late night musings

Intelligence vs. Wisdom

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Fri, 25 May 2012 15:30:46 GMT

Like me, no doubt you know many people who you consider to be very smart, who possess a high level of intelligence. However, one of the things I have learned over the years is that there is a great deal of difference between smart and wise, between intelligence and wisdom. The former attributes comes in part from genetics and in part from formal study in school settings. On the other hand, having wisdom and being wise comes living life, observing life, learning from life. And just as some who attend school don't necessarily become smart, many who live life never become wise.

To acquire wisdom, you must listen to all that is said, never prejudging. Pondering and considering are worthwhile ways to process information obtained while listening. Caring about people and being able to place people above things also helps. Not rushing to judgment is always a good plan because if you do rush, you might find later that you traveled down the wrong road. Also, being able to determine cause and effect goes a long way to avoid making or recommending the same foolish decisions time after time. And since it is impossible to see, hear, experience all that life has to offer, reading is a great way to supplement our experiences.

There are no degrees awarded to those who acquire wisdom, no written record of what you have achieved. However, it is very apparent you have it in the way you think, the way you conduct yourself, and the way you treat others.

What will happen to you when you die?

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 19 May 2012 14:15:44 GMT

Reader’s note: The following deals with a rather morbid matter – death. It also presents various ideas (ideas you may or may not agree with) about how humans deal with it. Enter at your own risk.

Michael Shermer is a provocative columnist for the Scientific American magazine. He often takes on topics that are disputed and dissects them with the twin scalpels of objectivity and logic. For some he is preaching to the choir while for others he is simply a rabble rouser and a heretic. And at times he simply reviews what others have to say about subject matter; it all makes one think.

Such is the case in the April 2012 issue of the magazine. The subject is “Climbing Mount Immortality”, which should give the reader a clue as to what is coming. The column is a review of the book, “Immortality: The Quest to Live Forever and How It Drives Civilization” by Stephen Cave. In his book, Cave talks about the Mortality Paradox, i.e., “Death is both inevitable and impossible. …it involves the end of consciousness, and we cannot consciously simulate what it is like not to be conscious.”

What I found interesting is Cave’s summary of the four concepts that are the basis for what people believe when it comes to death. The first is the impossible dream which is to “Stay Alive: The dream of doing so forever – physically in this world – is the most basic of immortality narratives.” The second is one espoused by many religions, that is “Resurrection: It is the belief that although we must physically die, nonetheless we can physically rise again with the bodies we knew in life.” The third is “Soul: The dream of surviving as some kind of spiritual entity.” Lastly, there is “Legacy: More indirect ways of extending ourselves into the future” perhaps through our children, our works or in being remembered.

Phillip Wyle in his book, The Magic Animal, suggested that humans created the idea of an afterlife because they felt they were superior and therefore couldn’t possibly have an ending no different that the lower animals. Clearly, being superior meant that there had to be some kind of life after life. Dying can be scary so this made the idea of dying a bit more palatable.

For most of us, we avoid thinking of death as much as we can. Life is meant to be lived; dwelling on our death constrains us. Whatever our destiny, it can only be achieved if we progress, if we look to a future of doing and being.

Those who believe in Cave’s concept of Resurrection or Soul have an added peace of mind when the occasional thought of their death arises. Peace of mind for all others is a hit and miss affair. Regardless of belief, it is those who are faced with a life-ending illness that the idea of death looms large. They are the ones who live day-to-day where the “rubber meets the road” so to speak. They are the ones who will soon know the truth, if it is to be known.

As I said at the outset, Shermer is a provocative writer who presents subject matter that forces one to think. He certainly didn’t disappoint in this column.

Graduates old and new - some food for thought

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Mon, 14 May 2012 17:10:51 GMT

I thought it might be appropriate to repeat this.

Someone near and dear to me graduated as an RN today. I proudly attended her graduation. It is called a pinning for nurses, but it still a graduation ceremony with all the elements expected, including the keynote address.

This is the graduation season, and in high schools and colleges across the land there are graduation ceremonies and keynote speeches. Depending on the school, that speech may be given by someone local or perhaps by some famed celebrity or political figure. Regardless of whom, the speaker will try to impart some bit of wisdom, some kind of advice to the graduating students. CBS News found some of these speeches so interesting that they had video clips of several speakers on their evening news. One would be hard pressed to disagree with anything said, but speaking from experience, I can vouch for the fact that the words Lincoln spoke in his Gettysburg Address apply to all keynote addresses - "The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..."

Since that applies equally to all I write, I have no fear in penning my own short keynote address. Here it is:

Dear Katie and graduating students. You have successfully achieved a significant milestone in your life and for that you should be proud. But no doubt, mixed in with all that pride there is a sense of fear of the future, the unknown. What I have to say about that applies equally to your new profession and to your life. For if I can offer you only one piece of advice about both of them, it is this. ENJOY THE JOURNEY!

For clearly what you are setting out on today is a journey into the rest of your life. Regardless of how well you have planned for it, let me tell you that you have no idea how it will turn out. How successful you will be in your profession, how happy you will be in life are true unknowns. How they turn out you can attribute to God, fate, hard work or luck - the choice is yours.

What you learn as you get older is that you may think you know where you are going, but life has a funny way of creating detours and side trips. The destination you enter in your Life GPS navigation system is not necessarily where the directions will take you. I promise you that 30, 40, 50 years from now you will look back and confess you had no idea that in 2007 you would end up where you then are.

But there are a few things you can know about your future. Let me tell you what they are. You should know you will experience success and failure. You will soar with love and plunge into heartbreak. You will see life created and see life end. You will see humanity discover marvels that will benefit all mankind and yet, at the same time, yet it will find ways to degrade peoples' very existence. There will be glorious highs and seemingly bottomless lows. Life is full of cycles, and as sure as you can get through one, know that you can get through the next.

And as you are enjoying that journey, be sure to collect a few souvenirs. I would suggest that some good friends and great memories will do. Because when you approach the end of your journey, you will have learned that they are the most important things anyone can collect along life's way.

I wish you well. I will not be here when you come to the end of your journey but, trust me, I will know if you remembered and heeded my advice or not.

Mom - you are not foregotten

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 12 May 2012 14:40:04 GMT

In memory of Mom on this Mother’s Day.

As I said at the start of the entry about my dad, I wrote the following

less for others, though they may enjoy it, as I did for my own sake and

for my son. Family is important.

Mom was born some fifty miles from Budapest, Hungary in 1912 and

was baptized Yolan. She was the first born of my maternal grandparents,

Barbara and Joseph. Their marriage was typical for that time and age—it

was an arranged marriage in which neither had any say in the matter.

My grandfather was drafted into the Austro-Hungarian army during

WWI (1914). During the fighting he was taken prisoner and wasn’t

heard from again for the duration of the war. When the war ended he was

assumed dead. My grandmother, wanting to make a better life for her

and her daughter, decided to emigrate to the United States, get herself

established, and send for her daughter. She set sail and left my mother in

the care of my great-grandparents.

My grandmother decided to settle in Bridgeport, Connecticut since

she had some relatives there. Starting to make a new life for herself, she

met and got engaged to a funeral director, who in those days was a man

of some means. Although a wedding date was set, the wedding was not

to be. In her absence from Hungary, there came a knocking on my great

grandparents’door. It was my grandfather who finally returned from the

war and was looking for his wife and child. It seemed he was a prisoner

of war and was used as slave labor in the mines in Italy. He had finally

been released and returned home.

(Side note: Throughout all his captivity he was fed mainly spaghetti

and sauce. For the remainder of his life, he never ate it again and had an

aversion to anything or anyone Italian—with one exception—my Dad.)

Having learned that his wife was in the United States, he wired her

to let her know he was sailing to join her there. Needless to say this was

very unsettling to my grandmother who was getting ready to get married.

Being of that day and age, she felt she had no choice but to break off the

engagement and reunite with her husband. And so she did. Joseph arrived,

joined his wife and moved to Pennsylvania.

Their plan was to get established and then send for their daughter,

Yolan, to join them. Finally, in 1928 at the age of sixteen, they sent for

my mother who, by this time, had bonded to her grandparents as though

they were her parents. She reluctantly sailed across the Atlantic under

the guardianship of a caregiver and arrived at Ellis Island. However her

entrance into this country was thwarted because her parents were not

yet citizens and thus couldn’t bring her into this country. Panicked, my

grandparents sent for their local minister to come to Ellis Island and adopt

her. However, before he could arrive, the three-day waiting period ended,

and Yolan was sent back to Hungary, much to her delight.

Her parents were determined, however, so they got their citizenship

papers and sent for her again. She arrived at Ellis Island again in 1930,

still as opposed to coming to America as she was two years prior. It was

there that an immigration officer rechristened her Jenny, since it was

important that she have an American name.

Although she spoke no English when she arrived, she was smart and

fit into her new world, making friends and getting out as any eighteen year

old would. During one of her nights out, about six months after arriving

here, she and her friend attended a dance at a firehouse. It was there she

met my father, Joseph, who was an Italian Catholic in counterpoint to

her being a Hungarian Presbyterian. Within a matter of months they were

married. She had escaped her parents once again.

My dad was twenty and working as a coal miner when he met my

mother. Their marriage in a Catholic Church so incensed my maternal

grandparents that they disowned my mother for nearly a year after the

marriage. She and her parents finally reconciled and, in fact, my dad

became like a son to her parents—they adored him. Thus began a fortyfive

year marriage that ended when my dad passed away in 1975. It was

seven years after their marriage that I was born, after they previously lost

a child before birth. I was to be their one and only child.

In so many ways, my mom was the antithesis of my dad. Her

upbringing in Hungary was steeped in the arts, in classical and gypsy

music, and in the softer side of life. To the extent she could, she tried to

instill in me her love of music. She had a singing voice that was clear

and beautiful. When I said I wanted to play a trumpet, she agreed that I

should play a musical instrument but it was to be a violin—the gypsy in

her I guess. That didn’t last too long but she tried. She was an excellent

cook, not only of Hungarian foods but within a short period of time all

things Italian as well. Her pies with their unbelievably flaky crusts were

to die for. I can still recall her making her own noodles, chicken soup

and very Italian spaghetti.

But to simply say all that would be to miss what mattered most to

me—her unconditional love for me. She always wanted the best for me

and believed the best about me. I knew instinctively I was her pride

and joy. It was her nursing and her nurturing that got me through my

childhood. My meager successes were her successes and after my dad

passed away, it was me that she relied on, her John. She probably gave

me more credit than I deserved for whatever wisdom I had. Perhaps she

secretly knew better, but how can one nurture and love someone if they

fail to show confidence in them. Whatever capacity I have to love today,

came in large measure from her.

When she grew old and dementia set in, I knew the woman I loved

as my mom was gone. Yet her frail shell was there, still reminding me

of the woman she use to be—of the woman who cared for me, watched

over me, and loved me.

Mothers' Day? Not all mothers are alike

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Thu, 10 May 2012 15:17:18 GMT

Mother’s Day is just about here so it seems appropriate to talk about mothers and praise them for what is performing one of the most difficult tasks life has to offer. But that is not what this musing is all about. Having a great mother, one who loves and supports, is a gift beyond measure. But one of the sad facts in life is not all mothers are created equal. Not all mothers devote whatever time and effort is needed to make sure their child grows up to be well-adjusted, productive member of society. Some mothers, or at least here in Florida, are disasters, train wrecks, women who have so many problems of their own that they are incapable of being a good mother.

First, let’s get something clear - not all women are cut out to be mothers. Some women instinctively know this and make it a point not to have children. There is nothing wrong with that – in fact is it admirable. Not every woman here on earth revels in the thought of having children with all of the demands that it makes of a woman. To them I wish not a happy Mother’s day but a happy Woman’s Day (we really need to celebrate these women as well with a special day). They are among the wisest.

What this musing is about are those women who are unfit to be mothers but unfortunately are. They are not mothers; they are women with children. Hardly a day goes by here in Florida that there isn’t a news story about a woman who is on drugs (unfortunately so are their newborns) and thus incapable to perform all the duties of a mother. Their need for drugs preempts their ability or desire to be good mothers. If not drugs, it is some other addiction that takes control of their life and thus makes them unfit.

In some cases it is a desperate need to have a man in their life, any man, which certainly can be found, with or without domestic violence as part of the package. Sadly, the men they live with are unfit to be good fathers, so these women place their children’s well-being in jeopardy to be with that man. Leaving their children in these men’s care often results in unspeakable harm to the children, including maiming or death. If a child is lucky, it is left to the grandmother or foster mothers to care for them. It is the grandmothers or foster mothers who should be praised on Mothers’ Day as well for their role as mother to their grandchildren or wards.

