tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46628257204040738992024-02-06T22:30:01.276-08:00Biscuit CityDanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.comBlogger440125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-76080831189992049502013-03-02T05:14:00.000-08:002013-03-02T05:14:04.845-08:00We're Changin' Lodgin'!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrP6Lq7fo5F3XdAA_P60_uxNreuWfDCEINLhxPuvpq5MMd-plRDHMnz5kFACGqNME0hbUbEalKG4UQ6GInZHXtfxX4M_-Jo2U1OGwsmBkRNPwISjSMY9BXYwrewP_bAtyA_XfvxmnecON/s1600/Fagin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrP6Lq7fo5F3XdAA_P60_uxNreuWfDCEINLhxPuvpq5MMd-plRDHMnz5kFACGqNME0hbUbEalKG4UQ6GInZHXtfxX4M_-Jo2U1OGwsmBkRNPwISjSMY9BXYwrewP_bAtyA_XfvxmnecON/s1600/Fagin.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Those were, of course, the immortal words of Fagin in Dickens' <i>Oliver Twist. </i>Pictured above is Ron Moody, who did a wonderful job in the movie version of <i>Oliver!</i>, the musical version of the book. It is not a picture of me writing, although it could be.<br />
<br />
Anyhow, the Biscuit City operation is moving to Word Press starting Monday. Look for us at http://huckfinn47.wordpress.com/. If the browser dumps you out at <i>On the Wings of Morning, </i>my novel blog, you can read that too. Thanks for being a faithful reader and follower of <i>Biscuit City. </i>The dashboard shows 439 posts since May of 2011. If you've read them all, bless you, dear reader. If you haven't, bless you, too. Catch you on Word Press.Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-71759156052155442722013-03-01T03:46:00.000-08:002013-03-01T03:46:21.800-08:00Sign of Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEudQfBPd51PVzeeDVnJvB-bmOWDPWSqUjCSa6wqWWWknA663arNd3DSCDQ50zxSIqEiombdZRGUQ-BorJXKeDbRus99dhddY4ykj-s6r0EOeGk2uQXrIypqtgdONKnSqULQZMUHw9Knvs/s1600/Field+of+Dreams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEudQfBPd51PVzeeDVnJvB-bmOWDPWSqUjCSa6wqWWWknA663arNd3DSCDQ50zxSIqEiombdZRGUQ-BorJXKeDbRus99dhddY4ykj-s6r0EOeGk2uQXrIypqtgdONKnSqULQZMUHw9Knvs/s320/Field+of+Dreams.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sign of Spring</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
On the way home from church last Sunday</div>
I saw what I assumed was a father and son<br />
Playing catch in the front yard.<br />
The pro teams have been at it for a week<br />
At spring training in inconsequential games<br />
Unlike this father and son<br />
Whose game is consequential<br />
And makes me smile<br />
A sure sign of spring.<br />
<br />
--Dan VernerDanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-1945701241738776672013-02-27T05:45:00.000-08:002013-02-27T05:46:58.972-08:00Color My World…or Not<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1nkL1dxS1Hx5VIXu1aJ-zJQOMDbNZm3snyfgQaRBnuraS2oqVJ2BgnthrTeUZn3d53gqWJzbmbmnvczbkVFbTDWDNTwqqXhDN5Qz5k_sacn8_4jqPqaTUSBwO8WdZL-kt1T7fuM-mF-b/s1600/Color+Wheel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1nkL1dxS1Hx5VIXu1aJ-zJQOMDbNZm3snyfgQaRBnuraS2oqVJ2BgnthrTeUZn3d53gqWJzbmbmnvczbkVFbTDWDNTwqqXhDN5Qz5k_sacn8_4jqPqaTUSBwO8WdZL-kt1T7fuM-mF-b/s1600/Color+Wheel.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a color spectrum wheel! There are too many of them...ahhhhh...my eyes!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Among the many things I don’t understand, including
cricket and the International Date Line (Official Motto: Here to Confuse You),
are colors. Now, I know what a color is and can even recognize
some of them. Like most guys, my color
recognition skills are limited to about eight, which just happen to be the
colors in the eight-crayon box. Anything beyond that is, well, beyond the pale.
Or out of the box. I’m told that the human eye can distinguish about a million
different colors. Maybe I can, but I
don’t know their names and I certainly can’t coordinate them. For example, what
is fuschia? It sound like it should be a shade of pink and it is, but I had to
look it up. Or magenta. Is that greenish? No, it looks about like
fuschia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I think, also like most guys, I didn’t care about
colors to begin with except on cars. Then you have to have a cool color like
silver or black. None of those little
pastel colored girly cars—you know which ones they are. So, with such limited
experience, it’s no surprise that most guys do what I did until I got
married—wear variations of the same color—blue, brown, and if you’re
adventurous, green. My wife tells me
that she thought I was Mr. Monochromatic before we got married. She had since fixed that by buying my clothes
to make sure they match and also telling me what goes with what, usually with
an askance look and the phrase, “Those two things don’t go together.” Really, I’m grateful for the help. I am
confident there are men who read <i>GQ </i> and other magazines of mystery to me and know
about fashion and color, but they’re not me.
Obviously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another major experience where color deficiency
shows up comes when a room is to be painted.
Honestly, have you ever looked at the number of colors available? And some of the names for them? One of the rooms in our house is painted—and
this is the truth—a color called “Cotton Tail.” (It’s sort of off-white. I think.) It makes me dizzy just to go into
the paint department at a store. It used to be that you took something with the
color you want to match and the people at the paint store looked at it and
said, “Uh huh,” and <i>mixed up the exact
color you wanted. Out of millions of possibilities! How did they do this?</i> I once met a guy
who did this for Sherwin Williams for decades.
I asked him how he did it and he said, “I don’t know. I just look at a color and I know what
pigments will go into it. I think it’s a gift.” Now, of course, they have these
amazing scanner computers where you can take in a sample the size of a quarter
and they can match it from that! Every
time! It’s a modern miracle of
technology that deserves wider recognition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Generally, painting at our house starts with a room
that hasn’t been painted for a period long enough that the basic palette has changed.
If you don’t know, there is a palette of
colors which decides colors for everything and it changes every so often. Some
guy in Italy picks it out and everyone else just takes off with it. You can see this phenomenon at work when you
watch an old movie and think the film has faded or the dyes have gone
funky. Nope, those are the colors people
actually wore back then. Someone who is
very good at this can date a picture to within a year by the color palette. That’s kind of scary to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyhow, Becky decides a room needs to be painted and
chooses a color, usually based on a pillow or the mat in a picture. The rest of the color scheme flows from
that. I have consistently offered to
paint any room if she picks the color.
