Back in the days when I was in tenth grade and the dinosaurs roamed free, our English class was assigned to read the novel Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray, an author who, by employing literary tools such as elliptical phrases, adjectives, adverbs, conjunctions, and a wide array of punctuation marks, was able to somehow, amazingly, develop the art of creating a rather involved pattern of sentence structure which could, ostensibly, stretch a sentence out in such a manner that it could, if he chose, ramble on almost indefinitely — for paragraphs and even pages, actually — which, as I was a young and impressionable student of the English language, presented a particularly appealing challenge to me in that, having been exposed to the wealth of verbiage contained in this novel, beckoned for me to put forth effort in creating similar sentence structure in order to attempt to equal, if not exceed, the intricate and prolonged passages presented by Thackeray in his work and, therefore, to construct (mostly in my journal, at that time) an almost infinite compilation of words and phrases that could meander from paragraph to paragraph and page to page, much like a babbling brook winds from rock to rock and bridge to bridge in its journey downstream, gurgling and splashing in carefree glee as it travels on its merry way, reflecting the frivolity of the writer (in this case myself) and carrying the reader along on this adventure, this consummate challenge to chatter on in one hopelessly connected (yet, perhaps not-so-connected) endeavor to manufacture an incredibly long and contrived sentence in tribute to the prolific author of Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray; therefore, insomuch as having written the above, it is this author’s (in this instance, my) sincere hope that the gentle reader (yourself) will come to understand, in some profound — or, perhaps, merely perfunctory — way, why it is that I babble.
Today’s Word…snuggle…
Snuggle — derivative of snug [adjective] warm, comfortable, cozy, well-protected from the outside world. Snuggle — a good word for today.
Today’s Word…ewer
Ewer — [pronounced you-er; not to be confused with mere, here, sheer, were, or there]. Used in a sentence: “ewer not going with mere to the store” [pronounced you-er not going with me-er to the stow-er”].
Or…it could be a noun meaning pitcher [not to be confused with picture].
Hmmmm….perhaps it’s past my bedtime….
Happy Holler Adventure…Billy Goat Gruff
The Goat Story began with a Daytona adventure.
Many years ago (circa 1978), between marriages, I bought a new car (Datsun F10 wagon with front-wheel drive) and set off with my human son and a work friend and her son for Daytona Bike Week. The plan was well-laid out: stop off in eastern Tennessee for a visit with two aunts on the farm where my dad grew up; drive to Daytona; camp and attend the week’s flat track racing series; drive to Ft. Myers to drop off my friend and her son with her husband’s aunt (and they would fly back); and stop in central Tennessee to visit friends in Happy Holler (reference the blog post on the Happy Holler Inaugural Visit) on the return trip. And off we went!
The visit with the aunts was enjoyable with lots of catching up. However, as evening descended, they offered for us to stay overnight as it was beginning to snow. We had a schedule to keep, and we were from the north where a little snow is no big deal. We determined with our trusty atlas that going on the local roads to Asheville, North Carolina, would be the shortest route as the interstates were at some distance. My aunts pointed out that the road crossed the mountains, but, hey, I had a car with front-wheel drive. Woohoo! We were ready! Of course, what we did not take into account is that people in the south a) do not drive in snow; b) go indoors and stay there when it snows; c) do zilch in the way of dealing snow on the roads, their theory being that, if you leave it there long enough, it will melt and you can come back out and drive. We also discovered that this route was a two-laner with acute hairpin turns and rather weirdly-cambered tilts to the road. Again, we were from the north — strong, fearless! So….part way up the mountain, as the snowfall increased in intensity, we found ourselves sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic waiting for a tow truck which had no snow tires and was stuck itself as it tried to pull a vehicle out of a ditch. After quite a length of time (and frustrated because we had a schedule to keep), we accepted the invitation of two fellows driving a Gremlin (remember, them, anyone? small cars with no traction?) who were informing folks that they had to get to church over the mountain and were going to hop the median and use the wrong side of the road to get around the traffic snarl (nobody was coming from that direction, anyway). So over the median we went! Did I mention the median, under the snow, was about 8 inches high? Thumpity-thump-thump, bumpity-bump bump! Yikes!! What had I done to my brand new front-wheel drive car? Somehow, fortunately, the thumpity-bumpities leveled out, and we were on our way. Another lesson learned: front-wheel drive vehicles do indeed skid–but it’s the front end that goes sideways. Good to know! Our next delay was in a small town in a valley where the good-hearted (and easily-entertained) townsfolk were all outdoors helping cars on the highway get traction to climb the next mountain. All had come to a standstill because of a semi that had reportedly been off the road at the top. People would stand on the cars’ rear bumpers to give them enough traction to get moving. In our case, they sat on the hood. We made it up the mountain but then learned that our intended route to Spartanville had been closed due to the road conditions. So we eventually made it to an interstate and went from there…slowly, carefully, one of a handful of vehicles still on the road. After driving until nearly daybreak, we pulled into a gas station in Valdosta, Georgia, with a couple of inches of