Bits of Wisdom from across the years

"However noble in its intentions, public charity is fatally flawed, Tocqueville finds, because it denies the most basic fact of human nature: that men will work only to sustain life or to improve their condition. Unfortunately, it is the first motive that impels the vast majority of men, and to deprive them of that by giving them a legal right to charity is to condemn them to a life of idleness and improvidence." (Gertrude Himmelfarb )

He argues, "people have always learned more from their mistakes than from their success; but when the 'price' of mistakes is eliminated, the result is confusion and a loss of motivation to do better."Dr. Karl Menninger

Jim Black said, "For most of our history, Americans placed greater stock in a man's character than in his possession. The American Dream held that, by hard work and self-discipline we could achieve success. And success was not measured in material possessions alone...The common wisdom of the day taught that greed, luxury, and self-indulgence were the passions of weak character. And the frugal nature of the pioneers taught that the treasures to be valued most were the virtues of honesty, good character, and moral strength."

"The issue here is of selfishness or unselfishness. Is the individual to be governed by the principle of what he likes, or what other people like; what he considers desirable or what others consider desirable? If he allows himself to be governed by the former and does always the things which will please him, his personality will shrink, his range of friendships will narrow, his likes will decrease while his fears and dislikes will increase; whereas the person who acts on the principle of what will help or please others, even to the extent of undertaking activities which he dislikes or finds awkward, will develop new skills and in time even convert his aversions into enjoyment. The growth of a personality and the growth of a person's range of interest, skills and pleasures, are one and the same thing...Personality and its rewards are a by-product of converting one's energies into habits and skills which interest and serve other people."
"Let us assume that your analysis of the causes of your failure is substantially correct, and that you have been the victim of these outside forces in your environment. The one important question now is: What are you going to do about it? The only person in the world who can solve this problem is you. We may help you to map out a plan of action, but only you can carry this plan into effect. Only you can assume the responsibility for its success. The more time we spend analyzing the causes, which are in the past, the less time and power you will have to practice the new habits and skills which you need to take you out of this situation. The time for talk has ended. From now on the emphasis must be on action, struggle, painful practice, embarrassing moments, self-sacrifice, discipline, patient and persistent effort." (The Rediscovery of Man)

"One man of tolerable abilities may work great changes and accomplish great affairs among mankind, if he first forms a good plan and ...makes the execution of that same plan his sole study and business" – Ben Franklin – hero

"System in all things should be aimed at; for in execution, it renders every thing more easy." – George Washington – hero

"We are always equal to what we undertake with resolution...It is part of the American character to consider nothing as desperate; to surmount every difficulty by resolution and contrivance." – Thomas Jefferson – hero

"First was the creation of a 'natural aristocracy,' as Jefferson put it, of genius and virtue. This would be no aristocracy of wealth, caste, or privilege. Because genius and virtue are not limited to any particular class, but scattered randomly throughout the polity...By separating the 'wheat from the chaff,' as Jefferson starkly put it, he hoped to elevate worthy persons to guard the sacred rights of liberty." – Bill Bennet, summarizing Thomas Jefferson – hero


"Circumstances may be difficult, but instead of becoming their victim I shall rise above them. My reason may be inadequate but my faith can be strong. I have faith in my powers as a free will agent, able to choose between right and wrong. I have faith in a moral and spiritual order higher than any comprehended by science or reason. By faith I can accept a super-human concept of personality which gives me confidence in my potentialities. I will not accept defeat, I will struggle to achieve. I may fall but I will rise again. I may not win wealth, but I will win mastery over myself." (Henry Link)

From time to time, I'll add a few more pithy sayings - food for thought - to keep us all thinking and growing. Especially, on those days when I can't think of anything interesting to write about.

I thought these were very topical given the economic climate and the failure of major corporations and their leadership. We can now see the importance of effective leadership, especially leadership based on moral and ethical principles. Today's crisis was brought on by the greed and avarice of incompetent leaders whose only desire was for riches and power and who had no moral compass to guide them through the storm. Bailing these buggers out with our hard earned money is ill conceived at best and a crime at worst. But, I'm not going to get political here and stand on a soap box. I've said enough, maybe too much, already. Besides, getting too serious would besmirch the untarnished reputation of this blog and send all three of its readers scurrying off. I can't have that!

