The speed of smart

 

 

Hayter for Feb 26, 2023

“Okay, we’re going somewhere with this.” 

        I’ve been mulling over some deep thoughts this morning. Unfortunately, they won’t stick with me long, so I thought I’d write ‘em down just in case I need ‘em later.

        It started with “orange”. The word entered my noggin without being summoned. What are you supposed to do when something like that happens? Well, instead of trying to figure out why orange appeared, I thought -- Which came first, the name of the color or the name of the fruit?

I know I’m not the first one to ask that question, but the question was new to me. Had the question hit me back during my high school days, there is no telling how long it would’ve taken me to find the answer. This morning it took me 11 seconds to pull up google and type in “which came first “orange the fruit or orange the color?

Before I could count to two – poof! I got the answer as well as an explanation of the answer. -- “Orange the fruit came before orange the color. Orange originated from the Sanskrit word nāraṅga, meaning “orange tree.’ Only later in the 16th century was it used to describe the color.

I’ve always had quite the imagination, but no vision. I never saw the personal computer doing the stuff it can do now. I thought I’d be dead before that much information could be made available in so short of a time. And right here at my house!

Of course, after watching Blade Runner, which was filmed in 1982, depicting life as it might be in 2019, I began thinking that Kay and I might live long enough to be speaking an Asian language and have a home that hovered 500 feet off the ground.

There have been right at a zillion advances in science and technology during my time on this planet. At the moment, I view the most valuable advancement to be in the amount of accessible information and the speed at which we can obtain it.  

During my stint at Sam Houston University, I took about 114 classes and had to complete about 1026 research papers. (The numbers are merely a guess.) Eighty percent of my time at Sam Houston was spent in the college library looking for info on the topic of the day. I learned more about how to use the library than I did from skimming all the information I located.

Go forward a few years, and I’m teaching at Oak Ridge, where I was invited to take part in a project involving the gathering of information from universities, Public and Private libraries, and a few other places that had info to share. The information was delivered over telephone lines to what, by today’s standards, would be an ancient computer linked to a landline telephone.  

The process required me to use computer language to locate info.  I’m dumb as dirt when it comes to technology. I’m fairly sure that’s why my friend Bob Ezell chose me. Bob is among the best teachers and communicators I’ve ever known. And he’s sharp as a tack. You see, I believe his logic in choosing me was, “If Hayter can do this, anybody can.”

  I’m sure we all know that Hayter isn’t just anybody. I failed miserably at the job of finding information that would help me in teaching. In preparing lesson plans, it took me hours to come up with a partial plan for a one-hour class. I had less trouble finding information in the Sam Houston Library than I did in using the early stages of the Internet. Bob would’ve been better off had he asked a student to take my place in the program.   

That was 30-plus years ago. Now the Internet is EZ PZ, and you find more stuff as fast as all get out. How can you possibly improve on something like that? The answer is “Wi-fi”.  While the early Internet required phone lines, WiFi can connect your computer or television to towers as well as satellites. The information is sent from towers to satellite(s) 20,000 miles up. The information is beamed down in a computer language to any place that a magic code sends it. All of this happens in nano-seconds.

Tell you what, I’m going to use my computer to see if there is a Pizza Hut in Peru. – Excuse me a second. – (11 seconds later) There are two Pizza Huts in Lima, Peru. And, I could place an order for a large thin-crust Pepperoni to be delivered to a friend in Lima, if I had one.

You wanna know what can really mess with your mind? -- Pretend you do. --

In 1969, A Saturn 5 rocket shot three astronauts to the moon. Two of them set foot on the surface, while the third kept orbiting the moon until the other two left the surface and returned to the space capsule. Two days later the Apollo 11 capsule fell into the Pacific at a place previously mapped out. – And all of that was done through the use of slide rules.

        While in high school I had no idea how a slide rule functioned. Hundreds of numbers and markings on three pieces of wood, when aligned perfectly, could tell you something. Once I could add, subtract, multiply, divide, and calculate the sine and cosine of stuff using a slide rule. I never had any idea how a sliding stick managed to do all of that. Nor do I know what a sine or cosine is.

