An Announcement, a Heartfelt Wish and a Poem for Our Times

First of all, it's time for Christmas vacation for everyone here at the Biscuit City Studios. We'll be taking a break until after New Year's Day. On behalf of the management and staff, I want to wish everyone the most blessed and peaceful of Christmases and a prosperous and happy New Year.

American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow heard church bells ringing on Christmas Day of 1864. The war had been going on for over three years, and as he reflected on the bells and life at the time, he put his thoughts into a poem, "Christmas Bells." Some of the verses were later set to music. The words, thoughts and feelings still speak to our circumstances today.

Christmas Bells

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


Then from each black accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"


Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Making a Difference, and Merry Christmas

"Oh, Father, it feels just like we're in a Victorian Christmas card!" exclaimed Tiny Tim.

I think we’ve all heard of cases where one person makes a difference. The 1960 Presidential election was won by less than one vote per precinct. Occasionally there are stories in the paper about people with humble jobs who manage to give a great deal of money to charity. Then there are those charismatic figures like Dr. Paul Farmer chronicled in Tracy Kidder’s Mountains beyond Mountains who through their energy, hard work and compassion make a difference. Sometimes, though, we think that as ordinary individuals we can’t make much of a difference.

Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol has probably contributed to more people’s image and idea of Christmas than any other work outside the Nativity story in the Gospels. Yet, in 1842, the year before the story was written, Dickens was almost a failure as a writer. He had had great success with his first five novels, but the next three books did not do as well.  His father had spent time in a debtors’ prison (the dumbest idea ever thought of) and, at age 31 with a large family to support, Dickens saw himself sliding toward the same fate.

It was A Christmas Carol that saved him.  Written in six weeks, it was not enthusiastically received by his publishers, so Dickens took it upon himself to be responsible for the book’s publication.  The publisher received a commission based on sales and Dickens bore all other costs. The financial rewards came slowly, but the book had three printings by the end of 1843.  It was immediately and immensely popular.

Christmas in Dickens’ time was a minor holiday, observed (if at all) without lights and trees and presents and parties and cards.  Something in his story struck a chord, and the observance of Christmas began to change, no doubt helped by Queen Victoria whose family was regarded as the ideal for British society. Prince Albert was from Germany, and brought many Christmas customs with him. In A Christmas Carol, Dickens combined two traditions of old Christmas observances—telling ghost stories and marvelous tales of the holiday. There’s a reference to this custom in the popular song, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” (perhaps best known in a version by Andy Williams who had the unfortunate habit of pitching songs out of his range). The lyrics go, “There’ll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glories/ Of Christmases long long ago.” Dickens has four ghosts (Marley is a ghost, remember?) and the irrepressible high spirits of the Cratchits in his story. The transformation of Scrooge from miser to philanthropist is a heartwarming tribute to the power of the season. A recent book on A Christmas Carol is titled The Man Who Invented Christmas and while that might be an oversimplification, Dickens’ work shows what one person can do.

There is one notable coincidence about the story. In 1843, Sir John Callcott Horsley commissioned the first Christmas card with an illustration by artist Henry Cole, possibly under the influence of Dickens’ tale.  The English Victorians were crazy for sending cards with pictures (landscapes, mostly) to each other, and Cole’s role in introducing the Penny Post three years earlier might have been a factor in producing the cards. The picture showed a family with a small child all drinking wine together. (The illustration was controversial, although giving children watered wine at the time was not unusual.  At least it wasn’t gin, which was tremendously popular in that day among all classes and a real drag on the society and economy.) 2050 cards were printed and sold for a shilling each.

Obviously, the custom of sending Christmas cards has grown enormously since 1843.  The U.S. Census Department estimates that 1.9 billion cards were sent in 2005 (Who knew that the Census keeps track of matters like that?  I don’t recall being asked how many cards I sent on the last census.  I must have gotten the short form.) Valentine’s Day is next with a comparatively paltry 192 million.

The point is that one (very talented) person changed the face of the Christmas celebration. I would encourage each of us to think about what we as individuals and together as  groups can do to make this world a better place.  Somehow I think that would be the best present of all. In your observance of the holiday, whatever that may be, I hope you will take the time to read one of the versions of A Christmas Carol to recall its powerful message. It comes in short and long forms and is ideal for reading aloud. And in the words of Tiny Tim, “God bless us, everyone!”