Famous people

I would like to open this up to all that are reading this blog, (yes, both of you) and invite you to add your comments when you feel moved to do so. I’ve changed the parameters to allow anyone (this means you) to make a comment. Before, one had to sign in to comment, but not now. Any passing cyberist can stop by and leave a message now without having to identify themselves. Anonymity rules the day here at blog city! While I’m in the urge mode, let me urge all of you to write a blog of your own, in that way, we can all keep up with each other’s lives, staying connected, so to speak.

Now, I know some of you are going to say you don’t write. But, as you can see, that hasn’t stopped me from blogging, even in the face of several requests to stop - I’m going to call them requests, though, technically they should be categorized as threats. And, I don’t really think that kind of language is necessary, not to mention I don’t think that is humanly possible to do that with a computer - it just won’t fit. So, I’ll continue to write!

Finding things to write about is the real challenge for this writer, as you can tell from previous posts. I’ve had some suggestions to write about episodes from my past, but, most of the statutes of limitation aren’t up yet, so, I’d better not admit anything at this point. Besides, I can’t imagine that things that happened thirty to forty years ago would have any interest to anyone today. And, since my life now is beyond boring, I have little to write about. Perhaps I could write about the famous people I’ve had the occasion to meet. Why not? Let’s start at the beginning - Cheetah!

Who’s Cheetah? Well, my friend, Cheetah was the most famous chimpanzee in the forties and fifties, perhaps, of all time. Cheetah was Tarzan’s friend in all of the Tarzan movies and he was one of my heroes - Tarzan, not Cheetah. But, Cheetah knew Tarzan and that fact made him a person of interest to me. I was only three or four at the time I met Cheetah. My mother and I had traveled to California, as was our custom on many occasion, and someone had suggested we could see Cheetah who was on display somewhere near where we were staying. I don’t remember where, since I was too young to drive. Let me digress here a bit. On those occasions we found ourselves in Southern California in the forties and fifties were some of my most fond memories of my childhood.

Southern California was a paradise then. Driving in over the Cajon pass, one could smell the ocean and magnolias, along with the citrus orchards. It wasn’t until the seventies that the smell of oil, smog, cars, people and every other dirty thing was able to over-smell those original smells. From Riverside, we drove through hundreds of orchards and cultivated fields before arriving at the beach towns where the smell of salt in the air let you know you were near the ocean. I can still remember that smell and the feel of the air, the warm dampness that seemed to wrap around us like a security blanket, making us feel at home. The trips we’d take down to the beach and the Pike, the amusement park on the beach, were always memorable. At some other time, I’ll write about the trips there. For now, I’ll stick to the subject at hand, famous people I’ve met.

I’m not sure if Cheetah was staying in LA, or Long Beach, I think it was LA. I vaguely remember riding the El - the elevated train, more like a street car - between Long Beach and LA, when we saw Cheetah. Before seeing him, we had stopped at a novelty store and I had bought a rubber weenie. I bought it so I could play tricks on Grandma and Grandpa when we got home to Idaho. We finally arrived at the Cheetah home, actually it was just him in a cage on display somewhere. I stood at the cage facing Cheetah, the real friend of Tarzan. He sat there, staring back at me, or, more accurately, at my weenie. Not my weenie, but the rubber one that I had purchased. He reached out of the cage, trying to grab my weenie. I stepped back, saving the weenie and me from the grasp of the chimp. Cheetah took offense at my refusal to share my weenie with him, so he spit on me! Cheetah, the companion of Tarzan, king of the jungle, spit on me! I was devastated. How could someone with those credentials behave like that in public? My faith in the rich and famous was shaken, and remains so to this day. I’ve never watched a Tarzan movie with the same gusto since. Fortunately, my experience with other famous people was more positive, though there was that one time with that famous singer, who must remain nameless, for reasons that also must not be spoken of, who broke my heart. I can’t say anything more about that, having to take the fifth ammendment on the entire affair.

