Learning the Joy of Learning

School always felt like a punishment to me, and that's a shame. Because learning should be an adventure, not a grind.

What a tangled web we weave...

To this day, I'm slow to learn new things. I'd like to go about my day, do my thing, and move along to the next thing. But that's really no way to live.

I want to be one of those people who wake up in the morning, greet the dawn with open arms and feel blessed to be given another new day. I really do.

But I'm just. so. tired.

In this era of living "intentionally," I've been attempting to notice the little things. I was washing my hands the other day, for example, and I marveled at the silky feel of the soap, the bubbles that glistened in a rainbow of colors, and the sensation of being clean.

I noticed a spider had woven a web into the window screen in the kitchen. Bees buzzing in these little teeny daisy-like wildflowers growing in the backyard. And wisps of steam coming off my coffee in the morning. All little things.

And yet, yesterday I was doing what I image my cat would identify as "the zoomies," cutting the grass on a break from work, making our lunches, and cramming in a few chores before heading back to my desk. None of this was conducive to being "intentional."

Have I learned nothing?

Well, I guess I'm a work in progress, but that progress is awfully slow.

Was there anything I learned in school that's helping me today?  Well, sure, I got a good Catholic education (grade school, anyhow). I learned my maths and my English pretty good. A little science. (Which I didn't enjoy at all until middle school and lab. Hands-on science is great, I discovered.) And a little geography (emphasis on "little"). Our schoolbooks made foreign countries sound about as exciting as a day in a cornfield. 

Of course, I was fortunate that in high school, I was able to take vocational classes, where I learned how to type, do basic accounting, and overall business skills. Home Ec taught me rudimentary cooking and sewing. And the co-op class my senior year had me working half days in a print shop, an experience that went a long way in providing depth to my education in a valuable way.

Looking back over my career, I've learned more than I realized. While others were reluctant about the internet when it became a thing at work, I embraced it. I've kept up with technology, although I still think that watching a DVD or reading a book I can hold in my hands is better than the digital alternatives, which live in a cloud and can go POOF at the whim of their host.

I'm learning to manipulate AI for work, although I find it worrisome. Am I contributing to the downfall of intelligent thought by using this tool? 

Perhaps I'm delusional (more likely than perhaps). But I believe that someday, people will want to shop in malls again, that we'll return to interacting in person, that cell phones will become passé, and we'll finally turn them off to get away from the exhaustion that is social media. 

Which is why learning new things is all well and good, but retaining basic skills from the beforetimes is important, too. Using our imagination, being in touch with the world around us, looking out for each other. The good citizens we were taught to be growing up.

So many important things we learned early on that seem to have been pushed aside. 

Although I can confidently say, memorizing the Jabberwocky poem by Lewis Carroll in 5th grade is not something that will ever prove useful in daily life.

But I digress. I've learned how to do that pretty well.

Naming Wrongs

In my dotage, I've discovered this fun new game. You hear hear a name, and you try to place it. 

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I call my game, "Schoolmate, Coworker, or Celebrity?"

In the beforetimes when I hadn't yet met many people, it was easy to remember who was who. Given the limited nature of my social circle, it was simply a matter of deciding which class a given person was in. That may be why I remember the names of so many early classmates.

This skill went by the wayside by the time I got to high school. There were 700+ kids in my graduating class. 

Things only got trickier through the years, as I worked for bigger and bigger companies. People were hired, fired, or retired, and pretty soon the pool of names to remember was simply too large to be navigable. Somewhere along the line, I began approaching folks I thought I recognized (but could not name) by simply saying, "Hey, man, how are you doing? Good to see you!"

It's reassuring when you look into the eyes of the person you've recognized and see the momentary panic as they try to place you. Clearly, I'm not the only one who has trouble matching names with faces.

At least with LinkedIn, you don't have to face the person.

"Tom Beetermen shared an article from Linda Cuthbert." Clearly, I admitted Tom into my LinkedIn group, but there I am, trying to remember if I worked with him at my last job, the job before that, or if it was someone I admitted simply because they asked me. (Which is something I don't do anymore. If I don't know you, I'm not letting you network with my peeps.)

But what really tweaks the grey matter is hearing a name that's familiar but you don't know why. That's where the game comes into play. 

You hear a name, let's say, Patty Lane. You're certain you've heard the name before, so you start running through the paces.

Schoolmate? No. Coworker? Don't think so. Celebrity? Not sure. At this point, you run it by the Google. (Oh, the wonders of modern technology!). And there she is, Patty Lane, Patty Duke's character on the Patty Duke Show. Is this cheating? Nope! My game, my rules.

Feel free to play right along with me the next time a name comes up that you can't place.