ice covering the tent strapped to the cartop carrier. Another customer took one look and commented, “Wherever it is you come from, I don’t wanna go there!” On we traversed and were relieved to pull into Florida with the sun shining…only to be greeted by an announcement on the car radio that the tornado warnings had been lifted for most of the southern counties and some of the northern counties. Of course, we had no idea what county we were in, so the anxiety continued. Eventually we arrived at our destination, the KOA in Bulow (near the Atlantic Ocean, a bit north of Daytona). For Bike Week the campground was divided into the “family side” and the “party side”. Wisely we chose the family side. Cool campground! Each morning the kids (my 11-year old son and my friend’s 2-year old) would go the clubhouse for breakfast and entertain the other campers by playing pool with the little guy walking on the table using the blunt end of the cue. Luckily noone objected to this, and a good time was had by all. (I do have to share, though, that when my friend discovered upon her return home that she was pregnant, I did jokingly tell her husband that the father was a big biker from the KOA.) The races kept us busy each evening, and at the end of the week, we set off for Ft. Myers to drop off friend and son. Consistent with the comedy of errors that this trip had become, we managed to take the wrong interstate, and had traversed half of Florida being buffeted by 50 mph crosswinds before discovering the mistake. So we crossed from Atlantic to Gulf via the Everglades, deposited our friends in Ft. Myers; and, to get back to the short track races at the stadium that night, hightailed it at 90 mph back to Daytona. Thank goodness the roads were straight and flat and the police apparently otherwise occupied. Still windy, though, so when we got to the stadium I parked, opened the car door and promptly barfed (compliments, I think, of greasy food from the Jack-in-a-box drive-thru and continued buffeting by crosswinds).
Fantastic racing! Slept in the car all night since the winds had collapsed the cabin tent. And the next day, we packed our gear and headed for Happy Holler. We pulled in the gate, thumpity-bumpitied down the mile and a quarter dirt road through the cow pasture, forded the stream, and parked in the yard by the log cabin, excited to see our friends. It was a good visit (even though this city girl had a bit of consternation about the kids playing outdoors in the land of cottonmouth and copperheads). And we slept soundly…until I was awakened by the wife who pulled me out of bed and shoved me toward the kitchen stating, “We have to have a serious talk, and we have to have it right now.” What the heck?! I thought. She asked, “What kind of license plates did you have on your car?” Double “what the heck”! “Temporary tags. Why?” Who on earth would come down a mile and a quarter dirt road half washed out by rain and ford a stream to steal my new car? “They were paper, right?” she queried. “Well, cardboard,” I replied. “We don’t know how to tell you this,” she said, “but we think our billy goat ate ’em.” Stunned silence on my part. What to do?? There was only the real plate. Because I drove my car off the lot and immediately packed it for Florida, the title and registration were to be mailed to me and would, thus, be held at the post office with my mail, to be released to me pending my signature upon return home. Her husband phoned the highway patrol. When they quite laughing, they suggested that he go up the road to the fellow that makes up temporary tags and have them make up a new one for me. So off he went, returning awhile later with a new cardboard temporary plate with TENNESSEE TEMPORARY TAG in bold black type right above my home state address in bold black magic marker. But at least it was a license plate! I proceeded to contact my supervisor at work to explain that I might have to be a tad late getting in as I had some things to resolve. My explanation was met with a lengthy silence and then her acquiescence that I could not have made this up. We gathered all our belongings, concluded our visit, loaded the car, and headed north. The next challenge was to get my son back in time to meet his school bus to go on his field trip to the orchestra concert downtown. Of course, this meant we were zooming all night. (Well, technically, the kid was sleeping.) Zipping along the interstate early in the morning, about an hour from home, I noticed that we were the only vehicle on the road at that hour…except for a southbound van that was slowing down to turn in the median. Uh oh!! Highway Patrol van! Tennessee temporary tag, non-Tennessee address, no title, no registration, and — oh, did I happen to mention no drivers’ license as it was removed from my person by the Florida State Highway Patrol when they apparently objected to my having passed them at 75 on our way out of Florida? License to be returned when I mailed them my fine. Yikes!!! How do I explain this??? Split-second decision!! Approaching a turnoff with a cloverleaf ramp, I careened down the ramp and chose a secondary road. The split of the ramp, by some miracle, was positioned so that it was impossible to see which direction I went from the vantage point of the patrol car behind me. Whew!! Yet another crisis averted. Home we sped. Got to the school. Busses had already left for the concert. Woke up my friend who quickly dressed, hopped in the car, and rode to the concert hall so she could take my son in to find his class. And (of course) while I was idling on the street, a city police car pulled up behind me. We were the only two cars parked there. And I’m thinking, once again, how do I explain this? What will happen when they haul me off to jail? My friend will come out; I will be gone; she will have no ride (before the days of cell phones, so no way to call someone) and no way to help me since my title and registration are at the post office requiring my signature and my drivers’ license is in Florida. Oh, no, no, no! And then, he drove away.
