ThingsPondered

I live in a strange place: Berks County in southeastern Pennsylvania.  Why strange?  Strange because it has changed so rapidly over the last 25 years.  When I first regularly spent time here starting in the 1970’s, it consisted of a city (county seat) at its center and then a few villages sprinkled throughout the rest of its diamond-shaped boundary ( yes – this is the county of John Updike’s Rabbit series.)  Everything else was farmland.  Active farmland.

This agrarian county was so peaceful and wholesome that it was pretty BORING to the high school youth, who frequently moved away the first chance they got.  But then they somehow wandered back to raise their families.  It was very common to drive past miles and miles of cornfields to get to anywhere.  But things started changing, slowly, and initially on a small scale.

Who should I blame, if blame there must be?  Commercial lenders?  Definitely yes.  Those &*^$% money-grubbers kept supporting new strip malls or shopping centers when good commercial properties stood vacant.  The Chamber of Commerce?  Probably.  I served on a committee in the Chamber and could see that its vision of “good” or “progress” was and is to transform Berks County into a clone of King of Prussia, an upscale expensive highway-riddled fast-paced, did I say expensive?, sophisticated area in suburban Philadelphia.  The Chamber could not see the goodness that Berks County had, and so committed itself to throwing the baby out with the bathwater.  The then-and-future residents?  Yes.  They lusted after the lifestyle of the afore-mentioned Philadelphia suburbs.

Twenty-five years ago, one did not use the word “suburbs” for Berks County.  There was big-city Reading, and then there were Leesport and Kutztown and Mohnton and Shillington and Mt. Penn and Bernville and Birdsboro and Hamburg and Morgantown.  Each was separated from the other by fields and farms.  Manure was a springtime fragrance along our 2-lane roads.  However since that time, real estate developers (I forgot to also apportion blame to them) have persuaded families to transform their farms into housing tracts.  We now have the vinyl siding suburban houses and the *%^#^& townhouse/condo horror zones.  We now use the word “suburbs.”

We now have barely any farmland.  Instead, there are more malls, and parking lots.  There are national chain stores instead of the independent locally-owned bookstore, hardware store and fabric shops.  There are franchises of every fast- and medium-fast food chains.  And the highways – bleccch!  Lots of macadam covers former vegetation.  Fields and woods are becoming scarce.

Curiously, there is a new trendy activity that Berks County communities are racing to create.  Guess what?  They want Famers’ Markets!  We have always had a few small indoor halls which open one to three days per week for farmers and vendors to sell.  But to be truly au courant, a community must have an open air market with local, and even organic, produce.  Sort of like the roadside stands we used to have?  Strange, this Berks County.

The first item in this list is primo.  After that, I consider the events equally thrilling, so their order does not imply ranking.

1.        Singing a duet with my son Benjamin for a nursing home gig at Christmastime.   He was in junior high, but was already a baritone.  (Ben wryly attributed this precocious vocal development to all the steroids he has endured for asthma.)  It was joyful to me how well our voices blended, and….duh…I guess they should have coming from the same genetic heritage.

2.       Singing a duet of Amen (from 1963 film Lilies of the Field) with Clark Lash at meeting.

3.       Singing The Verdi Requiem (alto chorus member) with orchestra, guest soloists.  The Dies Irae with timpani —- omg!  Icing on the cake was the small, private party afterwards with some good people from Reading Choral Society and bass soloist Brian Gibson.

4.       Teaching the Sunday school song “The Lord Said to Noah” with full motions, standing up, sitting down and so forth to kindergartners at St. Mary’s R.C. School.  I remember  many times singing “Rise and shine and give God the glory, glory” with my arms outstretched to the sky and thinking “I am getting PAID to do this!  Wow!”

5.       Playing one of my choral compositions (AATTBB) on the piano for a Harvard music major and his gasping with delight at one part.

6.       Singing the Queen of the Night “Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen” aria (from Mozart’s The Magic Flute) in a voice lesson.  I always wanted to do it.

7.       Playing djembe with good, experienced fellow drummers.

8.       Singing in District and Regional choruses in high school.

9.       Teaching and directing the St. Mary parish children’s choir in my composition of the Our Father.  Also, hearing them singing it on the playground for fun because it is lively.                                  (Like God. Duh)

1                – Room for whatever the next biggie will be -

During the wonderful gathering of jazz musicians to the March Mecca in Berks County (also known as Berks Jazz Fest), one of the regularly scheduled concerts is by an armed forces jazz band.  This year it was the Army Jazz Ambassadors, one of the four performing units of the United States Army Field Band.  This tight group of twenty musicians and four roadies pitched an intense, high energy concert.

Professionalism?  Technical competence? They’ve got it. For example, if the score contained alternate double-dotted eighth notes with thirty-second rests, believe me, with this band you would hear the space between each sounded note.  Also, their interpretive and expressive skills are evident, although sometimes a little too controlled.