And when I see you in person, if I don't call you by name, you'll understand that I may be well-intentioned, but it takes awhile for my Univac-for-brain to crank into motion.

Thanks for reading this, man!

Photo attribution: Elizabeth Shippen Green, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Just the Vaxx, Ma'am

"I just read in the Washington Post that they're debating raising the eligible age for COVID vaccinations to 75," said Mr. Ginley yesterday. "Let's go and get ours while we can." 

Ernesh has a mohawk.

So I made an appointment for today to do the deed. I always try to get my shot before the weekend, because I don't feel great for a day or two afterward, and I can't afford to be loopy at work. (Bosses frown on that sort of thing.)

It turned out to be my lucky day, because I won lunch from Spin the Wheel at work today. So I was able to get my shot and a free burrito bowl. Winner, winner, chicken dinner! 

As for Mr. Ginley, for his bravery getting vaxxed, he got several treats. (Who's a good boy?) But alas, no sticker, so disappointing. I did point out that although a sticker lasts longer, you can't eat it. You could smell it if it was a scratch-and-sniff, like the email Robyn designed (but wasn't allowed to send) for April Fools Day. 

Did I mention a puzzle clue I stumbled on the other day, "A famous jewelry advertising jingle, 'Every kiss begins with ---.'" Funny/not funny that. 

You are probably wondering at this point if I'm capable of writing anything that's coherent. 

I'm thinking no. But then, if you've been a regular visitor to this page, you will likely say it's just business as usual.

So, I'm going to cut this short, share a picture of me and Ernesh, and call it a day. I think a little mindless TV is in order, don't you? Would you believe I rented Season 2 of The Love Boat? I thought you would. 

Maybe by next week, I'll have some nugget of wisdom to share.

If I were you, I wouldn't hold my breath. 

Purple Rain

"Are those blueberries?" inquired Mr. Ginley, peering out the kitchen window.

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"I'm not sure what they are," I replied. "But they are not blueberries. Just another weed in the jungle."

But, of course, it didn't end there. The questions kept coming, and I was compelled to contact my expert on the topic (aka, my sister, Diane). I went out and took a few snaps and texted her the best one (which, sadly, wasn't good enough to use here.)

Her reply was quick. Of course, she knew what it was. 

"Pokeweed," she replied. "Critters like it. Definitely an acquired taste. Will spread if happy. Yours looks mighty happy. Could end up with purple poop."

I was momentarily puzzled by the ending, until she continued a minute later.

"Droppings, that is...the critters, not you."

And so I was not surprised when I observed purple splotches on the ground outside the back door. 

As I've said before, I'm trying to be kind to birds, bees, and bunnies. (Thankfully, "woodchuck" doesn't start with a "b".) In return, I'm getting thanked with colorful driveway markers.

Of course, there are other perks. I get to watch squirrel antics in the tree over the fence. I've seen a few monarch butterflies. And fireflies. I've heard mourning doves and cardinals. Cicadas and crickets. 

The only downside this year has been the invasion of lantern flies. I've killed hundreds of the ghastly beasts. Thankfully, with the cooler weather, they are dying out or laying low. Either way, I'm glad their numbers seem to be receding. 

Soon, I'll have to go out and start chopping away at the now-denuded blackberry bushes, the dried up weeds, and yes, the pokeweed (once the berries are finished). 

For now, I'm going to enjoy the last remnants of summer, the cooler weather, and the crickets, which are still creating a lovely evening soundtrack.

Heaven knows, I won't be ready to shovel snow anytime soon.

Photo attribution: Cbaile19, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

School Faze

In my youth, Labor Day was a time of mourning. Because the next day, we had to return to school.

Mom cut my bangs.

Who will my teacher be? Will I get lost searching for a classroom (high school). Or, once uniforms were out of the picture, will my wardrobe pass muster or will I be humiliated by my peers? Who will I sit next to on the school bus? Will that cute guy I've had a crush on since last year be in any of my classes?

To this day, I occasionally have nightmares about roaming the halls of my high school trying to find my locker, then forgetting the combination and missing class. Sometimes I find myself half-dressed, running to catch the bus. Other times, I'm trying to take a test but I can't suss out any of the answers.

These things come to mind when people talk about the carefree school days of their youth. Surely I wasn't the only child who was anxiety-ridden, worried about whether I would be able to make friends, if my teachers would be nice, or if I'd get good grades. 

Nope, "school days" and "carefree" are two phrases that definitely do not go together.

I suppose if I weren't such a misfit toy, I'd have had an easier time in school, and maybe I would have carried a few good memories into adulthood.

Mr. and I were talking about the milestone class reunion coming up in two years and whether we'd attend.