Then there are the mothers (again Florida has its share) who place their own enjoyment and pleasure above the need to watch over their children. These are the ones who lock their children a car or leave them at home unattended while they spend some time in a mall or a bar. One has to wonder what in the world they are thinking about when they do that.

Also, when it comes to unfit mothers, there are those who use their children as a meal ticket, something to be produced so the state can support them. They are the baby factories. Contrary to popular belief, this is not a racial thing; one can find women black and white who use this strategy to avoid the doubly challenging tasks of being a competent mother and hold down a job (it can be done as so many women have proved). Too many of these unfit women fail in being a mother in part because of the sheer numbers of children they have – numbers that are beyond their ability to cope with. If you talk to them, however, the excuses they have for their lifestyle are innumerable.

What is so heartbreaking in all these cases is that it is their newborns, their children who bear the burden for their mothers’ failings. In most cases the bonding of the child to mother is greater than the bonding of mother to child. This includes those women, regardless of socio-economic status, who simply find it impossible to bond with one or more of their children or those who control their children to satisfy their own needs. And so these uncared-for children, regardless of reason, forgive, pardon, accept and continue to love someone who is less than an adequate mother.

So as we rightfully celebrate the mothers who understand, accept and even relish their role as mother, take a moment or two to shed a tear for those children who have little reason to celebrate their mothers on this Mothers’ Day.

IMPORTANT NOTE: This musing is not meant to be a broad-brush condemnation of all mothers. Those who fail are but a small subset of all mothers. So to all true mothers - I wish you the very best on this Mothers’ Day. You are mankind’s saving grace.

This immigrant found a home

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Tue, 08 May 2012 13:53:25 GMT

I was born in Northeastern Pennsylvania and spent the first eleven years of my life there among my extended family (and it was extended). Then my parents moved to Fairmont, West Virginia and took me with them. It was there that I spend my teens in junior high (now called middle school) and high school. Maybe it was because my brain was a bit more developed and was able to retain more of my memories living there that I still identify Fairmont as home. This in spite of a now failing memory and in spite of leaving the town immediately after graduating from high school and after my parents moved some 18 miles away.

I still choke up when I hear John Denver sing Going Home, Country Roads. I still get a warm glow when I think of the place where I took giant steps on the path to adulthood. All the friends I had during my school years are still my friends today. Meeting with them each fall is like taking a trip in a time machine, taking me back to the place we call home.

The girls I loved and lost were lessons in building a strong relationship. The teachers who labored to instill some knowledge in me remain with me today. Perhaps not all they taught stuck, but the idea of having to discipline myself and put forth the effort to gain knowledge remains. The stores my parents took me shopping are long gone but the memories of those trips make me more tolerant when I now go shopping. Like then, I try to make each trip to the mall a kind of adventure, not something to be dreaded.

I had a part time job during my high school years at what now would be called a small Mom and Pop place, Pat’s Greentop Restaurant. It was there I learned that if you apply yourself and not fear hard work, you could advance. I started by peeling 40 – 50 pounds of potatoes then cut them for french-fries. When that task was done it was washing dishes and mopping the floors. In time, I was promoted to waiter and ultimately given the okay to work the cash register, an awesome responsibility. And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention those treacherous winding hills where I learned how to drive. Having mastered the ability to start moving a car forward with a manual transmission while stopped on a hill I think made me qualified to handle anything the road could throw in my way.

Fairmont was and has become in my mind an idyllic town of 25,000 where I grew and flourished. The adults then in my life guided me. My friends and classmates supported me. The adults now are gone, but my friends remain, as steadfast as they were those many years ago. I’m not quite sure when during my school years I left Pennsylvania behind and became a West Virginian, but I did. Fortunately, the state seemed to accept me as one of its own and for that I am thankful. If someone calls me a hillbilly, I let it pass as coming from someone who doesn’t understand how special hillbillies are. If I am called a mountaineer, I quietly accept the compliment.

So now I am in some ways an immigrant; Pennsylvania is my Motherland, but West Virginia is my home. It is a home of contrasts – beautiful forests and eye sore mines, friendly people and often mistrusting people, mountain tops and deep gorges, quiet county towns and towns defined by Wal-Mart’s. But in spite of all that, when I do return to West Virginia (visits too rare I fear), I go with the words of that song ringing in my ears.

Country Roads, take me home

To the place I belong

West Virginia, mountain mama

Take me home, country roads

She Was A Phantom Of Delight - William Wordsworth

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 05 May 2012 14:14:49 GMT

The following is for the love of my life and girl of my dreams, and lovers everywhere.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT - William Wordsworth

She was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;

A dancing Shape, an Image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view,

A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,

And steps of virgin-liberty;

A countenance in which did meet

Sweet records, promises as sweet;

A Creature not too bright or good

For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A Being breathing thoughtful breath,

A Traveller between life and death;

The reason firm, the temperate will,

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect Woman, nobly planned,

To warn, to comfort, and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light.

Lovebugs, new car and all that jazz

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Wed, 02 May 2012 14:10:37 GMT

I originally published this a few years ago, but given its May again and I recently got a new car, I thought it worth repeating.

It is is something I never experienced when I lived "up North". It’s the invasion of the lovebugs. They are also known as the honeymoon flies, kissing bugs or double-headed bugs; it is the Plecia nearctica. It appears twice year here in Florida - in May and in September. During its short life span, it mates for a few days before its demise, even remaining coupled in flight.

They pose no health risk to humans as far as I know, but they are a royal pain. During those two months it is impossible to drive anywhere and not have the front of your car covered with lovebugs who often suffer from a rather deadly form of coitus interruptus. But this isn't a musing about lovebugs per se, but rather my car.

I suspect I am like many new car owners. When I bought my current car, it was my baby, requiring loving, tender car. It was never going to see the inside of a car wash. I couldn't bear the thought of subjecting it to those long, flopping felt arms or, even worse, those whirling brushes that I was sure would peel that beautiful, shiny paint job.

This car would have my eternal devotion; nothing would be too good for it. Consequently, I would wash it three to four times a week, using the softest sponges and towels that I could find. This interior received the same attention to detail. I would vacuum every nook and cranny, thoroughly dust all parts and clean all glass.

That is exactly what happened once again a few months ago. I cleaned that car both inside and out, sponges, towels, vacuum flying. And when I was through, I would stand back and smile with pride and joy. And a stubborn as those crushed lovebugs were to remove, removed they were.

As I think back I can see that things in my relationship with my car started to change after I owned it a few months. Those car washes three to four times a week became one to two. That vacuuming that went with every car wash now was less frequent. If the carpeting was really dirty, I did it; if not, well the interior, including windshield, side windows and rear windows could wait until next time.

Within a short period of time the car washes only happened if the car was really dirty. when the forecast called for rain, I held off. My rationale was that I was saving water although I knew deep in my heart that wasn't true. The final straw was a few days ago, during lovebug season.

I had to take an eighty mile round trip down Interstate 95. When I got home the front of the car was completely covered with squashed lovebugs. I knew I had to do something but was in no mood to spend a few hours cleaning those bugs off. I considered my relationship with my car carefully and had to admit it was over. Much like telling someone you were seriously dating that you wanted out of the commitment, I ended my emotional attachment to the car.

The car had become simply the family car, a means of transportation, something that had to be cleaned not because I cared so much for it but rather because my pride wouldn't let me drive around in a car that dirty - so I took it to the car wash. It was one of those jiffy washes where you remain in the car as it goes through the wash. As I sat there I watched those floppy felt arms slap at the car, those whirling dervishes of brushes scrubbing the bugs and dirt off. And all I could think is well, thank God it will be clean.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa - I have sinned. I have forsaken my dream car. No man tore the relationship asunder; it was those dammed lovebugs. May they not rest in peace.

Musings-lite Collection No. 3

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 15:44:39 GMT

It’s time, once again, for those random things in life that aren’t worthy of a full length musing.

There’s hope for my golf game - I’ve been playing golf got 53 of my 75 years here on earth. Contrary to the old saying, practice doesn’t make perfect. If it did, I’d have been on the tour a long time ago. However, there is an achievement I’m looking forward to – it’s shooting your age. As I see it, assuming my game stays about the same, I expect to shoot my age in another 35 years.

Everyone has problems - Everyone has to face problems as they go through life and that is no different for scientists. Well, it is in a way. While we worry about financial matters and issues in relationships, scientists ponder problems both on the grandest scale and the most minute scale. On the grandest scale, scientists are still trying to figure out what dark matter and dark energy is. They can’t see it, touch it, or smell it, but they know it (or something) is there. Without this unknown stuff, our universe would not be a universe as we know it.

Meanwhile another group is trying to reconcile the physics that govern the world around us (i.e., Einstein’s Theory of Relativity) and the known laws of physics that rule in the minute world of particles. Gravity seems to be one of the stumbling blocks, but don’t ask me to explain it.

A curse on Publix? – Publix is one of the biggest and best supermarkets in the southeast and certainly in Florida. Yet, in the past few weeks it has experienced two bizarre accidents which make one wonder if someone has put a curse on it (maybe one of the other major supermarket chains?).

First an experimental plane dropped out of the sky and crashed into the roof of an area Publix doing significant damage but no loss of life. Then a few weeks later a 76 year old woman crashed her car through a Publix main entrance injuring ten people. I happen to use Publix but never realized just how dangerous it is to shop there.

Speaking of dangerous – Like most states, Florida has a lottery program, which includes drawings and scratch-off tickets. The other day while driving out of the parking lot there was a gentleman standing in the middle of the road scratching his ticket, hoping to be a winner. What made it dangerous was that he was oblivious that my car was headed towards to him as was a car from the other direction. Had we both not stop, one of us could have run him over and possibly kill him.

What would have been ironic would have been if he realized he had a ticket worth $500,000 just prior to seeing one of us hit him.

Smelling the roses on I-10 - If you happen to be driving along I-10 in the Florida panhandle as I was recently, you would have to notice the swaths of beautiful wild flowers growing alongside the highway around mile marker 280. The roadside was covered in yellow and purple flowers that carpeted the area just a few yards off the road. Like most other driver’s I noticed them as I sped past them at 70 MPH (the speed limit), so they soon were in my rear view mirror and then out of sight.

I did notice one woman had stopped and was in the middle of them taking pictures – smelling the roses so to speak. But for most of us, we occasionally quote that saying about stopping to smell the roses (enjoying what life has to offer), but very few of us heed that advice. Such is life in this day and age.

How do I love thee? - E.B. Browning

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 05:57:41 GMT

For the love of my life and girl of my dreams (and lovers everywhere):

How do I love thee? - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs,

and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,

I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!

--and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

Not enough time

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 14:18:21 GMT

Like everyone else, I often say i don't have enough time - enough time to do all I want, enough time to help others when asked, enough time to fit everything into my daily routine. That seems ludicrous on the face of it. I'm retired, and time is what I was supposed to have enough of, in fact, too much of. It's supposed to be time on my hands to be spent like the golden coins in a bottomless bag. Well, the coins of time certainly are golden, but the bag isn't bottomless.

From a scientific viewpoint, one might wonder if and when we will ever run out of time. It was Einstein who coined the phrase "the fabric of space/time" stating that the three dimensions of space are interwoven with the dimension of time. Since that is the stuff of our universe and our universe is still expanding, it suggests that time is expanding. If true, then more and more time is being created every hour, minute and second of every day - time begetting time.

That got me to thinking about time, and I realized there is plenty of time to do everything, fit everything in. What I and so many of my friends are short of is life. When you reach these senior days you realize you are much closer to the finish line than the starting line. All of that time, all that life you had when younger has been used, spent. And now the laws of supply and demand rule. The demands, in terms of what to do, where to go, seem endless. What is in short supply is life. Thus, as one gets older one must decide what is important, what is worthy of spending the remaining days of our life on. That means prioritizing our demands, wishes and desires. That is a toughie, especially when it must be done within the context of health and financial resources.

So we juggle life, choosing what to experience and what to let slide by. That which is left undone we hope someone else will do. However, that which is left unsaid by us will never be uttered. The caring and love we have for others can never be expressed by another. So we either take what remains of our time - our life - and say those special words, or forever have them lost - having lingered on the tip of our tongues too long.

Well, I’ll be damned; look where I am!

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 14 Apr 2012 16:36:55 GMT

You’ve read stories about them; you might even have one. I speak of those precocious children who start playing piano at the age of two and go on to be a concert pianist. They are those children, who typically because of a singular event in their lives, focus their life to become a doctor, a great scientist or perhaps one whose life is steeped in politics. They are the ones who seem to have their life’s goals established early in their lives – sometimes before five, sometimes in their teens. Then there are the rest of us.