This arrangement has led to some rooms that are colors I would not
choose, like a pink living room, but I gave up the right to choose because,
well, I can’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, the color
is chosen, and I put the paint on. I
still enjoy painting. It’s relaxing and quiet and I can think about things like
why there are so many colors in this world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-55228304753472803942013-02-25T05:29:00.000-08:002013-02-25T05:29:13.804-08:00I Wish It Would Snow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-XTi9u9pq2AutCoFofz_czRP1wLGgTqeBuJ-p8C8WshyphenhyphenQo6M8VHCuOOpprtcgij6BPBNmiJPrep1PDw73cVxx4Wy2_UE5HVSTNW7yfiZ4a8Y1_7IC2TskzfNQ0MfdZBCWDLHxBpcHhqC/s1600/Snowy+Scene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-XTi9u9pq2AutCoFofz_czRP1wLGgTqeBuJ-p8C8WshyphenhyphenQo6M8VHCuOOpprtcgij6BPBNmiJPrep1PDw73cVxx4Wy2_UE5HVSTNW7yfiZ4a8Y1_7IC2TskzfNQ0MfdZBCWDLHxBpcHhqC/s1600/Snowy+Scene.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I wish it would snow. And since I'm wishing, I wish for about three inches of soft, fluffy snow, enough to close schools and give workers unscheduled leave or the opportunity to telecommute. I don't want a blizzard such as New England endured recently, just some quiet, beautiful snow that we can watch and enjoy, bake cookies and have homemade soup, sit by the warmth of a Duraflame log in the fireplace and read a good book or just doze off.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We've had a number of "clippers" come through this year, leaving a dusting on the grass and a few days of "wintry mix" which just makes a mess or ices things up. I don't want that. I want some <i>real </i>snow.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I think I also want the chance to slow down, to think about where we've been and where we're going, to count our blessings and to make plans. It seems we've experienced vicariously on the news a surfeit of violence and suffering, of evil and cruelty, and while I would affirm that the vast majority of people are kind and good, it becomes easy to focus on the negative. A good snowfall would go a long way toward remedying that.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's nearly March, and while we have had snow as late as May 1 around here (in 1962, to be exact), the time for snow this year is running out. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I was minded of the words to an anthem by American composer Joseph Martin, "Canticle of Peace." They are:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-style: italic;">
Peace, fall like a gentle snow.</div>
<div style="font-style: italic;">
Fall fresh on the wounded heart.</div>
<div style="font-style: italic;">
Come blanket our ev’ry fear</div>
<div style="font-style: italic;">
And let the healing start.</div>
<div style="font-style: italic;">
Cover ev’ry anxious thought,</div>
<div style="font-style: italic;">
And all our fears erase.</div>
<div style="font-style: italic;">
May we know the tender touch of love’s redeeming grace.</div>
<div style="font-style: italic;">
<br /></div>
(For more information on this anthem and its genesis, please visit <a href="http://www.cfuh.org/CanticlePeace.html" target="_blank">http://www.cfuh.org/CanticlePeace.html</a>. For a performance please visit <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEHEkHkDxJE" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEHEkHkDxJE</a> .)<br />
<br />
<br />Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-60116623446004167012013-02-22T06:06:00.000-08:002013-02-22T06:06:26.165-08:00Friday Poem of the Week--The Quilters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR999x56DgC4v5vim9rveB8rV752rdkvKw0pMXZ0E8_G0-sPmUtqB6_nL1J3yVmuoIe4JnfFEnQI5529dEhdgG0hj2cRGQ3XOVhIiSjUFz8tN3_6P6xrer1aa5UV2nJLDOOJTuew26IS2h/s1600/Quilters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR999x56DgC4v5vim9rveB8rV752rdkvKw0pMXZ0E8_G0-sPmUtqB6_nL1J3yVmuoIe4JnfFEnQI5529dEhdgG0hj2cRGQ3XOVhIiSjUFz8tN3_6P6xrer1aa5UV2nJLDOOJTuew26IS2h/s1600/Quilters.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Quilters</span><br />
<br />
<br />
I am painting a broad red stripe<br />
On a wall in the church outside the room<br />
Where the ladies quilting guild is meeting.<br />
My work requires no skill, just<br />
A can of paint, a tray and a roller.<br />
It's a big dumb job.<br />
As I roll on red enamel<br />
I hear them murmuring as they work<br />
Cooing like doves,<br />
Most of their words indistinct<br />
Although a few float out to the hall,<br />
"Kidney," "grandchildren," and "visit."<br />
I peek into the room to see them<br />
Bent over quilt squares, embroidery, counted cross stitch<br />
Faces relaxed as they talk and ply their skilled needles.<br />
I do my dumb painting<br />
While they are stitching their lives together.<br />
<br />
--Dan VernerDanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-4428478004156915122013-02-20T04:16:00.000-08:002013-02-20T04:16:24.761-08:00The Kids Are All Right<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7bJ9IwmnwNbfPBYEBDA4iV30qPt81D375aH-vjbUoyZUo-izXop9o5uhbT7hbO-9kONHr0PrwG9Piyrg7Bd3Nt4diY-8-6kVmt5hlkiNVxWmBf1Ea_QfkBaAHxyRyMuYWBT5luSpXIKEw/s1600/hippies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7bJ9IwmnwNbfPBYEBDA4iV30qPt81D375aH-vjbUoyZUo-izXop9o5uhbT7hbO-9kONHr0PrwG9Piyrg7Bd3Nt4diY-8-6kVmt5hlkiNVxWmBf1Ea_QfkBaAHxyRyMuYWBT5luSpXIKEw/s1600/hippies.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they
show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are
now tyrants, not the servants of their households. They no longer rise when
elders enter the room. They contradict their parents, chatter before company,
gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their
teachers.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(The
crossing of their legs really gets to me. You know?) Does this statement sound
about right about Kids These Days? Many of us would agree with the sentiments
expressed therein.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But
there’s a rub.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">These
words were written by Plato in the fifth century B.C. or found in an Egyptian
tomb from the Second Dynasty or engraved on a potshard from the T’ang Dynasty
in China. They’re not about today’s kids: they’re about <i>yesterday’s </i>youth<i>. </i>And
they’re about as old school as they come. That’s an idea that should bring
people up short.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It
does, but it doesn’t bring them up short for long, because the older folk love
to complain about the youngsters. They dress funny. They eat strange food. They
wear their hair in bizarre ways. And their music… <i>It’s so odd and so strange. You call that music?</i> <i>Not me—why back in my day music sounded like
music, not like noise…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And
they complain about the young folks’ work habits. They don’t work hard enough.
They’re unreliable. They don’t know what they’re doing. You know the list.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My
observation is that we have slackers in every generation (in my father’s time
they were called “goldbricks.”) I taught with a fellow whose big accomplishment
was getting to school at all. And it was said he did nothing at all when he got
there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
And, to be sure, there are young people who don’t do squat. I once had a
student whose avowed purpose in life was to “slack.’ And slack he did. He worked after school in a bakery, a job that
takes a concerted effort to slack off.. Some of my other students worked with
him and said, yes, he was slacker and created work for everyone else with his
dedication to slacking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Which
reminds me of The Three Rules of Work posited by the father of one my
daughters’ friends. These are simple and would make a difference if we all went
by them at work. They are:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">1.
Come to work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">2.
Do work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3.