The next famous person I met was Trampus, or, more accurately, Doug McClure the actor who played Trampus on the very popular tv show, The Virginian. The year was 1963 and I was in Hawaii attending the University of Hawaii. Naturally, I was surfing as well. Actually, the reverse was true, I was surfing in Hawaii and attending the University of Hawaii, as well. My priorities were in that order. The Virginian was, as I said, very popular and Doug McClure was very popular at that time. I had watched the show every week while I was in California, but hadn’t seen it for a few months as I had no tv in Hawaii. On the day I met him, I was out surfing at a spot called Threes, just Ewa of Waikiki beach straight out from the Reef Towers and the Halakalani Hotel. I was the only person out for awhile, then another surfer came paddling out. In Hawaii, most all breaks are out on the reef, in this case, about a quarter of a mile out. I continued to surf, catching some nice five to six foot waves. The other surfer was doing the same, and we’d occasionally pass as one of us caught a wave and the other would be paddling out. I kept thinking I knew him since he looked really familiar. Finally, during a lull in the waves, I paddled over - we were only about ten to twenty feet apart since the line up on the waves was usually in the same place- and asked him if we had met. He said no and introduced himself - Doug McClure. It took a few seconds for that to sink in. Doug McClure!!!! I was surfing with a star! We talked for a few minutes, surfed a few more waves, talked some more, etc. I don’t remember what we talked about, probably surfing in California versus Hawaii, but I do remember we hit it off. He was probably happy that he could have a reasonable conversation with a fellow surfer about regular things and not have to put up with all the star stuff he was accustomed to. As the light faded, we decided to paddle in and give it up for the day. I said goodby and headed off to my pad. Somehow, we had decided to meet up the next day at the beach. I don’t remember the details, but at any rate, I met him the next day and we wandered around Waikiki beach together. As we walked up and down the beach, people, mostly girls, would come up to us and ask Doug for his autograph. They would look at me, trying to figure out who the heck I was and if I was worth getting an autograph from. Many decided not to take a chance on missing someone famous and asked me for my signature. I obliged, happy in the thought I’d made a young girl happy thinking she had autographs from two famous people. Doug and I hung out a day or two after that, then he had to return to California. At least he didn’t spit on me.

At a later date, I’ll continue with some of my Hawaii stories. Until then, aloha.

Snow!!! and other swear words

It snowed today and I’m ready to move away! The thought of another winter here is maddening, and there, dear reader, you have a clue to some of the posts in this blog. If some seem a bit disjointed or, at best, out of touch with reality, it is because as the approaching winter nears, my lunacy increases exponentially. Some of you may beg to differ with that analysis thinking that I’m always ‘off’, or odd, or unbalanced, or ‘different’, or sick, or whatever the euphemism is currently. Mai non, mon ami. It is the winter.

But, on a happier note, we attended an excellent concert Friday (December 5, 2008) in which Katie and the Hillcrest Choral sang with the Idaho Falls Symphony. The Choral was, as always, perfect and the Symphony sounded as good as any I’ve heard. All in all, it was an excellent evening.

You have to love the English language. Choral, pronounced like corral, which has a whole other meaning. Imagine listening to some one speaking saying "we let the cows out of the corral", and thinking they were talking about a choral.