The Goat Story began with a Daytona adventure.
Motorcycles, Manners, and Famous People I Didn’t Know I Met
At the flat track races, members of the pit crew have certain responsibilities. Mine included scrubbing leathers, making sandwiches, occasionally making a run to buy a tire, and–most importantly–taking lap times. (Modern technology, with transponders, has actually made my one-time big job almost obsolete, although I’ve proudly gotta tell ya, with my trusty manual stopwatches, I could come up with times consistent with what the computers got to the thousandth of a second.)
Back in 1993 (I think), our race team headed off for the Springfield Mile, a twice-annual Grand National Dirt Track race held at the state fairgrounds in Springfield, Illinois. I don’t recall whether this was the Memorial Day race or the Labor Day weekend, but it was always a major event pulling spectators from all over the United States. The slick mile dirt track is one of the nation’s fastest and most exciting. As usual we got set up in the pits and got to work with our prospective tasks — son (the racer), dad (the mechanic), and mom (queen of the stopwatches). Shortly after we began setting up our area, an announcement came over the loudspeaker that there would be some special events occurring that day. A movie about motorcycle racing was being filmed, and there would be cameras around to record racing footage as well as crowd scenes. Spectators would have opportunities to be in the movie as part of the crowd, and there would be some film sequences captured of fans cheering. Lots of extra excitement for the fans. Racers and crews were all busy prepping to go for the big bucks. (Actually, motorcycle dirt track racing does not really pay big bucks when the risk and expense are considered. These amazing guys do it because they love it. Racers usually start off as kids, and it’s often a family event to begin with. Even when the guys get a factory ride, family is always helping out somewhere. Case closed.)
So off I went to position myself for the best view to get lap times — a platform that was the roof of a building that houses real restrooms (not port-a-pots!) and leads to the tunnel that goes under the track from the infield to the grandstand/fairground area. With me, of course, I had my handy stopwatches (two Robic watches that would give individual lap times; one watch for each hand as I could never manage three watches on a clipboard like some of the gals) and my handy-dandy lap time notebook to list the laps of as many of the fastest riders as I could capture. This information is crucial to gearing decisions and mechanical changes that must be made to keep up with changing track conditions as the day wears on. Sunblock, shades, and caps are also important as hours in the sun can be grueling.
All decked out, watches in each hand, notebook balanced on an arm….here we go! Practice starts. Diligently I am getting riders on the clock and doing lag times (to most efficiently get the maximum numbers of riders feasible). A row of folks with watches gathering data. At my left side I become aware of a young woman who is watching intently but without a stopwatch. Eventually she took advantage of a brief break in the action to ask me which rider was Geo Roeder (George Roeder, Jr., often a crowd favorite as his dad had also been a grand national competitor). I indicated the number 66 plate on Roeder’s bike, and the fan continued to watch intently. Eventually, she was joined by a tall scruffy guy in dusty black leathers, also an apparent Roeder fan. He looked vaguely familiar, but a lot of fans follow the racing circuit, so we see the same folks all over the U.S. As practice went on, the tall guy started asking questions…about Roeder, about the other racers, about times, etc. My job was to keep times for my rider, so….I kept taking times and ignoring the intruder. (Felt kinda bad about it, but — hey, I had work to do.)