Don’t create work for others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now,
it is my belief that the young people in our midst work hard and follow the
Three Rules of Work. Most people I know, in fact, work far harder than they
need to, often at a resultant cost. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Among
the young, since the best “potism” is nepotism, I think of our two daughters as
hard and exceptionally competent workers. Amy is a fourth grade school teacher
who impresses me with her dedication, skill, knowledge and compassion. She is
after thirteen years in the classroom head and shoulders as a teacher above what
I was after 32 years. Alyssa is funny, smart, empathic and knowledgeable in her
job as a H.R. specialist for a hugmongous corporation. If you want to know from
H.R., check with Alyssa. And if you need an advocate, you want her on your side
whether you have been abused by a indifferent faceless business or had a flight
cancelled, you want her to step up and get these folks to do the right thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then
there are our nephews, Jonathan and Joshua. Jonathan is the hardest working
fellow I know with an incredible sense of humor, and a kindness not often seen
in young men. Josh for some time now had been the coolest person I know and has
been all over his job since day one. They all make me so proud of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
asked Amy and Alyssa’s friends on Facebook to send me their occupations. Such a
list indicates the sharpness of these young people and how hard they have to
work:</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> HRIS analyst, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">quality assurance coordinator and trainer, realtor, financial representative, sales manager, associate pastor, military social worker, accountant, career counselor, transportation research scientist, administrator, assistant director of music ministries, vice president of a company, neighborhood HR lady, teacher, veterinarian, lawyer, college
professor, singer/cantor, cashier, executive assistant, kindergarten teacher's
assistant, p</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">ediatric
nurse, pediatric pharmacist, mother, single parent, soldier, Marine, and fire
fighter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Keep it up, guys! You kids are all right!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-32135077758560097742013-02-18T05:06:00.000-08:002013-02-18T05:06:23.760-08:00Throwing Away a Trash Can<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95r99DcZ-bUXYLwbD5vaOeUOjN5dBMtyM8_wqWsRPWr27YRsdCbhRDRHlEhZ28s9ZlMCfAD58Z8uD14OefYn5QFE_HblyPCyd1RGfxfzcMRTxUYKG-S0kBRfiB6BPTwt6beUXO8kAn0VG/s1600/trash+can.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95r99DcZ-bUXYLwbD5vaOeUOjN5dBMtyM8_wqWsRPWr27YRsdCbhRDRHlEhZ28s9ZlMCfAD58Z8uD14OefYn5QFE_HblyPCyd1RGfxfzcMRTxUYKG-S0kBRfiB6BPTwt6beUXO8kAn0VG/s1600/trash+can.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
This situation reminds me of the old joke about the man who owned a boomerang. He became very upset one day and made an appointment with a psychiatrist. When they met, the man was obviously agitated. "Tell me what is troubling you," the psychiatrist said.<br />
"It's my boomerang," the man answered.<br />
"Your boomerang?"<br />
"Yes, I keep trying to throw it away but it keeps coming back."<br />
<br />
I told you it was an old joke. And also not a very good one. But I was thinking of it a couple of weeks ago when I tried to throw an old trash can away.<br />
<br />
I put it out beside the main trash can since that was too full to put the discarded trash can into the main can.<br />
<br />
The nice trash people didn't take it.<br />
<br />
The next week, I did put it into the main trash can. They carefully left it by the curb.<br />
<br />
I'm glad they're careful to not throw away something that might be useful. But I didn't want the trash can any more. It was dirty and ripped up. So, I did what I should have done in the first place, and put it into a trash bag. The trash people took it. End of story.<br />
<br />
Life continues to have lessons to teach us, if only we look for them. I wish I had a nice aphorism to sum this up, but I don't. Sigh.Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-58531202524505879762013-02-15T03:34:00.000-08:002013-02-15T03:34:47.567-08:00Friday Poem of the Week--Teaching Irony Through Poetry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJZ_BbOyUyr4NKKp7y4Z0I6uBDYcZdTGxDHP-6Xza8ahjBrPbcY-DdhR3nEyzqxFoq3UwjxSU5Lsg-r_WOQIWvpIr-AtAtj4qEhQg24_lYLDKE4eLfUlHnKsaj4GGUO1HT1AqO3Ddkjyl/s1600/New+England+Stone+Wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJZ_BbOyUyr4NKKp7y4Z0I6uBDYcZdTGxDHP-6Xza8ahjBrPbcY-DdhR3nEyzqxFoq3UwjxSU5Lsg-r_WOQIWvpIr-AtAtj4qEhQg24_lYLDKE4eLfUlHnKsaj4GGUO1HT1AqO3Ddkjyl/s320/New+England+Stone+Wall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Teaching Irony through Poetry</span><br />
(for Mary G., who understood irony and so much else)<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">A Poem in the Form of a Dialogue between Teacher and Students</span><br />
<br />
Teacher: "Robert Frost's 'Mending Wall'<br />
Has an excellent example of the use of irony.<br />
Since you've all read it for homework<br />
Where is the irony in the poem?"<br />
<br />
Student: "In the title?"<br />
<br />
T: "Good guess, but no. Keep trying."<br />
<br />
S: "..."<br />
<br />
<br />
T: "Any other ideas?"<br />
<br />
S: "..."<br />
<br />
T: "What about the neighbor's statement, 'Good fences make<br />
Good neighbors?' "<br />
<br />
S: "That's not ironic; it's true."<br />
<br />
T: "Do you think Frost believed that it was true?"<br />
<br />
S: "Can we ask him?"<br />
<br />
T: "No; hes dead."<br />
<br />
S: "Bummer."<br />
<br />
T: "Yes, well, it happens to the best of us. Now, what if I told you that he believed the opposite?"<br />
<br />
S: "That good fences make bad neighbors?"<br />
<br />
T: "Yes, something like that."<br />
<br />
S: "That's not true--our neighbor has a dog that digs up our flowers and pees all over the lawn. My parents have asked them to put up a good fence to keep the dog out. They won't, so aren't they bad neighbors?"<br />
<br />
T: "Sounds like it."<br />
<br />
S: "So: no fences make bad neighbors. Good fences would make good neighbors where there's an untrained dog involved."<br />
<br />
T: "..."<br />
<br />
S: "So what was irony again?"<br />
<br />
T: "Let's try that another day. I've had too much fun today."<br />
<br />
S: "You always say that. Do you mean it?"<br />
<br />
T: "Oh, yes." With all my heart.<br />
<br />
--Dan Verner<br />
<br />
(Based on a number of dialogues with students over the years)<br />
<br />Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-80957670547602567722013-02-13T04:33:00.001-08:002013-02-13T04:33:49.353-08:00The Month of Love and Presidents<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1VSs5wq18ASZrfyapVFXypQqQG-0JzS73bi_JME9-GBft-wpkZ_v4eORs6-cLPDSNj0UCE9glqr_Je1on1prk4yEY9c9W0SMauBJmYELgnwK45HlXlH3BxlCJIX9xkZ8w5dgvag6BtsT/s1600/Abraham_Lincoln_November_1863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1VSs5wq18ASZrfyapVFXypQqQG-0JzS73bi_JME9-GBft-wpkZ_v4eORs6-cLPDSNj0UCE9glqr_Je1on1prk4yEY9c9W0SMauBJmYELgnwK45HlXlH3BxlCJIX9xkZ8w5dgvag6BtsT/s1600/Abraham_Lincoln_November_1863.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7fZ6-s41MXGQi3R31aLk3dNFk7dbe8RBlsB_tQidxXmRpL5S0kJitveVvVjAoZ05dA5-Xe3m1O01DSGOcRkw1LiDEvSTklr1kplu12DQtYbgk7-2B8FAUdKLtFN59IuSrd88-xQjL4c5/s1600/Burning+Love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7fZ6-s41MXGQi3R31aLk3dNFk7dbe8RBlsB_tQidxXmRpL5S0kJitveVvVjAoZ05dA5-Xe3m1O01DSGOcRkw1LiDEvSTklr1kplu12DQtYbgk7-2B8FAUdKLtFN59IuSrd88-xQjL4c5/s1600/Burning+Love.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgCTx251YDrCAQpaYVAiVLPis1dWALCJ3dn2HBUj-cuNT57CLCd2517uBk0Uw649mgpRosmMBDjAU5IJMBA_MP_109vurYBql-MUTFySAgPDZKjMVvDc1OKmlm6zaQSFpvAYjsOc_utjsY/s1600/Geo+Washington.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgCTx251YDrCAQpaYVAiVLPis1dWALCJ3dn2HBUj-cuNT57CLCd2517uBk0Uw649mgpRosmMBDjAU5IJMBA_MP_109vurYBql-MUTFySAgPDZKjMVvDc1OKmlm6zaQSFpvAYjsOc_utjsY/s1600/Geo+Washington.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">For some time now, I have
been curious about the exact designation of the federal holiday celebrated on
the third Monday of February. It poses a usage conundrum: is it Presidents Day,
or Presidents’ Day or President’s Day? If it is Presidents or Presidents’, then
the holiday would honor all Presidents, probably on the theory that the office
itself deserves honor and respect. Not
all Presidents were shining stars. You
can provide your own examples. Or it would honor Washington and Lincoln whose
birthdays were in February and who used to each have a holiday to himself. If
the designation is President’s Day, then it would be for one President. Do we get to choose in that case? Is someone
going to pick Martin van Buren?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">So, in the public interest
and to satisfy my own unnatural curiosity, I went to the horse’s mouth, or the
OPM web site and found the answer is…none of the above. The holiday is officially called Washington’s
Birthday. There’s no mention of other
presidents at all or even <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Lincoln</st1:place></st1:city>
whose 200<sup>th</sup> birthday celebration was a few years ago. There is a footnote to Washington’s Birthday,
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<i>This holiday is designated as
"Washington’s Birthday" in section 6103(a) of title 5 of the United
States Code, which is the law that specifies holidays for Federal employees.
Though other institutions such as state and local governments and private
businesses may use other names, it is our policy to always refer to holidays by
the names designated in the law.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Apparently among advertisers
and in the popular imagination the holiday became Presidents Day (supply your
own punctuation: I can’t help you there), probably because of the fond memories
many people have of a short month that used to have three distinct holidays.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">When I was a lad in school,
we celebrated three holidays in February, provided they fell on weekdays. I
think the Monday holiday was established to insure that we got at least two
days off that month. Every year for Washington’s Birthday we studied his life
and did skits, mostly involving cardboard axes and cherry trees. I wish they
had told us what we know now about <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state>.
