The previous post was on my mind all day yesterday and well into the night. It was probably caused by an incident I recently had with someone whose opinion of people that were different from him was not good. I got way up on my well worn soap box on the subject of intolerance.
Yesterday and last night I wrestled with the matter. What right do I have to be intolerant of intolerance? He was a man, a product of his environment. He had as much control over his actions and speech as Howdy Doody did over his. I spent a large portion of the night reviewing my own failings. The list became a litany and the guilt started piling up.
I will be intolerant but I will only be intolerant of myself. I cannot change the world but there is some hope that I can change myself. Several years ago someone did a study of human DNA and claimed that they could track it back thousands of generations to a single female. So there was an Eve. She may have been a wandering homonid, down from the trees, constantly fleeing the threat of fang and claw. Through her we are all brothers and sisters. In her memory, I will direct the fangs and claws of my intolerance only to myself. Any time I need to view the weaknesses and foibles of mankind, I need only to look in the mirror. So I will sit by the side of the road and be _ ______ __ ___. We don't need another prophet, voicing his list of coming disasters and punishments and accusations to the empty wind but we do need a wise and kindly mentor, guiding us slowly to true humanity by example and with a rational voice.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Dawn
Last night I slept with all of the windows open. There was a gentle breeze and the weather was extremely mild. This morning I was awakened by a bird proudly annoucing his presence with his three note symphony from a tree just to the North of where I live. An echo was coming from a tree just to the South of where I live.
It was still fairly dark outside. I got up and made some coffee, the first thing that I do each morning now that bacon is no longer in my diet. I drank the coffee on the porch, watching the horizon begin its daily blush.
The black fingers of the trees extended up through the band of pink slowly spreading on the horizon. I began to think of all of the dawns I have watched in the past. Watching the dawn has always been a pleasant time as it usually means a day without working for someone else. A day when I can procede at my own plodding pace, stopping frequently to review what I have done so there are no steps to correct and do over.
I have watched the dawn in many places. The desert, the mountains, the Great Plains, the seashore, and the concrete canyons of great cities. A Massachusetts boy that had laid his head to rest on foreign pillows far from home. Far from the gentle Springs and the tolerant Summers with their fried clams and scallops and the tingling Falls and the bracing Winters of this dear and tolerant state.
I was young, in my twenties, when I realized that there was no place that I would rather be than Massachusetts. Where else in this country does the State House have a Sacred Cod and a statue of a hooker out front. Food and tolerance, signs of a decent place to live. I have been hungry and I have seen bigotry but this is the only place that I know of where bigotry is not tolerated.
There is a place that I hold dear in my memory. It is in the Public Garden in Boston. It is in the westernmost corner along Beacon street. It is a statue of an angel, dedicated to Doctor Morton and celebrates the discovery of anaesthesia. Not a general that brought glory or a statesman that brought law but a man that brought relief from human suffering.
The problems of the day are here but they are not ruling the day. It is a peaceful place where education and health care and tolerance rule. The land of the bean and the cod, the land of Longfellow and Thoreau and Thornton Wilder, green as it always was, and green as it will always be. Here is the birthplace of Fig Newtons and John Adams, the Stanley Steamer, and the clambake. Opposite the State House is the St. Gaudens bas-relief, in the Public Gardens are statues of ducklings, both celebrating the tolerance and gentleness of this small state. It is where I will rest my head and my heart.
It is where he built his cabin, where he grew his peas, where he walked the Cape, and where he drew up his bible for the civilized man. The last major disaster we had here was a molasses flood. All are welcome here and all are safe here as long as the Legislature is not in session.
There will be more dawns. There will be more beans. There will be no more beds among small people with small minds and small tolerance.
It was still fairly dark outside. I got up and made some coffee, the first thing that I do each morning now that bacon is no longer in my diet. I drank the coffee on the porch, watching the horizon begin its daily blush.