Each member of the ensemble is headliner proficiency, so all solos are a real treat to hear.  The drummer is worthy of special mention – often leading off a number, he is a perpetual energy machine and great fun to watch.  Also fun to watch were some of the more emotionally expressive band members, with their feet briskly tapping and their faces beaming their delight in the music being made.  

The program covered a variety of the jazz genres and eras, from “I’ll Be Seeing You” to a jazz treatment of “Rainy Days and Mondays.”   I must confess that my favorites for the program were both Mary Lou Williams tunes: “Big Jim Blues” and “Rosa Mae.”

The band’s music director/MC  mentioned their website which includes links for legal downloads to some of the night’s tunes and many others.  I also appreciate its links to the other military service concert bands.  It’s worth checking at www.armyfieldband.com. 

If this band rolls into your area, they’ll provide a stimulating night out.

I was feeling absolutely non-verbal due to the onslaught this morning of super-contagious stomach-painful-abdomen-virus racing around my workplace.  So, when Bruce wanted to know what kind of muffins I brought home, I opted for acting it out rather than speaking.

I was trying to communicate “banana nut” as the type of muffin.  Sadly, Bruce is very low-skilled at Charades.  However, we had two things going for us (I thought):  [1]  I am very good at acting out clues and [2] evening is his highest energy time of day.  Strangely, he did not know the standard signals of the game.  I mean, wasn’t this a popular television show many times over?  And, although Bruce did not grow up with TV, he certainly has embraced it now.  Or, maybe that’s just for football and Law and Order. 

After a few whispered words to teach him the signals for number of words, number of syllables, and “it sounds like..”, we were off.  He struggled, but finally got “banana” down. Next I signaled: “one word, one syllable.”  Cleverly, I depicted a male urinating and then got to the pair of naughty bits below the sprinkler. He guessed balls, gonads, genitals, scrotum [hello? ONE syllable?]. Banana-gonad muffins?  I had to switch to the “sounds like…” options for clues.  So, I pointed to my derriere. He guessed ass.  Banana-ass muffins?  Sweet baby Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!  And, by this point he was having a senior moment and forgot the word banana!  I wonder where and when he has feasted on gonad-ass muffins?

Well, at least a good laugh was had by all.

Perhaps a reason I can indulge in squirrel watching and thus become enamored of the little rascals is my bizarre work hours.  I work a split shift:  7:00 to 9:30 AM and 2:30 to 6:30 PM.  This schedule permits plenty of daytime deck viewing.  However, I think that 8:00 to 9:00 AM is the ideal time for our neighborhood.  Weekends and weather-related work cancellations afford me access to this window of squirrel gazing.

Our squirrels are definitely morning creatures, as am I.  Just as dawn hints, they are up and checking for food in our feeders and bowls.  As day breaks, if there is bright yellow sunshine the squirrels and I position ourselves to maximize exposure.  For Seasonally-Affected me, I position myself at the eastern side of the house, straining my eyes and soul to absorb as much as possible of the life-giving warmth and light.  Strangely, some of the squirrels do a version of this as well.  The first priority, of course, is to see if food is available.  After gorging on food and water, sometimes a squirrel hops onto a rung of our deck railing to mentally prepare for yoga Sun Salutation.  It digs its toenails into the wood, braces itself against the wind, and thrusts its white-furred belly into the gold glow of the rising sun.

A squirrel wanting to feel the sun on its body  -  I totally understand.

I have been to Richmond a few times in my life: several times decades ago and most recently for a job fair months ago.  I have made a conscious decision to move to central Virginia, despite lack of family, employment or buddies there (yet.)  Why, one might ask?

I could suggest all sorts of illogical reasons. For one, Richmond is the home of DrumBum – a totally cool online percussion supplies business.  I visited its offices during my job fair trip.  (I would love to win one of the free T-shirts, hint hint —   ) Or, I could say that the name “Parham” has mystical attraction for me.  Also, Virginia is a commonwealth, as is my current state.

Here are some of the more motivating reasons:  Richmond is within driving distance to my family and friends who are largely in PA, NY, and east coast states.  It is closer to the ocean than my current home.   I do not need to live on the oceanfront, but I surely would like to get to it more frequently than I now do.  According to city-data , Richmond has more days of sunshine than does my current home.  As I have Seasonal Affective Disorder, I am suffering where I live now in “below-average-land.”  Furthermore, the city of Richmond has many colleges and universities – I want to be near people with intellectual curiosity and who may be liberal-minded.  In fact, I am told that the Fan district is similar to a New York City SoHo and Greenwich Village.  WooHoo!   Additionally, I want to be near a city large enough to support live theatre and live classical music performances.  I think Richmond fills the bill there.  Also, I am counting on many more job opportunities in a large city. 

Thus, I have focused on Richmond as the answer to my needs.  Future employers, what can I offer you?

the world who you are: 

just start talking.

