It's Not Easy Being Green.....

   In my backyard I have two vernal ponds, nature made of course. A home for mosquitoes and other flying insects, they also are the home, this year, for almost a dozen frogs and it has turned out to be one of Lucky's favorite places to 'hang out' in the yard. Hoping to catch one of the little critters, he stands patiently, waiting for one to make its move back into the pond or pop his head up from beneath the surface of the water. As  Spring has transitioned to Summer, there seems to be a new and added respect by each, as they face off frog eye to dog eye and while Lucky would like to get really up close and personal, they are just a bit too quick for him. But that doesn't prevent him from continuing to try to get just a little bit closer. Always on guard and living in fear of the big black dog, "it must not be easy being green.”

   These are also the famous words in the title of a song that most of us, including my generation, may be familiar. Kermit the Frog of Muppet fame, hit the television screen in 1955 and over the years his wisdom and insight have offered suggestions and advice on living a happier life.

   Today, being 'green' is often associated with protecting the environment, but in his early life, Kermit struggled with his color and being who he was, something we all experience on occasion.

   I'll admit it. I am still a big Kermit fan, and to this day when I hear his squeaky little voice, it brings a smile to my face, even if the day is not going well and every day, according to Kermit, might not always a good day. In his unique way, Kermit is able to offer sound advice in order to get through the rough spots. Here are just a few of some of his suggestions...

                   ”Changes happen as time passes by. Soon enough we all grow up.”

                  “When green is all there is to be, it could make you wonder why, I am green and it'll do fine, its beautiful and it's what I want to be.”

                “With good friends you can't lose.”

                “Here's some simple advice: Always be yourself. Never take yourself too seriously...and beware of the advice from experts“

              Life's like a movie. Write your own ending.”

And maybe my favorite regardless of your age.....”Just because you haven't found your talent yet doesn't mean you don't have one!”

   It was the mid-1970's and we had just moved to Maine. I had accepted a position as assistant principal at an area high school, my first administrative experience. Like most assistant principal positions, I was in charge of student disciple: assigning detentions, suspending students for misbehavior and other related events, all of the things that make you popular with the students. 
   It was only about two weeks into the school year when I faced my first student suspension. I remember the student’s name and the reason for the suspension as if it were just yesterday. If I thought hard enough, I could probably remember the day of the week and the weather too.

   The student waited in my office as I called his mother to come pick him up and take him home. I calmly discussed the reasons for the suspension and the number of days he was to be out of school. On the outside, I tried to remain as cool as a cucumber, but on the inside, my stomach was doing cartwheels.

   As the mother left my office with her son, she continued to scream and yell at me and called me several names I have not heard since. As I finally sat back in my chair, she returned to the doorway of my office and said...”It's not easy being green, is it? She knew her son had been my first suspension! Those words have stuck with me forever.
   Aside from being a color, anytime we start something new we are all green at first, lacking the experience but always gaining confidence as we grow. The student's mom, despite her verbal rampage, had prepared me well. And when she stuck her head back into the office I knew everything would be OK.
                                        

"Hello little fellow, my name is Lucky. What's yours?

Rise! Rise!- ye citizens, your gates defend: behold the foe is at hand......

   As many of you may know by now, in addition to gardening and mowing the lawn, some of my time is spent buying, selling and trading antiques. I am far from being an expert, but I know what I like and do not like and that will often influence what I  purchase. The challenge is,  however, that sometimes with the best intention of selling an item to make a  little money so I can buy more, I keep it,  finding a spot somewhere in the house and add it to my ever increasing collection of “things.”

   Trunks and early wooden blanket boxes have always been a favorite. Most of the ones I buy are empty, but every once and a while one will come filled with surprises and rare finds, like old clothing, books and letters, offering an added look back into an earlier time and era.

   The letters can be the most interesting, revealing the loves, hates and deepest thoughts of the writer or family members. Letters written during the Civil War era can be very insightful about the time and have become very collectible.

   Clothing, although not one of my favorites, also reflects the culture and trends of  society. The amount of cotton, lace and silk might indicate the wealth and social status of a person or family.