The black fingers of the trees extended up through the band of pink slowly spreading on the horizon. I began to think of all of the dawns I have watched in the past. Watching the dawn has always been a pleasant time as it usually means a day without working for someone else. A day when I can procede at my own plodding pace, stopping frequently to review what I have done so there are no steps to correct and do over.
I have watched the dawn in many places. The desert, the mountains, the Great Plains, the seashore, and the concrete canyons of great cities. A Massachusetts boy that had laid his head to rest on foreign pillows far from home. Far from the gentle Springs and the tolerant Summers with their fried clams and scallops and the tingling Falls and the bracing Winters of this dear and tolerant state.
I was young, in my twenties, when I realized that there was no place that I would rather be than Massachusetts. Where else in this country does the State House have a Sacred Cod and a statue of a hooker out front. Food and tolerance, signs of a decent place to live. I have been hungry and I have seen bigotry but this is the only place that I know of where bigotry is not tolerated.
There is a place that I hold dear in my memory. It is in the Public Garden in Boston. It is in the westernmost corner along Beacon street. It is a statue of an angel, dedicated to Doctor Morton and celebrates the discovery of anaesthesia. Not a general that brought glory or a statesman that brought law but a man that brought relief from human suffering.
The problems of the day are here but they are not ruling the day. It is a peaceful place where education and health care and tolerance rule. The land of the bean and the cod, the land of Longfellow and Thoreau and Thornton Wilder, green as it always was, and green as it will always be. Here is the birthplace of Fig Newtons and John Adams, the Stanley Steamer, and the clambake. Opposite the State House is the St. Gaudens bas-relief, in the Public Gardens are statues of ducklings, both celebrating the tolerance and gentleness of this small state. It is where I will rest my head and my heart.
It is where he built his cabin, where he grew his peas, where he walked the Cape, and where he drew up his bible for the civilized man. The last major disaster we had here was a molasses flood. All are welcome here and all are safe here as long as the Legislature is not in session.
There will be more dawns. There will be more beans. There will be no more beds among small people with small minds and small tolerance.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
A Low that was really a high
The sheet rock at Home Depot was still not square, so we went to Lowe's. It was perfect there and was the same price, something we were not expecting.
On the way back from Lowe's we stopped at a small Italian grocery store in Milford. They have just about every Italian product you can imagine. My Brother got several pounds of the sausage they make on the premises. I was disappointed as they had no dried porcini and the fontina they had was made in Wisconsin.
After the sheet rock was unloaded, we started cooking. We sat in the back yard eating sausage, pepper, and onion sandwichs.
It was a banner day. Good food, good company, a sunny day, and two cats in the yard. Life used to be so hard.
On the way back from Lowe's we stopped at a small Italian grocery store in Milford. They have just about every Italian product you can imagine. My Brother got several pounds of the sausage they make on the premises. I was disappointed as they had no dried porcini and the fontina they had was made in Wisconsin.
After the sheet rock was unloaded, we started cooking. We sat in the back yard eating sausage, pepper, and onion sandwichs.
It was a banner day. Good food, good company, a sunny day, and two cats in the yard. Life used to be so hard.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Squareheads know square
Today will be a banner day. I will be able to see my Brother today. He is my reality check, something that I am always in need of and always have been. I wish that I lived within walking distance of him. I get a special feeling when I am with him, a feeling I can't put into words. It's almost as if I am with my Father for the two of them shared so many characteristics. He even looks like my Father. Strength, honesty, common sense, and a subtle humor are the things that emanate from him and also did from my Father.
We are supposed to go to Home Depot to get more sheet rock. We will bring a framing square and a tape measure (3 squared + 4 squared = 5 squared).
Today I will make sauce Bolognese. Yesterday I roasted a pork blade roast and have a lot of leftover pork for the sauce. It was a good meal. Pork roast plus corn plus asparagus go well together. I have a new method of roasting. 500 degrees for the first twenty minutes and the reults are spectacular. No more browning on the stove top, one less pan to wash, and fond to please the gravy gods.