We who are a blank slate to be writ upon large or small. We, who in our early years, had no burning desires, no grand goals in life. It seems sometimes it is as the song lyrics go – it is written on the wind. We get through high school and maybe go on to college; maybe not. We sometimes feel like Tarzan swinging on one vine and looking for the next vine to move us along. At some point we finally settle on a path that will become our life’s vocation. Most of us do reasonably well in that and are content though some of us feel that they got sidetracked along the way and are living unfulfilled lives. They are the Walter Mitty’s in life, dreaming of what could have been, should have been.

What is equally interesting, or should I say amusing, is how often in our early life, we are the teens who fall in love with someone who we swear is our soul mate, that one who we want to share the future with. That Mr. or Ms. Right A falls by the wayside to be replaced by Mr. or Ms. B does not deter us from thinking we always know who we should marry (but not divorce of course).

For almost all of us, precocious or not, we have no idea where we will live in later life. Very often our work dictates that. Very often work requires transfers in order to advance. In any event, I suspect if you were to ask 100 seniors if they expected to be living where they now are, a vast majority would say no.

So it is that, as they say, life is a crap shoot for most of us. That we are able to look back over our lives and overall be happy with the way things unfolded is our blessings, our good fortune. And so it is in my case. Living in Florida wasn’t even on my radar screen. Having the good fortune to be married to who I am is my blessing. Having led the professional life I did never entered my mind, even beyond my teens. Overall, because of the good times and in spite of the bad times, I’d have to agree with the lyrics of a Garth Brooks song – The Dance.

And now I'm glad I didn't know

The way it all would end the way it all would go

Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain

But I'd of had to miss the dance

In part, why we have fond memories of back then

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 03:00:40 GMT

If you lived as a teenager in the late 1940s or during the 1950s, this musing will probably be a walk down memory lane. If you are young, this might help explain why those of us who were teenagers then have strong feelings about what life was like then versus what life is like now for those younger. One way to compare is to recall a few songs that we heard either on the radio (AM) or heard our parents sing. They are not songs that would ever be written today or ever be broadcast. Maybe the youth of today think they are too sophisticated for such music. Then again, maybe they should look at us seniors to see how we turned out - not too bad all in all. If nothing else, those songs helped us see the amusing side of life and keep things in perspective.

Anyway, here are the titles of 15 songs from back them. Along with the titles I’ve included a snippet of the lyrics. Yea – it’s not rap but none of those songs were going to make you want to go out and shoot or rape anyone.

Ma, He’s Making Eyes At Me – Ma, he’s making eyes at me, Ma, he’s awful nice to me, Ma, he’s almost breaking my heart…

Easter Parade – In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it, you’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter parade…

A Tisket, a Tasket - A-tisket a-tasket, A green-and-yellow basket, I bought a basket for my mommie, On the way I dropped it

Pennies From Heaven - Ev'ry time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven, Don'tcha know each cloud contains pennies from heaven?

Mares Eat Oats - Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey, A kiddley divey too, wouldn't you?

Hut Sut Rawlson - Hut-Sut Rawlson on the rillerah add a little brawla, brawla too it

Inka Dinka Doo - Ink-A-Dink-a-Doo, A dink-a dee, A dink-a doo, Oh, what a tune for croon-ing

Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate The Positive - You've got to accentuate the positive, Eliminate the negative, Latch on to the affirmative, Don't mess with Mister In-Between

I’m Looking Over A Four Leaf Clover - I'm looking over a four leaf clover that I overlooked before, One is for sunshine the second is rain, third is for roses bloom in the spring, No need explain the one remaining is somebody I adore

Swinging On A Star - Would you like to swing on a star, Carry moonbeams home in a jar, And be better off than you are, Or would you rather be a mule?

Smoke, Smoke, Smoke That Cigarette - Smoke smoke smoke that cigarette, puff puff puff and if you smoke yourself to death, Tell St Peter at the Golden Gate that you hate to make him wait, But you just gotta have another cigarette

Open The Door, Richard - Open the door, Richard, Open the door and let me in, Open the door, Richard, Richard why don't you open the door?

Back In The Saddle Again - I'm back in the saddle again, Out where a friend is a friend, Where the longhorn cattle feed, On the lowly gypsum weed, Back in the saddle again

Flat Foot Floogie - Oh, the flat foot floogie with a floy, floy, Flat foot floogie with a floy, floy, Flat foot floogie with a floy, floy, Floy doy, floy doy, floy doy.

Yes, We Have No Bananas - Yes we have no bananas we have no bananas today, We've broad beans like bunions, cabbahges and honions, And all kinds of fruit and say, We have an old fashioned tomahto a nice Jersey potahto, But yes we have no bananas, We have no bananas today.

If I knew you were comin' I'd've baked a cake, baked a cake - If I knew you were comin' I'd've baked a cake, Hired a band, goodness sake, If I knew you were comin' I'd've baked a cake, Howd-ya do, howd-ya do, howd-ya do

However, I don’t want to end this musing with inane song titles with inane lyrics dancing around in your head. Some of the most romantic, greatest songs ever written were written and sung back then by artists that the younger generation doesn’t know ever existed. So with that, let me leave you with a few titles that will bring back fond memories to those older. For the young of today, let me suggest you at least use Google to look up the lyrics to some of these songs then download them and listen. You might be surprised to learn just how romantic your parents and grandparents were (and still are).

I’ll be seeing you

Til the end of time

I’ll get by

Oh! What it seemed to be

There I’ve said it again

Body and soul

Night and day

The way you look tonight

Star dust

These foolish things

Smoke gets in your eyes

The glory of love

The Masters is here again - ahhh

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 13:30:27 GMT

If you follow sports then you have some special event that becomes a must-view for you. For NCAA football it may be the BCS game. For those who prefer their sports more professional, then it is the Super Bowl. For NCAA basketball fans it would be the NCAA finals which wrap up March Madness while the professional viewers probably would prefer NBA Finals.

For golfers, which include me, it probably is one of the four majors. And of all the majors, nothing lights my fire like the Masters at the Augusta National Golf Club, which this year (2012) starts Thursday, April 5th. While the players have varied over the years, the venue has not. Unlike the championship games mentioned above, the Masters is played on the same golf course year in, year out. And what a golf course it is. The immaculate fairways and greens, a plethora of magnolias and azaleas, those well-placed water hazards. Sure there are Pebble Beach and St. Andrews when the British Open is played there. But none compare, in my mind, with Augusta and the Masters.

If you follow the news about the Masters you often hear about traditions, and it is rich in them. From the par 3 fun time the day before everyone really gets serious, to the honorary opening tee shot and the Tuesday Champions Dinner, to the Crow's Nest which available for to up to five amateurs to sleep there during Masters Week, Amen Corner and finally to the awarding of the green jacket on Sunday - tradition abounds. In recent years the tradition even includes that unique theme song and the calming voice of Jim Nance who is the primary CBS announcer for the tournament.

So you might prefer something else to watch for the next four days, but for me I am in a state of nirvana. The world will have to wait until Monday for me to return.

Love and promises - for the one I love

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 05:20:52 GMT

To the love of my life and girl of my dreams -

We all do or say foolish things in our lives. It seems to be the curse of being human. Of course our intent never is to seem or be foolish. It's just that in our pursuit in the happiness for ourselves and those we love, we say or do things that have little basis in fact.

This is true in many promises we make. Certainly many of them are inconsequential and easy to keep, like doing the dishes or taking out the trash. Other promises are a bit more serious and can be a bit more difficult to keep. A loan to be repaid, a helping hand for someone in need.

Then there are those promises we often make that are beyond our powers to fulfill. They are the ones we make for the sake of others - they are promises based on our desires, not our ability to control the future. Promising to be home for Christmas is one. Though typically met, it is not in our power to control circumstances to assure our appearance. Or promising to stay married forever. Sadly and unfortunately, divorce rates belie that.

Then there is the most difficult one - the promise that you will always be there for someone you love. It is the one that we make knowing it is an empty promise for it violates the laws of nature. It is the one that even the promisee knows will not be kept. It is a promise based on love, not medical fact. It is our way of telling someone that we love them beyond all. It is telling them that they are the most important thing in our lives. It is a way of telling them that life with them is perfect and you never want it to end.

And so, in spite of facts, in spite of circumstances, we promise to always be there - hoping that God hears our words, takes pity on us and extends our deadline. And when our earthly promissory note to life is called, we want those we love to know that even then we will somehow keep our promise.

What do you write about when you have nothing to write about?

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 14:16:16 GMT

(Readers’ note: Writers of blogs, columns and novels might appreciate this.) I was thinking of writing another musing, but couldn’t think of a thing. You might call that a writer’s block, but that descriptor scares the hell out of writers. After all, if you are a writer you are expected to write something, no different than if you were a widget maker and you would be expected to make widgets.

Anyway, while observing and considering life and the world around us, I said to myself, “John, you have nothing to write about.” I sat there petrified for a few moments and then realized I did. I had just identified the subject of this most non-profound musing – the contemplation and consideration of nothing. Nothing in all its glory and usages. Nothing as viewed by the young and old, the rich and poor, the healthy and feeble, regardless of gender, sexual orientation or nationality.

For you see, the idea of nothing is a universal one. Nothing transcends borders, leaps gender gaps and is even understood by animals quite like nothing else (e.g., my food bowl has nothing in it). Nothing is defined as emptiness, nonexistence. My definition is simple – it is the absence of something. A few synonyms include: blank, nada, nobody, nonbeing, nonentity, not anything, shutout, void, zero, zilch, zip. It probably was best captured in the lyrics of an old song – ‘Yes, we have no bananas’. You see? Nothing isn’t nothing; nothing is something. It is nothing.

Nothing can be good or might be bad. If you were part of a team that lost 14 to nothing – that is bad. If someone accuses you of a crime and you can honestly reply that you had nothing to do with it that is good. Having a day off with nothing to do can be good unless you have ADD, then it is bad. Not having any bills to pay is good, but not having any money to pay bills is bad.

Probably children honed the use of nothing best. When asked by a parent where they were, invariably they will respond - no place (a very close cousin to nothing). When asked what they did, they reply – nothing. This in spite of filling the hours with fun and games and perhaps some mischief. To them nothing is just a normal state of affairs in their lives. Doing nothing is much more fun that doing homework. It is also the basis of a child’s universal lament as in “I got nothing to do.”

I could go on and on about nothing but it would be a sorry state of affairs if I thought about nothing. So instead I’ll close this by saying the next time you have nothing to do, call me - I’m great at helping to do nothing.

A Poem by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (aka Lewis Carol)

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 18:11:54 GMT

Before there was Doctor Seuss, there was Lewis Carol. And Carol wrote one of be best whimsical poems ever written – The walrus and the carpenter. You may remember hearing a portion of that poem but perhaps never read the complete poem ( "The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing wax--, Of cabbages--and kings-- ). Or if you had I suspect it has been many years since you last did. So for the child in you and for the children around you, read and enjoy. There is a lesson in this for all of us – young and old alike.

The walrus and the carpenter

`The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might:

He did his very best to make

The billows smooth and bright--

And this was odd, because it was

The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,

Because she thought the sun

Had got no business to be there

After the day was done--

"It's very rude of him", she said,

"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,

The sands were dry as dry.

You could not see a cloud, because

No cloud was in the sky:

No birds were flying overhead--

There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Were walking close at hand:

They wept like anything to see

Such quantities of sand:

"If this were only cleared away,"

They said, "it would be grand!

"If seven maids with seven mops

Swept it for half a year,

Do you suppose," the Walrus said,

"That they could get it clear?"

"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,

And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"

The Walrus did beseech.

"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,

Along the briny beach:

We cannot do with more than four,

To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him,

But never a word he said:

The eldest Oyster winked his eye,

And shook his heavy head--

Meaning to say he did not choose

To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,

All eager for the treat:

Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,

Their shoes were clean and neat--

And this was odd, because, you know,

They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,

And yet another four;

And thick and fast they came at last,

And more, and more, and more--

All hopping through the frothy waves,

And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Walked on a mile or so,

And then they rested on a rock

Conveniently low:

And all the little Oysters stood

And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,

"To talk of many things:

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing wax--

Of cabbages--and kings--

And why the sea is boiling hot--

And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,

"Before we have our chat;

For some of us are out of breath,

And all of us are fat!"

"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.

They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,

"Is what we chiefly need:

Pepper and vinegar besides

Are very good indeed--

Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,

We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,

Turning a little blue.

"After such kindness, that would be

A dismal thing to do!"

"The night is fine," the Walrus said.

"Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come!

And you are very nice!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

"Cut us another slice.

I wish you were not quite so deaf--

I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,

"To play them such a trick.

After we've brought them out so far,

And made them trot so quick!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:

"I deeply sympathise."

With sobs and tears he sorted out

Those of the largest size,

Holding his pocket-handkerchief

Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,

"You've had a pleasant run!

Shall we be trotting home again?"

But answer came there none--

And this was scarcely odd, because

They'd eaten every one.'