        The point is, after high school, college, and teaching I researched enough material to get by on. Now I’m retired, and I have the time and ability to learn more than I ever knew in all my previous years on the planet. 

If you ask me, it’s time I (we) take advantage of the ease of learning. So much stuff out there that’s just waiting to bounce around in space until it reaches your house. I will continue with that thought later. At the moment, I feel the need for a thin-crust pepperoni pizza. Extra sauce. – Next time. 

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com

A backward peek.

Hayter for Feb 19, 2023

“Feel free to burn after reading”

        Have you ever read the book “Burn After Writing”? I haven’t either. The book was a gift from my nephew Clint, who is the son of my kid brother, Big Al. Clint looked at the title of the book and all of the blank pages and thought it would be perfect for me. A thoughtful man, my nephew.

        “Burn After Writing” was contrived by Sharon Jones. What Ms. Jones has created is a book of personal questions that the holder of the book is supposed to answer. It’s one of few books that you’re encouraged to write in.

 Since the questions do not follow any particular order, the book is more of a non-sequential diary. The four chapters in the burn book are The Past, The Present, The Future, and My Legacy. I can’t see myself getting through The Past.

 In the intro to the first chapter, Sharon J writes: “Maybe you can’t change the past, but the way you remember it is never the same twice. Every time we remember something, we relive it from a different camera angle. We always reinvent our history to suit the present need. Now let’s do the opposite. Try to find new storylines in the fragments of your own history that will recreate your relationship to the present. Only you know what they are.”

         Her suggestion is going to make this harder than I’d like it to be. Regardless, let’s turn the page. – We’ve got seven questions here. I’ll be lucky if I cover three.  Each question is short and leaves plenty of room for me to write my response.

#1) “My earliest memory”: It was of my big brother Dennis and me playing outside in our dirty shorts (occasionally underwear) waiting for the school bus to let off our sister Lynda and brother Larry. They were both in junior high, and were the only ones who got dropped off on the unpaved portion of Spencer Road in Pasadena.

        As soon as she stepped off the bus, Lynda would divide her books up and ask Dennis and me if we would mind carrying them home for her. She knew that’s why we always waited for the bus, but she made us feel important by asking us for help.

Larry had Daddy’s old lunch kit and a book or two, but he didn’t trust his two dirt-faced brothers with anything. The attitude was “You’re embarrassing me.” Even back then, I could understand his reasoning.

        I’ve mentioned before about Lynda passing away in the Alzheimer wing of an old hospital in Harris County. Near the end of her life’s journey, she didn’t know anyone, but she still managed to smile when we came to visit. I remember telling you about the time when Lynda could no longer talk or smile She would just lay in bed and stare. During my last visit, I sat on the floor next to her bed and started singing “Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is calling—“ At that point, Lynda sang, “Calling for you and for me.” -- I cried like a child.

        That is a blessed memory, and recalling it always hurts like all get out. So, let’s look at another question.

#2 “As a child, I dreamed of becoming…:” That’s easy. I wanted to be the Lone Ranger, but  I couldn’t because Dennis had already called dubs. So I’d have to be Tonto, who as an Indian got little respect and very few lines. -- Kimosabe, my rear.

# 3 “When I look into the past, what do I miss the most?”: That’s a tough one. It’s either “Soupy Sales” or Daddy taking us to the drive-in theatre. Soupy Sales was the best thing on TV, but going to the drive-in was the best family outing. Mom would pop a grocery bag full of popcorn, and make a jug of Koo-lade. There were four of us in the backseat munching on popcorn and drinking bad punch. The car would always need a thorough cleanup after visiting the drivein.

When the eats were gone, we’d run to the front of the building where the projector shot the ray of film onto the screen. When we weren’t running around, we’d actually watch the movie, too

# 4 “My childhood described in one word”:  Scary

        # 5 “Posters I had on the wall growing up”: None.

        # 6 “The single most profound act of kindness that I will never forget”: I have been blessed with several, but here’s the first one that came to mind. In 1970, I graduated from SFA with a degree in Forestry. I had been working for the Texas Forest Service in District 6 as a forester.