I have seedlings all over the place. The tomato plants are six inches high. I have a rosemary plant and two French tarragon plants and more plants due to come by the end of the month. They are all still inside. I will put them out after April 19th. That is the traditional date for no more frostin Massachusetts. If I don't get them outside by then, I am going to need a weed whacker to get into the bedroom. Ericka's seeds have sprouted and the hot peppers look promising. I have been looking forward to them since Christmas. I didn't plant the corn as I raise all of my plants on the porch and if I start growing corn on the porch I am sure that I will end up in a room decorated by Goodyear. The disadvantage of a life of 5's is that there are no 10's. The blessing is that there are no 1's.
The French tarragon really is different from the Russian. The licorice flavor is more intense and the sharpness is gone. The fresh Rosemary is much milder than the dried. I have eight pots of Basil growing. I so enjoyed having fresh Basil growing just outside the door last year. Maybe this year there will be pesto!
We are supposed to go to Home Depot to get more sheet rock. We will bring a framing square and a tape measure (3 squared + 4 squared = 5 squared).
Today I will make sauce Bolognese. Yesterday I roasted a pork blade roast and have a lot of leftover pork for the sauce. It was a good meal. Pork roast plus corn plus asparagus go well together. I have a new method of roasting. 500 degrees for the first twenty minutes and the reults are spectacular. No more browning on the stove top, one less pan to wash, and fond to please the gravy gods.
I have seedlings all over the place. The tomato plants are six inches high. I have a rosemary plant and two French tarragon plants and more plants due to come by the end of the month. They are all still inside. I will put them out after April 19th. That is the traditional date for no more frostin Massachusetts. If I don't get them outside by then, I am going to need a weed whacker to get into the bedroom. Ericka's seeds have sprouted and the hot peppers look promising. I have been looking forward to them since Christmas. I didn't plant the corn as I raise all of my plants on the porch and if I start growing corn on the porch I am sure that I will end up in a room decorated by Goodyear. The disadvantage of a life of 5's is that there are no 10's. The blessing is that there are no 1's.
The French tarragon really is different from the Russian. The licorice flavor is more intense and the sharpness is gone. The fresh Rosemary is much milder than the dried. I have eight pots of Basil growing. I so enjoyed having fresh Basil growing just outside the door last year. Maybe this year there will be pesto!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Again
It is back. Once more it casts its filter across the sunbeams of Spring. Its power has waned over the years. It is no longer the ebon wall that blocked the Sun of renewal and hope. It is more like a grey shadow that lives in the background. Its power is no longer omnipotent but its presence is always there. It is like a spice that cannot be identified but whose fragrance and taste linger just beyond palate's inventory and gently hint of its presence.
There were times when I railed against its power and thrashed my way through its undergrowth, never able to rise above its canopy and feel the warm light of joy on my face. Those times are gone and I am no longer the shadow that looms in the background, diluting the joy of others.
Its power has waned. I no longer scurry through the day, seeking to outrun the foreboding that promises a restless night. The respite of the thoughts of a poet are no longer needed as a shield to be strapped on as the twilight deepens. It is now an old friend, to be greeted as an old friend from youth is. No plundering of the larder, bringing out the good plates, raising a glass to tender memories. The weak light of candles, a dark glass of port, and the greeting "I know you well. You are acknowledged and greeted but not especially welcome. Come and sit and we will think and speak of times gone by. You are no longer the flavor of my life but you are a wisp of a time gone by and any company is welcome. You are not good company but you are company.".
I still feel uneasy reading Frost or Sandburg, resisting the temptation to look over my shoulder to see if creeps forward from its home in the corner. I still do not have the courage to read Ibsen as I know that is like sending out an invitation "Please come roaring back into my life.".
It will always be here. It is not a friend or an enemy, it is simply an acquaintance. An aquaintance that bears the message "There will be no more highs or lows. There will simply be an endless procession of medians.".
I have survived the moor, I will survive the denoument. I will forego the tens to avoid the ones and I will cherish all of the fives.
There were times when I railed against its power and thrashed my way through its undergrowth, never able to rise above its canopy and feel the warm light of joy on my face. Those times are gone and I am no longer the shadow that looms in the background, diluting the joy of others.
Its power has waned. I no longer scurry through the day, seeking to outrun the foreboding that promises a restless night. The respite of the thoughts of a poet are no longer needed as a shield to be strapped on as the twilight deepens. It is now an old friend, to be greeted as an old friend from youth is. No plundering of the larder, bringing out the good plates, raising a glass to tender memories. The weak light of candles, a dark glass of port, and the greeting "I know you well. You are acknowledged and greeted but not especially welcome. Come and sit and we will think and speak of times gone by. You are no longer the flavor of my life but you are a wisp of a time gone by and any company is welcome. You are not good company but you are company.".
I still feel uneasy reading Frost or Sandburg, resisting the temptation to look over my shoulder to see if creeps forward from its home in the corner. I still do not have the courage to read Ibsen as I know that is like sending out an invitation "Please come roaring back into my life.".
It will always be here. It is not a friend or an enemy, it is simply an acquaintance. An aquaintance that bears the message "There will be no more highs or lows. There will simply be an endless procession of medians.".
I have survived the moor, I will survive the denoument. I will forego the tens to avoid the ones and I will cherish all of the fives.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Almost a Miracle
Thursday I was part of what almost seemed to be a miracle. I went to my Brother's house to help him sheet rock his kitchen ceiling. By helping I mean that I help him hold things up, I sweep the floor , and I pass things up to him. The miraculous part was watching my Brother adapt to the vagaries of installation.
Doing any work on the house usually involves sheet goods. Be it plywood or sheet rock or flooring, the basic unit of installation is something that is four feet by eight feet and all four corners are 90 degrees. This aligns everything with the previous piece and the studs which are sixteen inches on center and provide a nailing surface and support. The whole house is based on four by eight. One sixteenth of an inch off and things start to go awry slowly but continually as the one sixteenth multiplies with each additional piece. If four by eight is not adhered to, you may end up with the stove in the driveway.
Several days previous to this, we went to Home Depot and bought the sheet rock. It was on sale and this should have aroused suspicion but it was U.S. Gypsum sheet rock, the industry standard. The label said it was made in Canada (U.S.?) in 2003. Not to worry, sheet rock is sheet rock.
We started to install it on the ceiling using a rented piece of equipment. The first piece went well but when we put up the second piece small problems started to arise. The second piece would not align completely, there was a small gap of about 1/8 of an inch. I would have just kept on going but my Brother is a perfectionist and stopped right there. He couldn't believe that he had misaligned or mismeasured the installation. We scurried around, trying to figure out what was wrong. After much head scratching and remeasuring, we discovered something that is almost impossible. THE SHEET ROCK WASN'T SQUARE! This was impossible as everything produced for building is 4X8 and the corners are square. I think that that standard is written on the back of the Ten Commandments. We had a trapezoid instead of a rectangle.
Now comes the miraculous part. We already had the stock, the equipment was rented for one day, and the installation was impossible. I watched my Brother measuring and thinking and getting that far away look in his eyes that Swedes get when they are thinking. Then he started. Measuring and adjusting and cursing NAFTA, he worked his way across the ceiling. It wasn't an ordinary installation where you just lay one piece beside the other and everything lines up automatically. Every piece had to be adjusted and compensated for to insure that there were no gaps or overages. Gaps equal hours of sanding excess amounts of joint compound ( the worst job that you can imagine) and overages mean that eventually when you put a screw in there is no board behind it to accept the screw. It was an impossible job. It just couldn't be done!
By the end of the day the major installation was complete. The seams all lined up, the screws were all secured, and there were no gaps or bumps. What he had done was impossible. IMPOSSIBLE! I have seen him do the same thing many times. Paul refuses to accept defeat or shoddy work. Everything that he does is perfect. I have been on roofs with him when it would have been normal for a workman to just gloss over a problem and just continue with installation of an inferior job. Paul stops, thinks, and adapts to produce a superior job.
I don't think tht Paul's wife Leslie realizes the job that he is doing on the house. He takes longer than a contractor would because he is doing everything right. If a contractor says that he cannot take another job on for six months, it is because he is in demand. He is in demand because he does things right. If a contractor says he can start next week, it is because he has no work scheduled. He has no work scheduled because no one wants him. Once he does the inferior job and problems later arise, he will never come back to fix them. He will promise to but there will always be an excuse. "My dog is sick. I'm all tied up with work ( this work usually involves a juke box and a beer tap or a boat). I don't have the time ( this usually means that he needs a new cash producing job to pay his child support)". A craftsman never has to go back. He did the job the right way the first time or he has a workman that did. That craftsman is my Brother Paul. I have never heard him say "That's good enough." I have often seen him tear the whole thing down and start over.
Paul the Apostle talked of miracles. Paul the contractor produces them.
Doing any work on the house usually involves sheet goods. Be it plywood or sheet rock or flooring, the basic unit of installation is something that is four feet by eight feet and all four corners are 90 degrees. This aligns everything with the previous piece and the studs which are sixteen inches on center and provide a nailing surface and support. The whole house is based on four by eight. One sixteenth of an inch off and things start to go awry slowly but continually as the one sixteenth multiplies with each additional piece. If four by eight is not adhered to, you may end up with the stove in the driveway.
Several days previous to this, we went to Home Depot and bought the sheet rock. It was on sale and this should have aroused suspicion but it was U.S. Gypsum sheet rock, the industry standard. The label said it was made in Canada (U.S.?) in 2003. Not to worry, sheet rock is sheet rock.
We started to install it on the ceiling using a rented piece of equipment. The first piece went well but when we put up the second piece small problems started to arise. The second piece would not align completely, there was a small gap of about 1/8 of an inch. I would have just kept on going but my Brother is a perfectionist and stopped right there. He couldn't believe that he had misaligned or mismeasured the installation. We scurried around, trying to figure out what was wrong. After much head scratching and remeasuring, we discovered something that is almost impossible. THE SHEET ROCK WASN'T SQUARE! This was impossible as everything produced for building is 4X8 and the corners are square. I think that that standard is written on the back of the Ten Commandments. We had a trapezoid instead of a rectangle.
Now comes the miraculous part. We already had the stock, the equipment was rented for one day, and the installation was impossible. I watched my Brother measuring and thinking and getting that far away look in his eyes that Swedes get when they are thinking. Then he started. Measuring and adjusting and cursing NAFTA, he worked his way across the ceiling. It wasn't an ordinary installation where you just lay one piece beside the other and everything lines up automatically. Every piece had to be adjusted and compensated for to insure that there were no gaps or overages. Gaps equal hours of sanding excess amounts of joint compound ( the worst job that you can imagine) and overages mean that eventually when you put a screw in there is no board behind it to accept the screw. It was an impossible job. It just couldn't be done!
By the end of the day the major installation was complete. The seams all lined up, the screws were all secured, and there were no gaps or bumps. What he had done was impossible. IMPOSSIBLE! I have seen him do the same thing many times. Paul refuses to accept defeat or shoddy work. Everything that he does is perfect. I have been on roofs with him when it would have been normal for a workman to just gloss over a problem and just continue with installation of an inferior job. Paul stops, thinks, and adapts to produce a superior job.
I don't think tht Paul's wife Leslie realizes the job that he is doing on the house. He takes longer than a contractor would because he is doing everything right. If a contractor says that he cannot take another job on for six months, it is because he is in demand. He is in demand because he does things right. If a contractor says he can start next week, it is because he has no work scheduled. He has no work scheduled because no one wants him. Once he does the inferior job and problems later arise, he will never come back to fix them. He will promise to but there will always be an excuse. "My dog is sick. I'm all tied up with work ( this work usually involves a juke box and a beer tap or a boat). I don't have the time ( this usually means that he needs a new cash producing job to pay his child support)". A craftsman never has to go back. He did the job the right way the first time or he has a workman that did. That craftsman is my Brother Paul. I have never heard him say "That's good enough." I have often seen him tear the whole thing down and start over.