"We’re going to let the cows out of the corral," John said, answering Aja’s question about what he was doing Saturday.
"You call them ‘cows’?" Aja said.
"Sure, that’s what they are."
"But, don’t they care?" Aja asked, aghast at John’ s cavalier attitude toward the women who sang in the choral. "Besides, do they not like being in the choral?"
"No, they hate it. They are always belly aching to get out." John answered.
"Then why did they get in there to begin with?" Aja asked.
"We put them in to keep them out of trouble," John explained.
"To keep them out of trouble?" Aja said, repeating John’s statement to try to make some sense of it all.
"You betcha," John said. "Just last week, one got out of the corral and wandered around in traffic for about a half hour. We finally threw a rope on her and towed her back to the corral behind a truck. She was mighty angry after that."
"Well, I would imagine so," Aja said, understandingly.
"And, we’re gonna be branding them so we have to let them out of the corral so we can get them in the branding chutes," John added.
"Branding? What is that?" Aja asked, not familiar with the term.
"That’s when you heat up an iron with a symbol on it, then place it on them so it burns your brand on them. That way you know they are yours," John explained.
Aja just stared at John for a moment. "We do not brand in India. Especially not those in the choral."
"Well, it would be hard in the corral. You get them out of the corral and put them in a branding chute first. That way, they can’t get away, or kick you, or what ever," John said.
"I would kick too if you did that to me," Aja said
"Sure you would, but we don’t do that to men, just the cows. We also milk them," John added.
"You milk the .....cows....in the choral?" Aja asked, stumbling over the word 'cows'. He wasn't accustomed to calling women 'cows'.
John shook his head. "Of course not, we let them out of the corral and put them in the barn. That way we can put their heads between the slats in the feed chute so they don't start jumping around when we attach the milker to them."
"A milker?" Aja asked, afraid to hear the answer.
"It's a machine that you attach to the cow and it sucks the milk out of 'em. Just slick as a whistle, and fast too," John explained.
"So, do you milk them by hand in India?"
"No, we do not milk them in India," Aja said.
"Oh yeah, that's right. I forgot they are special in India. Around here we don't treat 'em as nice as you do there," John said, smiling.
"America is too weird for me. I don’t think I will ever understand you here," Aja said, shaking his head and walking off.

Tune in next week, fans, to hear Aja say, "Does it smell like curry in here?"

Well, dear reader, you can see what happens to me when I have to go out and shovel snow, all my blood drains down into my feet in a hopeless attempt at keeping them warm, and therefore, not leaving enough for my brain. I should apologize, but ego compels me to move on and forget the apology. Well talk later.

Oops Quick retraction

Oops!! This is a quick retraction for some, off the cuff remarks made in my last post about the New Guinea Aboriginal Face Mutations. When I first thought of the subject, New Guinea Aboriginal Face Mutations, I was just making it up as a joke to go along with the Aggressive Worm Farming theme of one of my previous posts (November 21, 2008). I didn’t really know that the Aboriginal natives of New Guinea really did mutate their faces. When I started writing this last post, I thought it would be a great idea to find some pictures of New Guinea natives to illustrate the post. I found one, very unattractive picture of four natives, three men and one woman, on the internet and placed it on the post. In a misdirected attempt at humor, I mentioned that some may have thought it was a picture of my in laws. And, as you would imagine, some of the in laws took exception to that reference. In an attempt at reconciliation, I will post some real pictures of the in laws here.

This is Mike, my father in law. He may seem a bit familiar to some of you. That is because he has one of those faces that remind everyone of someone they know. He is an avid skydiver, rock climber, surfer, kite flyer, knot tier, Knickerbocker fan, and entomologist. He has been around the world more times than you can count and is on a first name basis with most of the world leaders.

This is a snap shot of my sisters in law, Missi, Richie, and one of Missi’s friends, along with their traveling body guard, as they toured London. The airline had lost their luggage and all they had to wear was the bathing suits they had bought as gag gifts for their nieces and nephews. Needless to say, they were watched as much by the locals, as the local attractions were watched by the tourists. But, all ended well as they were approached by an English producer and offered a picture deal remaking Charlie’s Angels.

So, as you can see, these pictures present a much different look to my family than the previous post. These, of course, are far more accurate and reflect the real in laws. I hope this clears up any confusion that may have been unintended and, I especially hope this gets me off the hook with my inlaws.

Until next time, ta ta for now.

New Guinea Aboriginal Face Mutations

I mentioned in one of my previous posts where I addressed the subject of worm farming, that I would talk about one of my other passions, New Guinea Aboriginal Face Mutations. Since I have had several requests to expose this little known ritual, I’ll take the time here to do so. Actually, I may have overstated when I said I’ve had several requests. It was more like some......well, maybe one or two.........ok, none,.... so what? I’m going to write about it anyway. The picture above, is not of my inlaws, as you may be thinking, although I can see how you may be confused, but, is rather, a rendering of some natives showing off their gender markings.