Canticle of Hope--Joseph Martin

An anthem from composer Joseph Martin, beautiful in its sound and filled with hope in its message.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Z7nOVvpRlE

"Peace fall like a gentle snow..." On all of us.

Poem for a Sad Week in December

Statue of Grief, Rock Creek Cemetery, Washington, D>C. 

At times like these, and there have been too many
Times like these
I would like for time to
Run backwards,
To return bullets to the mouths of guns,
To stream blood spilled on floors
To its rightful place
To pull fully loaded 757's back from
The Twin Towers,
To reverse all the effects
Of war, famine, pestilence,
Violence, abuse, bullying, ignorance
Racism and apathy
Through millennia
But then
But then
I am broken to remember this:
We live on this side
Of Paradise.

--Dan Verner

A Page for the Families, Friends and Neighbors of the Victims Involved in the Shooting in New Town, Connecticut Last Friday

Poem of the Week--"Windrow"

Celtic chieftain's burial barrow, located in present-day Germany

Windrow

The suburban harvest of oak and maple leaf
Has been gathered to the curb by rake and blower
And lies in great windrows on the asphalt
Of street, land and cul-de-sac
Awaiting the roaring gathering-in
By a great dragon of a truck
Which devours leafmeal
Sucking it all in,
Attended by men with rakes.
In their trail the streets shine with rain
And so we move from autumn
To winter.

--Dan Verner

Writing and Culture

It's writing, that relatively new human activity, that brought on nearly every damn thing else--the development of societies, governments, freedom, mercy, empathy outside time and across distances, the advancements of science, the whole spectrum of the arts of civilization, including elements that may destroy it all in the end. And finally the real matter of alleviating so many ills that afflict us, is the need to affect culture--more than politics. Change a culture for the better, and the politics will change for the better.

--Writer Robert Bausch

Technology Wednesday--A First World Problem

You might recognize the tangle of cables pictured above as a fairly typical cluster of power and connection cables for computers, phones, cameras and other electronic devices that we have all come to depend on. You might also think that I need to organize said cables, which I tried, but it didn't help much. So I keep the ones I use most frequently plugged into a power strip, and the ones I use less piled in a shoe box. I dumped the cables out of the shoe box onto the floor for dramatic effect.

Yes, I know this is a first world problem and I should either get organized or shut up, but it occurred to me that it would be nice if manufacturers of electronic devices could agree on some standard plug-ends for these cables. The USB (the U does mean universal, after all) comes close, but there are also mini-USB's and 1/4 inch plugs and 3.5 mm plugs and RCA plugs and plugs I don't know the name of except they're not like any other plugs.

If standards seem impossible, manufacturers did agree on standards for the LP record, the (shudder) eight-track cassette, the cassette audio tape, the VHS video tape, the CD and, I suppose, the .mp3 format. So it is possible. So what do ya say, manufacturers? You can name it anything you like or you can name it after me. I won't mind a bit. Just a plug for standardization.

The Autumn Leaves

Jacques Prevert

I seem to be writing about leaves a lot this week. Maybe that's because there are great piles of them at the curb everywhere I look when I go outside.

I was reminded of the poem "Autumn Leaves" by the great French poet Jacques Prevert, published in 1945. Johnny Mercer wrote English lyrics for the song in 1947 and it was made famous by various artists, including an instrumental version by Roger Williams.

Here's a combination French/English version by Edith Piaf: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=db2xBJShCvA

Autumn Leaves

Words: Prevert/Mercer 
Music: Kosma

The falling leaves
Drift by the window
The autumn leaves
Of red and gold

I see your lips
The summer kisses
The sunburned hands
I used to hold

Since you went away
The days grow long
And soon I'll hear
Old winter's song

But I miss you most of all
My darling
When autumn leaves
Start to fall

Bringing in the Leaves

Leaf truck and vacuum, but not from Manassas. This does look like our corner of the world, though.

The neighborhood we live in has a number of mature 100 year-plus maples and oaks. They're one of the reasons we bought the house 25 years ago. In the spring, their leaves are a golden green; in the summer, they furnish cool shade; in the fall, a flaming display of reds and oranges and yellow. And yes, they fall to the ground and must be blown or raked to the curb to be gathered up by the great roaring leaf truck run by the City of Manassas.

I supposed the suburban homeowner could let the leaves lie, but no one does. Every lot is cleaned of its annual leaffall and the great long leafbarrows taken up by the huge vacuum hose. The streets left behind are pristine, and so we are ready for winter. It's part of a suburban cycle as sure as the harvest of rural areas. 

