PICKED UP IN PASSING...WHAT'S IN YOUR SANDWICH?

Thanks to medical science, technology, and other factors, people are living longer and longer. 

Regrettably, however, it is not always the case that extending the number of years results in enhancing the quality of life. The famous author, "Anonymous," has been quoted as saying, "The problem with what we call "life" is that it is daily." And I am here to say that the responsibility we call "life" beckons us to rise above the level of mere daily existence -- at any age.

A high school senior and his buddy sat down at their usual seats and opened their lunch boxes. "I can't believe it," the boy complained, "peanut butter and jelly sandwiches again." On the second day, he complained, "I hate these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."

On the third day, he did it again! "I'm so sick of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches," he whined. His buddy had a suggestion. "Look, if you hate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that much, why don't you tell your mother?" To which he replied, "Don't bring my mother into this. I make my own lunch."

Absurd as this may sound, it has a definite relevance to our lives. Metaphorically speaking, we all make our own sandwiches. And the ingredients we choose to put between the two slices of bread can make all the difference. 

No matter how you slice it, obedience to our faith is what determines not the number, but the quality of our years spent on God's good earth.

CLOSE SHAVE: MY POPPIES COULD HAVE GONE BYE BYE

The alleged thistle patch, a case of mistaken identity.

What Poppies will look like in two or three weeks time.

I simply cannot resist telling a little story at the expense of my daughter Debbie. She's a good sport and I'm sure she will not mind.

At the outset, I have to preface my remarks by saying that Deb is a wonderful help around the house, frequently taking it upon herself to do chores that I do not expect her to do and for which I am extremely grateful. That said, I have to convey up front that unlike one of her daughters (Becky) who works at the prestigious Royal Botanical Gardens in Burlington, she is by no stretch of the imagination a horticulturalist.

The other day Deb asked me: "Dad, do you have a small shovel  or spade?"

"Yes I do," I replied, "but what do you want it for?"

"There are some thistles growing out front and I thought I would dig them out," she answered.

"Strange," I thought, "but I don't remember seeing any thistles!"

Fortunately, as it turned out, the matter dropped at that point but it did not completely leave my mind.

The next day I remembered our conversation about thistles and thought that I would take a minute to explore the possibility of prickly weeds that some people consider to be a flower and the national symbol of Scotland, growing at the front of our house.

As soon as I got to the foot of the driveway and seeing no thistles, it dawned on me...Surely Deb was not talking about the small patch of Poppies that I have been nurturing for the better part of 20 years.

I rushed back into the house and without even seeing her blurted out: "Deb, those thistles you were talking about are really Poppies that in the next two or three weeks will be the most beautiful flowers you have ever seen....Thank goodness I didn't get you that shovel when you asked for it."

"Oh no! Deb responded while breaking out in laughter as she emerged from her bedroom..."I thought they looked like thistles. I didn't see any buds."

I managed a cursory chuckle in response and added: "The plants are not fully grown yet and will almost double in size before buds are formed. If you dug them out you would have not only broken my heart, but you would have had to find a new place to live!"

I still can't believe how close I came to losing those precious Poppies -- and Deb, somewhat embarrassed after the fact, can't either.

All I can say is...phew!

UPDATE:

Debbie was hard at it this afternoon, but she steered
clear of the Poppies, thank God!

A MEMORY ABOUT STRENGTH IN NUMBERS AND 'LITTLE GUYS' JOINING FORCES TO RISE TO THE OCCASION

Dresden Public School circa 1945. Note basement windows, lower level.

I don't know about kids today. Of course I do not know much about anything these days, but I digress even before beginning this post. Let me start again!

I do not know about kids today but very early in my life I learned about big guys and little guys...and strength in numbers. The lesson came in the form of what is today a vivid memory and it goes something like this...

Unlike schools today, the Dresden Public School that both my parents also grew up in, had a full basemen, divided in the middle to create a girls' side and a boys' side, complete with rest rooms in each. The basement served as a shelter of sorts for kids on rainy and snowy days because we were not allowed in classrooms until the stroke of the intimidating hours of 9:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m,

There was a bullying segment in the boys side of the school, consisting primarily of big, tough guys from Grades 7 and 8 who got their jollies from the imposition of a game called "jail". It was just an accepted fact that sooner or later we little guys would be captured by the big guys somewhere in the school yard (we could run but we couldn't hide) and herded off to jail in a portion of the basement that was closed off with only a small entranceway.