Paul the Apostle talked of miracles. Paul the contractor produces them.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Once More
Once more my place is overrun with planting things. The seeds came last week, three of the plants came today. I have Ericka's fantastic seeds to plant.
This morning I went to the hardware store and got greenhouse planting trays. Unfortunately the hardware store has 45% off on all of its seeds. I only got three packets. I was at Home Depot with my brother several days ago and Home Depot has Burpee seeds for $1.07. Three more packets. I now have about thirty different kinds of seeds. I planted Ericka's hot pepper seeds several days ago and they are already coming up. So are some Big Boy tomatoes.
I put the plants that came today into pots in a sunny window. There are two French Tarragon plants and a rosemary plant. The tomato plants that I ordered will not be shipped until the end of the month. They are Brandywine tomatoes and I am looking forward to them.
If I get all of the seeds planted today, I will have 144 seedlings when the sprout. The porch is twelve by four. It is going to be a bit crowded out there.
Tomorrow I am supposed to help my Brother sheet rock his kitchen. That is going to be quite an event. Two Swedes sharing one task. I can hear it now "I don't think you're doing that right, let me try it.". I have worked with my Brother before and that phrase is heard quite often. It will be a good day and I am sure that a nice steak will be cooked. I am sure that my sister-in-law is dreading that the steak is not all that will be cooked. She doesn't have to worry. We are renting a piece of equipment to help with the ceiling and only have it for one day so no foolishnees can be tolerated. My Brother works like a buzz saw and I am sure the entire kitchen will be done before sundown. He will have to do the taping and sanding by himself as that is one task I have never mastered. He manages to get it as smooth as glass. When he works, he is so intense that things get done quickly and correctly. One thing that I admire about him is that I have never heard him say "That's good enough.". If things don't pass his high standards, he will tear it all down and start over.
Enough rambling, I am going to take a short nap and then head back to the seeds.
This morning I went to the hardware store and got greenhouse planting trays. Unfortunately the hardware store has 45% off on all of its seeds. I only got three packets. I was at Home Depot with my brother several days ago and Home Depot has Burpee seeds for $1.07. Three more packets. I now have about thirty different kinds of seeds. I planted Ericka's hot pepper seeds several days ago and they are already coming up. So are some Big Boy tomatoes.
I put the plants that came today into pots in a sunny window. There are two French Tarragon plants and a rosemary plant. The tomato plants that I ordered will not be shipped until the end of the month. They are Brandywine tomatoes and I am looking forward to them.
If I get all of the seeds planted today, I will have 144 seedlings when the sprout. The porch is twelve by four. It is going to be a bit crowded out there.
Tomorrow I am supposed to help my Brother sheet rock his kitchen. That is going to be quite an event. Two Swedes sharing one task. I can hear it now "I don't think you're doing that right, let me try it.". I have worked with my Brother before and that phrase is heard quite often. It will be a good day and I am sure that a nice steak will be cooked. I am sure that my sister-in-law is dreading that the steak is not all that will be cooked. She doesn't have to worry. We are renting a piece of equipment to help with the ceiling and only have it for one day so no foolishnees can be tolerated. My Brother works like a buzz saw and I am sure the entire kitchen will be done before sundown. He will have to do the taping and sanding by himself as that is one task I have never mastered. He manages to get it as smooth as glass. When he works, he is so intense that things get done quickly and correctly. One thing that I admire about him is that I have never heard him say "That's good enough.". If things don't pass his high standards, he will tear it all down and start over.
Enough rambling, I am going to take a short nap and then head back to the seeds.
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