   Often tucked away deep under the old clothing or blankets one might find early books and magazines. Today, buried near the bottom you might likely find a copy or two of a Playboy Magazine or Hustler, hidden and out of sight of a nosy brother or sister but in some of the older trunks, it would be more common to find old text books. Why someone would save an old text book I am not sure, but..... don't look on my bookshelves. OK. Some of those are old textbooks? Were the ever opened? They look brand new!

   On this particular day, between the dresses and hand sewn aprons was a copy of the “Rhetorical Reader; Instructions For Regulating the Voice.” About the size of a modern day paperback book, this one had a leather cover. Copy write date... 1839. What was even more interesting... on the title page was the printed notation of this printing being the fifty-second edition. Must have been very popular. Maybe even a classic!

   Written by Ebenezer Porter, D.D., the book was 'designed'  for use in academies and high schools. Filled with sample essays and various word pronunciation exercises, students, under the careful direction of the teacher were to read aloud the various passages, using proper word pronunciation along with appropriate voice and tone inflection.. It was the belief of the author that the art of reading and speaking well in public with convincing and confident voice were as important as the message being spoken. “Good speaking is of prime usefulness,” he is quoted as saying in the preface. Who, even in 2014, is not moved with emotion by the speaker who has mastered the art of proper verbal inflection, rhetorical pauses and phrasing and strength of voice with impeccable articulation.

   The leather bound book in the bottom of the trunk was well worn along the covers' edges with pages torn, dog-eared and discolored. Many pages were scribbled with notes, arrows, accent marks above certain  words and underlined  phrases in the numerous exercises at the end of each chapter.. 

   I am sure the book is filled with a history of lesson its own . Was its owner going off to Harvard College, was he a preacher, a politician, a member of Congress, a judge, a member of a 'higher' society, or someone seeking to escape the world of slavery by learning to speak with more authority and skill. (Because of the time and era of the printing, the author makes reference to only 'men' and the importance of public speaking.)

   Words can be powerful tools to influence, to foster change and to express deep emotions. When read on the printed page, they can express a particular level meaning, but when spoken with 'rhetorical notation' and emotion, as the book describes it, a skilled speaker can bring an entirely new meaning and understanding to the message.

   I doubt there are many schools or institution of learning that spend much time teaching the skills and importance of public speaking. There are probably very few who go to school each day with a copy of “The Rhetorical Reader” jammed in their back pocket along with their cell phone.

   But if public speaking should become important again and you want to get a head start by practicing, stand in front of a mirror and repeat  over and over 'with rhetorical feeling'…...”Rise! Rise!- ye citizens, your gates defend: behold the foe is at hand!”

Your town, my town and “Our Town”....

   The local news papers are filled with the schedules for upcoming high school graduations. It is a proud time for the graduates, parents and families and the teachers. Twelve, thirteen and in some cases maybe even more years of hard work will culminate with presentations, speeches and family parties and the possibility of a kiss on the cheek from a favorite aunt or grandmother who vaguely smells like lavender . And while graduations are often viewed as an ending, the reality is that it may be just a beginning.

   I recently overheard (eavesdropped) a discussion between a soon-to-be high school graduate and several adults. The adults' questions were pretty traditional: What are you going to do next year?......Any plans for the summer? And the soon-to-be graduate's responses was that he was taking the summer off and go to college in the Fall. I am getting out of this town,” he said in a firm and committed response. “I am tired of this small town.”

   Most seniors graduating from high school in Maine, and I suspect many other states as well, are graduating from high schools in relatively small towns. Small towns are part of our nation's fabric and as the line from the television show “Cheers” reminds us...'where everyone (or almost everyone) knows your name.'

   As a prerequisite to graduation though, I would require every graduate, along his or her family, attend a presentation of “Our Town,” a play written by Thornton Wilder back in 1938.

   Although it would come across somewhat dated, its message still rings true today. For those who read the play back and school but may have forgotten its content or for others who skipped class that day, “Our Town” is a three act play set in a small, fictitious town in New Hampshire back at the turn of the the 20th century and takes a looks at average citizens and their every day lives.