He had quite a relationship with Sally Fairfax who ran Belvoir Plantation in
her husband’s absence and taught the young and untutored <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state> about social skills and
intellectual matters. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Martha Custis, a young widow, was apparently really attractive. She was running eight plantations when she
met <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state>
and there was quite a spark between them. And probably any grandparent could
identify with <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state>
when his step-grandson failed to graduate from three colleges and essentially
became what we would call today a slacker.
Nonetheless he built Arlington House as a tribute to his grandfather. <st1:state w:st="on">Washington</st1:state> was an
amazing figure, one without whom we would probably be a member of the British
Commonwealth, like <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region>
but without the mania for hockey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Lincoln</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">, too, was the subject of study and drama on his
birthday. Every seventh grader (part of
elementary school when dinosaurs roamed the earth) had to memorize <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Lincoln</st1:place></st1:city>’s Gettysburg
Address. The most convincing orator
dressed in costume and recited the speech before an assembly of the whole
school. I still remember large parts of
the address. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Lincoln</st1:place></st1:city>
was a phenomenal figure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I wonder if the skits and
shows that we did on these famous men were remnants of a custom before the days
of mass media. Kits and scripts were
available that allowed local communities to recreate national events. In the case of <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state>’s funeral, there were only
limited descriptions in newspapers and many people could not read anyhow. For a
small price, communities purchased staging directions and scripts that allowed
them to restage the funeral locally, with local people playing the parts of
famous figures. I believe this custom continued through <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Lincoln</st1:city></st1:place>’s death but faded from practice with
the advent of mass distribution periodicals and photography.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The other holiday was of
course Valentine’s Day which we celebrated enthusiastically with handmade
Valentines and Valentine mailboxes in classrooms. My daughter, who teaches fourth grade, tells
me the custom continues. A Valentine’s
party was the occasion for one of the best comments by one of her students. A girl looked around during the proceedings a
few years ago and said, “There’s way too much love in this room.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I do have to wonder, is it
Valentine’s Day or Valentines’ Day or Valentines Day? (Somebody stop me!) The first would imply only one Valentine (a
great idea if you are married) or a remembrance of the bishop Valentine. If it’s plural, that would account for the
thousands of elementary classrooms across the nation where <i>everyone </i>gets a Valentine.
Our teachers inspected every one to make sure we didn’t write something
like “You’re lucky you got this, you loser.” Such cruelty is possible among
children, but by and large the holiday was a grand occasion for good wishes and
a lot of candy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">So, whatever you call these
holidays and however you celebrate them, I hope you enjoy them all!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-46656087916104082392013-02-11T06:28:00.000-08:002013-02-11T06:28:10.733-08:00Singing a Song (or Several of Them)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-NQqZrf1bh_r9u-m66Ufc7m_Jse6pLFoSaQ4p7EWh7SNi6dX6TcL_MnQE1WYOrXvQmeqHUH9SzktC4bXWVY_YEYDmOlkPX8dLTbnxwsquN6hkbZA0ufClXhaQOe2wk0DQ5hLqsxbAmdh/s1600/DSCN7007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-NQqZrf1bh_r9u-m66Ufc7m_Jse6pLFoSaQ4p7EWh7SNi6dX6TcL_MnQE1WYOrXvQmeqHUH9SzktC4bXWVY_YEYDmOlkPX8dLTbnxwsquN6hkbZA0ufClXhaQOe2wk0DQ5hLqsxbAmdh/s320/DSCN7007.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not the Voices United Choir, but part of the audience at the Hylton Performing Arts Center during one of our Chorale concerts. I'm not sure why the lights are on since they're off during the concert. We can't see the audience, but we can hear them breathing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This past Saturday, we had our first rehearsal for Voices United 2013, a concert sponsored in recent years by the Manassas Chorale, which I am a part of.<br />
<br />
Voices United brings singers from all over the area from a variety of backgrounds to a two-day workshop with a guest composer director who works on the anthems with the group and then directs them in the concert Saturday evening. American composer Joseph Martin was our director last year; this year, we have Pepper Choplin, an outstanding composer and musician with over 2000 anthems to his credit.<br />
<br />
The VU 2013 Choir will be performing "One Voice" by Mark Hayes (a former VU director as well);"For the Beauty of the Earth" (arranged by English composer John Rutter, perhaps the premier composer in English today. Becky and I met him this summer and he is both charming and humorous. And musical.); "I'm Going Home," a Sacred Harp song arranged by Choplin; "River in Judea," a composed spiritual by Linda Marcus and Jack Feldman and arranged by John Leavitt; and "Create in Me" by local musician and composer Kimberley Hill, who will be singing in the choir. (This is Kim's third published anthem, and we are very proud of her.)<br />
<br />
<br />
The Voices United Concert takes place Saturday, March 16, 2013 at 7:30 PM at the Hylton Performing Arts Center on the Prince William Campus of George Mason University. Check the Chorale's website at <a href="http://www.manassaschorale.org/home.aspx" target="_blank">http://www.manassaschorale.org/home.aspx</a> for more information. I hope you'll come and I think you'll enjoy the concert!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-84236755063870808002013-02-08T03:21:00.000-08:002013-02-08T03:21:52.662-08:00Friday Poem of the Week--A Lesson on Metaphor<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrk_cZCCiJjrQx8GYA7zh9G9M3Fg2HQMFfNInAbGzbLOmXz4KQrlZrQToMZXU6ggBy2CnUQl7CEMnOC4frTazT7fuxchrkFUKcXPqctizx0IFJWbv0qxbZXYmjOExpA4uGzydiuV653gS/s1600/Sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrk_cZCCiJjrQx8GYA7zh9G9M3Fg2HQMFfNInAbGzbLOmXz4KQrlZrQToMZXU6ggBy2CnUQl7CEMnOC4frTazT7fuxchrkFUKcXPqctizx0IFJWbv0qxbZXYmjOExpA4uGzydiuV653gS/s400/Sun.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A hunka hunka burning...sun...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">A Lesson on Metaphor</span><br />
<br />
On a bright spring Friday, after lunch,<br />
I told a sleepy class,<br />
"This is an example of metaphor:<br />
'The evening sun is a dying ember.'<br />
Something is being compared to something else<br />
Essentially unlike it. Now give me another example."<br />
<br />
"The sun is a star," one boy ventured.<br />
<br />
A girl raised her hand, "The sun is a giant ball of<br />
Gas."<br />
<br />
Another boy said, "The sun is the sun."<br />
<br />
"No," I said. "Those are definitions, not metaphors.<br />
They're not comparing two essentially unlike things."<br />
<br />
"But," the first boy insisted, "They're true."<br />
<br />
"Unquestionably, they're true. They're just not<br />
Metaphors."<br />
<br />
"Are metaphors true?" asked the girl.<br />
<br />
The bell rang and they ran off before I could answer.<br />
I had no answer because metaphors are and are not<br />
True.<br />
It depends.<br />
<br />
The children ran off blinking in the spring sun.<br />
<br />
Maybe I should have taught science<br />
And not poetry.<br />
<br />
In science, the sun is<br />
A star<br />
A giant ball of gas<br />
A sun<br />
And not<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