Failure to Conjugate Third Person Singular

                    a/k/a

        Don’t say Don’t with he

Santa Maria, Madre de Dios!  There are many languages more

complicated

(MUCH more complicated)

than English. 

We are talking PRESENT tense – also not a huge

challenge.  In English, generally we use the same exact verb (action word

for you Wal-Mart devotees) with five of the six types of people groups. 

The is action word identical for: I, you –singular, we, you-plural, and

they.  Therefore, we need only learn one other form of the verb to

complete our vocabulary.  Why, then, do you insist on declaring to the

world that you are happily locked into the lower class?  

It seems to be a badge of honor to talk like a country-western song.  I

know you are not stupid people.  You have many skills, talents, and

bodies of knowledge.  You can run rings around so many of us with your

expertise in myriads of arenas. Yet, you persist in trashing English when

the solution is SO SIMPLE.  There is even a pattern:  often all that is

required is adding an “s” or an “es” to the verb used for the five other

pronouns.

Examples:  I do, you do, He does.

Therefore, when the word “not” is part of the sentence, we have: I don’t,

you don’t, he doesn’t.

Try it.  It is easy, truly.

Why does it need to be so late on the east coast?  Can’t our fellow Americans in the Pacific Time Zone watch a game that starts at 2:00 PM their time?  I do not see obstacles to that.  If that could happen, then the east coast people will be watching starting at 5:00 PM their time – certainly an appropriate time for scarfing down all the wings, pizza, beer, chips, and so forth.  As for the Californians, they can take a turn for a few decades of “needing” (?) to eat Superbowl foods at a time they might not normally eat in the middle of their afternoon.  The Superbowl commercials will be just as funny.

The end of January/ beginning of February is cold and dark, and possibly full of bad weather conditions,  for half of the east coast at the traditional Superbowl starting time.  If party guests are drinking spirits, then they possibly have the alcohol to process before they can head home,.  Late, late, late night for adults and some children.  On a school night.  On a work night. 

It’s time for a change.

As Uncle Jay, of Uncle Jay Explains the News , says: this Inauguration is going to be “momentous.”  It is our country’s first dark-skinned President and first dark-skinned First Lady.  Just as my parents never thought they would live to see people land on the moon, I did not think I would live to see an African-American president of the United States.  We are extremely pleased that we are witnessing these events in the progress of humankind.

I offer this prayer in honor of the occasion:

Dear Kind and Loving God of Goodness:

Please keep the Obama family, both the nuclear family and the extended relatives, safe in eye of your care.  Please have all the guardian angels and spirits on duty and all the apprentice angels in on the act.  Thank you for this momentous moment in the history of our country, a country that tries hard to do the right thing but sometimes stumbles.  Let the Inauguration Day be a joyful celebration of a fitting and proud step for our citizens and for all your purposes.

My partner and I made the decision to start feeding the backyard squirrels.  We have accidentally fed them birdseed for years, but now we are consciously choosing to feed them.  As this was an impulsive move, we are shooting from the hip so far.  

What is official squirrel food?  For the moment, it is whatever the local big box store says it is.  And that is dried ear corn.  This was not the best option; it was the only option.  Thus, until we do our feed research, in ear corn we trust.

We have a heated squirrel water bowl (really a birth bath) and a ceramic bowl for feed.  Into it, I excitedly placed three ears.  That was today, the third day of squirrel over-wintering parenthood.  Now, I am realizing that watching the little rodents happily chomping away on our deck may not be as easy as we imagined.

Pecking order.  Birds have it, literally.  Wolves have their hierarchy of power with the alphas, betas, and so forth.  Humans have it.   Then, it should not astonish anyone to acknowledge that squirrels have dominance ranking.  I observed it this morning as one precious-looking squirrel was at the bowl with the three newly poured corn cobs.  He (or she) was happily springing on an ear to extricate one kernel, then leaping back about a foot away to happily chew.  This was repeated several times until…

A more dominant squirrel appeared. Older, bigger, cannier, and wise in the ways of the squirrel world, this creature ambushed my cutie.  The ambush was just a “get out of here” maneuver, not infliction of bodily harm.  However, this dominant squirrel contrived to deprive me of my squirrel watching pleasure.  This meanie picked up a cob in his mouth and scampered away with it!

Alright.  This happened on our first day as well.  However, what has me on the warpath is that the scalawag returned to do it again three minutes later. What chutzpah!  Obviously, I leaped up and banged on the door.  Unfortunately, when an ugly huge human does this, not only the meanie, but also the cute, squirrels run.  In annoyance, I went outside and peeled the kernels from the only remaining ear into the bowl.  My thinking was that the “one-at-a-time” dainty eaters will still be able to eat within our sight.  In contrast, the muscular tricky squirrels will not find anything worth hauling.

I wonder what can happen next?