Another Perspective

Posted on August 10, 2020 by hdh

Another Perspective

He was sitting on the front porch. He knew that he had done something wrong. His first wife would never have permitted it. But this wife was different. She was less of a shared partnership person and more of a “This is how we are going to run the house.” And when it came to his children there was a definite dislike. As much as both children tried to get along with her, she just wouldn’t accept them. 

Then hard times came, wood was scarce, and for a woodcutter that meant a great loss of income. It seemed that they would not be able to cope. Food was getting low. With four mouths to feed, he didn’t know what to do. He, foolish as he was, trusted his wife. She really didn’t care. She married him for his money, a woodcutter made a tidy sum in those days. But as times got tough, the truth should have been obvious, she only cared for herself. But love sometimes blinds you to what is right in front of your face. 

When she said that the children were old enough to fend for themselves, that they should lead them into the woods and leave them there, leaving fewer people to support, he agreed. And off, deep into the woods, they went and there without any way for them to return they left them, while they slept. 

His wife got one thing right, they were old enough to think for themselves and having overheard the plan, they prepared. Stones that were picked up off of the ground prior to the walk into woods, were taken and periodically dropped to give them a path back home when their father left behind. And it worked, much to the unhappiness of the step-mother. 

He was relieved and believed it was fate that brought his children back. He would never do it again. Or so he thought. When his wife again requested, more like ordered him, to leave his children again in the woods. He agreed. 

This time however luck was not with them initially; for the bread crumbs, they took to leave as a trail, were eaten by birds in the woods before they even attempted a return after their father had left them. They were truly lost.

After a time, he realized he had made a mistake. He saw his wife for who she was and chose to have her leave, never to return. What happened to her is not known. And though he looked and looked for his children, he was unable to find them. 

So there he sat on his front porch ruing the decisions he made and wishing hard that his children would come home again safe, so he could make amends. 

He heard the noise of footsteps coming from the woods. As he looked up, he began to cry tears of joy for there coming towards him were his children Hansel and Gretel. His wish had been granted, they had returned. But I’m guessing you all know that part of the story.  

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Just Follow the Directions

Posted on August 9, 2020 by hdh

Just follow the directions

It was simple. That’s what I thought. I have learned that nothing is simple, especially if you are giving instructions to another person. I remember an activity that I tried once with my 5th-grade students. 

Here’s the task: Describe to someone how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. In this activity, I was to play the instructed and the students were to write down the instructions for me to follow. They had been forewarned that I was new to this country and though I had a good vocabulary I needed very clear instructions.

 

It was simple…Right?  You wouldn’t have any problems giving those instructions. But then again, I’m a very literal instruction taker. 

The written instructions were handed in and I tried to follow them. 

  1. Put some peanut butter on a slice of bread. (Well the bread was in a bag, there were no instructions as to how to get a slice of bread in an enclosed bag, so I tore the bag apart so that I could retrieve a slice. Then taking the jar of peanut butter, I put it on the bread. It seemed odd that a jar on the bread would make it hard to eat the sandwich, if that in fact, was the end goal, so I thought maybe I should open the jar and take some peanut butter out. So I did. I unscrewed the jar lid placed my fingers in the jar and scooped out some peanut butter then took the glop from my fingers and pasted it on the bread. Mission accomplished. 

The look on my student’s faces as I talked myself through step one, was priceless. I decided to take another student’s work and continue. Mind you there were no instructions anywhere as to how to get the remaining peanut butter off of my hand. 

2. Do the same with the jelly, which you should place on top of the peanut butter. (I kind of did. I was smart enough to at least open the jar of jelly first. Of course, now I have jelly on one hand and peanut butter on the other, not to mention a jar of peanut butter which now has jelly on it.)

At this point, my class is out of control. They were screaming instructions to me trying to right the wrong. “Use the knife!” You can imagine the thoughts I had on how to do that. Not mention when they told me to slice the sandwich.