   What made the play a bit unique was that no scenery, sets or props were used and the actors used only mime and body actions, forcing the audience to use a bit of imagination to help set the scenes.

   The play is divided into three acts. Act I is about daily life, the comings and goings of ordinary people in Grovers Corner, NH. Act II is built around families, love and marriage and the stresses that can sometimes accompany relationships and families as they grow and change.

   Act III takes place in a cemetery just on the outskirts of town and has the audience look at life and death and those in town who passed away as well as  one person's search and struggle for eternity.

   Emily, a main character, dies during the birth of her second child but decides to return to Earth if only for just one day. After spending just a few minutes back on Earth she finds it too painful, realizing how much of her life should have been valued while alive, “living every minute to its fullest” and how many times the enjoyment of the 'living moments' went unnoticed or overlooked. Sad and disappointed, Emily returns to the afterlife, watching, as her husband grieves by her grave side as she returns to her resting place along side those who passed away before her in Grovers Corner.

   Listening to the soon-to-be graduate talk about “getting out of town,” I can understand the excitement about moving away and starting a new life, filled with excitement and new challenges. Growing up in a small towns can seem really boring and lack adventure. But the message in the play is still relevant in today's fast paced world, a world not  really much different than the one in 1938, remembering that life is all about people and what we value, not necessarily about where we are at a point in time.

   No matter where you go or where you settle, there will always be a world of ordinary people, people just like you and me, having  lived in places like Grover's Corner. Some may  become your friends, many will find similar jobs and careers. Others  will marry and raise families. Sometimes, during those ordinary days, there will be times of struggle and stress. But problems will be solved, solutions will be found and the next chapters of life begin again.

   What we often overlook or fail to remember is the message in Act III. Even in small towns where you feel that everyone 'might' know your name, you can learn the importance of the value of each and every moment of your life. Regardless of where you are headed or end up and sometimes in the eagerness to move on, we overlook the values taught to us in those small towns, by the people who were part of our lives, the lessons learned, not from my town or your town but..... from “Our Town.”

   Congratulations to the graduates of 2014 and may your lives be filled with the hopes, dreams and values of each and every “small towns.”

Tick tock, tick tock.......

   I have a number of clocks scattered throughout the house. Some are powered by batteries, the hands moving silently over the clock face. Others are part of  kitchen appliances or bedside alarm clocks with bright red digital numbers, making it important to know how to count at least from 1 to 59 . And with the digitals, you can always tell when the power has been out... the red flashing numerals requiring that you hit the reset button.

   Several of the antique clocks  have some age to them, clocks in hand-crafted wooden cases that  sit on a piece of furniture or mantel, hang on a wall, or like the grandfather's clock, sit in a prominent place just inside the front door, greeting people who enter. Because of their age, the faces are somewhat worn or discolored, reflecting years of service and of course, the passing of time. To keep these clocks running they must be carefully wound with a key, once a week, once a month or somewhere in between,

   While each clock's tick  has its own unique sound, the purpose for each is the same, measuring the passing of time, from seconds to minutes to hours.

   Several weeks ago I purchased an antique clock at a local auction. I recognized the name of the clock maker and although I did not know if it would run, the price was right. It was worth taking a chance and if it didn't work, I could always resell it. There was no key for winding and no one knew whether the clock would keep time or not, but for only a few dollars, what did I really have to lose.

   The face was a bit dirty and the case very dusty, but the first thing to do was to determine if it worked. I had a couple of spare keys and, although not a perfect match, they allowed me to see if it was still able to be wound. But like many old clocks, this one seemed to be “wound too tightly,” a common aliment of many antique clocks... a symptom often similar to some people for that matter too!

   I couldn't wind it any more than it had already been wound so I hung it on the wall, gave the pendulum a push and waited to see what would happen.