Poem of the Week--Floating

(I was reminded of this poem by my former student, Skye Nightingale Robertson. Thank you, Skye. I wrote it in 1990 when my brother was a pilot for Delta Airlines and I was getting up early to teach school.)

Just before the clock radio

Snaps on, I am floating in the dark

Somewhere between sleep and waking

Somehow I know

At this moment

In another time zone

My brother is landing

Suspended forty feet ahead of

Wings he cannot see

He grabs a handful of throttles

And pulls them back.

The turbines settle toward silence

Wings flex slightly upward

And the rippling fuselage sags

Toward the black-streaked runway.

For a moment, we float together,

Buoyed by air trapped beneath the wing,

In the second between flying and waking

In the moment between dreaming and landing

We float toward earth

And the dark dawn.


--Dan Verner

Writing--Undercurrent

One of several instruments that I play badly is the five-string banjo. It's difficult to play in bluegrass style, and while I can play that style very slowly, I don't seem to get any better at it. But I'm not here to talk about my musical limitations. The five-string, a uniquely American instrument, has a short top or fifth string which is usually tuned to a high "G." A banjo may be tuned in several ways, but the most common is the "G" tuning in which the strings are tuned (from the top down) G-D-G-B-D. In other words, when played "open" (no strings fretted), a G chord results.

The top G acts as a drone. It is rarely fretted and in bluegrass style, sounds almost constantly.

Other instruments also make use of a drone. The Scottish bagpipe is one example. So is the Indian sitar.

Songs also  use of drone notes. "Restless," by my man Gordon Lightfoot, begins with a B on the keyboard which is held during the entire song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2G9PiSiWAwU. The Beatles used a middle-range drone in "Blackbird." There are high drones on the last verses of "Eleanor Rigby" and "Yesterday."

The connection to writing is this: the urge to write and ideas for writing form a constant undercurrent for the writers. Every waking moment, that urge and those ideas are present. One of the concerns I have as a writer is that I will wake up one day and have nothing to write about. It hasn't happened so far, and I don't think it will and I hope that it won't. In the meantime, there's this undercurrent of writing that runs through my life and the lives of other writers I know.

Technology Wednesday--An Obscure (to me) Machine

Conptometer, circa 1940

I was talking to a lady about my age last week, about various jobs she had had, and she mentioned that she was once a conptometer operator. I had never heard of such a machine, but apparently they were a kind of calculator that somehow enabled operators to figure taxes and discounts and to enter lengthy numbers (depending on how many fingers they cared to use) all at once rather than serially as we are used to doing with a calculator. These machines were in use from the 1870's through the 1990's. They were, of course, supplanted by electronic calculators and computers, but for a while anyhow, they ruled the roost. Just goes to show that there's always something that we don't know and that truth is indeed stranger than fiction.

Link to good Wikipedia article on conptometers: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comptometer

Speaking of older technology, I was at a holiday gathering this past weekend and someone had a phonograph and played actual LP's. I can't remember the last time I listened to an LP. It sounded good.

A Song of the Season

 “Over the River and Through the Woods” is an example of a Thanksgiving song that, in most of the verses, doesn’t mention Thanksgiving. “Jingle Bells!” is another example of a song associated with Christmas that doesn’t mention Christmas, but nonetheless is widely sung throughout the world, even though most of us haven’t been close enough to a one-horse sleigh to be bitten by the horse, except maybe in a museum.

One music historian observes that the title is an imperative telling or wishing for the bells on the horse’s harness to jingle, although “jingle bells” is also taken as the bells themselves.

Most of us are familiar with the first verse and chorus:

Dashing through the snow

In a one-horse open sleigh

O'er the fields we go

Laughing all the way

Bells on bobtail ring

Making spirits bright

What fun it is to laugh and sing

A sleighing song tonight

(Chorus)

Jingle bells, jingle bells,

Jingle all the way;

Oh! what fun it is to ride

In a one-horse open sleigh! (repeat)

The song celebrates the custom of young swains in New England in the first part of the nineteenth century to drive light, open sleighs with the fastest horse they could find. Having the fastest sleigh meant they could outdo their rivals and, not incidentally, impress the young ladies. In my day, young men vied to put the largest engine into the lightest car they could find, with much the same purpose, although they had more than one horsepower. (Sorry.)

