What you remember…

Posted on September 12, 2019 by hdh

What you remember

My wife and I were talking yesterday about memories. What do we remember? What makes events in our lives memorable? Why is it that I can remember a specific incident that happened when we went out to eat 12 years ago and she can’t? And the same with her. It might have been a minor dining experience, yet some little thing happened like it was the meal my favorite tie got ruined in the soup I was eating; Now I can remember the whole dinner. The tie was trivial to my wife but it was a trigger event for me.

So yesterday we were remembering 9/11 and where we were. I remembered I was teaching fifth grade. It was early morning and my class was in P.E. I was wandering the halls after leaving my class off, as I tended to do when I passed another 5th-grade classroom; Paul, their teacher, also on prep, came rushing out to me and said that I had to turn on the news. I went back to my room and needless to say, continued to follow most of what happened throughout the day without letting the students know.

An emergency meeting of the staff was called at lunch. We were informed not to say a word to the students. A number of parents picked up their kids early either out of fear or because a family member was connected to the event. There was only one student in my class that left early. Some parents even picked up their kids after school rather than let them ride the bus.

I called my wife when I found out and let her know what was happening. My son was in third grade at the time in the same school that I worked in. We walked home after school and I didn’t say anything to him about what had happened.

The staff had another meeting before school the next day to discuss how to proceed with students. We knew that some students would not have been told what had happened (my school was a 2nd-5th grade building, so the feeling was a number of students would not have heard due to their parents wanting to protect their young children) so we were to be open to talk individually with students that brought it up and school counselors would be made available to those students or staff that needed to talk, but we were not allowed to bring up the topic ourselves with the whole class. We knew that wasn’t going to work since the students who had been told about it were sure to share that knowledge with others in the class.

In fact, when my son came home the next day, he was upset that most of the people in his class had seen all the images and videos on TV and he hadn’t. We may have talked about what happened with him the day it happened, but chose not to share the visuals with him.

So now it is 18 years later. There are a lot of triggers in my mind that makes me remember that day. I also think about other tragic and horrific events, some of which I wasn’t even there for. When 9/11 happened every comic published had some reference to it. Yesterday, I counted 2. When did we stop remembering as a nation and in school systems about Pearl Harbor? the Holocaust? the Kennedy assassination? the Challenger disaster? The students in school right now weren’t alive during 9/11; where is their connection, their trigger that makes those remembrances meaningful? And I don’t mean to limit those memories only to bad events; the same goes for good ones.

Time moves on as memories fade. Memorable events are connected to trivial and meaningful triggers in our individual minds. Hopefully, we can keep those memories alive in the stories we share with others, generation to generation, that place those same triggers that we have in our minds in the people we share them with. Only then will we truly remember.

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Summer Saturday!

Posted on August 29, 2019 by hdh

Summer Saturday

Summer Saturday, my day off; the day I get to relax and do whatever I want to with no issues to deal with; a time to have fun.

Did you ever wake up in the morning and realize that you forgot to do something the night before?

I woke up ready to embrace the day when I realized I had no clothes to wear. I remembered putting my clothes in the clothes washer the previous night but couldn’t recall if I ever put them in the dryer. I went downstairs, put my damp clothes in the dryer, turned it on and decided to have a leisurely morning breakfast at home in my PJs. Luckily the paper is delivered to my front door so I didn’t have to go out in my nightwear.

Did you ever get a different newspaper delivered to you than the one you subscribe to? 

Picking up the paper I noticed that it was the National Enquirer, not Newsday.  Well, at least my morning reading would be more interesting than the usual tripe. Time for some real news.

I took out a couple of eggs from the Fresh Farm Eggs carton in the fridge and put them in a pot of water to hard-boil them. Raw eggs are not supposed to float, are they? After testing out the rest of the eggs in the carton, I chose to have cereal instead. By the time I was done with breakfast and the paper, my clothes were dry. 

Did you ever take clothes out of the clothes dryer and realize they were too hot to wear immediately, so you put them in the freezer for 10 minutes? 

Getting dressed was a new experience. My pants and socks were warm, yet my shirt and underwear were quite cold. 