Practice over, mission accomplished (albeit with a bit of annoyance), I hustled back down to our pit area with the times. As there was a break in the action while riders prepared for the upcoming qualifying heat races, the movie cameramen were filming crowd action scenes, and the announcer proceeded to share information about the movie which was entitled “Ride with the Wind” and was being produced by Craig T. Nelson (of TV show “Coach” fame). The story line involved a washed-up, jaded motorcycle racer who, as the result of a crash, ended up in the hospital where he met a child being treated for cancer…and the child’s mom. The story would go on from there. The announcer pulled some people up onto the platform where I’d been timing for interviews to fill the gap in the program. He told the audience that Craig T. Nelson would be playing the part of Tim Shelby, the racer, and that his stunt double would be Geo Roeder. I glanced up toward the platform to get a gander at the goings-on and saw a back view of a tall scruffy guy with dusty black leathers that had the name Shelby and the number 66 on the back. I turned to my husband who was also looking at the platform and asked, “So Roeder is the stunt double for Craig T. Nelson, and that’s him they’re interviewing?” to which he nodded in the affirmative. I smiled and replied, “Remember that guy I told you I was rude to?”……
And that’s the story of how I met one of the famous people in my life.
Sharing Shelley Berman’s Plurals…
A gazillion years ago, yours truly had an old LP record album entitled “Inside Shelley Berman”. Berman was a comedian many of whose bits involved his sitting on a stool having imaginary phone conversations. But sometimes he just chatted with the audience. One of my favorites involved plurals such as one blouse, two blice; one kleenex, several kleenexes (pronounced kleen-ess-eez); one goof, a group of geef; three jackii.
Just had to share.
Today’s Word…unite
Unite — [verb] to join in action; altenative form [Thelmese] youknight; you knight — when people join together in a common purpose, particularly a noble one, they become heroic. Unite; you knight…..
Today’s Word…cohabit
Cohabit: co [prefix] — common; habit [noun] — pattern or routine. Cohabit — common routine. Togetherness. The opposite of social distancing. But social distancing is important to ensure future ability to cohabit. We live in a world frought with ambiguity.
Reflections on a Metaphysical Society Presentation…What the heck is happening?…
A number of years ago, I attended a meeting of a local metaphysical society in which the presenter of the month talked about extraterrestrial life and preparation for the future.
The speaker prefaced the talk with a quote from Arthur C. Clarke: “Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.” What an immense thing to ponder. The expanse which is our universe…what might exist beyond our universe…the magnitude of that realization!
In the current trying times, that presentation has returned to mind in a frightening way. Elements that were discussed included the entertainment media and preparation for events to come. The speaker alluded to films that featured space travel, UFOs, and the like. Essentially, the message was that events of the future were somehow foreshadowed by books and films to get us ready for the changes. Recent trends in movies (superheroes, galaxies, horror films, apocalypse films), if the speaker’s premise were true, signify a bleak outlook. Such movies tends to bother me tremendously, so I avoid most of them. And so I am not ready. Not ready for a dismal future. Not prepared for the nightmare of today.
The age-old question — does art imitate life, or does life imitate art? And even bigger questions — how did we get here, why are we here, and what is happening? Are we being taken over? If so, by whom or by what? We tend to humanize our visions of other beings. But there are a myriad life forms, and we can’t fathom them all. Per Wikipedia, “stromatolites or stromatoliths (from Greek στρῶμα strōma “layer, stratum” (GEN στρώματος strōmatos), and λίθος lithos “rock”) are layered mounds, columns, and sheet-like sedimentary rocks that were originally formed by the growth of layer upon layer of cyanobacteria, a single-celled photosynthesizing microbe”. A recent television program cited stromatolite found in reefs off Australia as the first form of life on our planet. Stromatolite is now basically sedimentary rock.
We are limited to the knowledge that is available to us. But we are learning and discovering additional information every day. Even as we begin to know the unknown, there is still the greater unknown.
I might not want to know… Or I might want to hold my faith that, yes, there is something bigger; and, yes, it is a good something. If movies can script our future, so can we ourselves. So gather strength and faith and charge forward with positive thoughts, noble intent, love, kindness, and courage. We need to shape a better world. (And in the meantime, I may want to make friends with the chunk of stromatolite on my nightstand.)
Today’s Word…wind
Wind – Interestingly wind, as a noun means air movement or breath; however, to be winded, an adjective, is to be breathless. Hmmmmm….