Musings-lite Collection No. 2

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 18:45:38 GMT

It seems it’s about time to publish another of my musings-lite musings. You remember, it’s just a collection of things I have observed or thought about that don’t need 300 – 400 words of a dedicated, singular musing to talk about.

A short macabre piece of humor – Sometime back, the police shot criminal in act of trying to shoot it out with them. He was wanted for killing another officer. When asked why the criminal’s body had seventeen bullets in it, the police chief said there wasn’t any more because they arresting police ran out of bullets.

A hijab by any other name is a babushka - Maybe it’s because I am older and as a young boy lived in an area of a small town called the Italy Patch that I don’t get as upset with Islamic women wearing a hijab or head scarf. I understand that to many it represents the beliefs of extremist in the world of Islam. Clearly, as one we need to stand again that form of extreme Islam and do whatever it takes to defeat it. But to many other Muslim women, the hijab simply represents their practice of their faith; it is their deference to Allah, or God. If you are a long-time Catholic woman, then you remember the dictate of never going into church without a head covering.

As for the hijab itself, in the Italy patch it was called a babushka and it worn by all the older women. It was so universal that there was a joke about it. “How do you smuggle an elephant out of town? Put a babushka on it and walk it out of town.”

What seems to last forever? – The longest 20 minutes in the whole wide world is the last minute of a close basketball game.

The best of my career has been left behind – It was been 20 years since I was last gainfully employed. While I am proud of what I accomplished in the work arena, I left with no regrets and have never had any since. When I think back to all I had to been associated with and the wonderful people who made things happen, I know I had the good fortune to be where I was when I was.

The marvels of the internet – Personally, as a writer I find Google and Wikipedia the two greatest web sites around. I can’t begin to count the number of times I use them to check a fact, or just determine something that I want to use in one of my musings. And given my age and my health problems, the internet is my go-to source for information regarding treatments, pills and so much more.

However for many older women living in Florida, the internet allows the use of Skype to stay in visual touch with family up north, especially those young grandchildren. My wife, like so many other women, uses the internet and Skype to stay in touch with our grandchild although he is only 80 miles away. And since she doesn’t write a blog and has good health, she uses the internet for entirely different purposes. For her, it’s a good place to read up on antique purse, which she collects and for downloading songs. Then there is one other reason she thinks it is God-sent. When the Oscars come on, she uses Skype to watch that with her daughter who lives in North Carolina. They jointly admire and critique the gowns the women wear to that event. That is where the internet really works for her. I guess we all have our own reasons why the internet is so great.

Which will win out? – In a great case of juxtaposing, about a mile south of here on A1A, there is a Planet Fitness gym and a McDonalds side by side. One could easily walk from one to the other. It seems to be a great way to evaluate this country’s fight against obesity. From what I’ve seen, obesity is winning. For all the times I’ve passed those two places. I have seen more cars pulling into McDonalds than I have at Planet Fitness.

Battling breast cancer

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 17 Mar 2012 19:29:10 GMT

There are two women, friends of ours who are battling breast cancer. I say battling because they are, to use that age-worn label, “tough old broads”. The weapons of choice in that battle are chemo therapy and radiation. Anyone who has gone through it or has seen a loved one go through them knows what they are faced with. Loss of hair and profound nausea are but two of the side effects. It is a blessing for them to still be alive, but the price they pay to stay alive is very high.

Unfortunately, medical science is still years away for finding a cure for this dreaded disease. Perhaps their grandchildren or great-grandchildren will benefit from those advances, but not them. They are in a place that their grandparents and great-grandparents were decades ago when faced with illnesses that are now under control. Medical science is like that. It is never advanced enough to take care of all our problems. Every senior must run the gauntlet called life with some kind of pain and suffering, unless it is Alzheimer’s which takes its toll in a different way.

For all the talk of our golden years, they seem to be too fleeting once we reach them. It seems to take living many years and arriving in seniordom to appreciate life. Too many of the young take for granted what we know is but a short and special time for us in this universe. Seventy, eighty and ninety years gets lost in the noise of a universe that has existed for billions of years. But that doesn’t make it less important; it is a very special, fleeting time. For those years are “our years, our time”. They allow us to take a peek in seeing what life is all about. And for too many of the young, and a few seniors as well, it is not about what seems important to them at the time. When all is said and done it is about the good fortune to have a loving family, good friends and memories worth remembering.

These lessons are something Jody and Carol have learned. They are two very special women who have had the misfortune of having breast cancer. But that in no way diminishes them. If nothing else, it demonstrates the strength they have. It shows that they are willing to fight the brave fight and battle an insidious enemy. And they are our teachers in the course called life. They are setting an example and demonstrating to their children and grandchildren what it means to not give up.

They are what I said – “tough old broads” and it our good fortune to call them friends.

The passing of EB, kind'a

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 19:52:20 GMT

The obituary appeared in today’s Daytona Beach News-Journal. It’s not an ordinary obituary. First of all, it didn’t appear with the other obituaries; instead it appears on page 3A of the first section which is devoted to current news. Secondly, the subject’s birth took place over 200 years ago (1768) in Edinburgh, Scotland. The subject? The printed version of the Encyclopedia Britannica ( EB ).

After a slow, but agonizing period of failing health, exacerbated by such internet sites as Google and Wikipedia, the printed Encyclopedia Britannica succumbed to a modern disease called printed. However, to paraphrase Mark Twain’s quote – “The news of its death is slightly exaggerated.” The company announced that will no longer publish a printed copy. The slight exaggeration is that existing copies of the printed version are still available from the company’s web site for a mere $1,395. In decades and centuries to come, the price of these books are expected to increase dramatically. But for now, therein lies one cause of this disease - cost versus free.

During its long and illustrious life, the EB proved to be a valuable friend to those attending school. Many an essay was copied from its pages. Curious questions and detailed answers could be found in its pages. The information was often the work of Nobel Laureates and world recognized leaders in their field of expertize. This wealth of information required 32 volumes, alphabetically organized. In addition, to maintain its currency annual updates were published.

With the passage of time and the improvements in technology, it was rendered obsolete. As the years passed, the volumes were ignored, especially by those younger. It had reached a point where the youth of today don’t even know EB exists nor have any remorse in its passing. To those younger, knowledge has become a fleeting thing, something to be used at the moment and then discarded as it is replaced by other interests and other sources for information such as Google and Wikipedia. In fairness, it should be noted that the entirety of the world’s knowledge, exponentially growing, far exceeds what might be recorded in any book or sets of books.

Survivors in the EB family include students of the 1950s and 1960s with a lesser number in subsequent years. Included in the family are librarians who, it is suspected, will quietly mourn its passing.

In lieu of flowers, it is asked that you buy something in print and read it.

Short and sweet

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 11 Mar 2012 23:30:14 GMT

This very brief poem by Edna St. Millay has been quoted again and again, and heard by millions. I offer it in a musing for those few friends who might read it and see themselves in it. The real message is that a candle that burns at both ends has a shortened life.

“My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends It gives a lovely light!” - Edna St Millay

Where were you and where will you be?

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 10 Mar 2012 21:31:33 GMT

There has been a great deal of print and air time regarding the future, specifically - what does the future hold? It seems half are willing to tell you exactly what to expect while the other half admit they have no idea. Part of the problem with thinking about the future is grappling with time. We know it elapses but how fast seems to depend on your age. The older one gets, the faster it seems to go. For the young, it doesn’t go fast enough.

To give everyone a common baseline of time, I thought it might help to review time past, time we’ve all experienced. To that, I’ve compiled some news items and top songs. Each year in the past has had many big news stores; I just picked one in each year mentioned. As for the songs, they are mostly from Billboard. The list goes back seventy-five years, five at a jump. Being able to think back a specific number of years might give you a feel what they are talking about when they talk about what will happen in five, ten or more mores into the future.

So, read, allow yourself to return to those days and consider – did you ever think back then that 2012 would be as it is? Have you been surprised by what has happened in technology, science, medical world, politics, national affairs, world affairs? Did you think then that your life would be as it is today? And now – care to make any projections about the future?

Year Back Then: News and Top Song

2007 July 21 – The final book of the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, is released and sells over 11 million copies in the first 24 hours, becoming the fastest selling book in history. *** Irreplaceable by Beyoncé

2002 November 3 - Bill Clinton is officially elected as the 42nd President of the United States. *** How you remind me – Nickelback

1997 March 1 - U.S. invasion of Afghanistan: In eastern Afghanistan, Operation Anaconda begins. *** Candle in the wind by Elton John

1992 April 29 – Los Angeles riots: Acquittal of four police officers in the Rodney King beating criminal trial triggers massive rioting in Los Angeles. The riots will last for six days resulting in 53 deaths and over a $1 billion in damages before order is restored. *** End of the road by Men II Men

1987 July 17 – The Dow Jones Industrial Average closes above the 2,500 mark for the first time, at 2,510.04. *** Walk like an Egyptian by The Bangles

1982 October - Sony launches the first consumer compact disc (CD) player (model CDP-101). *** Physical by Olivia Newton-John

1977 January 20 – Jimmy Carter succeeds Gerald Ford as the 39th President of the United States. *** Tonight's the Night by Rod Stewart

1972 July – U.S. actress Jane Fonda tours North Vietnam, during which she is photographed sitting on a North Vietnamese anti-aircraft gun. *** The first time I ever saw your face by Roberta Flack

1967 January 15 - Super Bowl I: The Green Bay Packers defeat the Kansas City Chiefs 35–10 at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. *** To sir, with love by Lulu

1962 February 14 – First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy takes television viewers on a tour of the White House. *** Stranger on the shore by Aker Bilk

1957 October 12 – Ayn Rand's novel Atlas Shrugged is published. *** All shook up by Elvis Presley

1952 November 25 – Agatha Christie's murder-mystery play The Mousetrap opens at the Ambassadors Theatre in London; as of 2007, it continues next door at the St. Martin's Theatre, and remains the longest continuously running production of a play in history. *** Blue tango by Leroy Anderson

1947 April 1 - Jackie Robinson, the first African American in modern Major League Baseball, signs a contract with the Brooklyn Dodgers. *** Near you by Francis Craig

1942 April 18 – Tokyo, Japan is attacked by the Doolittle Raid, a small force of B-25 Mitchells commanded by then-Lieutenant Colonel James Doolittle *** White Christmas by Bing Crosby

1937 February 2 - John of Late Night Musings was born. *** One o’clock Jump by Count Basie

Another poem - Invictus

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 13:57:32 GMT

Here is a poem that is rarely read in full, but the last two lines have been quoted time and again. I think many can identify with it. Think of it as pressing on when things get gloomy; think of it as perseverance; think of it as the human’s indomitable spirit.

William Ernest Henley. 1849–1903

Invictus (means Unconquered)

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

Missed opportunities

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Tue, 06 Mar 2012 05:42:26 GMT

It started with a phone call from my son, asking about the birth date of my dad, his grandfather. That was easy, but then he asked what was the birth date of my grandfather (my namesake), his great-grandfather. That had me stumped. The only dates I had on him was that he was born in 1881 in Italy (Sicily to be exact) and died in 1934 in Pennsylvania. The person who would have known more would have been my dad or his sisters, but they all passed on years ago. By polling other living relatives I was able to determine his birth town in Italy (Milaca, now Milena), but not much more. We were able to determine the birth date of my grandmother and I had her date of death. Fortunately I have most of that information regarding my grandparents on my mother's side.

All of that served to remind me how much about my parents and grandparents I don't know. Except for the wise few, the further back most of us go, the less we know of those who came before us. It's not just dates and towns, but all that other ordinary data we let slip through our fingers while they are alive. Beyond birthdays and places of birth, we don't know how they felt about life, what the thought about the world around them, what they did both as vocations and avocations.

Sadly, our view of our parents and grandparents were through the eyes of a child. As I child, I never wondered what mom's recipes were for many of my favorite dishes - I simply enjoyed them. Much of what I knew my dad liked came through observation. His favorite TV show (Bonanza), his favorite meal (prime roast), his favorite car (a Cadillac he managed to buy late in life). Much of what it was like for him growing up was hardly discussed. Once in a while both mom and dad shared glimpses into their early life, but, sadly, I never attached the importance to that as I do today.

I know a few people today are video recording much of their life history for their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The children may not place much importance on that today, but the day will come when they will cherish that and consider it one of the finest gifts they ever received from their parents.