A dying ember.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-47869334721545225422013-02-06T04:41:00.001-08:002013-02-06T04:41:34.657-08:00Nacho the Medical Cat<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1yh2Qjq1pnpiZjo26H16EhyphenhyphenP4C63e2yq241vGemOyLRShnq2Z5rNXZVb6yiZyIRRIgQo81GdhNW-UDeuFxb68KDvOhOYljijg_W2cvsfp9YFYKwJJuQfgX8cY9nRzhGMgErbPJHkoZkq0/s1600/Nacho+in+case.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1yh2Qjq1pnpiZjo26H16EhyphenhyphenP4C63e2yq241vGemOyLRShnq2Z5rNXZVb6yiZyIRRIgQo81GdhNW-UDeuFxb68KDvOhOYljijg_W2cvsfp9YFYKwJJuQfgX8cY9nRzhGMgErbPJHkoZkq0/s320/Nacho+in+case.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nacho the Medical Cat Off Duty in a D-28 Case<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Nacho the Cat, described accurately by her vet as a "dog in a cat suit" has been with us since 2002 or 3, when Alyssa picked her out from the animal shelter. She has taken a liking to me (so she's "my" cat) and is a terrific companion. However during these years we have noticed that Nacho also has medical training.<br />
<br />
When Becky broke her hip a number of years ago, while she was healing, Nacho came and got very close to the healing hip. As Becky underwent physical therapy and improved, Nacho moved to the bottom of the bed and then to a chair across the room and finally to the entrance of the room. She seemed to sense the progress of Becky's healing.<br />
<br />
We've since noticed this phenomenon on other occasions. I'm told by people who study cats that they see us as large cats who provide them food and protection. It makes sense that when they sense that their "big cat leader" is injured that they do what they can to protect their protector.<br />
<br />
So, there's another role for cats: they're cute, furry, entertaining, sure, but you can add body guard and healer to that list as well.Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-62222886556727389732013-02-04T05:23:00.000-08:002013-02-04T05:23:00.139-08:00Good Distances Make Good Neighbors<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNjzBnE0m6MgPeoXKIvbHn7xTiUfM8ZYwOF6qWv2C4wskng1YOPMwTYTBm0EczymO05gIdn3QYzQyKPqUKwhcTyXUXigL_t-j5Wt-7SGCH3eIqQVgcydvp3AYviP3EdjTp0A146y9qTvc/s1600/prairie+blizzard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNjzBnE0m6MgPeoXKIvbHn7xTiUfM8ZYwOF6qWv2C4wskng1YOPMwTYTBm0EczymO05gIdn3QYzQyKPqUKwhcTyXUXigL_t-j5Wt-7SGCH3eIqQVgcydvp3AYviP3EdjTp0A146y9qTvc/s400/prairie+blizzard.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from a 1908 blizzard in Minnesota. For illustrative purposes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
All this is with apologies to Robert Frost, of course, who did <i>not </i>believe that "good fences make good neighbors" and would be appalled to hear that line quoted as evidence that we ought to keep barriers up between ourselves. Tone is <i>so </i>important!<br />
<br />
OK, enough of that. I recently <i>The Children's Blizzard </i>by David Laskin (more information on this book is available at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Childrens-Blizzard-P-S-David-Laskin/dp/0060520760" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/Childrens-Blizzard-P-S-David-Laskin/dp/0060520760</a> ) and found it a striking and appalling account of a January, 1888 storm that struck the Great Plains unexpectedly and killed over 200 people, many of them children. The book tells about some of the children, wandering lost in the whiteout conditions of the blizzard, stumbled across houses of people unknown to them. The people took them in and saved their lives.<br />
<br />
I got to thinking that these pioneers lived miles apart and yet they could find help or rest at any house they came across. It was a matter of hospitality but also a matter of survival. If you're lost in such a situation, help would be where you would find it--and you would find it at any house.<br />
<br />
I couldn't help contrasting this community with the ones we live in. We are perhaps 100 feet from a neighboring house, and yet, if someone pounded on a door in this community seeking help or assistance, would they receive it? I know, our times are different; we must be careful; and there are other means of assistance available to us. (This post had its origin in an idle thought I had that if the children in the blizzard had had cell phones, so many of them would not have perished. Silly idea, I know.)<br />
<br />
So, perhaps there is something about being close to each other physically that deteriorates a sense of community. So many people around...someone else will take care of the needs.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Or will they?Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-79944892142774046802013-02-01T05:54:00.000-08:002013-02-01T05:54:50.435-08:00Friday Poem of the Week--Meditation on John Donne<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFwJVGdztgk6SYd09x_wCAKNAX_ZKna3xV2OJlwzNCUekqaiX2iSJdA7pyR-xw4mRvNKf5BHRD62Q48vvdIjtXN-mFD8Il5IsVICmfRnajWp6MZpC93nUxuAxBAik9hq6UOeOrHfj4gIsr/s1600/Death+Be+Not+Proud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFwJVGdztgk6SYd09x_wCAKNAX_ZKna3xV2OJlwzNCUekqaiX2iSJdA7pyR-xw4mRvNKf5BHRD62Q48vvdIjtXN-mFD8Il5IsVICmfRnajWp6MZpC93nUxuAxBAik9hq6UOeOrHfj4gIsr/s1600/Death+Be+Not+Proud.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mediation on John Donne</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
This past week a long-time church member<br />
Died suddenly, and while I did not know him well<br />
I was shocked and saddened by his passing.<br />
People at the church were as well, many of whom<br />
Knew him much better than I did<br />
And although we are "believers all who bear the name<br />
Of Christ the living Lord" and live in that hope,<br />
We still grieve<br />
For a life cut short<br />
For a family left behind<br />
For friends who now have one less friend<br />
And for ourselves.<br />
<br />
And yet we rejoice<br />
For a life well-lived<br />
For family and friends whose lives were touched<br />
For the world made a better place<br />
By a life and presence.<br />
<br />
And still we have hope<br />
Hope as certain as a promise<br />
As welcome as a warm day in winter<br />
As real as tomorrow's sunrise<br />
<br />
We grieve and<br />
We rejoice and<br />
We have hope.<br />
<br />
--Dan VernerDanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-67128292170036460572013-01-30T08:45:00.000-08:002013-01-30T08:45:20.933-08:00Technology Wednesday--Technology that Consistently Works WellWe haven't had a Technology Wednesday for a while, and I just checked and technology is still with us, so why not?<br />
<br />
I think I thought of writing about technology since I've been, uh, engaged in trying to get my scanner to work this week.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VchuwV0a3DX4VEONszc3hOFAnYcUCYvEQbqPXRk_94kgSzBbDyDhl_n5-XssvIMoMN8EZwN6GIFyLb2ARIyJMBJ3XwEV7y3CZMYpFy-WI9wMOfTelTJimsqBtIciKA09A9aO46Lon3Zh/s1600/All-in-One.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VchuwV0a3DX4VEONszc3hOFAnYcUCYvEQbqPXRk_94kgSzBbDyDhl_n5-XssvIMoMN8EZwN6GIFyLb2ARIyJMBJ3XwEV7y3CZMYpFy-WI9wMOfTelTJimsqBtIciKA09A9aO46Lon3Zh/s1600/All-in-One.jpg" /></a></div>
I have one of those all-in-one printer/scanner/copier/fax machines, and to this point, it has worked well. I especially like the scanner function because I can scan funny cat pictures and send them to people I know. Yes, I know there are other ways to do that. I just like using the scanner.<br />
<br />
But then I "upgraded" to Windows 8 a few weeks ago. Dear Microsoft: Windows 8 is pretty to look at, but <i>where is everything? Where's my Start button? I can't find programs! I can't find files! I promise I won't even make fun of your putting the "Stop" function on the "Start" icon. Just put it back, please!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I feel better now. Anyhow, my all-in-one printer/scanner/copier/fax machine wouldn't work all of sudden, and I surmised its printer driver needed an upgrade. I hied myself off to the Brother support site to see what I could find there and after an exhaustive search among posts and replies on the help pages, found that the LAN connection I was using with the printer didn't support scanning. I would have to switch the machine over to a USB connection. Once I found a twelve foot USB cable. Which I did after a few days, hooked it up and scanned away. Except the automatic data feeder (ADF) didn't work with the scanner. I suppose I should be happy it works at all.<br />
<br />
Clearly printers and even computers are not high on the list of consistently reliable technology. I became so frustrated with one printer (long since sent to the electronic recycling bin) that I literally wanted to throw it through a closed window into the yard two stories below. I didn't, but the impulse was there.<br />
<br />
I got to wondering, what <i>is </i>a consistently reliable technology? I've written enough for this time, so I'll save that topic for another time. In the meanwhile, what are your nominees for most consistently reliable technology? (I know, it depends on the meaning of "technology." Yup, it does.)Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-25735927861509184392013-01-28T06:23:00.000-08:002013-01-28T06:23:17.491-08:00Familiar--and Familial--Phrases<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs41E7g84OqzUlMLzDj2zkpbLIUT_9crsP6Rkh4fLqusxcm6n8xG9HJH4qf49a3J_nF7MkJWIi9fm7QMJ1W2tV1NCGi6D1gar48ifk0h4ZtK7yJoGv9XOgC0nSDbiyPZGRn0FX8hUXxe0R/s1600/Cattle+Herd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs41E7g84OqzUlMLzDj2zkpbLIUT_9crsP6Rkh4fLqusxcm6n8xG9HJH4qf49a3J_nF7MkJWIi9fm7QMJ1W2tV1NCGi6D1gar48ifk0h4ZtK7yJoGv9XOgC0nSDbiyPZGRn0FX8hUXxe0R/s400/Cattle+Herd.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Careful. These animals might have the <b>epizootic.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm not sure that our family is unusual in that we have certain code phrases from our shared experience that we make use of in certain situations. That's as clear as the tax code, so I'll try to explain. Here are some examples (the ones I can make public, anyhow):<br />
<br />
The term <b>epizootic </b>for a human illness. Becky's mother used this before we were married. She wasn't feeling well, and when Becky asked her what she had she replied, "I guess I got the <b>epizootic.</b>" I thought initially she had made the term up or that it was a bit of local dialect. I looked it up, and it's a word, meaning "disease of animals." This use of the word struck me as incredibly clever and extremely funny, so much so that the mere mention of the term sent me into gales of laughter for months afterward. So watch out for the <b>epizootic</b>: you don't want to get it!<br />
<br />
Another code phrase came from Becky's grandmother long before I met Becky. The family was watching television and Kate Smith was singing. Becky's grandmother came in, quickly looked at the set and exclaimed, "<b>That woman's big enough to be Kate Smith.</b>" She was because it <i>was </i>Kate Smith (just wanted to point that out). This phrase is used when something is self-evidently evident. One of us might say, seeing someone across a parking lot unexpectedly, "That looks like Tom Wilson." If it <i>is </i>Tom Wilson, the other will reply, "<b>And that woman's big enough to be Kate Smith.</b>" (Trust me, this makes sense in context.)<br />
<br />
The last phrase I wanted to mention (there are many, but they're too embarrassing to put here) has to do with a lady at the church (who has since passed on) who fixed meals for functions at the church. She had a heavy hand with the sugar scoop, so her sweet iced tea came out <i>sweet. </i>I'll call her Grace Jenkins, which was not her real name, but it will help to make the point. Any overly sweet tea we call "<b>Grace Jenkins tea</b>." And <i>we </i>know what we mean.<br />
<br />
Maybe you have some sayings or words in your family. If you do, send them along in a comment. I'd love to publish some of them in a future post.<br />
<br />
Bonus terms: Becky is an excellent cook, and has only had a couple of disasters in the 39 years we've been married. One time, the oven stuck and the meatloaf came out looking like a big charcoal briquette. Becky called it "<b>forest fire meatloaf</b>," and the term has stuck to any overdone item. There were also <b>microwave pork chops</b>, a code term for any underdone food, from our attempt to fix pork chops in the microwave. They came up so underdone I thought I could hear them squealing. We would have been better off baking them in the Easy Bake Oven with its light bulb heat source. (See last week's blog about this sterling toy.)<br />
<br />
<br />Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-68136246980207353602013-01-25T04:38:00.000-08:002013-01-25T04:38:49.087-08:00Poem of the Week: Richard Blanco's Reading at the Inauguration<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsZouZyS8fMMDU7rp4gIAMWC1-drFYuqP6fP91CN9Te9vzZoQ-2F0CvD5A_ZFjL6UQPjU8f1lFTkRogbT5YLp4WDtq7fm8A2lt21eBAO_Mwm-DwrI3lT0mbq-AlnrZF8LAFdXiZN294CV/s1600/Richard+Blanco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsZouZyS8fMMDU7rp4gIAMWC1-drFYuqP6fP91CN9Te9vzZoQ-2F0CvD5A_ZFjL6UQPjU8f1lFTkRogbT5YLp4WDtq7fm8A2lt21eBAO_Mwm-DwrI3lT0mbq-AlnrZF8LAFdXiZN294CV/s1600/Richard+Blanco.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
A video from ABC News of Richard Blanco reading "One Today" at the ceremony this past Monday:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mDrk8AC4G4" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mDrk8AC4G4</a>Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-81705736935929637312013-01-23T05:19:00.000-08:002013-01-23T05:19:34.187-08:00Cat Fishing<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje79oxFx-TDN70NxpOBLultPi2yiIsr4NNYwCulVz4iVmRDlqunNmGhsgCqn6zF8G8TWGs5fWBOcFAsX8owOGRmx9ILxpd__xxiM5Vwc20jqG1MIdpOOHcivr11ee6sdEALanXGAB1fCYO/s1600/Big+Catfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje79oxFx-TDN70NxpOBLultPi2yiIsr4NNYwCulVz4iVmRDlqunNmGhsgCqn6zF8G8TWGs5fWBOcFAsX8owOGRmx9ILxpd__xxiM5Vwc20jqG1MIdpOOHcivr11ee6sdEALanXGAB1fCYO/s320/Big+Catfish.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob and Dick were excited about the big catfish their friend Steve caught using only his hands, but sorry that it swallowed him in the process.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now, to a boy from Georgia, cat fishing used to mean going out to the river where the big ones lie in wait with your pole and can of worms and trying to catch one of those big whiskered fish to take home to fry up and eat. Not that I actually ever did this. My fishing expeditions were few and far between, and when I did manage to catch something, it was usually a perch or bluegill. There was more to eat off a jumbo shrimp.<br />
<br />
I've also seen shows about guys with some skill and less sense who catch catfish by hand. This process is called noodling, and it involves sticking one's arm and hand into an underwater hole where the catfish hangs out. When the fist tried to escape, it usually clamps onto the noodler's hand, who quickly grabs the cat by a gill and hauls it out of the water. That is, if a snapping turtle or poisonous snake is not living in the hole formerly occupied by the catfish. Other outcomes follow from this scenario, including but not limited to the loss of fingers and death. I think I had an uncle who noodled for catfish, though I'm not sure. We called him "Seven-Finger Bob" after he disturbed a snapping turtle. (I made that up because deception is related to the theme of this post. Trust me.)<br />
<br />
But I'm not here to talk about <i>that </i>kind of cat fishing. I found out just the other day about another kind which involves the mighty river of the internet. And deception. Lots of deception. According to the online Urban Dictionary ( http://www.urbandictionary.com), a "catfish" is "someone who pretends to be someone they're not using Facebook or
other social media to create false identities, particularly to pursue
deceptive online romances." "To catfish" is to fool someone using the internet by creating a false identity.<br />
<br />
All this came up after the revelation that Notre Dame football player Manti T'eo was hoodwinked into thinking that a non-existent young woman was his girlfriend. It's more complicated than it sounds (for more of the story, go to http://abcnews.go.com/US/notre-dame-football-star-manti-teo-dead-girlfriend/story?id=18232374 ), so it's about more than a delusional young man creating an ideal relationship. Officials at Notre Dame believe he was the victim of a cruel hoax, and I suppose there are some things to be learned from this.<br />
<br />
One is that online relationships are not real relationships. I've had the experience of "getting to know" people in our local writers' group on Facebook, but I've always wanted to meet them in person, although months might elapse before we do so. A second learning is, not everything on the internet is true. (Notice the number of times I steered readers to the web in this post. Uh, yeah, I did.) We still have to check out what appears to be true. When I was teaching, we told students to not believe everything they read. That advice still holds true, perhaps even more today. And, third, the human heart, while capable of much that is good--love, respect, caring, sacrifice--also may be a place of darkness.<br />
<br />
Be careful out there. Every fish swimming in the sea ain't necessarily a cat fish.Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-65428101107208170352013-01-21T05:37:00.001-08:002013-01-21T05:37:49.136-08:00A Day of Service<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNAjHXTmUXcDb3es3wsfIPu7UhbG_pK_FgkUelJTdyiCd30u__1eAdnNWo8Kr7AZBSx7QWbWxvcMhLtcvlyZtc1VMgsVLuIbacvKy-axf_OhKEQDg3wUorkBffQVhRU4mquTzXFq9EIedm/s1600/MLK+Day+service+photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNAjHXTmUXcDb3es3wsfIPu7UhbG_pK_FgkUelJTdyiCd30u__1eAdnNWo8Kr7AZBSx7QWbWxvcMhLtcvlyZtc1VMgsVLuIbacvKy-axf_OhKEQDg3wUorkBffQVhRU4mquTzXFq9EIedm/s320/MLK+Day+service+photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Last Saturday was the National Day of Service (more information at http://www.2013pic.org/service). I know <i>Biscuit City </i>readers are involved in all kinds of service year 'round, and I salute you for that. I'd like to suggest one way local folks in the Manassas/Prince William area can be of service to some of our older residents. These people by and large don't "do computers," and with the recent loss of the <i>News and Messenger </i>print edition, I've heard a number of them say they have no way of keeping up with recent news, including deaths and obituaries. (<i>Prince William Today </i>comes out once a week)<br />
<br />
So, my suggestion for service is this: if you know someone who can't or doesn't go online for news, give them a call or, even better, a visit, and take a few minutes to catch them up on the local news, not just the recent deaths. I know they will appreciate it and I believe you will enjoy making a difference in their day.<br />
<br />
Here's the website for local news coverage: http://www.insidenova.com/Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-45913281887579674382013-01-18T04:07:00.000-08:002013-01-18T04:07:23.355-08:00Poem of the Week-- Correspondence with My Brother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKk8sPiNo_7uxz0ijI-WFG9L0ewr3O8sqzgA_yAYsoNYSr9iU9fts0HnQmm2rRXilcZ5IcWIrq8KYvRdZk0eedSNIP0ZU2k1SXoAmjJdaMpZVhsOwQatB8wiJTNUh4VJ4R2hRa0MbSnk5Y/s1600/Stamped+Addressed+Envelope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKk8sPiNo_7uxz0ijI-WFG9L0ewr3O8sqzgA_yAYsoNYSr9iU9fts0HnQmm2rRXilcZ5IcWIrq8KYvRdZk0eedSNIP0ZU2k1SXoAmjJdaMpZVhsOwQatB8wiJTNUh4VJ4R2hRa0MbSnk5Y/s1600/Stamped+Addressed+Envelope.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Correspondence with My Brother</span><br />
<br />
Amy is in the dining room<br />
Writing a letter to a friend<br />
Dark hair falling around the paper.<br />
She does not move<br />
Except for her hand<br />
While I range between<br />
Refrigerator and stove and table<br />
In the kitchen<br />
Preparing dinner.<br />
<br />
She is composing her life.<br />
<br />
I am glad, Ron, that I have you to write to<br />
Since we don't see each other enough<br />
And don't have much of a chance to talk.<br />
Our lives are so busy and<br />
Without someone to write to<br />
I am not myself.<br />
To be myself<br />
I thought I needed to read<br />
But this summer I read nothing<br />
And it made no difference<br />
But I do need to write<br />
And I need to write to you.<br />
<br />
Amy is in the dining room<br />
Writing to her friend.<br />
<br />
I am in the kitchen<br />
Washing potatoes and<br />
Writing this in my head<br />
To you.<br />
<br />
We are composing our lives.<br />
<br />
--Dan Verner<br />
<br />Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-32418204358561826572013-01-16T05:06:00.000-08:002013-01-16T05:06:37.764-08:00The Story of the Easy Bake Oven (A Cake Tale)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQ3iJ1gZTeSirN9hBqL3LWSZcoRGiSD1dkq1ArWUTJ7309D5xvzUgyZfou50yrFzDUX9aBdNbo_VVqSGzr1gQyyika8VNZMPo1Z-vNJ0P30OGmOHpLKiO0B5babZ5Q_2_65dCQ-X0DE_Y/s1600/Tasty+Bake+Oven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQ3iJ1gZTeSirN9hBqL3LWSZcoRGiSD1dkq1ArWUTJ7309D5xvzUgyZfou50yrFzDUX9aBdNbo_VVqSGzr1gQyyika8VNZMPo1Z-vNJ0P30OGmOHpLKiO0B5babZ5Q_2_65dCQ-X0DE_Y/s320/Tasty+Bake+Oven.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Light bulb not included." Should have been a clue.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Cindy Brookshire, </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Write by the Rails guru and </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">a wonderful writer who works in all sorts of genres wrote this recently: </span><i style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">We all have a cake story. Lianne Best wrote about her chocolate pound cake gone lopsided in a <a href="http://manassaslocal.com/2013/01/14/second-cake-try-ends-with-smoke-dripping-dollops/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">“Mom on the Run” column</a>. Now there’s a “Bake Off” challenge on the Write by the Rails website to see how many cake stories we can raise.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white;">
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">As I thought about this passage, I realized that even I have a cake story. And I don't bake cakes. Well, once. So here's the story. I call it </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">“The Great Easy Bake Oven Cake Fiasco.” </span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Let me preface this tale by saying that women seem to do most of the cake baking in this world, although many bakers are men. Alyssa's betrothed (she hates the word "fianc</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">é) Chris B. (to distinguish him from Amy's bf, Chris M.), is a wonderful baker. He made little covered wagon cupcakes complete with little animal cracker oxen pulling them for Alyssa's Oregon Trail-themed birthday party last year. Believe me, Chris B. can bake a cake for me <i>any </i>time.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Which is not to say that I am completely lost in a kitchen. I am a fair-to-middling cook and would likely not sicken most of the people I feed. I cook for ordinary situations. When it comes to the big celebrations though--Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs--and there is a family meal where everyone brings a dish, I make the iced tea (if it's <i>chez nous--</i>it's easier that way). The real cooks in the family handle the main and side dishes. I know my place in the food chain. (Pun intended.)</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">But baking, as I have said, not so much. My ineptitude was confirmed when one of the girls received an Easy Bake Oven for a present. The commercials make it look easy to produce delicious, actual edible cakes and cupcakes in the Oven. Here's a commercial from that era. It speaks with forked tongue. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fT-Oia09fBE (Note that the name of the product was actually the Tasty Bake Oven. I think I have suppressed that bit of information.)</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">So, we were set to have some father-daughter baking fun with the new oven. The cake mix came in cute little boxes, like the real cake mixes, only smaller. We mixed it up and put it in the cute little cake pans and put the cute little cake pan in the cute little oven and plugged it in and waiting to taste the results of our labors. And waited. And waited.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">"Baking time" was supposed to be two minutes. After two minutes, the alleged cake was still a glutinous mass. And after five minutes. And ten minutes. It simply wouldn't turn into a cake.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">The girls were disappointed. So was I. And after some thought, I ascertained the problem: the source of heat for the oven was a 60-watt light bulb. No wonder it wouldn't bake. It was about like holding the cake pan over a living room lamp and expecting it to bake.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Together, we worked out that we could use full size cake mix boxes and the oven in the kitchen to bake cakes. That worked well, but I think the emotional trauma of the Easy Bake experience put me off baking cakes forever. No doubt with proper treatment I could turn into a Cake Boss. But it's too late for me now.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">I know that other people have had spectacular success baking over a light bulb. I've even seen accounts of people fixing full Thanksgiving meals with an Easy Bake. (Didn't say how long it took--days, probably.) But in our family, sadly, Easy Bake has become a code term for Never Baked or Half Baked or Misrepresentation in Advertising. I should have taken the thing back. Maybe it was defective. In truth, I think I was too embarrassed to admit that I actually thought you could cook a cake, even a small one, over an incandescent bulb. Maybe our magic was not strong enough. Either that or we needed 75 watts of blazing oven power. Yeah...that's it. </span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-85348043712772828392013-01-14T06:14:00.002-08:002013-01-14T06:14:30.326-08:00Well Vetted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQyaQl95ZX0q3rNSR7_6nDaODHE1imH5aB9_U3ry8pLEfi71D-KBh4OnG8pE4H8_MgILS9HoNFd9YgeWy5cEA8gMIKWwPAyJdNcR6jwE0nd_LIkBogbDaGRJW42ZRehMkaGOOlRijrnDb/s1600/pwah+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQyaQl95ZX0q3rNSR7_6nDaODHE1imH5aB9_U3ry8pLEfi71D-KBh4OnG8pE4H8_MgILS9HoNFd9YgeWy5cEA8gMIKWwPAyJdNcR6jwE0nd_LIkBogbDaGRJW42ZRehMkaGOOlRijrnDb/s320/pwah+sign.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
We have always had at least one cat in the house since we set up housekeeping nearly 40 years ago, and most of the time, two felines. Yep, we're cat people, and most of that time we have taken our critters to Prince William Animal Hospital on Nokesville Road south of Manassas. The care for our pets has been outstanding. The love of the whole staff for animals is evident, and they have gotten us through injuries, infections, diabetes, and the death of at least a couple of our charges.<br />
<br />
So, here's to you, Drs. Brown, Verloop, Nostrand, and Scher (and Medici, who is no longer with the practice), vet techs Xander, Philip, and others whose names I don't know; receptionists Carleigh, Rachel and Tonya (and others again whose names I don't know). All of you are top notch in our book!Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-65679588447178689922013-01-11T06:23:00.005-08:002013-01-11T06:23:44.859-08:00Poem of the Week--Gliding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVROcffKgjWYxSFES8B-piCYTD1P-v8Yk0s12ME8iRs7B5Zqhe5IhIPNGNtaka2B9BCvtUfaYwBz2qKqGxpUK5i3ckj_VMhJ133CxUQgsgHpjzzl5fhk16Fy8HSWfRelmTVJC7uv20gZt/s1600/Shopping+Cart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVROcffKgjWYxSFES8B-piCYTD1P-v8Yk0s12ME8iRs7B5Zqhe5IhIPNGNtaka2B9BCvtUfaYwBz2qKqGxpUK5i3ckj_VMhJ133CxUQgsgHpjzzl5fhk16Fy8HSWfRelmTVJC7uv20gZt/s320/Shopping+Cart.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Gliding</span><br />
<br />
Looking for a new Christmas tree<br />
After Christmas<br />
I saw a plumber at Home Depot<br />
Returning a shopping cart from his truck<br />
Gliding<br />
In an easy fluid motion<br />
Across the parking lot<br />
As he returned the cart.<br />
<br />
And I thought, how very like<br />
<br />
A Shakespearean actor "taking the stage"<br />
A ballerina moving into place under the lights<br />
A NFL wide receiver gliding into the end zone<br />
<br />
And I thought,<br />
<br />
They were all<br />
<br />
Gliding.<br />
<br />
And, my heart lightened<br />
By an unexpected moment of grace,<br />
As I walked to my car,<br />
I felt as if I too were<br />
<br />
Gliding.<br />
<br />
--Dan Verner<br />
<br />Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-78629136314297577942013-01-09T05:50:00.000-08:002013-01-09T05:50:46.366-08:00Technology Wednesday--The Paper Chase<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIsuXTKPwGmHArPCsRCYHmvV4MTrSutyjd8ekP51Tf4U4bT8TGAPfoZIANdk91BJKm6EKAdOkLsZzhSFbwgDKOw9h40vgep9du-qWvoJSVvsxc9tGV7AebLFl9S2V1rYFn__p2jE8mfd-/s1600/Recycling+Bin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIsuXTKPwGmHArPCsRCYHmvV4MTrSutyjd8ekP51Tf4U4bT8TGAPfoZIANdk91BJKm6EKAdOkLsZzhSFbwgDKOw9h40vgep9du-qWvoJSVvsxc9tGV7AebLFl9S2V1rYFn__p2jE8mfd-/s400/Recycling+Bin.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our recycling bin looks like this except for the aqua top. Many of the bins I found pictures of were blue. What's with that? I've never seen a blue recycling bin. And it wouldn't go with our house, which is sort of cream-colored.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For just a couple of people, Becky and I generate a lot of paper at home. I suppose that's to be somewhat expected since I do a lot of writing and she is involved with a lot of music. Both of these in some guise require paper. (Or at least they do now.) I do write on a word processor, and <i>Biscuit City </i>is produced online (news flash), but I print out drafts for revision. I can see errors and problems on a hard copy more readily than on a screen. It's a holdover from the days when I hand wrote everything, or typed it. As for music, we have the music for the Manassas Chorale (which Becky directs) shipped to our house, so we have a lot of boxes. We also order a fair amount online, which means more boxes. Then there's the regular mail, fully half of which is, uh, direct marketing.<br />
<br />
We have a recycling bin, which holds about two bushels of stuff. It used to live in the kitchen, but has gotten torn up thorough heavy use. It now lives on the porch and we have a nice recycling bag. I empty both bin and bag into the 55-gallon wheeled recycling bin that the City of Manassas provides, and we more than fill it up each week before it's picked up with the trash on Thursdays. And this is from two people.<br />
<br />
A "paperless office" was predicted as early as 1975. Instead of paper output lessening, it has increased siunce then because of the ease of producing documents. Today, the average office worker produces two pounds of paper a day. I think we're right up there with them on that.<br />
<br />
Of course we use computers. I first used them at school in 1985, but I still use a lot of paper. Part of it is that I realize that digital entities have a way of disappearing, so I don't trust them entirely. I keep a calendar on my i-Phone, but back it up with a paper copy. My novel is saved on a hard drive, a thumb drive and also on a cloud (or my castle on a cloud, I'm not sure which), but I still run a hard copy every once in a while. I hope it wouldn't come to typing it all over again, although that might improve the manuscript.<br />
<br />
What's your experience with paper? Are you using more or less? Are you overwhelmed by great piles of it as we are? Any ideas on how to control it are welcome--I'll be glad to take a page out of your book...as long as I don't have to recycle it.Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4662825720404073899.post-947304984077351432013-01-07T05:18:00.000-08:002013-01-07T05:18:14.691-08:00We’re Baaack…with Some Changes<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKb4XbgRkqoqlxSLMOSYVOgYCXG8KJjJldP0jmia-qygWzgL7R22Q9wxnVTn9WAjgncrAfKHR9NKowlGlSicoySvOa_ua2nkJRr8KMjAwkJSUZ0RAxy8rHkphBNH1kyQ0GyNi0YzDeX1xa/s1600/Calendar+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKb4XbgRkqoqlxSLMOSYVOgYCXG8KJjJldP0jmia-qygWzgL7R22Q9wxnVTn9WAjgncrAfKHR9NKowlGlSicoySvOa_ua2nkJRr8KMjAwkJSUZ0RAxy8rHkphBNH1kyQ0GyNi0YzDeX1xa/s400/Calendar+2013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, all right, the staff of Biscuit City has returned
to work more or less intact from their two weeks off. We hope everyone had a
nice break, a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year’s celebration (within
bounds—Molly Bolt is not pleased she had to dip into petty cash to wire to
spring Nancy and Harrison out of the New Orleans jail, nor was she impressed at
being called at 4 AM New Year’s Day to be asked to do so. But all’s well that
ended well).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, about the changes (other than to the personnel
handbook): loyal readers and followers of <i>Biscuit
City<b> </b></i>should know that we’ll be
changing from a weekdaily publishing schedule to a thrice weekly publication.
The staff has some other irons in the fire and also writing projects, including
a novel in revision, an online column, and later on in the year (perhaps), a
second edition of Write by the Rails’ anthology, <i>New Departures (</i>available from WBTR members and also on Amazon.com)<i>. </i>The first magazine sold over 300
copies, so we’ll see if we want to go for a second one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Look for <i>BC
</i>on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And to all of you, the happiest and
most prosperous of New Years!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12794467539386678686noreply@blogger.com0