   Two weeks later, the clock was still running, a steady ticking, with no assistance from me and keeping fairly accurate time. When new, it may have been what was called a '30 day clock'. But the next day, it stopped. The little hand was on the 9, the larger one at 4. Now I am not one to be too superstitious or to read too much into anything, but I wondered if there was any significance to that particular time. During it's lifetime had someone died or something tragic happened at 9:20 to one of the clock's owners? Or did the clock's main spring just run out of energy.?

   I took the spare key and carefully began to rewind the clock, making sure not to over do it. I was still trying to learn its limits, and after several turns of the key and the push of the pendulum it started up again, the tick-tock quickly returning to its rhythmic beat.

   According to several searches on the Internet, and who doesn't love the Internet, 'a clock' as we have come to know it today may have been one of the earliest mechanical inventions of its time. Traditionally, time had been determined by the location of the sun in the sky when it wasn't raining or overcast or by the changing of the seasons.

   Nighttime was more difficult for telling time. Some people were often helped by learning the placement of the stars in the sky.

   But as society changed, there was a need for greater accuracy of determining time, especially so people would not be late to their doctor and dental appointments, With this, the evolution of the clock began, dating back as early as 700 AD. I can only imagine how large and cumbersome those wrist watches must have been!

   There is something very interesting about time, however. Whether male of female, young or old, black or white, Christian or Muslim, or no matter where one lives, time gives us all one thing in common...sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour and twenty four hours in a day. We are all the same. No one has more or less time and yet, to look around the world, there are those who think they are better than others, are more powerful than others or have greater control over others by attempting to manager their  time.

   The key to understanding the importance of time is not how much of it you have or think you have, but what you do with the time you have. Remember, we all have the same amount. What makes us different is what we do with it.

   As I move from room to room, I can hear the ticking of the clocks, a constant reminder of how time moves forward. In the quiet and peace that comes with turning off the lights and television at night just before going to bed, the ticking of the clocks is a gentle and soothing reminder that we may not be all that different after all. 

Sometimes it's OK to get your hands dirty.....

   After what has seemed like weeks of an extended winter, we have finally hit a few days of more Spring-like conditions and I took advantage of the warmer weather to work in the garden. It's not a big garden, some flowers, vegetables, a few blueberry and raspberry bushes and herbs, lots of herbs. The garden is just big enough to keep me busy and put some fresh veggies on the table during the summer.
   It's sometimes fun to get your hands dirty, in a clean sense, that is. On a sunny day, the soil feels warm to the touch and rich with the energy the earth has to offer as the dirt moves between your fingers. No garden gloves here. Get down and dirty! Sorry about the stains in the knees of my pants, though.
   Armed with my hoe, a rake, my trusty old wheel barrel and several different size shovels.... it was off to work and the next three days were busy cleaning, cultivating, mulching and planting. (Like hammers, one can never have too many shovels!)
   The mid-week weather forecast was for rain over the weekend so my goal was to get most of the work done before the weekend rains and after a few long days, I was done. It was time to kick back, open a cold one and let Mother Nature do her work now.
   If one stops to think, there is a great deal of symbolism in planting a garden and watching it grow and even as early as grade school, planting a seed or two in a paper cup was suppose to instill an importance and understanding of nature. And if one were really lucky, within a week or two, a small green bean plant would emerge from the soil and we would all race home to show our parents what we had achieved.
   Come to think of it, that seemingly simple classroom activity may have been good practice for planting seeds in those starter sets in early March and in some cases, the results back then in the classroom were exactly the same as now. Despite all my efforts and tender loving care...nothing! Oh well. (It was the seed company's fault. Bad seeds.)
   For the next few weeks my hope is for just the right amount of rain, warm sunny days and no late season frost at night. Until then, it's watch and wait. Perhaps it was either Peter Paul and Mary, John Denver or Maine's own Dave Mallett who said it best in song: 