The next verses specifically speak of impressing the ladies:

A day or two ago

I thought I'd take a ride

And soon, Miss Fanny Bright

Was seated by my side,

The horse was lean and lank

Misfortune seemed his lot

He got into a drifted bank

And we—we got upsot

“Upsot” is an antiquated English past tense for “upset,” although there was a fad at the time for humorous misspelling of words. (I’m just sayin’—we don’t find this as humorous these days.)

In the next verse, our young friend falls out of the sleigh and a rival laughs at him:

A day or two ago,

The story I must tell

I went out on the snow,

And on my back I fell;

A gent was riding by

In a one-horse open sleigh,

He laughed as there I sprawling lie,

But quickly drove away.

The last verse is full of advice: go sleighing while you‘re young (presumably to better tolerate crashes), take the girls, sing the sleighing song and get a fast horse (“Two forty as his speed“ refers to the horse‘s time in the mile at a trot) and drive as fast as you can.

Now the ground is white

Go it while you're young,

Take the girls tonight

And sing this sleighing song;

Just get a bobtailed bay,

Two forty as his speed

Hitch him to an open sleigh

And crack! you'll take the lead.

This most popular of Christmas song was written for a children’s Thanksgiving pageant at a church in Savannah, Georgia in 1857. It stands as a testament to the enduring interest of young men in young women and fast vehicles.

A Moment in Time

I was walking along the sidewalk in a local strip shopping center last week, on my way to the music story to buy some guitar strings. About halfway down, I came upon a young man kneeling on a prayer rug in front of his shop, facing east and bowing as he recited his prayers.

He wasn't blocking the sidewalk and I would have passed by him at a distance of about three feet, but strong within me is a sense that if you're walking and a prayer is being said, you stop until the prayer is finished. So I stood there until he finished.

He rolled up his rug, stood up and said, "Thank you, my brother."

And I said, "God bless you."

I am not recounting this vignette to emphasize my spirituality or tolerance or goodness as a person because God knows I am lacking in all three areas. Rather, I have been taught to respect other people and their beliefs and practices even though they may be different from my own. It was a telling moment, and an indication that the world has indeed come to us.

God bless us every one.

A Song of the Season

 “Over the River and Through the Woods” is an example of a Thanksgiving song that, in most of the verses, doesn’t mention Thanksgiving. “Jingle Bells!” is another example of a song associated with Christmas that doesn’t mention Christmas, but nonetheless is widely sung throughout the world, even though most of us haven’t been close enough to a one-horse sleigh to be bitten by the horse, except maybe in a museum.

One music historian observes that the title is an imperative telling or wishing for the bells on the horse’s harness to jingle, although “jingle bells” is also taken as the bells themselves.

Most of us are familiar with the first verse and chorus:

Dashing through the snow

In a one-horse open sleigh

O'er the fields we go

Laughing all the way

Bells on bobtail ring

Making spirits bright

What fun it is to laugh and sing

A sleighing song tonight

(Chorus)

Jingle bells, jingle bells,

Jingle all the way;

Oh! what fun it is to ride

In a one-horse open sleigh! (repeat)

The song celebrates the custom of young swains in New England in the first part of the nineteenth century to drive light, open sleighs with the fastest horse they could find. Having the fastest sleigh meant they could outdo their rivals and, not incidentally, impress the young ladies. In my day, young men vied to put the largest engine into the lightest car they could find, with much the same purpose, although they had more than one horsepower. (Sorry.)

The next verses specifically speak of impressing the ladies:

A day or two ago

I thought I'd take a ride

And soon, Miss Fanny Bright

Was seated by my side,

The horse was lean and lank

Misfortune seemed his lot

He got into a drifted bank

And we—we got upsot

“Upsot” is an antiquated English past tense for “upset,” although there was a fad at the time for humorous misspelling of words. (I’m just sayin’—we don’t find this as humorous these days.)

In the next verse, our young friend falls out of the sleigh and a rival laughs at him:

A day or two ago,

The story I must tell

I went out on the snow,

And on my back I fell;

A gent was riding by

In a one-horse open sleigh,

He laughed as there I sprawling lie,

But quickly drove away.

The last verse is full of advice: go sleighing while you‘re young (presumably to better tolerate crashes), take the girls, sing the sleighing song and get a fast horse (“Two forty as his speed“ refers to the horse‘s time in the mile at a trot) and drive as fast as you can.

Now the ground is white

Go it while you're young,

Take the girls tonight

And sing this sleighing song;

Just get a bobtailed bay,

Two forty as his speed

Hitch him to an open sleigh

And crack! you'll take the lead.

This most popular of Christmas song was written for a children’s Thanksgiving pageant at a church in Savannah, Georgia in 1857. It stands as a testament to the enduring interest of young men in young women and fast vehicles.

Poem of the Week--Inertia

Inertia

Tonight I am going
Nowhere
While
All around me
The seasons are changing
The earth is turning madly
People are rushing here and there

The leaves have fallen
Decay is setting in
I am a day, a week, a month, a year older
Babies are being born
Children going to school
Graduating
Finding jobs
Having children
Growing old together or apart
All is changed and
All is changing
But as for me
I'm just sitting here
For now
Going nowhere.

Dan Verner

Advice for Writers--Accursed Cursive

I broke out in a rash just seeing this again. Oh, the humanity!

I've had cursive writing on my list of things to write about for a couple of years, but never have seemed to be able to get around to it. 

Basically, like most guys, I never did well with cursive, lacking the fine motor skills  to produce the beautiful flowing script  found in our handwriting books.

Yes, we had Zaner-Bloser Handwriting instruction books, which our parents had to pay extra  so that we could have the privilege of being frustrated at every turn. There was even a special what we would call now ergonomic Zaner-BLoser pen (part of the package) that had a place for your fingers and an  odd point to it with a little ball near the other end. The pen was good to chew on when I got frustrated with trying to write correctly, which was most of the time.

I did very well in elementary school, but received constant “C’s” in handwriting. Like most guys, I switched to a sort of half-cursive, half printed style It looked (and looks like this): This is how my buddies and I wrote throughout high school and college, and how I write even to this day.

My  daughter Amy, who teaches fourth grade, says that cursive writing is not even on her radar. I think they teach it in third grade, and Amy writes in it so the kids will be able to read it, but she avoids inflicting that sort of anguish on her charges.  In any case, keyboard has become the new normal, and I’m even doing this on a keyboard. I’m finally able to produce the beautiful, flowing script that has eluded me for so long.  Just not with a pen and paper.

.

Technology Wednesday--Keeping It Simple

I got some fast food the other day for lunch, and since I had two drinks, I grabbed one of those drink carriers (pictured above). I was looking at it and thinking that sometimes the best technology is the simplest technology. The carrier is made of cardboard and molded into a form that compensates for different sized drinks. Each carrier costs 17 cents in lots of 300 (in case you want to order a bunch), although the big fast food companies probably get a price break. Somehow.

Another example of simple, effective technology is the "Disturb/Do Not Disturb" hang tag found in hotels. I'm not sure who was the first to patent this idea, but they have made a bundle off it. It's one of those inventions that you look at it, smack yourself in the head and say, "Why didn't I think of that?"

The last simple and effective form of technology I'm thinking of is the paper book. I use ebooks, and they're easy to carry around and easy to order new books on, but I still use paper books. They're a proven, centuries old technology. They're easy to mark you place, easy to take notes on in the margins and their batteries never run down. So, for now, put me down as having a foot planted firmly in the digital world and in the old school world of simple, effective technology.

Bob Tale--Uncle Jim and the Flying Pig

I always enjoyed breaks in college, getting to go home to relax and see friends.  I also enjoyed coming back to school after breaks, catching up on what had happened to everyone during the vacation. After one Thanksgiving break at college, my friend Bob returned with the story of Uncle Jim and the Flying Pig.  It seems that Uncle Jim had gotten engrossed in the Winter Olympics the year before, and especially in the skiing events.  As he sat watching the ski jump competition one evening, Bob heard him say, “I bet I could do that.”

Dot was in her chair reading. “You could do that and break both legs like an old fool and then I’d have to do all the work around here.” Uncle Jim didn’t say any more, but Bob could tell he was thinking about how he could learn to ski jump.

The next morning, Uncle Jim was involved in building what was obviously a ski ramp for a jump. As Bob helped him, he said to Uncle Jim, “I thought Aunt Dot said you wouldn’t be doing any ski jumping.”

“I’m not,” Uncle Jim answered.  “At least not at first. I’m going to test it out on something else.”

“Like what?” Bob asked him.

“Well,” said Uncle Jim, “I’ve been reading how those rocket fellows needed a creature to test how a living thing would stand going into space.  So they decided to use a pig. Problem was, the pig was lying down in the spacecraft on its back and pigs can’t do that.  Poor thing died of fright or something.”

“So you’re going to test your ski jump on a pig.”

“That’s right. And instead of snow, which we don’t have, you and I are going to build one of those big air cushions like stunt men land on. The landing’s the hard part anyhow.”

Bob said he just shook his head. He and Uncle Jim finished the ramp, which was maybe 25 feet high, and then sprayed water on it so it would ice over. Then they took two big vinyl tarpaulins and glued and stapled them around the edges.  When they stuck an air hose from a compressor in one of the seams, the homemade air cushion inflated but lost enough air that they knew it would give with the impact of the pig.

Bob did some skiing around the farm when there was snow, so he let Uncle Jim have his skis.  Uncle Jim made up four trotter holders for one of the pigs from an old harness and fastened them to the skis. Uncle Jim, like most farmers had an affection for animals and would not mistreat them, although he was willing to make them into bacon or ground beef or chicken nuggets when the time came.

Uncle Jim wanted to be sure that the air cushion worked, so he and Bob hauled a hay bale up to the top of the ramp and sent it down.  The bale flew off the end of the ramp, bounced once on the air cushion and then came to rest in the middle. The jump was ready.

Persuading a pig to the top of a ramp is one thing; fitting its hooves into the holders on the skis was another, but finally they succeeded. “Should we have a countdown?” asked Bob.

“Nah,” said Uncle Jim. “Just let her go.” They gave the pig a shove and she skied straight down the ramp for a few feet, squealing the whole time. Then, struggling to free herself, she turned sideways and started to roll.  

The skis flew off on the first rotation and soon the pig was rolling rapidly down the ramp. She flew off the end, rotating like a sideways forward pass. She hit the air cushion, bounced high in the air, came down on all fours and ran off the cushion and across the fields.

“Wow,” said Bob.  “When pigs fly.”

The pig came back after a day or so, but she wouldn’t come near Bob or Uncle Jim. Dot had to feed her. 

As usual, Dot didn’t say anything about the incident, but at breakfast the next morning, Jim’s bacon came flying over from the stove onto his plate.  “What was that?” he asked Dot, who had been the pitcher on her fast-pitch high school softball team and still had a strong, accurate arm.

“Oh, just a little flying pig, since you like them so much,” Dot answered.  And that was the end of it.

Wax Paper and Sandwich Bags

You'd think that with the advent of plastic film wraps (after World War II--it was originally called "eonite" after an indestructible material in the Little Orphan Annie comic strip and then was a greasy dark green  that the military sprayed on fighter planes to protect them from water and corrosion damage) wax paper (so-called because it consists of paper with a wax coating--I just love the simplicity of the name) would have gone the way of the dodo, but not so fast there, Sunny Jim! Wax paper is alive and well

Wax paper had its origins in antiquity as oiled parchment which was used by butchers to wrap meat. It was also used as a translucent material for windows since glass was so expensive. A method for applying purified paraffin to paper about 1876.

I remember my mom wrapping my lunch sandwiches in wax paper , which were then put into a paper lunch bag. Very biodegradable. The ZipLoc bag came along in about 1968, and I packed my own sandwiches (I am a terrible sandwich maker, even with decades of practice) in them. Bit of family lore here: when Amy was young, she heard "Zip Loc" as "Loc Boc," so to this day we called them "loc boc bags."

The point is (and I do have one) wax paper continues to have its uses. Here's an article with 14 uses for wax paper: http://www.foxnews.com/leisure/2012/02/19/home-economy-14-uses-for-wax-paper/ We also use it to cover food in the microwave so it doesn't splatter, to slide furniture and to put on Nacho the Cat's tray for her food since she is a senior cat and finds it harder to eat from a bowl there days.

I'm sure you have your own stories of wax paper, and I hope you'll share them with me. And for me, for now, that's a...wait for it...wrap!

Technology Wednesday--Keep It Simple

I got some fast food the other day for lunch, and since I had two drinks, I grabbed one of those drink carriers (pictured above). I was looking at it and thinking that sometimes the best technology is the simplest technology. The carrier is made of cardboard and molded into a form that compensates for different sized drinks. Each carrier costs 17 cents in lots of 300 (in case you want to order a bunch), although the big fast food companies probably get a price break. Somehow.

Another example of simple, effective technology is the "Disturb/Do Not Disturb" hang tag found in hotels. I'm not sure who was the first to patent this idea, but they have made a bundle off it. It's one of those inventions that you look at it, smack yourself in the head and say, "Why didn't I think of that?"

The last simple and effective form of technology I'm thinking of is the paper book. I use ebooks, and they're easy to carry around and easy to order new books on, but I still use paper books. They're a proven, centuries old technology. They're easy to mark you place, easy to take notes on in the margins and their batteries never run down. So, for now, put me down as having a foot planted firmly in the digital world and in the old school world of simple, effective technology.

Technology Wednesday--Rambler Gambler

Ease up there, readers, the title to this post came from a song that Ian Tyson (of Ian and Sylvia) used to do called "Rambler Gambler." The first verse went

             I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler
             I'm a long way from my home.
             If you people don't like me
             You'd best leave me alone.

Uplifting and personable, I know, but really I couldn't identify less with the song, being neither a rambler (too much of a homebody) nor a gambler (too cheap). But I was thinking about the Rambler, a car produced first by Nash Motors division of the Nash-Kelvinator Company (yes, they made refrigerators as well) from 1950-1954, after which it was made by the merger company of Nash-Kelvinator and the Hudson Motor Company, which was called American Motors or AMC. This Rambler was produced during 1955. AMC revived it for 1958, although I recall seeing them through the early '60's. There was, as the ad above shows, a '63 Rambler.

The wagon was touted as a family car, with a fold flat front seat suitable for camping in the car. The feature caused somewhat of a scandal since someone, somewhere, some time, might fold down the seat and have sex. I remember sermons were preached about it, and that's what might have killed off the Rambler. Too hot to handle apparently.

In today's cars, the front seats recline, but they don't fold flat. Maybe automakers learned a lesson from the Rambler wagon. In surveys, though, car owners have consistently said that cup holders are more important to them in a car than reclining seats. I for one don't know what to make of this. Maybe you do.

Notice: we here at the Biscuit City Studios are going to take a Thanksgiving break to spend time with our families. Look for the next post Monday, November 26. Have a glorious holiday!

Biscuit City Chronicle--Turkeys for Thanksgiving and Shining Sickles

I like Thanksgiving. It’s one of the last holidays unsullied by greed, commercialism and the card companies (although they are making inroads, I see). I even enjoyed the special Thanksgiving school lunch when I taught, maybe because I usually ended up with about ten minutes to choke down a sandwich most days. I made a special effort to make it to the cafeteria for the meal and choked it down in ten minutes. I was rhapsodizing about the lunch to one of my classes when a student did a quick reality check. “Hey,” he said. “It’s still a school lunch.” Well, it was, but it just cost a couple of bucks, and I didn’t have to fix it. With our Thanksgiving meal, since we have excellent cooks in the family, I’m allowed to make the iced tea, even though I can cook under ordinary circumstances. Everyone has a signature dish that she brings. Our daughter Amy, for example, brings the green bean casserole (GBC). There’s a rumor that we might have Twinkies for dessert this year, but I hope that’s only a rumor. The pies done by my sister-in-law Sue are to die for. And Becky makes real mashed potatoes by peeling them and boiling and then mashing them. (There’s a little recipe with your Biscuit this morning.)

I have fond memories of Thanksgiving when I was in elementary school, although they are fragmentary. In sixth grade, our class presented the Thanksgiving play. Maybe because I was in the elite Bluebirds Reading Group, I was pickled to play the role of Father in our deathless production of Turkeys for Thanksgiving, which was an indication of the quality of the play and of the acting. It marked my drama debut—and swan song. The play (in case you never get to see it, if you’re lucky) followed the misadventures of a benighted family who managed to buy four turkeys, all unbeknownst to each other until the finally scene, in which they had a good laugh and actually sat down to eat all four of the birds.

Although I delivered my lines flawlessly and engaged in broad farcical mugging required by the part, the whole enterprise made me nervous, and sucking on my father’s unlit pipe when I held in my mouth as a prop made me sick at intermission. I resolved while throwing up to abandon then and there my nascent acting career and return to my dream of being a bush pilot. At least bush pilots died heroically, plunging to the frozen tundra in a ball of fire, not by losing their lunch over an elementary school toilet.

Another clear memory I have of Thanksgiving was a song we used to sing called, I believe, “Swing the Shining Sickle.” We sang it complete with illustrative motions:

            Swing the shining sickle, cut the rip’ning grain.

            Flash it in the sunlight, swing it once again.

            Tie the golden grain-heads into shining sheaves,

            Beautiful their colors as the autumn leaves.