Where does one start when writing about New Guinea Aboriginal Face Mutations? I suppose the beginning would be a logical place since starting at the end would be more than confusing. But, before we delve into the history of, for brevity we’ll call NGAFM, let’s take a quick look at what it is. NGAFM, is a form of face mutating long thought of as extinct. It is rarely seen anymore, but is sometimes still practiced in the depths of the New Guinea jungle. The practice is a form of the rites of passage for young men and women as they reach marrying age and are starting out on the jungle dating circuit. As one would imagine, the male and female disfigurement differs by gender, allowing the casual observer the ability to differentiate between the sexes. Since the women in the New Guinea jungle wear nothing above the waist except a smile, one may wonder why a different method of determining gender is required. These are simple folks and some things just elude them. So, a difference in face mutilations is required. To save time, and for some of you who may be a bit squeamish, we’ll look only at the male mutilation.

The young man, as he comes of age, which many of you may know in the New Guinea jungle is at the age of twelve years and three months, is taken from his family and placed in a small sweat hut, where he is left for three days, sweating. This prepares him for the coming rituals by making him stinky, hungry and dehydrated, not to mention extremely irritated. Once he is pulled from the sweat hut, he is shackled and tied to a long pole stuck into the ground near the middle of the village. This is done because of the, afore mentioned, extreme irritation. After he is secured, he is prepared for the mutilation ceremony. This preparation consists of an application of a poultice of herbs prepared by the village witch doctor who also doubles as the latrine security officer and chief mutilator. After the herbs and assorted witch doctory things take their effect, rendering the young man’s face and torso devoid of feeling, the witch doctor returns to the young man stuck on the pole and begins the ceremony. The entire village population forms a circle around the young man, who resembles an angry center piece, and chants. I’d include the words here, but they are not to be repeated outside of the circle under the penalty of really bad things happening to the blabber. But, suffice it to say, they are words of encouragement - not for the boy, but for the witch doctor/ latrine security officer / chief mutilator. The wiry little man works himself into a dither by dancing around chanting phrases such as, "Nactose, woambo, botsa, which is roughly translated as "I hope this works this time." He then adeptly applies his magic and messes up the face of the young man.

Cheers fill the air as the young man, dazed and shaken, is untied and reunited with his family. All the young women surround him, admiring his new, mutilated face, giggling as they whisper among themselves about how handsome the new victim is. Many of the young women, their own faces mutilated, are hoping for a chance to date the new male on the circuit. As is the custom, a young woman attaches a large mud ball covered with hundreds of tiny mirrors to a tall tree limb and the entire tribe dances under the ball for hours into the night. This, as you are no doubt aware, was where disco started.

I hope this brief essay will elicit some excitement about this ancient practice found in the New Guinea jungle. Then, I’ll have someone to talk to about the intricacies of a strange, but fascinating ritual. So, dear readers, study and delve into this amazing subject and we’ll talk later.

Winter - ain't it great!

Ok, snow fans, I thought I'd post this picture for you so you can begin your euphoric glee fest before the first flake falls (nice alliteration, don't you think?). Could that be, the First Flake Fall Fest? I've never really understood how anyone over the age of eleven could be excited about snow and its many evils. Of course, I understand the farmers and their thirst for water (nice phrase, huh?) since it can mean a great deal to them in terms of crop yield and, ultimately, money, but what excuse could a city dweller have for wanting to see a blanket of white covering everything? There is another one of those sentences that start out as a statement and end up as a question. How is it that I can continue to write those? Anyway, going on.

Of course, the first snow is very beautiful and serene, but that soon fades when you have to drive somewhere and you discover you can't stop at the first stop sign you come to. After that, the novelty has worn off and the panic that you had repressed throughout the summer returns with a vengeance and engulfs you in its icy fingers. As you drive, you hear other drivers echoing the same chant you have screamed many times - WHY DO I LIVE HERE????? Well, you can list all the positives of living in Idaho Falls, like low crime, low population, low expectations, low wages, lowing of cattle, lower education, low down dirty rotten scoundrels, Lerner and Lowe musicals, low cost of living - HAH!, low riders, low slung britches, ....... wait, wasn't I supposed to be listing the positives of living her. I guess I should stop this attempt at humor and really list the reasons people live here. Like, ...................................well, there is...........................no, really, I can list some things. For instance there is........................................and....................................ok, so I'm having a bit of a problem listing some of the many reasons we live here. This time of year, as we prepare for winter, it is difficult to remember why we live here. But, there really are a myriad of reasons, just none of them come to me right now. Actually, that isn't completely true. We live in one of the greatest places to live in the world.....nine months out of the year. The other three are not so great.