Late Night Musings - the book

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Thu, 01 Mar 2012 14:25:42 GMT

Will wonders never cease? My book, late Night Musings now can be ordered on Amazon.com as an e-book. If you happen to have a reader and happen to be interested in the book, it can be had for a paltry sum of $3.99 (see the link below). It should be noted that in spite of the book’s authorship of the book, I was never invited to talk about it on the Oprah show.

http://www.amazon.com/Late-Night-Musings-ebook/dp/B007ED2OZ0/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1330608721&sr=8-4

Musings-lite Collection No. 1

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 13:30:50 GMT

Not everything I see or ponder needs 300 – 400 words of a dedicated, singular musing to talk about it. Some would do just as well with what I call a “musing-lite” and share the spotlight with other musings-lite. With that as my intent, here is the first one, to be occasionally published as life and the world warrants.

It was bound to happen - I was at the supermarket the other day, checking the cheese section. Just as I happened to look up, I saw two carts being pushed by women approaching each other at the intersection of the aisles. Sure enough, they collided, and the cart drivers offered each other their apologies. What made it special is that both women were talking on their cell phones.

We’ve come a long way from being the center of the solar system/universe – At one time in history, earth was assumed to be the center of the universe and the sun revolved around earth. Now we know that not to be the case. Not only aren’t we the center of anything except our egos, we aren’t even unique in being a planet with seven of our solar system friends. Scientists have found planets (exoplanets) in other solar systems, revolving around other stars. Since the first one was found in the 1990s, the count has risen to more than 600, and it is growing. Not all are earth-like, thank goodness. We have enough wars, killings and mayhem to cover all those exoplanets.

What city am I in? – Years ago, in my early childhood, I lived in an area in Northeast Pennsylvania called the Wyoming Valley. Like many other areas, it was hard to tell where one town ended and another began. The only distinguishing characteristic was a sign reading, “Welcome to My Town”. Another way to tell when you crossed a town’s border was by the name of the streets. Each town took pride in naming its streets so consequently as you crossed from one town into another the name of the street you were travelling changed. All of a sudden Haddock Blvd. became Flounder Ave.

I mention this because I live in Ormond Beach in Florida which abuts Daytona Beach. I’d be hard-pressed to tell you where Ormond Beach ends and Daytona Beach begins. When you walk the beach, there are no city limit signs. I suspect Mother Nature prefers it that way. After all, it all belongs to her.

Speaking of Daytona Beach and the area – I guess most places have something they are famous for. Boston and seafood, New York and Broadway, Omaha and – well, Omaha. For Daytona Beach and the area, we have a few things going. Although we no longer are the spring break mecca, we still are the center of the racing world. It started with races on our flat firm sandy beaches. Now NASCAR kicks off each racing season with the Daytona 500 and the race fans return for the 400 on the 4^th of July. We do have a convention center that draws in other attractions but none compete with NASCAR… except Bike Week.

A few decades ago, bikers realized they didn’t have to put their bikes in storage when winter rolled in. Instead they could come to Florida, more specially Daytona Beach and the area, and ride in our relatively warm winter weather. Bike Week is a 9-day event (weekend to weekend) which draws thousands of bikes and riders. What is interesting is that in these modern times there are more doctors and lawyers riding those bikes than there are from those biking groups with questionable reputations. It is said there that probably 600,000 people are here for at least part of Bike Week; that’s probably a bit of a Chamber of Commerce exaggeration. But I’m sure there has to be over 100,000 bikes roaring around our streets on any given day of that week. It is a sight and sound that you have to experience to fully fathom.

And were that not enough to fray many citizens’ nerves, there is a 4-day event in October called Biketoberfest. It’s the same idea as Bike Week. In fact, they are now talking to expand that into a 9-day affair. Businesses love it; residents hate it.

Our local paper carried a quote by Adlai E. Stevenson – I wanted to write the famous or perhaps well-known Stevenson but that seems inappropriate in attributing the quote, but neither descriptor really seems to work. To be famous, you have to be well-known and certainly Stevenson isn’t in this day and age. This in spite of an illustrious political career which included a run at the opresidency against Eisenhower in 1952 and 1956.

But be that as it may, his quote really resonated with me. It is a quote that surprisingly hasn’t been used by candidates of both political parties. Certainly it applies to both. However, this is not a musing-lite about politics but about Stevenson’ quote. It is a quote that can be used in many different situations, including politics, business and everything else.

He’s the quote; it has become one of my favorites.

There is nothing more horrifying than stupidity in action. Adlai E. Stevenson

Stevenson is also well-known for a quote when he was the US ambassador to the UN during the Cuban Crisis. Do you recall it?

The Road Not Taken - by Robert Frost

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 14:20:29 GMT

This is, no doubt, one of my favorite poems. Also, it is one that is often recited, or at least portions of it quoted.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

To help or not to help - that is the question

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 13:55:45 GMT

There is a phenomenon with human beings, human behavior if you will, that has always intrigued me. It is a near universal willingness to come to the aid of others, very often strangers, who have been in accidents or are in the midst of some kind of disaster. How often do we read about complete strangers putting their own life in jeopardy to rescue others. Someone will rush into a burning building without regard for their own safety to pull someone from the flames. At the sight of a car accident, they stop to do whatever they can to comfort survivors and keep them alive until professional help arrives. Someone suddenly collapses on a busy street and several will stop to provide help. In each and every case, the victim doesn't even need to ask for help or even be aware that help is being given.

It seems we have this basic instinct to help others of our species. Very few other animals exhibit a similar trait. Yet, when it comes to assistance in situations not involving physical need, we seem to be reluctant to step in. Mental problems seem to be off limits. That reluctance seems to be magnified when the person we know needs help is a relative, someone we love or someone we care for. So often we watch as the life of someone we know becomes a shamble. We pause and ponder, asking what should we do; should we do anything? In a vast majority of cases, we do nothing. Maybe the simple answer for that reluctance is that we fear physical or mental retribution if we help try to help another whose life is not in physical danger. Or maybe our training not to pry into others’ affairs trumps our instinct to help.

There is also a related phenomenon that also puzzles me. In so many cases around the world, the person who would rush in to help to another without question is the same person who would be willing to kill that victim under different circumstances. Wrong political belief? Wrong religion? Wrong clan? The only help they will get is help to meet their maker.

How strange humans are.

Poem: Don't go far off - Pablo Neruda

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 03:21:43 GMT

Don't Go Far Off - Pablo Neruda

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --

because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because

then the little drops of anguish will all run together,

the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift

into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;

may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.

Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far

I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,

Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Nurturing a marriage (or relationship)

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 00:54:47 GMT

“If only I knew then what I know now.”

It’s hard not to learn a few things in living a seven decades plus life. In my case, and in many others, it is a matter of trial and error – with lots of errors. So it is in looking back and thinking about the present that I have learned a few rules to nurture and sustain a marriage (or relationship). What I learned to make the best marriage possible, and it applies to relationships as well, can be summed up in a few phrases, a few words. They are not meant to be all encompassing but they go a long way in making a marriage work. Here is what I learned.

Say ‘I love you’ every day, several times a day. I don’t think there is anything more uplifting than hearing those words spoken and meant. If you use the words but don’t really mean them, you need to be reading about divorce, not nurturing a marriage. Also, saying, “You know I love you” doesn’t count. If you really love your spouse those words of love should come as easy to you as anything you will ever utter in your life. “You know I love you” ranks up there with a spouse picking petals from a flower while reciting, “He loves me, he loves me not.” It leaves a spouse in doubt; only you can speak for you.

Say ‘thank you’ every time it is warranted. Never take anything for granted. When your spouse does something for you, they are displaying their thoughtfulness and caring about you. If you had to do everything a spouse does just for you, you would probably be reading about divorce right now. What is odd is that too often we seem more likely to thank a stranger than a spouse as if what a spouse does is our just due. It is not.

Say ‘I’m sorry’ every time you do something you shouldn’t have or not done something you should have. It is not a sign of weakness to say you’re sorry. None of us are perfect, without failings. The key is to be smart enough to know when you erred and apologize.

Say and act on “Can I help? Let me do that.” Modern life is hectic at best and sometimes overwhelming. A marriage is a partnership, and in a partnership, both partners are responsible for getting things done. Sure you have other things to do, but then so does your spouse. It gives one a boost when a spouse can step in to help without being asked. It sends a message that the two of you are in it together and are covering each other’s back.

So there are four important things I’ve learned about being married. To the extend you’ve already known them, good for you. If you haven’t thought about them, then consider them a leg up on making a lasting marriage.

Oh yes, one final thing. Everything above has to do with the present, the here and now, daily living. If you have the good fortune to have your marriage go on for decades, there is one more thing you need to do that will serve you both well years from now. Make some happy memories that you can share when you are old. When today’s battles have been fought, when today’s wins and losses are behind you, thinking back to these days can bring you joy, happiness and laughter. Then you can be proud for all you weathered and relish the retelling of all those old war stories. It is then you will look back and be able to say my marriage and life was good.

When I was a kid...

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 17:49:27 GMT

If you are younger, no doubt you have heard the story. If you are older (over 50), I’m sure you have told the story. It is the story of those who are seniors and how tough life was back when they were young. Back then they had to walk three miles to school in 8 ft. snow drifts. We all know it isn’t true. The highest snow drift I ever had to navigate on my two mile walk to school was only 6 ft.; everything else is lies.

But what seniors are trying to convey is how different and difficult life was way back then. That is true. We seasoned seniors didn’t have so many of the luxuries that the young have today and take for granted. First of all, there were no cell phones. Our parents may have had a home 4-party line which had to be dialed and answered on a rotary phone (see Wikipedia). As for us kids, we had two tin cans and a long piece of string. Reception wasn’t great; it depended not on satellites but rather the quality of the string and how clean the cans were. Of course the only picture you had to look at on our “cell phones” where on the label of the can.

There were no computers or X-Boxes or Sony Play Stations to amuse us. Our amusement came when our mother kicked us out of the house and told us not to return until dinner time. Then we played tag, stick ball (start with a broom handle), making pea shooters and rubber guns (start with a piece of wood and a car inner tube). We also played kick the can (one can and one good kicking foot, preferably played on a hill). As got gym and sneakers, no Michael Jordon and all those expense sneakers for us. Everyone had Converse sneakers, black, high ankle with that round ball ‘C’ to help prevent ankle sprains, or so they said.

As we got older, we learned to drive on a manual three speed with the gear stick on the steering column – think of a capitol letter H for shifting (no automatic for us kids although well-to-do parents might afford a three-speed automatic). Of course that required the coordination of hand and foot for shifting. As for driving that car in cold weather, one had to have patience to deal with the thump-thump of the flat spot on the tires. There were no all season or winter season tires for use during those winters with 6 ft. snow drifts. There were, however, tire chains which were guaranteed to leave your fingers and knuckles bloodied by the time you got them on.

As for many of our homes, we had no showers though we saw pictures of them. The idea of a shower with more than one head wasn’t even dreamed of, not even by the most brilliant minds of the time. We did have a galvanized tub which hung on the porch wall. Proper hygiene required us kids to take a bath at least once, and sometimes twice, a week. That wasn’t too bad except in the winter. Then the tub rim was about 28° while the water was something above 200°. Under those circumstances, your rear end suffered no matter what it touched.

Oh yes, we didn’t go to a supermarket for milk; supermarkets were still a few decades in the future. Rather milk was brought to the door in glass bottles with a cardboard top. Again, winter time made for some interesting delivered milk bottles. The cream would rise to the top (no homogenized milk then) and freeze. As it did it expanded lifting the top a few inches above the bottle opening rim. That was quite a sight on a cold, winter morn.

Although we didn’t have TV, we did have the movie theater. For 25¢ we would go to a Saturday matinee where we would see the news, a few cartoons, a short feature (maybe the Three Stooges) and the main feature which often was a cowboy movie starring Gene Autry or Roy Rogers. It was always a treat to see the rag man come by to buy items the family no longer had use of. We also had the sharpener man who would sharpen your knives or scissors for a small fee.

Oh I could go on and on, and many will since our experiences varied by where we lived, but I don’t want to make a novel out of this musing; your grandparents can take care of that. (Seniors are encouraged to supplement this musing with a comment or remembrance.) But I will leave you with this one final thought. People who talk about climate change and greater extremes never were around when we were young and had to walk through those 6 ft. snow drifts while the temperature hovered around minus thirty-seven. Climate change? Bring it on.

Readers’ note: After I completed this musing, I reflected on it some. While I have no problem with the way I ended it, I realized that there was a more serious thought I wanted to convey as well. I realize that my parents, our parents, could have written a similar musing comparing their childhood experiences with mine when I was young. My parents were born in 1910 and 1912. Their childhood was filled with even less than mine was and their experiences were even more primitive. They lived through two world wars and the Great Depression – not the best of times to collect precious memories. So it was, I’m convinced, that they were happy for me and the life they gave me. I suspect they would have loved to live as a youth through the decades when I was young.

Therein lays the seriousness of this musing. While they would have never wanted me to live through the life they led as a youngster that cannot be said today. I have heard time and again from those seniors who lament the world their children live in and, unlike my parents, wish the children of today could have lived in a world similar to what we had. Technology is not a great substitute for happy, less stressful times. So it is, probably the first time in the history of our country, that the past is more appealing than the present. How sad.