I decided that it would be a good time to drive to the city and see the new exhibit at the Museum of Natural History. It took me a while to find parking, but I was lucky and found street parking, so I wouldn’t have to pay for a garage. I was looking forward to seeing the new dinosaur exhibit. 

Did you ever get stopped from entering a museum because you were holding a pocket knife in your pocket?  

I wasn’t allowed in until I got rid of the knife and they wouldn’t hold it for me. It would have been a long walk back to the car, so I decided to bury it across the street by a tree in the park, where I could recover it later. 

After getting into the museum I immediately went to the new exhibit. It was amazing. The dinosaur was a Bambiraptor. It kind of looked like a bird, but it was a dinosaur. I was intrigued at how realistic they made it look. I decided it would be cool to take a selfie next to the Bambiraptor that I could share with all of my friends. Not the best idea on my part.

Did you ever have your camera confiscated and then be thrown out of a museum for ignoring the NO PHOTOS ALLOWED and DO NOT TOUCH THE EXHIBIT signs?

Once the guard personally escorted me from the museum I was given my camera back after he watched me delete the photos that I had taken. There was nothing much left to do but to retrieve my knife and head back home. 

Did you ever notice that one tree in the park looks just like many others? 

I searched for a good 30 minutes trying to find where I had buried my knife when a very polite policeman, who had been watching me dig holes throughout the park, asked me to follow him out of the park after making sure that I wasn’t an international terrorist. All I could do was to give up my search and return to my car empty-handed. I was pretty sure I was at the spot where I had parked my car, but it wasn’t there. 

Did you ever notice that if you leave your keys in your car when you park it in the city, there is a good chance someone else will avail themselves of them?

After more time with the police, I was left with either calling a friend to pick me up or riding mass transit back home. The police at the station allowed me to make a call to my friend to pick me up as I did not have enough money for the train.  Lucky for me, my neighbor had a spare key to my house so I could get back into it. 

The rest of the day was quietly spent sitting by the phone waiting for the call that would tell me my car had been found, which never came. 

I decided to go down to the local pub and get myself something to eat and drink to celebrate the fun summer day I had had. 

The waitress looked familiar to me. She might have been a woman I dated in the past and dumped me because I cheated on her. I’m not sure. I smiled at her as I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with a side of onion rings and a salad. She handed me the drinks menu and asked me, “What’s your poison?”

Did you ever notice that sometimes when someone uses an idiom or catchphrase, they literally mean what they are saying?

 

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Toigle

Posted on August 22, 2019 by hdh

Toigle

The name’s Toigle. And pronounce it correctly. It’s “toy-gull”. I hate when people get it wrong. It’s not Tiggle or Toyglee; It’s Toigle! And yes I‘m your common ground turtle. But look out, I don’t show myself off like some of those fancy schmancy turtles. I keep a low profile. You might see me in your lawn or crossing your driveway. 

Occasionally I even venture to cross streets, so keep your eyes out. You wouldn’t believe how many of my friends, with cracked shells, I’ve had to bury because one of you stupid drivers are not paying attention. Hey, we have a right to the roads too!

And trust me I like where I live. I can hide in the weeds or bushes when I need some privacy. I can roam in the open when I want to bask in the sun. I’ll even let you pick me up for a short time so you can learn more about turtles, but don’t plan on keeping me. I had a cousin once, lived in an apartment in the Bronx; lived in a little tank for almost 14 years. The keepers thought that putting in two rocks and a little water was enough to give him exercise. No wonder he walked so slow. His muscles obviously atrophied. Yeah he got fed well, but you wouldn’t believe where they kept him. His tank was by an open window that overlooked an empty alley. No bushes, no trees, just windows of other apartments. Talk about boring. And that tank sat right over a radiator. It was nice and cozy warm when the winter came and the window was closed, but when the stupid keepers left the window open and the radiator wasn’t on. We’re talking ice age. I’m amazed how he survived in those ice packs followed by saunas. We’re talking 14 years. No way I could do that.

So pick me up, look see, then put me back down. Do that and I may stick around. Otherwise first chance I get I’m gone. Don’t even bother looking for me. You’ve been warned. 