I am honestly interested in what happened to some of the kids in my class. But I really don't need to talk to them in person. A "Who's Who From the Class of 1977" would be nice.

All the info, none of the social interaction. 

What I call a win-win.

Sailing on the Ruby Yacht of Omar Khayyam

Long before there was South Park, Rocky and Bullwinkle ruled the airwaves with their unique blend of bad puns, satire, and general hilarity. 

Kids loved the show for the goofy gags and silly but engaging plots. Adults enjoyed the sly references to current and past events and the clever wordplay that went over the heads of most children.

The cool thing is, Rocky and Bullwinkle never get old. Watching them today, I still giggle when the faux college football team Wossamotta U takes on Watchmakers Technical Institute (aka "Tick Tock Tech"). 

If you want to give yourself a chuckle, google "Ruby Yacht of Omar Khayyam." The AI assistant says, "The phrase 'ruby yacht of Omar Khayyam' is a reference to the Rubaiyat, a collection of Persian quatrains (four-line poems) translated by Edward FitzGerald in 1859. The phrase originates from a famous line in the Rubaiyat that reads, 'With old Khayyam the ruby vintage drink' and became widely known for its pun in the animated television show Rocky and Bullwinkle." 

Somewhere there's an ancient Persian either spinning in their grave or enjoying the word play.

But I digress.

Part of what makes Rocky and Bullwinkle topical is that they got into hot water with governments near and far with their political satire. It may have been wrapped up in a kids' cartoon, but there was no mistaking the digs at Russian leaders, the U.S. government, and other prominent figures of the time. Although it often targeted the Cold War, I'm sure I'm not the only one who can see the resemblance between Fearless Leader and our current dictator-in-chief.

And, lest we forget, the ensemble cast wasn't too shabby, either. Peabody & Sherman, Fractured Fairy Tales, Aesop and Son, and Dudley Do-Right, to name a few. 

Hokey smokes! I think it's a good time to re-watch the show that created so much silliness and static on the airwaves. 

"Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat." 

"Again?"

Fun Facts: The middle initial "J." for both characters is a sneaky homage to their creator, "Jay" Ward. And Bullwinkle was named for a Ford dealership in Oakland, California. (The writers thought the name sounded funny.)

Mellowing Out

The local rag expanded the number of advice columns it covers, so now I'm able to read about lots of other people's problems.

The album cover

Just the other day, I was reading about a woman who lamented the fact that her boyfriend went out one or two nights a week to spend time with the guys. Her reaction was to whine and complain to him (and the columnist). 

"Is she nuts?," was my first thought. Several hours of having the house to myself sounded like a little slice of heaven.

Now, don't look into this too deeply. Mr. and I are not having serious problems or anything. I just enjoy my own company. Maybe it's working from home and being around each other 24/7, but I relish time to myself.

Yesterday, for example, I dropped Mr. Ginley off at the Rapid station. He went downtown to do some research at the library. For most of that time, I was working, but when my day was done, I was able to squeeze out an hour or so of me-time.

So, what kind of hell does this alter cocker raise when left to her own devices?

I got out an album. An LP. The thing that spins around on a turntable and plays music. 

Well, y'all know I'm a relic from another time, and yes, I still have a turntable that works. Mr. and I share some music, but much of what I like is beyond his tolerance.

It was serendipity. I reached into my collection (yes, I still have a record collection, how 1970s) and pulled out an LP at random.

It was Donovan, a concert album, recorded in Anaheim, California, that I listened to frequently back in the day. There wasn't a copyright date on the cover or the record itself, but I discovered it was from 1968. Obviously, I bought it MUCH later than that. (Just to clarify.)

For any youngsters reading this, Donovan was a hippie-dippy artist who went through a lot of genres, and who continues to record music (as recently as 2022). The Scottish musician started off with folk (he was smitten by Bob Dylan's music), experimented with jazz and pop, and did the whole psychedelic scene for awhile.

The album I played had an interesting combination of each type. Some of you may remember "Mellow Yellow," but "Sunshine Superman," a 1966 chart topper, is conspicuously absent. As is "Hurdy Gurdy Man." 

Donovan turned 79 this year. Yikes, we're getting awfully old. (By "we" I mean "he," and come to think of it, 79 isn't all that aged. There are so many rockers in their 80s now.)

Winding my way back to my original theme...yes, I enjoyed listening to Donovan the way it was originally intended. My albums, by and large, are in very good condition. I've taken care of them over the years, and they've been played only on my original Philips turntable. (Thanks Gary and Tokyo Shapiro.) 

I imagine a lot of you have checked out by now. If you're still here, I invite you to pull out some old tunes from past (distant or recent), open the windows, and give it a blast.

You won't be sorry.