It was simple. Just follow the directions given. I mean how hard could it be to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Not to mention how to eat one. 

Needless to say, I stopped at one point and then debriefed with the class on the importance of giving clear, understandable directions. 

The following day, students were paired up, each with the same set of Legos. One person was to build anything they wanted with Legos and then to describe what they had built to their partner who didn’t see either the creation of the piece or the finished product and had to build it only based on the instructions being given. The direction giver couldn’t see what was being built as they gave the instructions and it wasn’t until the end that the two Lego constructions were compared. 

It was simple. Not so much. I’ve also discovered in my years of giving instructions, if you want a number of things done by someone else, don’t give them all the instructions at once. Chances are they will only do the first thing you asked them to do. 

Now that is as simple as I can make it. 

 

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The Incident

Posted on August 7, 2020 by hdh

The Incident

    BANG! CRASH! POOF!

    It was mid-afternoon, as I stood there in the middle of the living room realizing that something had happened outside. Our power had been disrupted and we no longer had lights. 

    Silence beckoned with a HUSH with no electricity in motion. I stepped outside to see what could possibly have been the cause, knowing already, based on the forecast, what had transpired. And there it was…a power line down across my driveway. It was being held down by a newly fallen limb from a tree in my yard, awaiting the referee’s count to 10 for a successful pin. Unfortunately, there was no referee around to make the call. 

    There was however the gathering of the neighborhood men and a dog doing their best to analyze the fallen objects and predicting what would happen next. 

    WOOSH! The wind blew with chaotic precision as it weaved its way amongst the trees left standing looking for another victim to trap. 

    CREAK, WHOOSH, CRACK as it found its target, a limb overhanging the middle of the street with the conclave of men beneath. 

    The dog owner heard the crack first, he rushed forward to push the his neighbor out of harm’s way, knocking him down on his driveway with a THUMP! The dog seeing his master panic, quickly followed suit as…CRASH! The limb was released, descending with a tremendous CRINKLE, RIP and BANG, splintering as it hit the ground blocking most of the road, leaving its targets unharmed. 

    I then entered the fray. I congratulated the quick acting neighbor on his prowess, making sure no one was harmed and immediately reaching for my phone began the neverending attempt to contact the proper authorities to alert them of this thoughtless act of nature. 

    We all returned to our homes, destined to sit in the quiet of our shelters as the DRIP, DRIP, DRIP of the water that beaded from our brows in our uncooled abodes began to accumulate.  

    Some ventured out as the wind gave up its fury and moved on. Some stayed at home doing inventory and planning out just how many of our frozen foods we could grill and eat before they spoiled. 

    Then the quiet was broken by the resounded GRRRR of the motors. For those that had the forethought to buy those generators chose to fire them up. The sound meters registered loud. The comfort of electricity had been found by a few. The constant GRRR of the motors echoing loudly throughout the neighborhood. For those without, there was also the THUMP, THUMP in our heads from the pounding of that cacophany. Closing windows stifled some sound, but also increased the sweat.

    As evening came, the generators stopped to rest, and so did we. Until the following morning when the generators started anew and the peaceful silence was broken again. 

    TICK, TICK, TICK goes our cuckoo clock as the hours crawl slowly forward and we await the team of experts that will resurrect our homes to the normality of summer. TICK, TICK, TICK and the wait continues… 

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Update!

Posted on August 7, 2020 by hdh

Update!

  Dateline: Tuesday, August 4 – Impending doom?

The latest reports out of our weather tracking is that you should be prepared to be inundated with lots of rain and potential wind damage as Tropical storm Is..As..Isiah..Ez asses.  The newly named tropical storm will hit your area. I know we said that it will go further west a few days ago, but now it looks like you might get some stuff.  To our onsite report in Raleigh, North Carolina.

    Hey Bob, I know we expected a lot of flooding and damage, but all I can see is sunshine. You should probably show some of the footage from last night in Florida. 