And if you haven’t got it yet, just remember, the name’s Toigle.

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Everyday Objects

Posted on August 18, 2019 by hdh

Toigle

The name’s Toigle. And pronounce it correctly. It’s “toy-gull”. I hate when people get it wrong. It’s not Tiggle or Toyglee; It’s Toigle! And yes I‘m your common ground turtle. But look out, I don’t show myself off like some of those fancy schmancy turtles. I keep a low profile. You might see me in your lawn or crossing your driveway. 

Occasionally I even venture to cross streets, so keep your eyes out. You wouldn’t believe how many of my friends, with cracked shells, I’ve had to bury because one of you stupid drivers are not paying attention. Hey, we have a right to the roads too!

And trust me I like where I live. I can hide in the weeds or bushes when I need some privacy. I can roam in the open when I want to bask in the sun. I’ll even let you pick me up for a short time so you can learn more about turtles, but don’t plan on keeping me. I had a cousin once, lived in an apartment in the Bronx; lived in a little tank for almost 14 years. The keepers thought that putting in two rocks and a little water was enough to give him exercise. No wonder he walked so slow. His muscles obviously atrophied. Yeah he got fed well, but you wouldn’t believe where they kept him. His tank was by an open window that overlooked an empty alley. No bushes, no trees, just windows of other apartments. Talk about boring. And that tank sat right over a radiator. It was nice and cozy warm when the winter came and the window was closed, but when the stupid keepers left the window open and the radiator wasn’t on. We’re talking ice age. I’m amazed how he survived in those ice packs followed by saunas. We’re talking 14 years. No way I could do that.

So pick me up, look see, then put me back down. Do that and I may stick around. Otherwise first chance I get I’m gone. Don’t even bother looking for me. You’ve been warned. 

And if you haven’t got it yet, just remember, the name’s Toigle.

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Everyday Objects

Posted on August 16, 2019 by hdh

Everyday Objects

I love music. Not just any music, folk music. Not the electric kind, more so the acoustic sounds that are made by both real and inventive instruments. Let me be more specific; strings and rhythm instruments are my favorites. Guitar, violin, mandolin are all instruments that I’ve played. I’ve also tried viola and string bass. 

I’ve never played drums, my neighbors wouldn’t have appreciated it, and didn’t have much success with piano. Reading music wasn’t my forte. 

Getting involved with folk music, introduced me to another form of instruments. Some are real and others more comedic used in performances that make satire out of classical music, such as P.D.Q. Bach. How many of you know how to play a left-handed sewer flute or a bicycle?

I really enjoy dabbling with these inventive instruments. Here are a few of those that I’ve played spoons, hand saw, bones, nose flute (affectionately called a humanatone), washboard, Jew’s harp (or Jaw harp), washtub bass, and the ever-popular shower hose (A shower hose connected to a funnel on one end and a trumpet mouthpiece on the other).

I even played, in performance, with a community band a piece that called for a vacuum cleaner. There were three called for in the piece and I was the lead vacuumist.

In 1980, our middle school band went to England to meet a marching kazoo band and perform. I was one of the chaperones and even did a quick study on saxophone to help out. We had to fill out a questionnaire about ourselves so that we could each be placed with families that lived there. On mine I noted two things, I pick up accents naturally, so people shouldn’t be offended if I start talking in their dialect, and that I tend to make instruments out of everyday objects. 

When we got to England another teacher and I were placed with a lovely old woman in Forest Town in Mansfield. Obviously, she and the bus driver that was driving us around had all read my survey answers. I was inundated with “Can you say this, “Dun’s dun” and the like. It’s sometimes hard for me to talk with an accent on the spot, most of the time it comes naturally. Though in this case, I didn’t have much trouble with that. It was then that they started bringing out objects, like a stovepipe and asked, “Can you make music out of this?” In that, I was really challenged, but I managed.

Nowadays I sometimes bring out my strange instruments and share them with elementary school classes I’m subbing in, especially when they are studying a science unit on sound. 

It’s easy to make a homemade kazoo with waxed paper and a comb, but can you imagine what a $20 marching kazoo looks like. I can.

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Where do you get your ideas from?

Posted on August 15, 2019 by hdh

 

Where do you get your ideas from?

Good writers have incredible childhoods. They have all sorts of stories about growing up and the adventures they had continuing on through adulthood. Every day there are exciting things to write about. I envy them. Ever since I was a child I wanted to be a writer and write stories that everyone would flock to and read.  My problem was my parents never told stories; their lives were boring. As to my youth and growing up, it can be summed up in one word, “insipid”. 

So here I am at 6 o’clock on a Thursday evening bemoaning my fate, as usual, while riding the bus back to my shack of a home, the bus starting to fill up, and wondering as usual will I ever get inspiration for a story. 

It was standing room only on this trip home. Most of the people on the bus were either looking at their phones or zoning out with earbuds on. Sitting next to me was a fashionably attired, older businessman, looking a bit nervous. I can only describe the person standing over both of us as a shoddily dressed, unkempt thug. He seemed to be addressing the businessman. 

“So youse got the money?” the shoddy man spoke in a low voice, though loud enough for me to hear.

“Yes,” the man replied. ‘Twenty grand all in low denominations in a briefcase that I left where you told me to. How do I know you won’t just take the money and skip town, without doing what I’m paying you for?”

“Hey!” was the reply, “I’se got my reputation to uphold. Don’t you worry your pretty little suit about it. When I’m done, they won’t even find pieces of da dame.”

“And you’re sure I won’t be implicated? I’ve got a reputation too, not to mention the money I expect to inherit as the only heir left alive.”

The big goon laughed, “Youse ain’t gonna be involved, because youse not the guy they’s gonna be lookin’ for. The knife I use is small and disposable, and even if dey find it, all the fingerprints belong to some other schnook. He won’t even know it’s missing until it’s too late.”

The bus had reached Pennington street, my stop, and I got up to get off when the ruffian brushed into me.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Whatever, youse gonna make sometin’ of it?”

I said nothing and left quietly. That was weird. I went home, had an early dinner, watched some old reruns of MacGyver and went to bed. 

Friday morning I woke up, showered, got dressed, grabbed the newspaper, sat down to a bowl of cereal and read the headlines.

———–

INDUSTRIALIST’S WIFE DISAPPEARS. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED!

Early last night, a dismembered body of a middle-aged adult female was found in a local trash bin outside the Pennington Street bus station. This seems to coincide with the reported disappearance of industrialist T. G. Friday’s wife, Irene. Analysis of the blood samples from the scene appear to match those of Ms. Friday. Also found at the scene was a small pocket knife. Fingerprints were found on the knife as well as bloodstains. It is suggested that this might have be the murder weapon. Police are looking for any clues or witnesses to the crime or whereabouts of Ms. Friday. 

 ———–

After finishing breakfast, I left for work. When I got to the bus stop there was police tape all over the area. All buses were being rerouted; none were going to stop here today. I had to take a cab to work. 

On the ride, I thought about all the luck other people have in finding stories. I thought about the news article and the story that would be written by the person who finds the killer. I bet they make a bundle selling that story. 

As I left to pay for the cab, I put my hand in my pocket and that’s when I noticed it, or should I say the lack of it. It should have been there! Being a big MacGyver fan, I have kept a pocket knife with me at all times. You never know when you might need one. I only take it out of my pocket pretty much to wash my pants. I frantically searched all my pockets but it wasn’t there. I also noticed a number of police cars in front of my building. 

It was the last day of my work week. T.G.I.F was just about to come up with a whole new meaning. 

 

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The Call of Music

Posted on August 11, 2019 by hdh

The Call of the Music

I am a folk music and storytelling junkie. I love listening to old folk songs and spend most of my driving nowadays listening to stories. I wasn’t always that way.

I always liked music and even played the guitar and harmonica in my youth, but it wasn’t until I got my first teaching job, that really got into folk. A colleague of mine suggested that I go and see the Philadelphia Folk Festival (https://pfs.org/philadelphia-folk-festival/). This is a three day festival of music and food that takes place every summer in an old farm north of Philadelphia. You pay for admission for the weekend and there must be some local inns or motels where you can stay, but the majority of the people that attend camp out right on the grounds in an area that is set aside for camping.  It’s sort of the folk version of Woodstock. Only this happens annually. There are folk singers and groups from all over the world that perform. There’s a children’s area where storytellers, jugglers and children’s performers display their talents. There are open areas for people to just bring their instruments and jam. Though the incredible jamming that goes on happens all night throughout the campground. And thousands of people attend.

Once introduced to the Philly folk festival, I was hooked. Coming back to the start of school left me energized to add so many more songs to my classroom. 

It also got me to go to the Clearwater Revival Festival (https://www.clearwaterfestival.org/) in Croton-on -the-Hudson, New York. This one I believe was started by Pete Seeger. It too had multiple stages and lots of people. For this one, there wasn’t camping, but it was close enough to my sister’s house in New Jersey that I could travel to daily. It is every year in June.

Then there was the Old Songs Festival (https://festival.oldsongs.org/) in Altamont, New York, also in the Summer each year. Only for this one, I gave up on camping and chose the comfort of local motels. Old songs not only included multiple stages but dancing also.

I got to know a lot more about folk music through these festivals. I even went to some music camps, Pinewoods Music and Dance camp (https://www.pinewoods.org/camp-sessions/session-schedule/) in Plymouth, Massachusetts

and Fiddle and Dance camp (https://ashokan.org/camps/) in Ashokan, New York. 

As I said, I became a Folk junkie. 

Then there was storytelling. Some of which I got interested in through the folk festivals, but more so by going to the National Storytelling Festival (https://www.storytellingcenter.net/festival/) in Jonesborough, Tennessee. 

Each of those festivals and camps, provided me with experiences that created the person that you see today. It even helped, by chance or fate, to find the person I love and married.

But that’s a tale for another day. 

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A Day to Celebrate

Posted on August 8, 2019 by hdh

A Day to Celebrate

If you look at a yearly calendar, you will find certain celebratory dates that are on pretty much all of them. Valentine’s Day, Easter, Passover, Mothers  Day, Memorial Day, Fathers Day, Labor Day, Veterans Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Chanukah. I’m sure that there are more. For all these days, there is pre-planning that needs to be done, expectations of foods to be served, possibly presents to give. You get the idea. 

You would think that these few celebratory dates would be enough. Not so fast. If you search the web, you can find a celebratory event for every day of the year. Here are just a few for the year 2019: Jan. 4- National Spaghetti Day, Feb. 6 – National Chopsticks Day, March 14 – National Pi Day, April 7 – National Beer Day, May 17 – National Bike to Work Day, June 24 – International Fairy (or Faery) Day, July 6 – International Kissing Day, Aug.5 – National Underwear Day, Sept. 12 – National Video Games Day, Oct. 22 – National Nut Day, Nov. 16th – National Fast Food Day, and Dec. 14 – International Monkey Day.  You can find them all at http://www.holidayinsights.com/moreholidays/. As you can see there is not a day in the year that there is not something that we must do, plan for and celebrate. 

With that in mind, I see no reason not to declare a new day for celebration: International Do Nothing day. This day is perfect for those of us that are tired of celebrating every minuscule event or trivial food or action that is done and those of us that spend our money to continue to support the Hallmark, and the like, card industry.

IDND is simple to celebrate. Do whatever you want.  It can be on your own or with others. You will not be held accountable for anything that was supposed to be done that day, not at work and not at home. And it’s international, that means that wherever you are in the world it is accepted and celebrated. Here’s the good part: Since scheduled celebrations are one of the major factors in stress and annoyance, International Do Nothing Day is not scheduled. You may declare it any day of the year you want, and it can’t be held against you.

Some celebratory holidays have songs that go with them: Christmas has its carols, New Year’s has Auld Lang Syne, birthdays have “Happy birthday”, Memorial and Veterans day have their marches, etc.  Well, you’ll be pleased to know that International Do Nothing day has it’s own song also:

——————————–

 

International Do Nothing Day

Sung to the tune of Nowhere Man by John Lennon and Paul McCartney

It’s a real nothing day

No have-to’s, just time to play

Celebrate in your own way with nobody.