Four or five of the big guys would stand guard at the entranceway and with arms locked block any attempt by their smaller prisoners to escape, holding off victorious until the school bell rang. That is, until a few brave little guys had an idea. Instead of just one or two of us, let's all (often more than two dozen captives) storm the big guy blockade together and force our way out. In other words, gang up on em!

What ensued was an intense struggle of determination vs. brute force, and after a couple of test-run attempts over the course of several days, the little guys broke through for the first time leaving several of the jail-keepers behind to lick their wounds. Freedom at last and it had a sweet taste, kind of like the sticky buns sold at Burn's Bakery across the street from the school.

The game of jail seemed to loose its appeal for the big guys after several more successful, dare I say humiliating, breakouts by the little guys.

It wasn't so bad going to school after that!

Don't ever tell me that there is not strength in numbers. That's one thing I DO KNOW from a lesson I learned along with a bunch of little guys from the Dresden Public School all those years ago.

YOU HAD TO HAVE BEAN THERE TO APPRECIATE THIS ONE

BeanieMe

In the beginning of the 20th century, the word ‘beanie’ was derived from the slang for ‘head’ used then as ‘bean’ i.e. bean head, or what's that on your bean? Blue-collared workers were the first to use brimless skullcaps to keep their hair from falling over their eyes and sweat from dripping down their foreheads. This form of working man's headwear therefore allowed for unobstructed vision when laborers were on the job.

When the 1920s rolled around, boys began to be dressed in beanies of different descriptions, perhaps influenced by the Our Gang/Little Rascals movies that were so popular by that time. Beanies, in fact, were forerunners to the baseball caps worn by kids (frontwards and backwards) today.

A Little Rascal

It is surprising to me, however, that there is very little on record about the novelty beanie of my youth in the early 1940s.

The "beanie" for me represents the equivalent of a skull cap, but made out of a second-hand felt hat or fedora previously worn by an adult member of the family, in my case grandfather Nelson Perry who generously donated his to the cause after buying a new one.

Typical of others in my hometown of Dresden, my mother craftily cut the brim off gramps' well-worn gray-colored chapeau and created V-shaped cutouts along the bottom which she in turn folded up to create a rim of sorts. The rim was stitched front and back in order to hold it in place.

My beanie today, minus a few
collector's item comic pins.

And, just like that, you had your own homemade beenie ready to be covered with pins and buttons of all sorts. I leaned toward Red Cross and V-Day buttons spaced between comic character pins collected from Kelloggs cereal boxes -- Dick Tracy, Freckles, Dagwood & Blonde, Major Hoople, Tress Trueheart, Joe Palooka, Lil Abner, Popeye, Harold Teen, et al. When we came up with duplicates they were traded with other kids for pins we did not yet have.

I wore my beanie with pride, even to church, as evidence the above photo of me dressed in my Sunday-go-to-meetin' best at about eight or nine years of age.

I still have that old beanie. I tried it on after about 75 years or so as I put together this piece. My intention was to run a photo of me wearing it, but I reconsidered because it looked silly.

Far be it from me...!

Friend Danny Burns and I wearing
 our beanies. Photo taken from cover
of my book Dresden Life Remembered.

UPDATE: Subsequent to the posting of the above story, my very curious daughter Debbie took it upon herself to do some further research on my behalf and was able to determine that in fact my type of "beanie" originated with the comics strip Archie and a lead character "Jughead". I completely forgot all about that possibility! 

Jughead

The initial Archie characters were created in 1941 by publisher John L. Goldwater and artist Bob Montana, in collaboration with writer Vic Bloom. They first appeared in Pep Comics #22 (cover-dated Dec. 1941).

Here is the original comic strip that introduced Jughead's beanie. It is classic and an excellent gun safety tip to boot. A perfect explanation too as to where my mother got her directions for making my beanie. It all comes together now, thanks to Deb's spadework!