A lovely winter holiday

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 05:13:00 GMT

If I were to ask you what holiday involves the greatest number of greeting cards being exchanged, I’m sure you would correctly answer Christmas. But if I asked you to name the second biggest holiday for sending cards, would you know? Well, in case you didn't, the answer is Valentine’s Day or Saint Valentine’s Day. Over a billion cards are exchanged for that holiday. In years long gone by, I suspect there were over a billion small candy hearts exchanged in school, each with some trivial phrase of love printed on them. Back then, few children could afford the price of a card. Besides, you couldn't eat the cards, but, ah, those candies.

But in today's more affluent world we exchange cards proclaiming our love and affection for another. I would never diminish the act of sending a Valentine’s Day card to someone you care about because if there is one thing this world of ours that doesn't have enough of, it’s love. I wonder what people do for the remainder of the year to let someone know that they care for and about others, that they love them? I wonder how often that love is expressed verbally. While it is well and good to show your love for another, oftentimes it isn't enough. It isn't enough to say to someone, "You know I love you". Knowing something and having that be reaffirmed in words are two different things.

Hopefully we say it often to our spouses, if they are still with us, and to our children and grandchildren. If you have not told members of your family lately that you love them, well, you are way overdue. But it shouldn't stop there. I suspect our love for our friends is expressed much less often. They probably fall into the "they know" category.

I think as one grows older, one realizes that love is probably our most precious commodity, the most precious gift that we can give to another. We learn that words of love left unsaid may never get a chance to be uttered. It may well be that the ones we love will no longer be in our lives to hear those words. It may be that we, ourselves, may not be around to say them. So this Valentine's Day, remember to not only send a card, but tell everyone that you love, family and friends, that you do love them. You'll both feel better for it.

Whose music is it anyway?

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 08:48:52 GMT

The Grammys for 2012 are coming and I won’t really watch the awards show. However, I have to admit I have in the past catch snippets of it and concluded that the musical world has passed me by. I'm not quite sure what I was doing but clearly it wasn't keeping up with what is happening and has happened when it comes to popular music. Oh, I recognize the names of a few of the performers and know that I have heard a few of the award winning songs, but for the most part, the Grammys are but one more award show that I don't watch.

Along with the Grammys there is the C&W awards show for music. I've lost count for the number of awards shows there are for movies and TV. They seem to be growing like the reality shows. Someone comes up with a winning show and it is copied over and over again. I think there are two creative minds in the arts - one for movies and one for music. Everyone else take their clues from them.

But I digress. The reason I mention the Grammys is because I think I am in the same position that my parents were sixty years ago when rock 'n roll came on the scene. My parent's genre for music was that of the thirties and forties. It was the era of singers like Frank Sinatra, Doris Day and the rest. It was the era of the big bands such as Sammy Kaye, Glenn Miller and the rest.

When Bill Haley and the Comets arrived, those of my parent’s age didn't understand it and didn't like it. They thought that the new music was the slippery slope to ruin and damnation. They tried their best not to listen to it although it was filling the airways and record stores. But we teenagers of that time thrived on it. I sometimes wonder if it was, in part, a teen rebellion against parental control.

So it is again, only sixty years later. Hip hop, R&B, Rap and all the rest reigns supreme. Artists like Rihanna, Katy Perry and the Foo Fighters (I've heard of them) are in the running. So is Lady Gaga (I wonder who came up with that name). Now I am the not-with-it-generation. I don't really understand what is happening in the music world, but unlike those of my parent’s generation I don't hate it. For the most part I just let it pass me by. I am stuck in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s, and quite content to be there.

As for the younger generation of today, I simply smile. Sixty years from now it will be their turn to not understand and perhaps hate the music of the teenagers of that day. As they say, what goes 'round, comes 'round.

A true dog story - who could make this up?

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 01:41:17 GMT

The following is a true story. A man in Jacksonville, FL has two brown boxers. A while back they escaped from their fenced-in back yard, started to roam around the neighborhood and A1A. They were gone for hours. Their owner searched all over and finally went to the local Humane Society and found his dogs. He identified the two boxers as his.

He was told that he had to have proof that the dogs were his. He produced a few pictures of him and the dogs that he posted on Facebook. As far as the Humane Society was concerned they were ambivalent but finally relented and agreed to give him back his dogs. However, his cost would be $290… per dog. The man told the Humane Society that he could not afford that kind of money. They told him the only alternative was to sign the dogs over to them. The man thought about it for a few minutes and as he was thinking he saw a sign posted over the door advertising adoptions for $30. He took a lot of time signing over his dogs and after completing the paperwork, walked out the door then immediately returned and said he said he wanted to adopt the two brown dogs he gave up. They vehemently objected stating that the dogs were his. He reminded them he gave up ownership by signing their paperwork and now wanted to adopt the two brown dogs. They were forced to relent. After a tree day waiting period, he got his dogs back.

The real beauty of all this is not only did he get his two dogs back for $30 each as opposed to $295, while in the Humane Society’s care they trimmed the dogs’ nails, spayed them and implanted an identification device.

Who says it’s only government that is quirky?

Glory days

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 16:48:09 GMT

I have mentioned in the past that I walk the beach few times a week sharing it with the seagulls and a few beach goers. When I do, I have my IPod on listening to music I enjoy. Yesterday was Bruce Springsteen (aka The Boss) day. Although I have listened to him in the past, yesterday I heard two consecutive songs that got me thinking.

The first was Glory Days. I think it is hard to go through a long life without experiencing days when everything seemed to be going our way. Success and personal satisfaction seem to be two main characteristics of those times. String several of those days or weeks or months together and you have the makings of Glory Days.

The problem is that most of us never realized at the time that they would come to be remembered as our glory days, perhaps because when we are living them, we think we finally got things right and nothing will change. The high school football hero, the person we love becoming our spouse, the rapid promotions - experiencing those and so many more are the basis of those special and wonderful times in our lives.

But the reason we look back and fondly remember those times and call them Glory Days is because those periods in our lives didn't last. That really hit home when The Boss started singing the next song - Let's Be Friends. In that song, he sings the chorus:

Don't know when this chance might come again

Good times got a way of comin' to an end

Don't know when this chance might come again

Good times got a way of slippin' a-way

And so it is with our Glory Days; they do come to an end, they do slip away.

So to really enjoy them and value them for what they are worth, they need to age like a fine wine. They need to be bottled in our minds, allowed to ferment and then when the time is right, to be uncorked, and fully enjoyed. The tasting is in the remembering, swirling those times long past over the palate of our consciousness, because in doing so it brings back warm memories and a smile. That smile comes from knowing that someplace, some time in our past we had our Glory Days.

The movie - life

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 05:18:37 GMT

The Oscars are coming yet probably the greatest movie of all hasn’t even been nominated. The movie? Life, or more specifically our life.

With the advent of the internet, I’m sure you, like me, get emails with all kinds of thoughts regarding life in general, our life and our relationships with others (Maybe you’ve read a blog or two about the subject.) Some are trite and some are worthy of consideration. It seems everyone is trying to make sense of life and our conduct while getting through it, so to speak. To me, one of the most simplistic and accurate descriptions of life comes from Joseph Campbell, noted mythologist. He said, "Life is like arriving late for a movie, having to figure out what is going on without bothering everybody with a lot of questions, then being unexpectedly called away before you find out how it ends."

When you think about it, that pretty much sums up life. We weren't around for the opening scenes and won't be around after the curtain finally comes down. When the cast of players are listed, we will be even less than a bit player. After all, there are over 6 billion players in the current scene of life's movie; and that's without all who came before and all who are yet to enter stage right or left.

As for those questions, they just seem to pile up. We aren't even smart enough to know all the questions to ask. Of those questions we do ask, they range from the mundane (what's for dinner? Will it rain tomorrow?) To the profound (Why are we here? Is there life similar to ours in other galaxies?).

Yet, for all that one might trivialize our role in our life's epic movie, in our little vignette we loom large. For good or ill, our existence plays a major part in those lives that touch ours. And maybe, just as that butterfly fluttering its wings on a Himalayan mountain affects the global weather, our actions may well greatly influence the big picture in ways we can't imagine.

Parking lots are lots of pain

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 15:41:44 GMT

There are many well documents differences between men and women. There is one, however, that I haven't read much about. It has to do with parking a car in a public parking lot. My experience and observations suggest those differences are significant. Most women just look for the first parking space they can find regardless of how far it is to the store. Finding one, they pull in, with no remorse should one closer open up. To them parking is just one of the necessities of driving a car; there is no sense of challenge in it.

With men, there is a completely different mindset. With men, they turn parking into a game, albeit a serious game, that requires plans and strategies. That is true, however, only when the man is alone or their spouse has grown weary of complaining about the many miles they put on the car driving up and down parking lot lanes. If she still is active in deciding where to park, most men take their wives' advice and just park in the first open parking space. There is a straightforward "park the car" command and the husband softly mutters but obeys, knowing if he doesn't that he will be hassled until he does find a place to park and gets into the store.

Most men, however, I suspect are more like me. When it comes to parking at the local Publix grocery store it's a challenge which rarely results in success but rather with failure and frustration. There are a few situations that can cause this frustration, each the result of not finding a spot very close to the store. In the first instance it is when you are waiting for someone, typically a woman, to get their groceries into their car and leave. You try to wait as long as you can as she loads her groceries, parks the cart, gets in her car, finds the keys, turns the mirror so she can adjust her lipstick, readjusts the mirror, starts the car, tunes the radio and finally looks around to pull out. As you sit there waiting, a check of your rear view mirror reveals a growing line of cars anxiously waiting to pass you. Given enough time, the horns start to sound and you begin to panic. Only the strongest maintain their place; most finally cave in and move on, only to see the car behind them pull into the woman's spot.

It's a similar situation to go down a lane not seeing an open space. As you reach the end of the lane and prepare to turn into the next lane, you look into your rearview mirror and watch a car just a few feet back pull out of a space. It is impossible to backup as the exiting car is in the way and there is a car now waiting to pull in. At this point you are not sure if you want to smash the windshield of the car leaving the space or the car waiting to pull in.

A third situation occurs when you have tried your best to find a place near the store and finally have to admit defeat. You then take that last parking place, furthest from the store, and start that long trek to the store's entrance. As you near the store you now see three open spaces just a few yards from the store. Of course you know if you ran back to your car by the time you got to those empty spaces someone else will have found them.

Unfortunately, leaving the parking lot isn't the end of it. When you arrive home your wife greets you with that question that caps the whole experience. "Did you waste an extra ten minutes driving around the parking lot trying to find a open space close to the store, dear?"

Martin Luther King - I have a dream

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 12:53:09 GMT

The following speech, I Have A Dream, was delivered by Martin Luther King, Jr. on the steps at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. on August 28, 1963. It is one of the greatest speeches ever given. It is worth reading again.

---

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.

But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

When is old antique?

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 15:57:38 GMT

In talking to a few friends around my age, the subject turned to possessions, specifically our possessions. Having broken through the glass ceiling of seventy, you might correctly guess that a few of the items we own are rather old. More so, some of our possessions were given to us by our parents which adds a couple of decades to the age of those items. You might call them antiques although I prefer not to think that anything that I bought as an antique. If what we own are antiques, one might, by extension, suggest we are antiques as well.

Anyway, we talked about wanting to hand many of those items down to our sons and daughters. The problem is that many of the younger generation have no interest in owning them (yes, there are exceptions – but few). I guess they view them as simply old dust collectors, not antiques. There might be one or two items they can relate to, something they can fondly recall from their early years as children, like a blanket or sled. But most of the stuff we own isn’t wanted by most of our children. Those who want to incorporate antiques into their decor typically head to some antique shop where the items are well over a hundred years old. Of course, those things aren't free; they cost hundreds of dollars.

I think these times are proving to be a watershed in terms of family possessions. The younger generation has become a use and toss generation wherein most all their possessions are expendable, to be replaced by the latest and greatest. What we of the older generation own isn't old enough to be considered antique but are aged enough to be thought of as simply old and not wanted. We who are in our sixties and seventies still have the mindset of our parents that lived though the Great Depression wherein nothing was expendable. Hand-me-downs were welcomed. They weren't thought of as antiques but rather just a way to save money.

But times change and people change. I guess we could sell our possessions to some antique shop. Then our children and grandchildren would rush to buy them. It's a strange age we live in.

Wasted lives

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 16:16:35 GMT

The other day I was driving to the mall. In order to get there I had to drive through a less desirable section of town (to use a euphemism). As I was waiting at a red light, two of the local residents crossed the street in front of me. Both were unkempt, unshaven and wore torn clothes that looked like they had not been in a washer for some time. You could tell by their walk that they didn't have coffee for breakfast but rather something much stronger.

Then the light turned green and I was on my way. But I couldn't get those two men out of my mind. It would have been easy to simply dismiss them as two drunken bums and let it go at that. But then again, when my mind gets hold of a thought, it rarely lets go. So I wondered how they got from there to here, from a young child in grade school to the individuals they are today. While many of the street people today are suffering from mental illness and are left to their own devices, it seemed apparent that drugs and/or alcohol also plays a major role in these people's lives. But that begs the question of what got them from an innocent child to a life of drugs and alcohol.

I wondered what their home life was like as they were growing up. Was there a loving and nurturing parent or parents or had the child's parent(s) passed through the same doorway long before they were born? Was it peers that led them down the path that resulted in the life they were now living? If so, why didn't their parent(s) take control of the situation and stop that behavior in its tracks? What were they like in school? Was there a brilliant mind or a mediocre one that was wasted? Were they happy-go-lucky souls or introspective, brooding children? So many questions, so few answers.

Maybe only those who are living that life know the answers to those questions, or maybe not even they know. Minds often rearrange facts to suit self. That or the ravages of drugs and alcohol write over the truth with a story that justifies one's existence. Whatever the case, they are lost souls, forever travelling down a road that someday will run out at a dead end.

That led me to wonder who and how many of those I knew back in my early school days are now living a similar life. How many that I lost track of are dressed similarly and living similarly. Would I be surprised if I knew who they were? Might, in fact, one or more of them be living in that area I drove through.

All that led me to write another of my so called poems. It is:

Do I know you?

Who are you?

It is really you?

Where is the person I use to know?

Where is the sparkle you had in your eyes?

Where is the smile that lit up a room?

Where did that you go?

Why are you here?

Why did you change?

How is life treating you?

I miss the old you.

I miss the way you used to be.

I miss what we had.

Can you change?

Can you be what you used to be?

Or are you gone forever?

I am sad, old friend.

My New Year's wish for You

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 15:58:56 GMT

The ending of any year seems to require some kind of list about the previous year, or in the current year's case the past decade. I will not bore you with a list - you can find them in your local newspaper, on the internet or favorite newscast on TV.

Rather, I will make this end of year musing simple. For the pleasant times in 2011, keep the memories and cherish them. For those times when the past year was unkind, leave them behind and know that better times can be yours in 2012. Most importantly, I wish you and yours a most joyous New Year and a 2012 filled with love, peace and good fortune.

Finally, my special thanks to you for taking a few moments to read my musings - it is truly appreciated.

Happy New Year.

John

Driving into 2012

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 06:07:16 GMT

One of the things I tend to do when a birthday or anniversary or New Year's Day rolls around is look back and reflect on my life. Sometimes it's just a glance back over the past year; sometimes it's a long look back over my entire life. As I look back over the highways and back roads on that mental map, I am looking back over my life, recalling the twists and turns, the curves, the hills, the detours and the stops along the way. I recall the pot holes of pride I ran into, the hills of hubris I tried to climb, the U-turns of an ill-considered marriage, the s-curves I steered through trying to keep the peace, and the detours I took when I realized I wasn’t really making any headway in my life. Furthermore, I can remember when I passed a few people along the way and several passed me by in my career. I also had a few straight superhighways I sped down, windows rolled down, and great music filling the air. Unfortunately, just as a driver speeding is more apt to have a wreck, so too did I when I played speed demon in my life which resulted in a major accident somewhere along my journey. But best of all, how can I ever forget those rest stops of brief but wonderful times when I just let life slip by while I paused to do something pleasurable or be with someone enjoyable.

To extend the metaphor a bit more, I have no idea what number my life exits on, but at this age, I know I’m a lot closer to it than I was further back when I first got on life's highway. Just as we speed when we set out on a long drive, we tend to speed along in early life as well. It is only as we get nearer to the end of our journey do we slow down as we realize that this pleasant journey is coming to an end. It is then that we finally begin to enjoy the scenery along the way. The most amazing thing is how beautiful that scenery was and is. I regret that I didn’t slow down earlier on my life's highway to more fully enjoy it.

So when this New Year’s Day arrives, I intend to stop, relax and look back over my journey to this point, recall how enjoyable it has been, and then get moving on down life's highway again. One can never be absolutely sure, but I think there just might be a few more mile markers I’ve yet to pass.

Drive with care, my friends, and enjoy your trip. And have a happy and safe New Year.

Merry Christmas - 2011

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 12:34:28 GMT

Christmas might seem to be a strange time of talk about a Nero Wolfe novel by the author Rex Stout. However, the murder mystery, Christmas Party, is one of four stories in his novel, And Four To Go. As the story's title might suggest, the murder took place at a Christmas party hosted by the murder victim, Kurt Weill. At one point during the party and before his murder, Weill gave a toast to Christmas.

Although I read that story some time ago, I copied that toast for it seems to succinctly express the feelings and emotions we all have during the Christmas season. It is a time when for the moment we set aside our ill feelings towards others. It is a time when we experience the joy in giving as well as the joy in receiving. It is a time to share time with family and good friends. It is a time when love and caring looms large in our lives. For so many reasons it is the most precious of holidays we celebrate.

It is in writing this musing that I realize how inadequate I am as a writer to express the warm thoughts and feelings I have for you - family, friends, and readers of my musings. Knowing that I may have given you a few moments of enjoyable reading or touched your life in some small way is perhaps one of the greatest presents I can receive. While it might not appear under the Christmas tree, it is a gift that I will long remember.

Now let me retell the toast by Rex Stout as spoken through his character Kurt Weill; I could not have said it better.

"I repeat, there are times when love takes over. There are times when all the little demons disappear down their rat holes, and ugliness itself takes on the shape of beauty; when the darkest corner is touched by light; when the coldest heart feels the glow of warmth; when the trumpet call of good will and good cheer drowns out all the Babel of mean little noises. This is such a time. Merry Christmas! Merry, merry, merry!"

So in this simple Christmas musing, Bonnie and I want to wish you and yours the merriest of Christmases, and the peace and comfort that comes this time of the year. May these good tidings be with you in the coming year. Blessings to you and yours, to each and everyone. - John

A Christmas quiz - carols you know - kind'a

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 15:37:38 GMT

It is the time for the most merry and solemn of holidays - Christmas. It is a day which celebrates the birth of Jesus and the giving of gifts by that jolly old man - Santa Claus. It is also the one holiday that has so many songs associated with it. The playing of those Christmas songs is the overture to this special day.

Sadly, the songs too often are first heard in stores well before Thanksgiving. But once the bird has been carved and consumed, we really get into Christmas, prodded by those same Christmas songs. Many of them have been around for many years though some are newer than others. Equally interesting, many of the Christmas songs being played today were first played and sung by artists in the 1940s and 1950s. Now that is tradition given all the changes we have had in music and the artists over the decades.

And so it is time for a little Christmas quiz. Listed below, in alphabetical order, are many of the traditional Christmas songs. None are younger than a few decades old. While I have listed nearly two dozen, I'm sure you can probably think of others. Your challenge is to guess the year each song was written. Following the first list is a second one showing the songs and the year (in some cases plus or minus a few years) that the song was written. And away we go...

Away in the Manger -

Blue Christmas -

Carol of the Bells -

Christmas Song -

Do You Hear What I Hear? -

Feliz Navedad -

Happy Holiday -

Here Comes Santa Claus -

I'll Be Home for Christmas -

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus -

Here Comes Santa Claus -

Jingle Bells (Original) -

Let It Snow -

Little Drummer Boy -

Little town of Bethlehem -

O Come all ye faithful (Adeste Fideles) -

O Holy Night -

Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer -

Santa Claus is Coming to Town -

Silent Night -

Silver Bells -

Twelve Days of Christmas -

We Wish you a Merry Christmas -

White Christmas -

Winter Wonderland -

Away in the Manger - 1885

Blue Christmas - 1948

Carol of the Bells - 1916 (1921 in the United States)

Christmas Song - 1944

Do You Hear What I Hear? - 1962

Feliz Navedad - 1970

Happy Holiday - 1942

Here Comes Santa Claus - 1948

I'll Be Home for Christmas - 1943

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus - 1952

Jingle Bells (Original) - 1857

Let It Snow - 1945

Little Drummer Boy - 1941

Little town of Bethlehem - 1865

O Come all ye faithful (Adeste Fideles) - 1751

O Holy Night - 1847

Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer - 1939

Santa Claus is Coming to Town - 1934

Silent Night - 1859

Silver Bells - 1950

Twelve Days of Christmas - 1909

We Wish you a Merry Christmas - 16th Century

White Christmas - 1940

Winter Wonderland - 1934

How many did you get right? Feel free to tell everyone by posting your score as a comment to this musing.

Yes, Virginia, there is a God

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 17:16:43 GMT

I recently published the famous letter and response – Yes, Virginia – There Is A Santa Claus (see Must reading for the Christmas season). As I read the words and pondered them, I realized the response to Virginia’s letter would read the same if she asked about God. So here is my revised letter, with only one or two very minor tweaks. How interesting.

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no God. Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so. Please tell me the truth; is there a God?

VIRGINIA O'HANLON, 115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a God. He exists certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no God! It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in God! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch the heavens on Christmas Eve to catch God, but even if they did not see God, what would that prove? Nobody sees God, but that is no sign that there is no God. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest man that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No God? Thank GOD! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Must reading for this Christmas season

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 21:20:58 GMT

If only I were as wise and as great a writer as Mr. Church. This is a perfect answer to a question; a rebuttal to those whose hearts and minds are cold and closed – even today.

The background: Eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York's Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history's most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps.

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so. Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O'HANLON. 115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest man that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank GOD! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

A Christmas poem

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 21:08:00 GMT

I wrote this poem in 2009. Since it seems nothing has changed, I thought I'd reissue it in this musing.

A Christmas Poem – 2009

My cup runneth over

My blessings so many

It is the best of Christmas'.

Their cup near empty

Their blessings so meager

It is the worst of times.

In a land of plenty

In a land of comfort

Many have much.

In a land of plenty

In a land of comfort

Many have little.

I live in safety

I live without fear

I take it for granted.

They live with war

They live with fear

They take it for granted.

So here comes joy

So here comes sadness

Merry Christmas to all.

Christmas? Christmas?

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 23:33:21 GMT

Someone just reminded me that Christmas eve is two weeks away. Another nine or ten days and I'm going to have to get serious about it.

Copyright 2007, 2008, 2009 and 2010

Now I understand why

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 21:25:57 GMT

I decided that rather go into the shop in Winter Park with my wife who wanted to browse through the purses and jewelry sections, I thought I'd sit on a convenient, comfortable bench on the nearby sidewalk and enjoy the beautiful day. I knew I'd be there a while. As I looked around, I found a stand which had a free local health magazine on it. Always interested in anything dealing with improving my health - though I must admit my interest seems to be more in theory than practice. Anyway, I picked up a copy of the magazine and started reading.

Well, as you might expect there were articles and ads galore offering better ways to stay healthier, look younger and be more at peace with yourself. Nothing that I hadn't already read elsewhere. But then I came across an article that made me sit up and take notice. Here, in this ordinary, local health magazine, I found someone who finally diagnosed one of my major health problems - and it wasn't even a doctor!!! In this article they described the symptoms and cause and even had a medical term to describe it. I instantly know they hit up my major health problem - I suffer from WLR. No more shame with my problem; now I could tell everyone that I have a severe case of WLR.

What is it, you ask? Why, I am suffering from Weight Loss Resistance! It is a disease wherein the body refuses to lose weight no matter what you do. Suddenly I realized that I wasn't to blame for the pounds I had added on over the years – I was and am suffering from WLR. Someone who doesn't suffer from this disease can eat whatever they want (or so I believe) while for me simply getting in close proximity of a juicy, greasy hamburger will add a pound or two to my frame. But now knowing that my body is resistant to weight loss, I typically conclude that I might as well eat that hamburger - it doesn't make any difference. It’s that or fast and starve myself to death. This leads me to the conclusion that if the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then the road to weight gain is also paved with equally good intentions.

Maybe someday science will come up with a pill that provides one with WGR (Weight Gain Resistance) - then my weight problems will be over. Then again, maybe the pill is already out there but they are keeping it a secret. Maybe those people whose weight is appropriate for their height are already taking the pill and are selfishly keeping the secret to themselves. So now I am on a quest to find the magical potion that will turn WLR into WGR.

Copyright 2007, 2008, 2009 and 2010

Goodbye Invincibility, Goodbye Youth?