We had no idea what a sickle was, and now the thought of thirty fourth graders swinging shining sickles makes me blanche. We lived the song, though, because we had no earthly idea how hard it was to cut anything with a sickle. Now, I had occasion to cut one of my appendages rather than any rip’ning grain. Maybe as a future  English major, I liked words like “rip’ning” and “o’er” and the rather forced meter  of the song.  Maybe I liked being able to move around in the classroom. I asked my wife, who is a walking compendium of children’s song if she had ever heard the song after I sang it for her, complete with motions. She allowed as how she had never heard it, but I was vindicated when we had dinner some years later with two of her piano teachers, who of course, knew hundreds if not thousands of children’s songs. I asked them if they had ever heard of “Swing the Shining Sickle,” and they both started singing it! Triumph!

A couple of years later I found a copy of the Silver-Burdett song book we used, Music Now and Long Ago, and there it was, on page 149. I’ve put it at the head of this post in case you’d like to sing it at your holiday gathering. You can come up with some good motions for it, I’m sure.

And so, I wish all of you out there in Biscuit City a happy and thankful Thanksgiving. We have so much to be thankful for, including elementary school Thanksgiving plays and Thanksgiving songs. Enjoy!

A Loss for the Community

I was stricken to learn the the Manassas News and Messenger  will cease publication, including the online InsideNova.com, as of the end of the year. My wife remembers when the paper was weekly, then a semi-weekly, and then a week daily and finally a daily. It carried all the news of the community.

We all know that electronic publications have been making inroads on print publications, but this leaves us with a local source of news unless we do want to go online, which I have no problem doing. But there are thousands of people who prefer a print publication, and they will be left out unless they learn to use the internet, which many of them don't want to. The News and Messenger had recently cut back to five issues a week, and I suppose the handwriting was on the wall.

I feel for the 33 staff members who are being let go. They have been helpful to the organizations I am afiliated with. People like Keith Walker and Katherine Gotthardt have done yeoman service for years. Some, like Susan Svihilik, Alex Granados, Bennie Scarton and Jonathan Hunley had left already, and they were wonderful newspaper people and human beings. Susan Svihilik got me to write a weekly column for the paper, which I did for about three years, and that really got me into writing again. Thanks, Susan.

I have been writing a column for the Observer papers since last February, and people on the staff of that paper received a heartfelt and articulate email from Randi Reid, the editor and publisher of the papers.  She says it so well:

Today is a very sad day for the newspaper industry in Prince William County.

The News and Messenger announced today that it will cease publication Dec. 30
and will shut down its website, Inside Nova.com at the same time.

The Journal Messenger was more than 100 years old and the Potomac News had
been around for more than 40 years before the two publications merged a few years
go. Some of you know I was with the Journal Messenger for 16.5 years.

Thirty-three people will lose their jobs.

A valued local news source will be lost.

The solver of small local issues  and the promoter of solutions to community problems will be gone.

An engine that helped make the local economy work will be stilled.

And a champion of protecting the public's right to know and freedom of speech will be silent.

Indeed.

Poem of the Week--"Ghosts"

Ghosts

I have decided that I
Believe in ghosts
And particularly in ghosts of soldiers.
Not three miles from here
Soldiers fought twice
And some say
Their ghosts inhabit the ground
Where they fought and died.
And there are ghosts in the family:
A Revolutionary War captain of the Virginia Militia
A member of the Georgia Militia during the Civil War
My grandfather who registered for the draft
For the Great War and did not serve
My uncle who fought in Korea
These inhabit the back rooms of
My mind.

And I
I am the ghost that you can't see
Without service
Without presence
Invisible.

--Dan Verner

(For more poems about ghosts on Manassas Battlefield, see Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt's Poems from the Battlefield, available on Amazon.com at
http://www.amazon.com/Poems-Battlefield-Katherine-Mercurio-Gotthardt/dp/1439254486/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1352587633&sr=8-3&keywords=katherine+mercurio+gotthardt

Katherine's finely rendered series of poems is both touching and haunting. )

Advice for Writers from the Master Himself, Mark Twain

1. The time to begin writing an article is when you have finished it to your satisfaction. By 

that time you begin to clearly and logically perceive what it is that you really want to say.

2. I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.

3. The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference

between lightning and a lightning bug.

4. To get the right word in the right place is a rare achievement. To condense the diffused

light of a page of thought into the luminous flash of a single sentence, is worthy to rank as

a prize composition just by itself… Anybody can have ideas – the difficulty is to express

 them without squandering a quire of paper on an idea that ought to be reduced to one

glittering paragraph.