I DON'T LIKE WHAT I SEE, BUT I HAVE TO LIVE WITH IT

"O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us

To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An’ foolish notion”

Translation:

Oh, would some Power give us the gift
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notion

~ Robert Burns,

I have always been conscious of the saying "see yourself as others see you" and appreciated the wisdom contained therein as positive in nature.

...That is until yesterday as I was walking away from our local hospital after a blood test requisitioned by my oncologist. By happenstance, I glanced at my reflection in the large glass doors and deep side windows.

"Oh my Lord, I'm walking like I was 100 years old," I shockingly said to myself and promptly put forth an effort to speed up my pace with an added spring in my step.

Guess what? No difference. I was still shuffling along like I was 100 years old -- and everything in my body was hurting just a little more too.

I live only five doors from the hospital yet the walk home seemed like five miles, giving me sufficient time to rationalize and reluctantly accept what I had just experienced. 1) It ain't going to get any better, it is what it is, 2) Heaven help me if I let my mind catch up to my weakening limbs, and 3) stop looking at my reflection in doors and windows.

In all seriousness, the thought crossed my mind that I am 16 years away from my 100th birthday and what kind of shape will I be in by that time?

Oh well, I'll just have to wait and see. Meantime, I've got too much to do and can't waste valuable time worrying about it.

Besides, when I'm sitting down I still feel like I was 21 years old and fully capable of going nine innings, or running a 100-yard dash. All of which explains my motivation to sit down a lot these days.

Anyway, from here on out, I'm going to make it a point to do a little more walking every day in the hope that I can liven up my step just a bit...I'm kind of masochistic that way!

ON PAINTING A PICTURE OF LOVE FOR OTHERS TO SEE

“Two Sisters” by Pierre-Auguste Renoir depicts the upper terrace of the Maison Fournaise, a family restaurant located on an island in the Seine in Chatou, the western suburb of Paris. Considered one of his most famous, the painting shows a young woman and her younger sister seated outdoors with a small basket containing balls of wool. In the background over the railings of the terrace, are flowering plants and vines. Beyond is the River Seine with its boats and also some buildings in the top left. Renoir painted this delightful scene as a homage to springtime in 1881. Before creating Two Sisters, Renoir worked in this particular location on another well-known painting, Luncheon of the Boating Party, seen at the conclusion of this post.

As a community of faith, one of the most serious charges that can be leveled is the claim that "Church People" are turned in on themselves. Christians are vulnerable in the extreme to such a charge because the Gospel preached is the Good News that God is a loving God who cares about all His human creatures. 

Ideally Christians are a People of God dedicated to a ministry of loving service to others. To whatever extent the charge is valid, it must be faced honestly and openly because any aspect of self-centeredness in the life of the Church is a flagrant denial of God's intention in founding it. Nothing could be more obvious.

Remember, the Lord Himself came as a man for others. The one thing about Jesus the early disciples found most difficult to accept was that He came not to be ministered unto but to minister to. (They didn't accept it, really, until after the Resurrection.) When Jesus began to tell them that as the Messiah, He was to be a servant -- a Suffering Servant -- that He was to suffer and die on behalf of others, the disciples were incredulous. 

Simon Peter, the Rock, the first to acknowledge Jesus as Messiah, said: "God forbid it; this is never going to happen to you! I mean, you're the Lord, you're the Messiah, you're not a servant!" And the one thing that we now find most challenging to accept is that, from the beginning, Christ intended for His followers to be a Servant People; that Christ intended for the Church to follow the course of His ministry of loving service.

As an illutration, the timeless paintings of the great French Impressionist, Auguste Renoir literally glow with life and light and color. Renoir seemed to put light inside the people he so beautifully portrayed on canvas. For the last 20 years or so of his life, Renoir was disabled with arthritis. His hands were twisted and gnarled; even his spine was affected to such an extent that he could not stand when he worked and needed assistance but still he produced amazing work that showed the light (beauty) in his subjects.

One day as a young art associate watched the elder painter work in his studio, fighting torturous pain with each brush stroke, he blurted out, “Auguste, why do you continue to paint when you are in such agony?” Renoir said, “The pain passes but the beauty remains.”

Just think, if we were to speak to Jesus on resurrection morning, He might have said the same thing. The pain of the Cross has passed, but the beauty remains: The beauty of new creation, the beauty of an army of disciples that spans the millennia, the beauty of a kingdom established in the hearts of his people, all this remains. 

But it may be that you are going through pain just now and you can’t see an end to that pain. Can you trust that out of the pain will come a beauty that will last forever? 

Why not give that pain over to your Heavenly maker and ask Him show you its beauty. You just might be surprised at the picture you have been failing to see.

In the end, to complete the circle, you can share that love(ly) beauty with others, just as God would have you do.

Get the picture, fellow Christians?

WHEN REGRET FOR NOT LOVING ENOUGH IS NOT ENOUGH

The purpose of this post is two-fold:

1) To hopefully rid myself of a nagging, heart-wrenching regret and

2) To share my emotions in the hope others can learn from my experience.

In the process I have to admit to a seeing problem due to the fact that my eyes keep welling up and the words on my computer monitor are annoyingly blurred. I also struggle to avoid succumbing to an ache in my chest that comes and goes in intensity, as if timed to the surging beats of my heart. 

It all has to do with sadness and regret that, try as I may otherwise, refuses to completely go away and tends to overwhelm me when I am most vulnerable.

You see, in spite of an enduring craving to love and to be loved, I have major reservations over not having loved enough in my life. Being twice widowed, I find myself enduring a double-whammy dose of guilt and regret in this regard. 

I think about the times that I failed to spontaneously demonstrate my love due to circumstances, or just because...

I think of all the times I could have expressed love, instead of taking it for granted....Occasions when even a simple hug or embrace would have been sufficient.

I think of all the times when I could have been more sensitive, sympathetic and understanding.

I think of all the times I lashed out and said hurtful things I really did not mean.

I think about all the things that I cannot change nor take back.

Did my loved ones leave this world not knowing how much I really loved them? Death has a way of coming unexpectedly and cheating you out of an opportunity to say goodbye.

Worst of all, I think about lost love and the fact that at my advanced age I will never have it again. Certainly, in my experience, an empty and hopeless feeling that I try very hard to suppress.

They tell me that regretting things you said and did while your loved one was alive is normal. You are not alone, you are not a bad person, and you don’t need to hate yourself. No matter what you did or said, you CAN find forgiveness, healing, and peace. But — and this isn’t the fun part — you have to go through the painful grieving process. There is no escaping it! And you may never completely overcome being haunted by it.

“To go through grief requires incredible reserves of patience,” writes Bob Deits in Life after Loss: A Practical Guide to Renewing Your Life after Experiencing Major Loss. “At some point along the way, you will feel terribly sad, lonely, lost, angry — or all of these. To get in touch with such unpleasant feelings, you have to be convinced there is absolutely no other way out of your grief than straight through the middle of it. You must have a strong sense of purpose and direction.”

So what I am urging friends who are fortunate enough to still have significant others in their lives, is to learn from my experience. Love unconditionally, frequently and for all you're worth. Make the best of your time together because it can be over in a flash.

It can only take a minute, if you know what I mean. But love while you still can and in the manner that feels best for you. Leave nothing undone or unsaid, In the end, you'll be glad that you did!

Trust me! 

There's a 50 percent chance that you will end up like me -- feeling that I could have done better and not being able to do anything about it now. 

I always felt that I was giving life my all, but in retrospect I did not. And that's a sad admission.

PART OF MY PAST: THE STORY OF A 90-YEAR-OLD RADIO

Earlier this week I posted a reflective piece on Wrights Lane where I talked about Sundays in the 1940s and, in passing, mentioned huddling around the radio in evenings with family members. It subsequently dawned on me that it would be fun to do a follow up item on the actual radio that we listened to all those 80 years ago.

Believe it or not, I still have that old floor model console radio (above photo) purchased originally by my parents some time in the early 1930s. It is known only by the name "Radiotrope" and it is a fixture in my study, often visible in the background of some of the videos I produce. You couldn't offer me enough money for it.

As best as I can determine, the Radiotrope dates back to 1928 or '29 and it was manufactured for General Electric by the RCA Victor Company. Of all the new products put on the market during the 1920’s, very few had the impact on society than the radio-a symbol of the radical advances in technology which created fundamental changes in everyday life. A fine example of this “technology” is seen in my prized antique heirloom with its four legs of walnut and cabinet of walnut veneer.

View of cabinet back showing 110-volt
inner workings and GE vacuum tubes 
with single speaker mounted below.

This particular model was considered middle-of-the-road and affordable in post Depression times. The on/off switch is located just below the central station control dial and on the right side. The volume knob is located on the left. The fabric-covered speaker is prominent at the bottom of the arched front panel. It brought in stations best (about six in all) when grounded by a wire attached to the receiver assembly.

Just for history purposes, over several years, starting in 1894, the Italian inventor Guglielmo Marconi built the first complete commercially successful wireless telegraphy system (radio transmission) based on Heinrich Hertz’s 1888 proof of the existence of transmitted airborne electromagnetic waves (electromagnetism). Marconi then demonstrated the application of radio in military communications. In 1901, he conducted the first successful transatlantic experimental radio communications. In 1904, the US Patent Office awarded him the patent for the invention of the radio. Marconi started his own company devoted to the development and propagation of radio communications services and equipment.

The most common type of radio reception in the 1920s was called a crystal set. An instructional catalog was all anyone needed to learn how to build a crystal radio receiver of their own. Later, vacuum tubes replaced the old crystal sets. These amplifying vacuum tubes revolutionized radios and receivers. In 1912, General Electric’s improvements to the vacuum tube helped make possible modern electronics and the home radio. 

General Electric began manufacturing radios in 1919 through RCA until late 1930, when they began to use their own trademark. In 1919, the US Navy suggested to General Electric that if they could create an American-owned radio company, then the Navy could secure a commercial monopoly of long distance radio communication. Hence, General Electric bought out a subsidiary of Marconi’s company and organized what we know as RCA.

The invention of radio was a miracle in the field of mass communication. A unique entertainment opportunity was brought to the public, especially those who could not afford the luxury of live entertainment. Radio provided the opportunity for the public to be better informed about local and international issues. 

The experience of listening to the radio often brought families closer together as the young and the old would meet around the radio to listen to their favorite shows together. Radio programming was truly a cultural phenomenon that provided general entertainment, information, education and advertising. 

Edward R. Morrow

It also served as a guide to people during times of war. The effects of radio programming created a huge shift in popular culture and changed people’s lives forever.

My first memories of sound coming from our Radiotrope were the distinct voices of Edward R. Morrow, Howard K. Smith, Paul Harvey and Lowell Thomas broadcasting live from the overseas "war front" during WW2. Professional journalists, they brought the devastation of war on a far away battlefield vividly and directly into our living rooms.

It was during the WW2 period that I was introduced to some singing voices too, i.e. British singer Vera Lynn, whose touching ballads helped sustain the spirits of Britons; crooner Bing Crosby and the spirited Dinah Shore had their own programs. Ed Sullivan's talent show got its start on radio and introduced many up-and-coming stars to the world in the 1930s.

Joe Louis

Another memory that has stayed with me was listening with my dad to the heavy weight world boxing championship match between Joe Louis and Buddy Baer in 1943. As a result a tradition of Friday night boxing broadcasts was launched for us right up to Ken Wright's death in 1952.

In my previously-mentioned post I alluded to listening to our favorite radio programs on Sunday evenings, especially Amos 'n' Andy and the hilarious (to me) Jack Benny.

Amos and Andy

Interestingly, Amos 'n' Andy was an American radio and television sitcom set in Harlem, the historic center of Afro-American culture in New York City. The original radio show ran from 1928 to 1960.

The Jack Benny Program starred Benny with Mary Livingstone, Phil Harris, Rochester, Dennis Day, and Don Wilson. The Jack Benny Show AKA The Jello Program AKA The Lucky Strike Program aired from the 1930’s right through to the 1950’s.

As I recall, the old Radiotrope was only turned on for specific programs and newscasts and never left running virtually all day. Next to newspapers of the period, it was a news source and a cheap form of entertainment for a nation pinching its pennies.

I broke away from the family radio after my dad died and I was gifted with my very own Northern Electric table model, with plastic casing no less. It sat on a desk in my bedroom and very seriously vied for homework time the duration of my school days.

The Radiotrope meantime has remained mostly silent ever since. It deserved to rest in peace, but not out of sight and certainly not out of mind.