For the skiers, snowmobilers, and other lobotomy candidates, winter is a welcome respite from the beautiful weather we have here during the spring, summer and fall. Those masochistic masses that look forward to cold, wet, gray, ....did I mention cold?.......nasty weather love this time of year. Go figure! I, for one, don't, in case you hadn't picked up on that yet. But, we endure and eventually, we get through and find ourselves back to the happiness spring brings and we forget, for another season, the ravages of winter. We forget our rants, our pledges to find a decent place to live, our promises to ourselves to never spend another winter here, the frozen feet and hands, the slipping and sliding, the falls, the misery that is winter, and we go on, thinking that next year, maybe winter won't be so bad. Yeah, right.

So, those of you, who read this, who don't have to suffer those maladies of winter, will look at this picture and think how beautiful the snow is. Those of us who had to endure last winter's ravages, recognize it for what it really is, a pain in the patute! That's all I'll say about that....at least for now.

The Monday After

Well, here we are at the beginning of December and I am just now able to move after consuming more than my share of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, gravy, sweet potatoes, rolls, coconut pie, pumpkin pie, cherry cheese cake, and assorted side dishes. Gluttony ruled the day last Thursday along with excellent company and conversation, chasing grand kids around, and, for some, ping pong. Thanksgiving has to be my favorite holiday, with all the best parts of holidays such as great food, spending time with family, watching football, and none of the pressure of gifts and worrying if you got that special gift for your loved ones that they will cherish for a long time. Usually, I miss on that regard and end up getting just the wrong thing at just the wrong time, making everyone uncomfortable and wondering what I was thinking.

Like the time I bought Mikki that new Weed Whacker so that she could do a better job of trimming when she mowed the lawn. I think I could have gotten away with that if I hadn’t included a hand written note explaining how to use the machine and just how I liked to see the lawn trimmed. Until that time, I didn’t know a Weed Whacker could actually tear the pants off of a grown man and how loud that thing is in the house! I think I still have some of the scars.

The next year I bought her a book titled "Be The Wife He Deserves" by Cherish De Bumme. The only thing I can say about that is I’m certainly lucky it wasn’t a very large book since even that edition left a sizable dent in my head. There is no pleasing that woman! So, what am I to get her this year? I’m staying away from yard tools and books since they obviously aren’t her favorites. Maybe something in the realm of lingerie would be nice. That’s always a safe bet. Or, I could get her a gift certificate from Sportsman’s Warehouse or The Spinning Reel. I’ll bet she’d like something like that. She claims she doesn’t like camping or fishing, or even hunting, but I know she is just saying that to throw me off the trail of what she really wants. She is sneaky that way.

I remember one year, when I was still smarting from the Weed Whacker and book debacle, I decided to go with clothes. I found a great buy on nice ensemble consisting of an hunter orange vest with matching gloves, hat, and scarf. I figured it would help entice her to reconsider her adamant refusal to go hunting. It didn’t. I even threw in a special edition of the calendar with the bikini clad women fishing - kinda going with the outdoors theme - but, it wasn’t much of a hit either, even though they had Miss July fly fishing right here on the South Fork of the Snake River. What is a guy to do?? As hard as I try, you’d think I wouldn’t be in the dog house so often. I JUST DON’T GET IT!!!

One year, she said she thought she’d like a deck, so I got her a really nice hammer and Skill saw and a book on how to build decks. The next year, she mentioned she was thinking of a patio, so I bought a neat little electric cement mixer and a small trowel. None of those gifts were appreciated. So, I’m really at a loss for this year. Maybe a new lawn mower would hit the spot. But, considering how the Weed Whacker went over, perhaps I should rethink that. Well, I’m really in a quandary, and I only have a few more weeks to make a decision. If anyone is reading this, perhaps you can suggest something. I’ll wait here.

So now, you can see why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday