Snap out of it!

Who the Sam Hill are you?

            This week I’m going to do something revolutionary. I have every confidence it will alter life as we know it. It may even whiten teeth.

            So, grab a pen so you can circle what I’m about to say. – Ready? Here it is. Whenever I catch myself moping around, I’m going to “snap out of it! Might have to do that two or 20 times a day.

            Is that not revolutionary? – What? No, the whiten teeth part was just stuck in there for humor. Get it? Well then, snap out of it! – Oops. You should never tell anyone else to snap out of it. They likely don’t want to snap out of it, or they think they’re not behaving in any manner that merits snapping out. Bottom line, they’re going to kick you to death.

            The only person that I should tell to snap out of it is me. Not “I”. I’m tired of using “I” when “me” sounds better. And, I’m tired of worrying so much about not ending a sentence with a preposition. Who came up with that rule? – “Okay, let’s say that from now on you can’t end a sentence with “with” or “of” or “to” or “from” or a bunch of other words we’ll come up with later. We’ll call them “prepositions” which means words that sentences can't end in.  – Okay, “in” is another word of which sentences can’t end.

            One thing that sparked my new "Snap out of it!" philosophy was telephone conversations I had with three of my siblings last night. After listening to two hours of conversations laced with anger, sadness and dread, I handed over whatever joy I had accumulated to that point. That’s not happening anymore.

            When someone tells me they’re upset about something, I’ve always taken it as a cry for help. The person expects me to solve their dilemma. I’ve been such a fool. Any person who knows me, knows that I’m a bigger mess than they are. I’m the last person to trust with a cure for any emotional ill.

            But, starting this week, I’m not going try to solve the problems of others. I’m just going to listen. Maybe occasionally go, “Hmmm.” If I do that, people are sure to like me better. – Which, incidentally brings up another reason that I must snap out of it.

            I worry way too much about what others think of me. Truth is, people aren’t thinking of me… or you.  At least that’s the way I am when someone’s talking to me. I'm too busy thinking of what I’m going to say when they stop talking. I’ve likely missed out on some very important discussions.

            I’ve never been a big fan of parties, because I don’t like to mingle. Mingling is way too much work. For one thing, I feel guilty for not remembering names. . -- “Hello, Mark!” -- Who the Sam Hill is this? All I can do is listen for a clue that will cause the name to surface. People can be so stingy with name clues.

            It matters not. I’m snapping out of name guilt. – “Hello, Mark!” – “Whoa, I don’t know you from a box of bottles. How ‘bout starting your next sentence with your name? – Too abrupt? Well, I’ll work on it.

            During conversations I much prefer talking very little. I ask the person about himself, hoping he’ll takeover the conversation. Unfortunately, some need some serious prodding. – “So how’s your Mom doing?” – “She died five years ago, Mark. You were at her funeral.” – “Right. So, how long have you had those shoes?” 

See how bad I am at mingling? No more. Starting this week I’ll be a free spirit at parties. – “So, Mac, John or Philip… whoever, tell me something. Let’s see? Start from your first date in high school. I’ll tell you when to stop.”  

For whatever reason, I sense that God gave me the responsibility for ending any silence that lasts more than two seconds. I can listen for up to five minutes to a completely ridiculous explanation of gastritis, but if there is a two-second pause I get terribly nervous.

If I’m in an elevator with a silent stranger, I feel it necessary to say something to disturb the quiet. I might say -- “I’m headed for the eighth floor. I like the number eight.”

That kind of behavior is behind me now. I realize that there is only one person who can make me nervous or angry or sad or embarrassed. Me. And me is snapping out of it. I am no longer responsible for gaps of silence. I don’t care if no one says anything for five seconds, I’m keeping my mouth shut. However, more than five seconds, and I’ll have to walk away to keep from having a complete meltdown. No one can snap out of a complete meltdown.

Keep in mind, I’m not recommending you try to snap out of it. That usually ends badly. And, trying to change people for the better is no longer a part of my job description. It’s a full-time job just trying to fix me. However, I’m hoping that it will now be a little less work. I’m not going to seize the day or smell the roses or reach for the stars. Those have been so over done. I’m snapping out of it. And you wanna know something? It feels better all ready. – I give it three days. – Next time.

end

  mark@rooftopwriter.com

Yeti coffee mug

 Is that a Yeti?

10 oz only $45!

    We had the Plilers over for supper yesterday evening. Virginia and Freeman like ribs, and the two racks in our freezer were taking up way too much space. Those buddies came from one long pig. Kay had to fold ‘em to get them to fit in the freezer.

Years ago, I bought an electric smoker for my BBQ occasions. You ask me, the words “electricity” and “smoke” don’t belong in the same sentence… unless you’re an investigator for the Fire Department.

Since the smoker purchase, I have tried smoking turkey, brisket, ribs and pork butt. Might’ve been pork shoulder, but it’s rare that I find a legitimate opportunity to write the word “butt” without making the spirit of Elsie Hayter cringe.

    The biggest problem with smokers is the amount of patience they require. After about two hours in my low-smoking smoker, I give up and throw the raw meat in the oven until it’s done. Then I slam it onto my charcoal grill and burn the daylights out of it. Burnt meat has somewhat of a smoky taste to it. .
     Virginia and Freeman never complain about my burnt-to a-crisp ribs, because they’re not stupid. --  The Plilers, not the ribs. Ribs don’t have a clue.

    After the meal, we remained at the table so the girls could converse about the unimportant. As Kay and Virginia talked loudly across the table, Freeman looked up at me and said, “Is that a Yeti?”

    Odd, I thought. But, I shifted my view to the window at my left as a way of going along with the joke. I figured Freeman would say, “Gotcha!” as soon as I looked. The Plilers’ great-grandson, one of the blessed few who is responsible for hanging most of the stars in the heavens, has taught Maw Maw and Paw Paw all kinds of wonderfully funny things. – No, I like the kid. I’m just jealous.

    Anyway, I turned back to Freeman and gave him my puzzled look. I acquired my puzzled look from Oliver Hardy. Oliver Hardy? He was the second greatest actor in the world. Before your time, I’m sure.

    My award-winning look of puzzlement got a quick response from Freeman. “Your coffee mug. Is it a Yeti?” Had Virginia asked me that, I would’ve said, “No, most Yetis don’t have a flat butt.”  (Oops.) But, I didn’t say that ‘cause I didn’t want to run the risk of hurting Freeman’s feelings. The guy is so nice you just want to slap him.

That was the moment I found out that “Yeti” is a brand name for coolers and insulated mugs. Expensive coolers and mugs. You ask me, you’re paying for a name. Had they named their products “Slug-slime” I think the popularity would’ve never surfaced.

My mug, the one Freeman mistook for a Yeti, cost me $10. Of course, that was 20 years ago. Accounting for inflation that would be, uh, $11.18 today. Hasn’t been that much inflation of late. You may attribute that to the party of your choice.

I’ve managed to keep my mug a long time, because it’s indestructible and it does what I expect a mug to do. Coffee cups, like shoes and underwear, stay with me for a long time. My policy is that, as long as you do your job, I’ll keep you no matter how bad you look. I call that loyalty. Kay calls it cheap.

The stainless steel feature of the mug makes my coffee stay warm to the last suck on the sippy-lid. The mug is a straight squatty cylinder, with a black hard plastic lid that has a tiny hole on one side, which serves as a vent when the mug is tilted toward the sippy part of the lid. The Huns invented the vent-hole for mug lids. Before that, the lids would burst open when tilted, and cause the barbarians to get beer up their noses. Made ‘em angry as all get out. By the way, in case you were unaware, the Huns got so angry that they eventually conquered Rome. In fact that’s the only true part of my Hun story.

The only problem with my metal mug is that it’s too wide to fit in any cup-holder. They’ve got mugs with narrower bottoms, but that makes them easy to tump over. -- Tump? Yes, it's a word, not completely sanctioned by Webster. -- Engineers have yet to design a cup-holder wide enough my favorite mug. The mug’s base has a diameter of 3 ½ inches. That’s just a half-inch beyond the capability of cup-holder designer. They can design a toilet that will flush in zero gravity, but have yet to master the wider cup-holder. Our priorities are so messed up.

And, yes, I have been carrying on a lot about the mundane. That’s because my mind drifted a lot while the girls were talking at the table. If Freeman hadn’t taken the initiative to get up and clear the table, the conversation would’ve gone on into the night. Freeman. Did I tell you how great this guy is? – Next time.

end

mark@rooftopwriter.com

Quotes to live by

"Avalanche of snowflakes"

    When I run across a good quote, I generally jot it down on the nearest thing I can find. I’ve lost a lot of good quotes that way.

    In the last couple of weeks, I have noticed several good sayings, and would now like to take this time to share. So, look around for something to write on.

    How many of you saw the “Thought for Today” in one of last week’s editions? It is attributed to Polish writer, Stanslav Jerzy Lec. Who doesn’t remember that scholar and his contribution to mankind? I’ve remembered him for about a week now. The quote I saw in the Courier read, “The only fool bigger than the person who knows it all, is the person who argues with him.”

    The fact that the quote was found in the “Opinion” section, screams of irony.  The words appeared on the same page as “Letters to the Editor.” I don’t know about you, but I do not enjoy reading opinions that aren’t mine. It doesn’t mean I don’t read some of ‘em. It’s just that I don’t enjoy the experience. When an article or letter begins with a false premise and is supported by illogic, I see little chance of expanding my mental boundaries by reading further. As you know, I’m a man in need of mental boundary expansion.

    I am by no means advocating a tempering of “Letters to the Editor.” The backlash would cause some serious civil unrest. If you don’t let people vent, some of them will explode right in front of you. There is a lot of anger out there. And, I do sympathize with the angry. If I lit atop a mound of simple answers to ageless problems, it would just irritate the daylights out of me that everyone else didn’t climb up there with me. Can’t they see?

    And that brings us to our second quote. This comes from, of all places, the “Letters to the Editor” published in last Thursday’s edition. In response to an influx of letters containing some angry and less than tactful arguments, Joseph Rodriguez of Conroe began his letter: “When did it become acceptable in the political discourse to insult, defame and be downright rude and arrogant? What ever happened to agree to disagree?” 

I don’t know Joseph, but I’d like to give him a hug. He’s going to need one, because someone is going to tear into him with a “counter” letter. – Hang in there, Joseph. But, try not to respond with a counter to the counter letter. I’m just saying.

    While on the subject, let me pass along another quote. This one is from writer, preacher, Max Lucado. Lucado wrote, “It is one thing to have an opinion. It is quite another to pass a verdict.” Why is it so easy for me to notice the application of that line to everyone but me? Anyone else? Anyone?

    Here’s another quote that speaks to one’s overvaluing an opinion. It comes from the deceased, religious writer, Oswald Chambers, who wrote, “He is a fool who places a ban of finality on his views.” Had I written that thought, it would’ve read, “Hey, keep an open mind!” An open mind is considered a danger to the one who worships a creed. That just came to me, so it’s likely wrong.

    These quotes are making me thirsty. Let’s go back to Stanslav. I researched that guy and found a trove of great sayings. I wish I had met him sooner. Look at this: “No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible.” You might want to share that one on Facebook. Like me, I seriously doubt it would apply to anyone, but it always feels good to recognize the flaw in others.

    Stanslav Jerzy Lec, also wrote, “Everything is an illusion. Even that last sentence.” What? What did he call me? -- I have an increased respect for the Poles. Before Lec showed himself, I thought little of the contributions of Eastern Europeans, but now I’m like a snowflake in an avalanche. – No, I think I’ve already misused the quote.

    Here is a quote from an unknown author. “Bad decisions make good stories.” That is so true that it hurts. Most of my best stories come from bad decisions. Some of Virginia and Freeman’s favorite stories involve bad decisions of mine. It’s done nothing to harm our friendship. Of course, lately I have to get permission before I visit. Not a problem. They usually answer their phone, hoping it’s Kay calling. It is such a downer when a cheerful “Hello” turns into a “Heloooo, Mark.”

    Since we’re approaching the end here (of the article, not life itself) let’s leave with a few uplifting quotes. I neglected to write down the author’s name on this one. I jotted it down on a Bed, Bath and Beyond coupon, and there’s not a whole lot of space to write on one of those things. The quote is, “Peace can come if we respond with a gentle answer.” I know that to be true. Why I don’t practice it often enough is just weird.

    Here’s a quote that has the potential to put to rest a bucket load of negativity. “Whether it’s the best of times or the worst of times, it’s the only time we’ve got.” If all I do is gripe about the unfairness, meanness, violence, apathy, stupidity—What? Right, that’s enough. -- Anyway, if we don’t turn our whine into something fine, we just might end up as snowflakes in an avalanche. Yeah, I like that one.

    Yes, Stanslav Jerzy Lec, had a lot on the ball? He died in 1966, yet, I heard nothing about it. Let me give the man one last chance to express a thought. This one may be related to some of the stuff I’ve been writing about. I’m just not sure. Here is the quote: “Hay smells different to lovers and horses.”  I think that means that Kay likes romantic movies, and I like horses. – I think I’m pretty close with that one. – Next time.

end
mark@rooftopwriter.com
   

Pokemon Go: Instructions For Dinosaurs

 “Pokemon Go: The dumbed down explanation"

    When last we left, I had requested that one of you agree to explain the nation’s current Pokemon Go craze. Kay and I were to have you appear or phone in to our “Hanging with the Hayters” Wednesday at noon show on irlonestar.com.

Well, by the time the show was ready was ready to air, I had received no response. I took that to mean that not one of you is capable of explaining the game. Either that or none of you read the article. I don’t even want to hear that kind of talk.

You want to know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking that each of you wants to expand your horizons and learn about Pokemon Go. Something is going on around here and you want to make sure the Ruskies aren’t planting scary stuff in our brains. Maybe the Chinese. Probably the Chinese.

Well, this morning, I am going to give the Pokemon Go dumbed down instructions that I carefully researched. So, batten your hatches and remove all the metal out of your pockets.

Everything I know about Pokemon Go came from Kay’s computer literate nephew, Steven. Steven stayed with us the night before our show, and, while here, he worked on our computer. He didn’t fix it, but he did manage to take the metal covering off the part that holds all the brains. Having demonstrated his computer genius, I decided to drag his buns to the Lonestar Studio in downtown Conroe and made him explain “Pokemon Go” to listeners.

Unfortunately, during our live broadcast, Steven informed the entire world that he had never played the game. All he knew was what he had read on the Internet. I could’ve done that. I did do that. And I got nothing from it.

But, here’s what I learned from Steven. – The word “Pokemon” is foreign talk for “Pocket Monster.” I’m pretty it’s Japanese, because the animated creatures look like Japanese cartoon drawings. Strange creatures with poorly detailed features. Big eyes. Some look like gumdrops with big eyes and points on the top that are supposed to be ears. Or horns. Hard to tell.

The object of the game is to catch these ill-conceived creatures by sucking them up into an animated ball that appears on the screen of your Smart Phone. If you’re not sure if your cell phone is a Smart one, it’s best not ask anyone. They’ll embarrass the daylights out of you.

The popularity of the game is generated by the fact that it is meant to be played out of doors. You turn the camera part of your phone on and walk around the neighborhood or around town looking for Pokemon. The game, having been downloaded to your phone, works in conjunction with Google Maps. The screen will show you the map view of your actual location, including the direction of your walk, and the structures that are actually around you.

Occasionally, your phone will vibrate so you’ll know that a Pokemon is in the vicinity. How he got there is none of your concern. As you approach the creature, your phone screen will magically turn to a real visual of the HEB parking lot you’re in, or the pier on the lake in front of you. Suddenly a Pokemon will jump onto the screen and taunt you. That’s when you aim and touch the pokey ball key of your phone and throw it at the creature. No, I don’t know which key you press. Just remember to toss the imaginary ball and not your actual phone.

It’s moments like these that have caused accidents. One can only imagine the possible carnage if someone spotted a Pokemon on top of an overpass they were getting ready to drive under. Or on top of the fire hydrant just this side of the bike lane.

It’s one of those games where you’re urged (in the fine print) to read the fine print. – “Don’t play while driving. If you do, don’t point your car in the direction of the object on which the Pokemon is jumping. And, don’t walk into traffic while playing. And, don’t rob a bank while playing, because it gives police a clear view of where you were at the time of the robbery.” – Stuff like that.

Oh, and Pokemons are more prevalent around well-known sites in and around town. The Woodlands has ‘em all over the place. As does downtown Conroe. There were a bunch of them outside the studio while Kay and I were doing our show. I didn’t see any of ‘em, ‘cause I don’t know if my phone is a Smart Phone, nor have I tried to download the free game. Plus, when I turn on the camera of my phone, it will sap all the power in about four minutes. That’s bound to be a sign that my phone is not smart at all.

    That’s pretty much all of  Pokemon Go I care to discuss. If you have questions or arguments concerning my explanation of the game, share them with the person within hearing distance of you. 

    I do hope I’ve shed light on what billions of learned people are so excited about. It is but more evidence supporting the notion that I am completely out of step with those who know how to properly walk along the path of belonging. Japanese-animated figures are, no doubt, jumping all over that path. – Next time. --  mark@rooftopwriter.com

Rooftop ramblings

"Thoughts from a nighttime roofsit"

 

    ROOFTOP – Jerry, I didn’t force you to trade places with me. What I said was, “Jerry, trade places with me.” I wasn’t going to fight you for the far side of the roof. It’s just that I never sit over there, and I wanted to see if there’s a breeze. – There’s not.

    Okay, get hold of yourselves, Rooftoppers. We’re on in three, two and… action-- Glad you could join us. I want you all to know that I waited till nightfall to get us all up here. Any earlier and the fire department would have to scrape us off this metal roof. At the moment, the roof’s not hot, but the air sure is.

    No mosquitoes, though. Mosquitoes are a bit less active during the dry spells. I think it’s because the flies chase ‘em away. There are always pests in life, are there not?

    This is another summer where the grass turns crispy and the flowers take on a look of wilt. Kay has been trying to save the yard and all the plants. The girl has no idea about the intricacies of our water bill. I pay all the bills, so am well aware that the price of water usage goes up exponentially. Once you reach a given number of gallons, the water bill spikes. We can afford the increase in payment; don’t think we can’t. It’s just that it would take a big bite out of our food budget. I’m sure I have my priorities all askew, but between food and the lawn, I prefer meat with my broccoli.

    Each summer, huge areas of our lawn die. Yet, come spring, it springs back. Thus the name “Spring.” It’s much like fire ants. You can kill ‘em off, but they’ll be back. Back with a vengeance. I’d explain how all of this works, but I’m on the rooftop and away from the Internet. The Internet has given me an image of near smartness.

    A few of us remember the days before computers, word processor programs, and the Internet. It was a horrible time, my friend. And, get this, at the birth of the internet I saw no hope for it. 

    My friend Bob Ezell selected me to be one of several teachers to look for the potential behind a system that could link libraries and governmental institutions. It wasn’t called the Internet, but that’s what it was. Bob chose me because he figured if I could catch on, anyone could. He didn’t tell me that, but, hey, I’m no idiot. Beg pardon?

Anyway, the system had no graphics or sound. All you could do is pull up documents that were printed in a font that was a faded-green and was called “dull data-like depressing” It took minutes to download documents. I thought, “No way!” Well, now it’s a “way.” Big way.

    Back in the 80’s and the first part of the 90’s, I used an electric typewriter and carbon paper to get my articles in the proper form. I had to white-out the same mistake on  four copies that were typed on carbon paper. I’d finish the article around 2:00 a.m. on a school night. I’d run ‘em to the newspaper drop off on my way to school. Once received, someone had to typeset the thing so it could be so it could fit the newspaper format -- I’d research how they did all of that, but I’m on the roof. Remember?

    Back in the day, I spent too much time trying to find out the names of books, authors, actors or brand names of chewing gum. Kay was usually little help with stuff like that. I’d have to call Virginia or Dennis late at night and ask ‘em, “Hey, who sang that song about ‘My little runaway, a run, run, run, run, runaway?’ ” If they didn’t know, I’d have to come up with a song by a singer whose name I did know. It could change the whole article. I was bummed out, I tell you.

    Now, I can find practically anything. Earlier this week, I was trying to figure out who the star was in a particular movie. I asked Kay if she knew the person’s name. She appeared to ignore me; picked up her phone and said, “Okay, Google, I need the cast of ‘Beyond the Poseidon Adventure.’ ” Bingo! There it is.

    One can only imagine how many gammazoid rays zipped through the air and landed on her phone. Pinged off a hundred different towers in a second. Makes no sense to me. None at all. What makes even less sense is the new Pokemon Go game. Can anyone explain that game to me? Anybody?

    I saw a short video clip a few hours ago that showed a car run smack-dab into a parked police car. The driver wasn’t drunk. Claimed he was playing Pokemon Go while driving. This game is taking the country by storm, and I have not a clue. I read the rules off the Internet and still couldn’t figure ‘em out. I promised that, on the next “Hanging with the Hayters Show” (On every Wednesday at noon on irlonestar.com. -- Ba dum, dum.) that Kay and I would have someone explain Pokemon Go to listeners. Now all I have to do is crawl out of my rut and find someone.

Look at this! Just look at it! We’re out of time. I didn’t even get to mention the “plumcot” sample that I tasted at HEB this afternoon. Oh well, another day. Till then, Keep ‘em flyin’! – And, we’re clear!

Okay, everybody, time for some scary stories. And, Jerry, aren’t you glad you’re not seated by the edge of the roof, you big whiner. – All right, Sara first. – “Okay, one night this lady heard a noise coming from the backseat of his car…” (It’s just getting’ good, up here.) – Next time.
end
mark@rooftopwriter.com     

Cargo shorts and visit to D.C.

Wash. DC: We came; We walked; We saw;

We walked some more. Me, with cargo shorts

    If you’re planning a trip anytime soon, I’ve got two words for you that may well keep you from ruining your life. Make a note. Ready? -- “Cargo shorts.”

    Cargo shorts have about a gazillion pockets. I have pockets in my shorts that I don’t even know how to get to. While visiting the Nation’s Capital last week, I had so much stuff in my pockets that I looked like a traveling marble salesman.

    There is one big drawback to multi-pocketed shorts during a visit to D.C., and that comes from the fact that you’ve got to go through dozens of security checkpoints. And each time I had to empty my pockets. What a pain. I had to grab my floss, Chapstick, fingernail clippers, tube of hand sanitizer, bottle of water, snacks… the usual.

    At airports, they just check the metal you’re carrying around. All I had to do was take out my keys and coins and phone. However, at the first inspection at Bush, I had to empty out everything. Turns out my wallet has a thin metallic security shield in it, so people can’t walk by me with a device that can scan my credit cards in my wallet. Some people!

    At the museums, they wanted me to empty everything out of my pockets. Not just metal objects. I discovered that the minute we stood in line to enter the American History Museum. The only problem was that we had just eaten lunch at a sandwich shop, and Kay bought a big cookie to take with her. One of those macadamia nut, white chocolate jobs. Did I mention it was big?

    She wrapped the thing in a few napkins and stuck in her purse. Well, while we’re waiting in line to get into the museum we spy a sign that reads --“No food or drinks beyond this point.” Immediately, Kay takes the big cookie out of her purse and hands it to me. Tells me to hide it in my shorts.

    Truth be told, I don’t want a big cookie in my shorts. I told her so. She assured me that security only wanted to see the metal objects in my pockets. But, her purse would be carefully inspected.  Reluctantly I stuffed the cookie into one of my side-pockets. The bigger one, ‘cause the cookie was really big.

    It was at that moment I realized museum security wanted to see everything in your pockets. Metal objects and everything else. I suppose they don’t want anyone bringing a magic marker in and drawing a moustache on Millard Fillmore’s portrait. He was one of our Presidents, you know? Hey, I saw his picture.

    Anyway, the lady inspected Kay’s purse and waved her through. Then I took out my keys and wallet and change. The lady just stared at me. She was staring at the big cookie bulge in my shorts. She said, “Sir, do you have anything else in your pockets?”

    Caught me. I fished out the giant cookie and told her it was one of those macadamia things with the white chocolate. I was going to tell her that Kay made me carry it for her, but at the last minute decided to be the fall guy.

The lady looked at the cookie, laughed and then told me to move along. She didn’t even confiscate the cookie. I decided to share MY big cookie with Kay when we stopped by the food court in the museum. We drank a $3 bottle of water and split a $5 cookie.

But, forget that. I’ve got to cut right to the fireworks. That’s the real reason I wanted to make the trip. I had never seen a large-scale fireworks display. Now was my chance. Unfortunately, it rained most of the day on The Fourth. By nine in the p.m., a cloud had pretty well settled in on the entire City. Matters not. The fireworks’ display must go on.

And, it did. We went early and found a place on a steep slope near the Washington Monument. We spread a couple of hotel towels on the wet ground and plopped ourselves down. The crowds gathered. People everywhere. All had braved the weather just to experience the fireworks in D.C. When the first rockets went off, we could hear the boom, and we could see the clouds light up in red and blue and white. However, the only clear view of the bombs bursting in air came from the rockets that exploded lower to the ground. Everything else was a haze.

We learned that PBS aired the display, but spliced in some footage of past firework exhibitions in order not to disappoint. What a bust… but not completely.  While sitting on that wedgy-inducing hill waiting for the fireworks, we met some really nice people. It’s the camaraderie that made the experience so worthwhile. We made friends with Ben and Sandy from Rochester, New York. I’m supposed to forward this article to them. I’m sure I got their names wrong.

I don’t have the space to tell you about all the kindness we were shown by so many. We didn’t run into a rude person the whole trip. The mood was infectious. I even became kinder than usual… and I’m usually fairly kind.

On our flight home, Kay and I started rehashing the trip. At one point I shared a stolen thought. Not sure from whom I stole it. I said,  “Sweetpea, what makes America truly great is not the land. It’s the people.” – Kay thinks I got it from from Ma Joad in “Grapes of Wrath.” Well, thanks Ma. – Got to run, but I’ll sprinkle around a few more D.C. stories in the near future. -- Next time.

end
mark@rooftopwriter.com

D.C. planning

Pre-trip -- Kay's making me go

    Can’t we all just slow down? Count the roses and silly stuff like that? Well, maybe you can, but I’m in a rush here. In fact, I’m in such a rush that it’s actually a week later from when I am right now. Rushes can get so confusing.

Seems an opportunity presented itself a few days ago allowing Kay and me to take a trip to Washington D.C.  I could’ve passed on the opportunity. Wait for a more prudent time. Unfortunately, the more prudent time would’ve cost a lot more. Kay is much more impulsive than I. She latched onto this opportunity and dragged me along with her.

So, here I am, talking with you, while Kay finishes up with my packing. I won’t have a chance to write you while in D.C., because we’re not taking a laptop. Not sure why. Our flight is supposed to leave in five hours and I don’t have time to dawdle. Isn’t “dawdle” a cute word?

I never wanted to visit the nation’s capital because it seemed too scary a venture. I’ll probably have to take a cab. Tip a lot of people. Get mugged on the subway. Get lost on the subway and have to spend the night. Get arrested at the Smithsonian for trying on Benjamin Franklin’s bifocals. Stuff like that.

At the moment my biggest fear is missing our flight. I don’t do airports well. I’ve taken at least four trips that required encounters with airports. The last one was horrible. Seems security is a bit more stringent than the other visits. Following the bombings in Istanbul, I imagine they’re going to be worse today.

You know what I need to do? Here’s what I need to do. I need to look on the bright side. I get to go see the Lincoln Memorial, spend a lot of time in the megaplex called The Smithsonian. I’ll get to see the Spirit of St. Louis at the airplane museum and see the actual U.S. Constitution and the Declaration of Independence. Did the Preamble to the Constitution really contain the words “provide for the general welfare”? Was the part about “all men are created equal” actually scratched through on the Declaration of Independence?

I’ll also get to see a bunch of stuff that our founding fathers used to wear and smoke and carry in their pockets. I’ll also get to try on Franklin’s bifocals.

The one thing I’m most excited about is the Fireworks Display on the Fourth. Kay and I will need to take a couple of towels from the hotel and spread them somewhere around the Lincoln Memorial and watch it all. Kay checked the weather forecast and found that there is a 70 percent chance of rain in D.C. on the Fourth. Hey, I may have already made the national news as the guy who cried like a baby when he found out the firework display was cancelled. I’ll do it. You bet I will.   

Speaking of our flight, we have a two-hour layover in Atlanta. It could be longer than that, depending on the lines and the canine unit sniffing around. My bag of cashews will never make it past the carryon search. – “I’d better take this ziplock here, Sir. Can’t be too sure, you know? Whoa! Quit crying. You can have ‘em back, you big baby.”

By the way, in the movies and on TV, you’ll see people jump out of the cab the minute it stops. I never see ‘em pay the cabby. Aren’t you supposed to pay them something? And, if you do, can you use a credit card? The guy who opens the door for you at the hotel, do you have to hand him a buck or two? How much do you tip the lady who drove the bus during the tour of Harpers Ferry? Does Harpers have an apostrophe? So many things to know.

One thing that’s especially been troubling me, is the—Ouch! “Yes, Darling, I’m putting this baby to rest” – I’m sorry, Kay thinks we should’ve left an hour ago. I’ll just cut this short… well, shorter than usual. And, uh, look, unless I get incarcerated or badly hurt, I’ll let you know how all of this comes out – next time. Mommy?

End