    Thanks Ted, good idea. Here’s Jim standing in 2 feet of water last night. You can see how bad it was,  Whoa he almost got it by that branch. “They don’t pay me enough be a field reporter, even with the perks of a cool looking Lands End jacket.

    Hey Bob, this is Jane on Long Island. It looks like we got a whole 1/10 of an inch of rain.  No flooding to speak of. Some gusty winds though. Just went through a neighborhood in Suffolk. There are multiple trees down and I can see power lines loose all over the place. It’s a good thing they have PSEG here on the case to get things resolved quickly. Wait a minute here comes a resident, let me ask him how things are going. 

    So what’s happening in your neighborhood?

    “Are you nuts?” I’ve been trying to get on the phone with PSEG for 6 hours and when I finally get hold of customer service they take down all the information I have about a tree down and a power line down lying right across my driveway, repeat it all back to me and then ask me if I have power, which I texted them about on their app 6 hours ago. Great communication network!”

    “Thanks for the info.” So you see Bob all is well here on Long Island. Repair teams are working as efficiently as they did for Hurricane Sandy. It’s a good thing they spent all that money preparing themselves for a Hurricane.”

    “Thanks Jane, Keep us updated.” We..ll..br…ing..you..more..in..mat..on.

BEEP!!!!!!!

We’re sorry the station you have reached is not accepting anymore transmissions. Please try again later.

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Sitcoms – a 1950s perspective

Posted on July 30, 2020 by hdh

Sitcoms – a 1950s perspective

When I think back on the sitcoms from the 50s, I think to myself, “What’s a sitcom?” After all, I was born in 1950 and since the 50s comprise only 10 years of my life, my black and white television world consisted mostly of cartoons, superheroes, and westerns, with an occasional Wonderama, Mickey Mouse Club, and Captain Kangaroo thrown in. 

These were not sitcoms. By definition: A Sitcom is a television series that involves a continuing cast of characters in a succession of comedic circumstances: situation comedy. 

A number of sitcoms came out in the early 50s, to which I only became aware of as I grew older and they were broadcast as reruns. Though it might be debatable to define the following shows as sitcoms, due to the fact that each episode was a different story, even though they involved the same characters, I would have to include The Three Stooges and Abbott and Costello as shows that resonated with me. They gave me comfort because they were funny. In each case, at least one of the male characters was not the brightest bulb in the bunch or all of them in the case of the three stooges. I liked that. Their actions were like when I write and play with words – a twist of meaning, an unexpected faux pas, a goofy character. Probably nowadays some of those types of programs would be considered politically incorrect. 

But don’t think that all of the sitcoms made fun of only ditzy men. Two of my favorites were the “Burns and Allen Show” and “Topper”. 

I liked how George Burns would talk to the audience as if he were letting us onto something that the other characters didn’t know he knew. In fact, I find myself doing some of the same things in my fictional writing when I break the 4th wall and explain things to the audience. And of course, Gracie was the ditz. I loved the way she messed up words.  

Now Topper was different. Cosmo Topper (played by Leo G. Caroll) was a banker who lived with a ditzy wife and had a kind of ditzy housekeeper. The fun part about this show was that the house they lived in was also inhabited by George and Marion Kerby and their dog Neil, who were the previous owners of the house and had been killed in an avalanche. Topper is the only one who can hear and see these ghosts. Therein lies the setting for the show as these socialite ghosts try to improve Topper’s quality of life. The special effects for the time period were pretty impressive. 

I was never a fan of horror shows, but these ghosts, combined with the silliness of the characters, was definitely my style. To write this piece I watched one of the original shows and though dated, it was still a pretty funny show. I’m guessing that shows like these not only gave me comfort then but certainly have impacted the ideas that I come up with for my writing now, especially when I only have 20 minutes to write. They certainly are a lot better than some of the things that are on TV now. In my humble opinion.

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The Collection

Posted on July 28, 2020 by hdh

The Collection

I wouldn’t consider myself a hoarder, but I do collect things. Some things are useless, like the inner circles of Dannon Yogurt caps, which I collected in college. I’m pretty sure I don’t have those anymore. Some things are connected to me as a teacher, like plan books and some textbooks and manuals that I used when I taught. If any of that curriculum returns, I’ll be ready.

There are old computer disks and programs from the early days of 3-inch floppy disks. None of which will actually work on any living computer I own. They all reside in their own special place down in the basement… somewhere. I occasionally run into all these items in my basement meanderings. I dust them off, and occasionally question why they are still there. I do realize that someday they will have to find a new place to reside, outside of my purview probably due to a move somewhere to a smaller abode or to my wife deciding that enough is enough. 

There are other things that I have kept that have a little more meaning to me such as written works mostly created by students I taught. Some of which I have been able to scan and make available to those same students that created them, some 30 or 40 years later. 

If we leave the basement and move upstairs to the loft where I do a lot of my writing, you will also find pictures and hard copies of my writing. I not only have all of the physical pictures and digital ones that I’ve taken but boxes of photos that I’ve inherited from my parents who have passed on. A lot of those photos, some of which are in black and white, are of places and people I do not know that date back to the 1920s – 1950s. It is impossible to identify the places and people in them, but they are a reminder of my history and ancestors. Included with these pictures are also documents of my ancestors, including old address books, newspaper articles, birth and death records, my great-great grandmother’s handwritten dowry, passenger lists, letters to my parents from Germany, and more.

And then there is my writing. Though most everything that I’ve written in the past 40+ years is typed and saved on my computer, I like having hard copies of my works, that I place in looseleaf notebooks organized by years. It is fun to read some of my early writing, especially my teaching journals, which on occasion I share with other teachers. I’ve also shared some of my post-teaching binders with friends so they can enjoy my writing and see how varied my mind can be. Someday, it is possible that I may look through all of these writing pieces and try to put together a collection to publish. That’s more of a dream than a reality, but you never know. 

All these collections define who I am and how I got to be here, whether it be the collection of all my checkbook ledgers since graduating from college or all the appointment calendars that tell the story of my life.

“Do you remember, when we went to that restaurant in the Catskills?”  

“Let me check my calendar, I think it was in 1976 or 77.”

You never know when those might come in handy.

Just last week, I sent my son all the notes I took from my History of American Education class back in 1970. My son works for a university library as one of their metadata librarians and is into history. So here was a primary source of what college students were learning back in 1970, which he finds relevant as he can compare it to what sources are used now and what is being taught today. And I still had all my notes. Can’t wait to see when I’ll need those high school notes on Television makeup and repair. I’m sure they’re in the basement somewhere.

So you never know. Collecting things is not that bad if you have the space. Just don’t tell my wife. 

 

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Jack

Posted on July 23, 2020 by hdh

Jack

Jack knew his mother was wrong. And now she had to agree. After climbing up the beanstalk three times and returning with the sack of gold, the goose that laid the golden eggs, and the singing harp, there was no doubt that the seeds had been magical.  But now the beanstalk had been cut down. Jack was not satisfied with having no beanstalk to climb, especially now that the giant was taken care of. But let us remember, this was a beanstalk; and what grows on beanstalks? Beans.  It took a while to find them all but he managed to find a large number of beans. Within each bean were a number of seeds. So carefully Jack managed to excise the bean seeds from the beans and set them out to dry.

Problem number one, beans that are set out to dry create much food for the visiting birds. Jack had not anticipated that. By the time he realized what was happening. He was left with only one bean. Which he took inside to fully dry out before planting. 

Problem number two, magic beans are magic after all, regardless of whether they are dry or not, and when ingested by said birds they tend to have an effect. 

Problem number three, though the beans did have magical properties, all beans are not the same, even though they come from the same plant. 

When Jack cleared a spot and planted his bean, nothing happened right away. Of course, he had to wait overnight. When he woke up and looked out of the window, he had planned on seeing a giant beanstalk. Much to his surprise, instead of a beanstalk, what he found was a cow, a giant cow. Talk about a reversal of fortunes.

Next came the dead birds. It would appear that magic seeds are not a good diet staple for birds. Each one of them had died, leaving behind a string of bird carcasses that were taking root in the ground around the big cow. You know the old joke about the boy who bought some birdseed at the store so that he could plant them and grow birds. Well, sad to say, it’s not a joke, as out of each bird’s remains grew a baby bird chick. Each bird chick seemed to need some nourishment, as they were growing pretty fast.  Would you believe that this big cow did not give milk, but instead from the enormous amount of grains it happened to find (also due to some scattered beans that Jack had not found) it managed to provide sustenance for all of the birds. 

The birds, once fed and grown up, which took about 30 minutes, all flew away. Rumor had it that they found companionship with some traveling old man. It’s believed that that man was the original man that traded Jack his magical beanstalk beans. 

The cow having supplied all its food for the birds, sadly died. 

And that should be the end of the story. But Jack was an entrepreneur. He ended up using the cowhide to start up a business selling magic belts. Granted they weren’t magic, but with Jack’s reputation as a Giant Killer, who would disagree with him.  That is until the Feds got wind of his scam. But that’s another story. 

 

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Words

Posted on July 20, 2020 by hdh

Words

There are some words that are said that have a very powerful meaning. Once said they dig their way deep inside you and make you feel good about yourself, or feel consoled about something that is bothering you, or comforted because you know you are cared about. Such words include “Thank you”, “I’m Sorry”, “I’m glad to hear that.”, “I’m here for you” “I love you.”

Being initiated by someone speaking to you is where the strength of those words come from. They show compassion, empathy, and understanding. They exhibit feelings that are usually welcoming and supportive. 

And even when you are the initiator in prompting the response and are responded to, they have strength. 

Why is it that with some people, using these words is a sham? A demonstration not of caring but of obligation or a habitual reaction.

How many of you, when walking by someone you know, either say or hear, “How’s it going?” when in fact you nor the other person have any intention of sticking around to hear the answer.  How about in a social gathering hearing, “It’s so nice to see you” to which a friend of mine used to always respond with “The pleasure is all yours.” As the person assumes what your response was and smiles in agreement before passing you by. Personally, when someone passes me and says, “How’s it going?” I either nod, wave or just say “Hi”. Though what I really want to do is stop and actually tell them exactly how I’m doing. “Well, I’m a little tired today. My cat is causing all kinds of trouble at home. And don’t get me started about my neighbors. OY!”  You get the idea. But I don’t do that, because I don’t think I want to hear what they have to say. I’m satisfied with just a “Hi.”

Words have power, no matter what we say. So we should be careful in choosing the ones we use. Speak from your heart and your head. If you mean something, say it. If you care about someone, take the time to stop, listen, and respond. 

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The Open Door

Posted on July 16, 2020 by hdh

The Open Door

Everybody knows that during the summer when you go outside or come back inside, make sure you shut the screen door to the porch. Everybody knows that. At least they should know that. It was a mild day outside, but inside it was stuffy. So I decided to go out and have breakfast on the porch. I was observant of the rules and made sure I shut the door when I went out. 

On returning though, since it was rather stuffy inside, I decided to leave the door open to let some of that fresh outside air come in. What I also did, unknowingly, was also leave the screen door open. Big mistake. 

After entering my dining area through the patio, I left that room and was not to return for about 45 minutes. At some point, it did dawn on me to check on the door. On seeing it wide open, I gasped, for there in my dining room were not bees, or mosquitoes, or other pests, though they might have been there, but 4 totally unwanted guests.

——————————

Being a mother peahen is hard work. And raising these 3 baby peafowls makes it even harder. I need to have some time for myself, but no matter where I go, the three howling “feed me’s” are there right behind me. The human that lived nearby was nice to me, occasionally left me food and water, allowing me a little rest as the chicks ran around her porch. But then, she did an even better kindness. She invited me into her home. I mean she left the door open, so she must have wanted me there. As I walked into the house, a plan emerged. Let the children follow me and then she can watch them while and I could take a well-needed rest. So that is exactly what I did. 

——————————

I was amazed when I saw the 4 birds enter my house, the noise that they created was quite loud. As I approached the mother hen, the young ones scattered further into the house. The mother appeared to bow to me and then left, the way she came. Did you ever try to catch 3 rambunctious, loud baby peafowl who have just found a new environment to explore, with their mother nowhere in sight? Unfortunately for me, the last place that these runabouts wanted to go was through the door to the outside. I’d like to say it was easy and they just headed out towards their mother, but she was not to be seen. I ended up having to capture each one at a time, pick them up by their scrawny necks and toss them outside. They finally all were gone and let me make this clear, I will never leave my door open again. Everybody should know that.

——————————

My chicks seemed to just fly out of the house one at a time and run back up to me. It was a good rest. Unfortunately, we were never invited back again. I guess I should have stayed a little longer to help her with the chicks before I left, but everybody knows, sometimes, you have to take time out for yourself.

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A Writer’s Dilemma

Posted on July 13, 2020 by hdh

A Writer’s Dilemma

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, actually it was a bright and sunny late afternoon. I’ve always wanted to start a story the other way. Anyway, I was working at home, basically cleaning up the house, rearranging furniture, baking bread, and doing laundry, when suddenly I had the idea to go up into the attic and search out one of my old pieces of writing that I had stored there.

It was a rather warm and humid day, so I didn’t want to spend much time there. I opened up the attic door and went in. The attic, though it had air vents in the siding, was very musty and dark. Luckily for me, there was a light switch near the doorway and after switching it on this small storage facility became lit.

It had a low ceiling, which was under the roofline. I crept to the far corner of the room and began my sorting process. I was so involved in what I was doing, that I lost track of how long I had been in there. I also ignored the fact that there was a low rumbling sound coming from outside. Had I been more aware I might have realized that storm clouds had blotted out the sun and it was getting a bit more humid and stuffy in the attic.
Of course not being the brightest bulb in the room, I had also closed the attic door on my way in, which had a self-activating electric lock. I would have been fine had the lightning not struck the power lines outside my house. Of course, I hadn’t remembered to bring a flashlight. I didn’t think I would need one.

When the power went out I was trapped in an overheated, dark, enclosure with no clue how to get out.

You should know that the roofers who had recently reroofed the house had used overly long nails in their nail guns, leaving the sharp points of steel sticking out above my head in the rafters spaced not very far apart. Raising my head too high, surely would have aerated my skull sufficiently enough to draw plenty of blood.

My wife was due to come home soon, so hopefully, I would be rescued before I succumbed to heat exhaustion.

On the plus side, I had just found the piece of writing I had been searching for. It of course had to be a mystery about a man found dead in the attic of an old mansion. The culprit ended up being his wife. Talk about fate.


As I remembered, in the story, the dead man before he died had tried to get help by kicking out the air vent on the side of the attic. He didn’t succeed.

What the heck, it couldn’t hurt. So that’s what I did. There was some glimmer through the air vents whenever lightning struck. I slowly crawled toward them, remembering to keep my head low. When I could feel the vent on the wall, I kicked or I should say pushed hard against it. Due to weakened wood due to the age of our house, the vent popped out, which at least provided me with more air to breathe. I screamed as loud as I could.

Whether or not anyone heard me I’ll never know, because the power came back on for just a few minutes. Enough time for me to get to the door, release the lock, and get out of the attic.

Shortly thereafter the lights went out again and it was a dark and stormy night.

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