                              * The Garden Song *

 Pullin' weeds and pickin' stones, we are made of dreams and bones,
I feel the need to grow my own 'cause the time is close at hand.
Grain for grain, sun and rain, I'll find my way in nature's chain,
I tune my body and my brain to the music of the land. 
Inch by inch, row by row, I'm gonna make this garden grow. All it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground. 
Inch by inch, row by row, someone bless these seeds I sow. Someone warm them from below 'til the rain comes tumbling down. 
So plant your rows straight and long, temper them with prayer and song. Mother earth can keep you strong if you give her love and care.
Now an old crow watching hungrily from his perch in yonder tree. In my garden I'm as free as that feathered thief up there.
Inch by inch, row by row, I'm gonna make this garden grow. All it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground.
Inch by inch, row by row, someone bless these seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below 'til the rain comes tumbling.
Inch by inch, row by row, someone bless these seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below 'til the rain comes tumbling down.”

For anyone interested, the song can be heard and viewed on YouTube, just search "The Garden Song."

And he sure looks better without the snow.. wouldn't you say!
                                           

It was kind of a sad moment.....

   We had been back from our trip about two weeks. I went to the freezer to find there were only two bagels left, bagels we had brought back from New Jersey. The morning we left to return home to Maine, even before the stop at the gas station, the first place would be the local bagel shop.

   Growing up in New Jersey also meant growing up with some of the best bagels on the planet. True. One can purchase them in many different flavors, from either the frozen food shelf or the bakery section of the grocery store. But there is no better experience than walking into the local bagel shop, the air filled with the smell of freshly baked bagels and being tempted to reach into the  bag and biting into one of those warm, tasty morsels even before getting out the door.

   My favorites tend to be the more traditional; plain, sesame seed. poppy seed (although never before going to an interview) and blueberry. Once and a while, I will add one or two made of different dough, perhaps rye or whole grain. Whole grain is suppose to be better for you, right? But my favorite is still the plain one.

   Back in the car, it was only a minute or two before the car was filled with the luscious aroma and even the dog took an interest in the bag, nose working hard to locate the smell. But now the bag was safely out of his reach and ours, at least until we got home.

   For me, bagels have always been a popular addition to morning breakfast. Come to think of it, they are good just about anytime of the time. Whether fresh from the toaster and drenched in the melting butter, coated in cream cheese or just plan, the dense and chewy interior, wrapped with a crisp exterior often 'hits the spot' for a morning, afternoon or evening snack.

   Traditionally, bagels are shaped by hand in the form of a ring or circle and made from yeast dough. What sets the apart from a cake and makes them special is that they are boiled for a short time before being placed in the oven. I am not sure if those purchased from the freezer of your local grocery store are prepared in the same 'traditional' way. Size wise, those are much smaller, and in this case, size does matter!

   Historically, bagels first appeared in the early 1600's in Poland and it was not long before this rich and doughy pastry became part of the Polish diet and within a few decades its popularity rolled through Europe.

   Entry into the United States market occurred as Polish- Jewish immigrants moved from Europe to New York City. Bagel shops and an entirely new industry quickly spread across the city under the control and watchful eye of the Bagel Bakers Local 338, carefully maintaining its traditions of yeast dough and 'hand made'.

   Later, companies would experiment and expand the bagel's popularity with automated techniques for mass production and before long, the bagel found its way into plastic packaging and the freezers of your local store.

   On this particular morning, nearly two weeks after returning home, we would finish the last two bagels. A sad moment. Yes. They were in the freezer to keep them somewhat fresh, but these were still the real thing, a crisp exterior, a doughy and chewy interior and ones that were not pre-cut, but required skillful hands or the use of the 'family bagel knife', the one passed down through generations, to split into two pieces in order to fit neatly into the toaster. No microwave here. The toaster would do just fine. And the butter and cream cheese were already in place on the counter along with  glasses of orange juice and a freshly brewed cups of coffee. Almost heaven!

   We will be heading to Jersey again sometime soon and will make the familiar stop at the local bagel shop. But if anyone is coming to Maine this summer, a 'couple dozen' freshly baked bagels will always be welcomed at our house. Go ahead. Mix them up, but be sure to include a couple of plain ones too! I'll supply the butter and cream cheese.

   Did you know......'Bagel' is a Yeshivish term for sleeping 12 hours straight. “I slept a bagel last night.” Its origin may be traced to the fact that the hour hand on a clock moves in the shape of a bagel over the course of twelve hours. I knew there was a reason why I liked bagels!!

Lucky visits Auntie Carol.....

   We recently returned from an extended trip South where we enjoyed some sun and warm weather, a get away from what seemed to be a never ending winter in norther New England. As we have on several other trips recently, Lucky, our poodle, joined us on the journey. He has grown to be fairly well behaved and enjoys riding in the car, no matter how long or short the ride. This was going to be a long ride, with several overnight stops along the way at 'pet friendly' hotels before reaching our final destination. His preference...  the Marriott chain. (and besides, I get points toward future stays.)

   The trip home would be similar with one exception. We were going to spend an extra day or two visiting family in New Jersey and would be staying at Auntie Carol's house. Auntie Carol has never owned a dog and is somewhat cautious around them. Uncle Bill, on the other hand, has often expressed interest in getting a dog, perhaps a hunting dog.

   As we rounded the corner and approached their home, we had a very stern talk with Lucky about how we expected him to behave. He picked his head up off the seat, looked at us with sleepy eyes, seemed to ask if we were there yet, and settled back down to catch that 'last wink'..

   The first few minutes are very important for any 'dog greeting' and Lucky is no exception. Unless you prove otherwise to him, he assumes everyone is his friend and eagerly seeks approval. But jumping up on people is not always a good way to gain that approval and the next thirty seconds were going to be critical.

   With Auntie Carol in the doorway and a tree at the end of the driveway, Lucky had a decision to make. After the long ride he choose to stake out his territory with the tree first and then greet her, and he did OK. After all, he had a lot to prove.

   Within a few minutes and glad to be out of the car, he raced around the house, playing with her grandchildren. What better way to show how 'good' he could be, allowing the grand kids to climb all over him and allowing them to play with 'his' toys. He even helped them clean up, picking up their socks off the floor and........Auntie Carol, it's only a game of 'catch me if you can'.

    Even with all the play, he would stop whatever he was doing and move to within an arm's reach of Auntie Carol, hoping she would pat him on the top of his head, or better yet, give him a doggie treat. It didn't take long for her to learn the routine. After all, who could resist the look from those dark, loving eyes. He was training her well.

   The next step would be to place his head in her lap, so she didn't have to reach quite as far to pat him on his bushy, curly head. That probably would have been better to do not after a fresh drink of water, though.

    Lucky is a standard sized poodle, but for his size and weight he can be quite graceful and on several occasions he took the opportunity, when everyone was busy and paying no attention to him, to demonstrate his grace, by carefully and quietly sneaking away to the corner of the sofa in the living room. After all, it was nap time!

   Back in the family room, Lucky would, periodically, glance at Uncle Bill as if to ask...”How am I doing? Do we have her convinced ? Is she ready to give in yet?

   That first evening he demonstrated his ability and skills as a guard dog, barking quietly at the noise and conversation of those passing by the house after dark. We are speaking of New Jersey here. Doesn't everyone need a guard dog for protection?

   The next day we went for a short ride and Lucky was careful as he jumped in and out of Auntie Carol's car, making sure not to track in dirt or get into the box of tissues on the floor. Even Auntie Carol commented how well behaved he was in the car, especially as we raced down the Garden State Parkway, vehicles passing at breakneck speed on either side of us, his face glued to the window in fear?

   Dogs can be great companions and friends, just someone to talk to and I think during the time at Auntie Carol's, even she found it easy to engage him in dialogue, albeit one sided.

    It was soon time to leave and head back to Maine and I think the stop in New Jersey went well. He had behaved well, had shown just how good he can be. Had he done enough to convince her it might be OK for Uncle Bill to get a dog? He had given it his best shot and only time would tell.

   But it was time to get home. There would be squirrels waiting for him in the yard and the snow would finally be gone, at least I hoped it would be gone. And the ride..... just a few short hours, Lucky. Really!