called me “Grandpa”.

This got my introspective side going, so I put together some thoughts.

To the young man in Boystown who felt it was prudent to shout “Grandpa” at me as I waited for the light on Halsted to turn green so I could continue my bike ride: THANK YOU. Your comment and observation prompted me to be reflective for the remainder of my ride. Now, I realize my 24-speed bike was built in 1999 and that my cycling garb is probably equally as old, all from before when you were born. Did you know that bike has over 20K miles on it? I have socks that show above the ankles and a handkerchief under my helmet to guard my aging bald head from the sun. But I’m thankful: I’ve survived spinal meningitis, had my “plumbing” replaced, and luckily have had no other close calls with death. I’ve been happily, actually blissfully married for nearly a quarter of a century. I have an unbelievable family, chosen, biological, and through marriage, that have shown me love I still can’t believe I’m worthy of. I can fly aircraft above the planet where there’s no borders, no boundaries, and no petty differences over skin color. I’ve shaken hands with CEOs of the biggest computer companies in the world, sang with Top 40 bands while hanging out in a bar in New Orleans, swam in three of the five Great Lakes, two oceans, been off my home continent, and been to cities where I didn’t speak the language. I’ve driven 15 hours to buy my husband an ice cream cone. I’ve lived where I’ve wanted to live, and have always found life where I looked for it. I’ve watched buildings fall down and others rise up. I’ve seen peace and have volunteered for war, only to be told I wasn’t the “right kind”. I’ve worked hard at minimum wage and I’ve worked hard at a very comfortable wage. I’ve watched friends die of AIDS and HIV and I’ve spray painted SILENCE = DEATH on sidewalks while your parents were probably still watching Barney. I’ve marched in parades and attended rallies so others could dance in the street holding hands with the ones they love. I’ve tried things Dr. Ruth would endorse with a standing ovation. I’ve strongly advocated for the less fortunate and been advocated for by people who strongly cared. I’ve been hugged at my job for being who I am and I’ve been threatened with a gunshot between the eyes for being who I am, yet here I am as I am. tl;dr? I’VE LIVED LIFE. Thank you for calling me, while nearing my 52nd birthday, Grandpa. While I have no grandchildren (the closest thing is a pineapple shark), I’m at the best point ever in my life and I’m proud of how I got here. Thank you for reminding me of how great I have it.

We have five months until the next Presidential Election. Like each season of “American Idol” being the best talent ever, this next Presidential Election is the most important election here in the United States of our lifetime. Except this is not a marketing ploy. We’ve been hearing about this 2020 election since the 2016 election. Usually I’d be sick of hearing about presidential candidates by now but they’re barely mentioned in the news cycle; there’s just too much chaos going on.

I currently believe we have a 50/50 chance of making it as a country until November. I’m surprised the folks that make the decision about the Doomsday Clock haven’t reconvened out of cycle and shoved that sucker even more perilously closer to midnight.

When I was back in high school learning about history we’d never get much beyond the very beginning of the 20th century. We’d run out of time before we had to cram for New York State Regents Exams, so we never really learned about the Korean War, the Vietnam War, or the racial divisions that plagued much of that century. I know there was a lot of societal upheaval in the year I was born but I don’t know the details. I feel that I’ve failed in not feeling motivated to learn more as an adult. I need to rectify that situation.

As bad as I sensed the late 1960s were I feel like what we’re experiencing here and now is just as bad as it was back then. It is different, but in too many ways it’s also the same.

Side note: I’m sitting on our balcony typing this and noticing a lot of helicopters are heading toward the south side of the city. I was hoping the relative calm vibe of today would pervade but I have a feeling something big is going on again.

I guess I was of the mindset that blatant racism would die off as older generations passed on. It’s apparent that I was wrong with that thinking; racism has been successfully passed on from generation to generation and unfortunately this is evident with who have been elected to positions in our government and the approach many take toward their fellow men and women.

I really hope we make it to the November elections and I doubly hope that the right choice is made at the voting booth. Since I’m on the fence as to whether we’ll make it through the end of 2020, I sure as hell know we don’t have a chance of surviving four more years of whatever this is we have today.