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 16:35:11 GMT

There are many ways by which you can define youth. It might be age, maturity or some other characteristic. There is one way that most people don’t think of, maybe because by the definition, they still are young – and who wants to be old? It is what I call the invincibility factor. It is a belief that when we are young we are invincible from the ravages of aging and the fact of our pending death. Neither one is a pleasant topic so why dwell on them? As long as you don’t think about them, as long as you believe – even foolishly – that you are invincible, then you remain young. We all have this failing. It matters not your age; it has to do with a mindset.

This all came to mind because this past summer was a challenging one, to say the least, from the standpoint of my health. Now in my seventh decade of life, the wall of invincibility that had been with me throughout my life came crumbling down. It has been a summer of dealing with a few health issues that while not immediately placing me at death’s door has cleared my mind of that elusive goal of invincibility. It has been a summer of reminding me that the aging process that I saw in my elders is at work on me as well. The strength and stamina of my youth has been replaced with tenacity and patience. I have crossed a threshold that I never thought about. Although we age, we never think of ourselves as growing old. We may be ‘agier’ but not older; we are eternally young. Or so we are until Father Time and Mother Nature conspires to remind us that we are not invincible, that youth is not an eternal thing, that we do not remain forever young.

But lament not. That recognition doesn’t have to be a negative in our lives. Rather it can just serve to remind us how precious life is, and it shouldn’t be squandered. Anger needs to be shed. Confrontation needs to be replaced with compromise. The rush of living needs to be replaced with taking time to enjoy the moment. Hatred needs to be replaced with at least respect, if not love. The ones we love need to be told of that fact again and again.

Losing our youth should be a time to replace that invincibility with the maturity and wisdom we garnered over the years. If you do, you find you need not be invincible to enjoy life. Seniorhood can be exciting and satisfying.

Pursuing or Persued - have you been one?

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 04:36:58 GMT

I doubt there is any person over 50 who has not read Dear Abby or Ann Landers advice columns at one time or another. Today we also have Ask Amy and Miss Manners and countless others. Their advice runs the gamut from family relationships to love affairs to weight problems to most problems imaginable. For the most part, they seem to give reasonable advice though no doubt our own advice is much sounder and wiser.

Yet for all the modern day columnists, there was someone who offered a bit of great advice and wisdom nearly 2,000 years ago. It can be applied equally to most things coveted, which includes lovers and cars. While I can't presume to speak with authority for women, I think I am on fairly safe ground in saying the words penned applies to many younger women and men (as well as a few older ones as well).

When it comes to dating, falling in love or even buying a car, one should heed these words well. The advice giver is Pliny the Younger and his advice is, "An object in possession seldom retains the same charm that it had in pursuit." Been dumped while dating someone? The one who promised to love you forever has dropped you? The one you thought you would love forever no longer is exciting? The car you're driving doesn't excite you like it did when you first bought it? Wonder why? Pliny had the answer long before you were born.

So, as you go through life either as pursuer or pursued, remember Pliny - he was one smart cookie. I can attest to that. Can you?

Aging is a state of mind - and more

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 00:16:52 GMT

Some time ago, the Daytona Beach News-Journal had a page one, above the fold story about 5 women who served in the military years and years ago. Prominent on the page accompanying the story was a group picture of the five of them taken recently (in their 70s and beyond), and above that group picture were individual pictures of them while they were in the military. What a startling change, but then an expected change. You could see some of each of those younger women in the faces of each today, but clearly they have aged.

The aging process on our faces and bodies is something we all know will happen, but think somehow will never come. We secretly believe we can will it not to happen to us. Yet even as we believe or hope that our stop light will be effective, we can see those changes subtly happening each time we look into the mirror. A small wrinkle here, a bit of a sag there as mother time paints old age on our faces and sculpts our bodies. Aging is not only a process each of us face, it is a fact that our government is facing as well.

Thanks to medical science and our medical systems we are living longer. The average age we are living to is slowly creeping up, and those of us are living longer and longer. The number of people who will live to see their 100th birthday is going to grow significantly in the coming decades. There is much talk about how government is going to handle this problem (yes, it is a problem as the longer we live, the likelihood of making demands on the medical system grows). Like me, I'm sure you have heard a great deal about this and will hear more.

But there is another issue that I have not heard addressed. I previously wrote about the lack of training, the lack of classes to teach people getting close to 65 how to make the best of seniorhood. The one exception to this is those investment firms who want to manage your finances so you can have that idyllic life seen in their commercials. Other than that, you are pretty much on your own. What you learn is by observing those seniors who are retired. In watching them, you make mental note of what and how they do things and decide for yourself what parts you will incorporate into your retirement years and which ones you hope to avoid.

Well, living to age 80, 90, 100 or beyond, assuming you reach those ages, offers even less in training. There are even fewer role models. This means you are pretty much on your own to define your life style. Also, the infirmaries that you might have to face in seniorhood may well be even more prolonged in the coming decades as medical science finds treatments that will keep you alive longer but without any improvement in the quality of life.

This whole thing about living even longer is daunting, taking you into uncharted waters. But in looking at those pictures of those military women now gives one hope, regardless of their age or ours.

Happy birthday, Mom

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 05:09:14 GMT

Happy birthday, Mom (aka Jennie – thanks to Ellis Island, aka Yolan): Nov. 17, 1912 – Jan.21, 2001

Calvin And Childhood

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 17:47:33 GMT

I thoroughly enjoy many comics. In addition to my daily ration in the local newspaper, I also follow a few more on the internet. While most of the comics I read on the internet are new each day, there are two which are no longer produced but are rerun daily on the internet. One is Bloom County by Berkeley Breathed, which gave birth to the character Opus, and subsequently led to the comic strip of the same name.

The second comic strip is Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson, again long gone. The strip follows the adventures of sneaky little Calvin and his sidekick Hobbes, who is a stuffed animal in others eyes but a real live tiger when alone with Calvin. It was a recent strip that first made me laugh then gave me pause.

In it, Calvin is shoved over in the playground by his nemesis, Moe. In the final panel, Calvin is lying on the ground, battered. His final words are, "People who get nostalgic about childhood were obviously never children." Naturally, my first reaction was to laugh. Then it hit me. I sometimes wax nostalgic in this blog about my early youth. And as Calvin (aka Bill Watterson) so wisely noted, I tend to forget or gloss over those times and events in my early childhood that weren't so pleasant. I guess unless we carry those bad memories over into our adult lives, we all tend to forget then ever occured.

I suspect there are very few of us who weren't bullied by someone older and bigger. I'm sure we all met some adult that struck us wrong; someone who, for whatever reason, we simply didn't like. Even in childhood we experienced disappointments and setbacks. But for most of us the good days and the good times outweighed those childhood dark times. If we are fortunate, those dark times didn't scar us for life. But nevertheless, childhood was not and is not all fun and games.

I hope Calvin forgives me, but I do get nostalgic about childhood at times because, all in all, I can see as an adult that those were some of the best days in my life. Hopefully the grown up Calvin would agree with me.

Turing Fifty – Fabulous Or Fearful

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 22:02:23 GMT

There are a lot of ‘fifty’ things we encounter in life. The Kennedy half dollar is fifty cents, there are 50 states, we have speed limits of 50 and in Kabbalah there are 50 Gates of Wisdom (or Understanding) and 50 Gates of Impurity; Paul Simon sung of the "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover”, there is a rapper nicknamed 50 Cent and fifty percent is equivalent to one half, so that the phrase "fifty-fifty" commonly expresses something divided equally in two. But there is one 50 that touches all of us as we grow older - turning 50. That is what many people are doing.

If I could turn 50 (again, being seventy plus), it would be a joyous occasion. But for someone going from 49 to 50, it often looms large as a forbidding milestone birthday. For going into your fifties you have to leave those fabulous 40s behind. It is said that life begins at forty and seems to flow on wonderfully throughout that decade of life. But what can one say about turning fifty? If you plan to live to be 100, you are already half way there. And if you don't make that century mark, well then, the math turns ugly.

There are, however, some bright spots in becoming fifty and living through that decade of life. For one thing, you aren't sixty, and everyone knows you are considered old at 60. For another, once you get over the shock of turning 50, you realize you still feel as good as you did in your forties and that life goes on. At fifty you are assumed to have lived long enough to collect some wisdom along the way and thus your opinion seems to count for more. Of course that assumption does not apply if you have any teenagers around. In that case you are only deemed to have some wisdom when they turn 50.

It might be reassuring to remember that everyone you know over 50 made it through that milestone birthday and are still functioning. In these trying financial times, you might even enjoy the financial benefit of qualifying for senior discounts. Also you'll have more things to read in your mail since you'll now be receiving all that stuff that AARP sends.

Finally, as much as you might dread the arrival of that fated day, there will come a time when you will look back on it with fond remembrance. That may take another 10 or 20 years but it will happen. Then you will come to realize what all of us older than you have learned. Turning 50 can be a fantastic experience. So, relax and enjoy the day, your special day. It only comes once and when it is gone, it is gone forever.

Why I write what I write when I write

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 14:28:32 GMT

I have been asked what the theme of my musings is. Writers typically have a special interest in, an expertise in some special subject and write about it. I can see that in so many other blogs. There are many writers who have the expertise to dwell on some singular subject and I admire them for that. I admire anyone who possesses knowledge and even more so who have taken the time to accumulate enough to become an expert.

I am an expert at nothing. I can’t fix cars, I can’t quote any sports facts in any detail – I am devoid of any expertize in or passion in any area or about a singular subject. Well, I guess there is one exception though it probably is one we all have an interest in – life and living and the world around us. I guess that is my interest and passion. If you have read any or most of my 100+ postings here you would finally come to the conclusion that I sometimes question, sometimes wonder and often am in awe of life and living. My only advantage over others, if it is an advantage, is that I got an earlier start in observing life, having been born over seven decades ago. My senses have never grown weary in perceiving people, places and events.

Life is such an amazing, astonishing and wondrous unfolding of time. At the same time it can be such a dreaded, perplexing and saddening series of events that sometimes affects the individual and other times affects whole populations. Then again, the same can be said for the cause of these events. In some cases, it is the individual gone on a rampage while at other times it is nations gone mad. While we have no control over what Mother Nature brings our way, it is heart-breaking when devastating events are man-made. Unfortunately, the newspapers are replete with such happenings. The reporting of this weary news is consumed along with our breakfasts, lunches and dinners; they seem to be an accompaniment as much as salt is.

So it is that I read, listen, watch, then try to digest and write. There is nothing profound in what I say; we all are witness to the subject matter, if not the subject itself, of my musings. I am merely one observer recording life, living and of the world around us. Nothing exciting, but certainly subjects that we all are familiar with. So there you have it; a non-exciting answer to why my musings. If I have succeeded in my writing, then my blog is just a comfortable place that you want to stop by now and then and see what John has to say.

(Readers’ note: You might notice two topics that never appear in any of my musings – politics and religion. That is not by oversight. Like you, I have strong feelings and opinions about both, but I avoid them since my interest is to create a written environment that isn’t upsetting. My intent is to remind everyone we are more alike than our political or religious feelings might indicate.)

Sex wasn't invented yesterday

johnbonn@cfl.rr.com (john) — Sat, 05 Nov 2011 12:42:09 GMT

I guess when it comes to talking about sex (as opposed to sexually talking while actively engaged), we each have our set of guidelines and rules. For some, the topic is off limits with just about everyone. For others, more so with women it seems, they limit the talk about sex in their lives to a few friends of the same sex. . Of course there may be sexual innuendos, mostly by men, couched in terms of jokes and chiding. One can make sense of all that since a person’s sexual escapades and performance is a very personal thing.

But what strikes me as very interesting is one aspect of sex that we seem we all are in agreement. It is one form of sex talk/exploration that we all avoid and that includes this writer. It has to do with any discussion about or with the sex lives of our parents. While we may factually concede that our parents were sexually involved (after all, we’re here as evidence of that), we strenuously avoid contemplating what it might have been like.

This same sort of avoidance seems to apply to parents and their adult children. We tend to cringe when they happen to talk about their love life with their spouse or significant other. Parents today, because of our new-found norms, might indulge in this some; however, I think it too is a likely taboo subject.

So why is it I am writing about a topic we all want to avoid? Because I think in doing so, we throw the baby out with the bath water, so to speak. When our parents have a happy marriage, we admit they love each other, but we tend to diminish who they were and are. We lose sight of the fact that even 25, 50, 100 or more years ago, lovers were still lovers (we who are seniors can vouch for that). The wanting and desire they had for each other was as strong as ours is today. They were not the rigid caricatures we see in old pictures. They weren’t always that old 70, 80 or 90 year old man or woman we talk to today. They were living, breathing, passionate people who professed their love and displayed it in their private moments together. And that is a marvelous and enduring thing.

So it behooves us to keep in mind those infamous lyrics from the song in 1942 movie, Casablanca. The song is “As time goes by” and the lyrics are: “You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh. The fundamental things apply as time goes by.”