 

Read a book or maybe two

Write your memoir when you’re through

Take a nap or hang out with your somebody.

 

Chorus

Let it go. Don’t do it

It’s your time, renew it

Spend your day

With nothing at all to stand in your way

 

Blank your mind of things to do

One day late will not hurt you

Nothing is expected of us all

 

Chorus

 

Let the world just pass on by

Today’s the day no need to try

Do nothing day is meant for you and me

 

Tag

Do nothing day is meant for you and me.

Do nothing day is meant for you and me!

So I say, let’s all band together and get our nations to proclaim to the world that they should establish, International Do Nothing day! I’d love to help you, but today, I’m celebrating my Do Nothing Day and I have other things planned. 

—–

If you would like to hear the song click here: International Do Nothing Day theme

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My Magical Weapon

Posted on August 2, 2019 by hdh

My Magical Weapon

It’s hard to think about the magical weapon that I possess. The reason being, that I don’t consider it out of the ordinary, no matter how many times I’ve had to use it. It’s not even secret, I don’t even try to conceal it. 

When I come upon conflicting parties in a major dispute, I just unleash my weapon and use it to save the situation at hand. At least I try to. It is powerful, yet doesn’t use much energy.

I was once in a situation where I found a totally distraught individual. They had been beaten down emotionally. They had lost the power to fight back and was ready to give in to their despair and loss. I gathered up the energy from my weapon and released its power. Consumed with the power, I let it caress the worn and broken down victim. And though the problem that initiated the stress was not solved, its power was diminished. No longer could it control its prey. The gray skies that had filled the sky began to show patches of blue.

I don’t always get thanked for my weapon’s assistance; sometimes it isn’t even acknowledged. I seek no reward. It just is what I carry with me, to use when needed. Though magical, it is far from unique. Hopefully, when used, it imparts pieces of itself in those that I do aid. That, if anything, is its purpose.

My secret weapon goes by many names, “kindness”, “compassion”, “empathy”, “love”. Keep an eye out for it. You may even own it yourself.

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Excuses, Excuses

Posted on August 1, 2019 by hdh

Excuses, Excuses – Why can’t I write anything today.

1. I always look to television to get ideas about what to write about. I’ve decided to binge-watch, “The Game of Thrones”. There are lots of plots to choose from and wonderful character development to inspire me, and I do love stories with dragons. I just finished Season 2. It shouldn’t take me long to finish the whole series and then I’ll get down to writing.

2. I now keep a notebook by my bedside table where I write down thoughts and ideas I have every night before I go to sleep. That also means that I can’t read through it until then either; my bedroom is off-limits during the day, you see, I’m not allowed to nap. This actually makes it impossible for me to write, until I’m asleep.

3. I designate a specific time every day to write. If I miss that time, I can’t write. I need to keep to a rigid schedule. My problem today is that I can’t remember what time I set for writing. It may have already passed.

4. Ijammedboththumbsplayingvolleyball,soIhavenowaytopressthespacebarwhile

Itypemywritingpiecetoday.ThereforeIcannottypemystory.Ifsomeonevolunteered

toscribeformeImightbeabletodoit.

5. My boss actually found a piece of my writing that criticized the work that he was doing. He’s now set down a rule that anyone with the initials HH must wear safety mittens all day to prevent injuries. I guess this new rule I have to follow while working at the sewing thread company might inhibit me from writing today.

6. The only materials that I have today are blank paper and a pen with invisible ink. Since you wouldn’t be able to read what I write anyway, why bother to write. 

7. Someone handed me a paper that said that today’s writing piece was to be a favorite memory piece. Someone also just told me that I was recently released from a hospital after suffering from traumatic amnesia. If I ever figure out who I am, maybe I’ll be able to write about a favorite memory.

8. I can’t write today, because I’ve developed an allergic reaction to creative thought. 

9. After wracking my brains all day yesterday to come up with an idea to write about, I decided to binge-sleep today to recover. You may get my writing tomorrow.

10. I had a doctor’s appointment today. I’m not going to tell you what it was for. However, he did warn me that if I chose to write today, it could have deadly consequences. I’d rather not risk it. Sorry.

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