        Unfortunately, working as a forester for two years, I discovered that I really didn’t enjoy the job. I was just not the outdoors-man I hoped to be. So, with Kay’s support, I decided to quit my job and go back to college for a MA Degree that would allow me to teach any subject that falls under the umbrella of Social Studies.

        All the while, I had my doubts about going back to school. What if I started teaching, and found out I didn’t like it. Would I quit, just like I did the Forest Service?

        Well, one weekend Kay and I drove down to Pasadena from Huntsville to see the family. Shortly after we arrived Dad told me he wanted to show me something out in the garage. It turns out, he had made me a desk out of a couple of hollow-core closet doors and some particle board. It was the nicest desk I’d ever seen. More than that, it was Dad’s way of blessing me for deciding to be a teacher.

        When I retired from teaching, I decided to give Dad’s desk to my nephew Clint, who gave me the “Burn After Writing” book. He not only gifted me the book, but he also gave me an ending for the article. – Now I’ve only got 124 pages to go.

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com

 

Killer bed

 

Hayter for Feb 12, 2023

Attack of the King Size Bed”

        I have gotten myself into some really tight places, but nothing like last night. While trying to repair the motor on our adjustable twin king-size bed, I ended up sideways on the floor between the headboard and the box springs. I didn’t even know it was possible.

        My awkward wedged position apparently didn’t look all that frightening to Kay. She was checking on my progress by standing by the side of the bed, asking, “Darling, do you want me to try the remote control now?”

        My situation started with the remote control. After 12 years of operating perfectly, the bed-frame refused to follow the orders from the remote. The batteries were practically new, but the head of the bed refused to budge.

        Being the eager one, Kay was all ready for the head part of the mattress to start going up. Had it, I could have been severed from sternum to gall bladder. All the while, my shoulder was pressing against the floor and my right jaw was being dislocated by my elbow.  

        What to do? I could ask Kay to get Michael, our next-door neighbor who is good with computers. I thought someone technical would be just the person I needed. Or, perhaps Kay could call 911 and tell them that her husband needed one of those jaws-of-life things.”

        Both scenarios came with a price. -- Embarrassment. -- I assure you that Michael would laugh his rear off before trying to help. The jaws of death guy would first take a picture of me, and give the excuse,  “Sir, the photo will help me write my report.”

        I seldom ask for help until I’ve considered all other options. Kay is much smarter than I am, but it takes her too long to plan things. It takes me two seconds, tops. So, what could I possibly do to a bed that had me wedged between the headboard and box springs? Where are Laurel and Hardy when you need them?

The bed that tried to kill me was the second bed Kay and I ever bought. Our first bed was Kay’s bed. After marriage, we hauled it to our unfurnished apartment. I told Uncle Ray that the bed came with his daughter. His response was, “Hey, how about taking Tracy too?” I loved my father-in-law.  

Kay and I slept on her bed for a couple of decades before moving it to the guest room of our next house. We swapped it out with a brand new Queen Size bed. And mattress. Our first new mattress! A great bed, the Queen. Right now it’s in our guest room. So, if you ever have to spend the night, it’s the bed you’ll be sleeping on. Fortunately, we were very careful with our mattresses. Kept it clean and cootie-proof. We didn’t want to freak out any overnight visitors. Not all of ‘em, anyway.

It was 12 years ago when we bought the adjustable bed that tried to kill me. While I hope to die in that bed, I didn’t want to die because of the bed. Who would?

By the way, we gave Kay’s old bed away. I don’t remember who the recipient was. That’s the way I prefer it. Whoever it was, likely gave it to someone else who is sleeping on a 65-year-old mattress. A good mattress will last that long if not abused. It seems I read that somewhere.

        While all of this has been fascinating stuff, let’s go back to me being trapped in the fearful under-workings of the giant bed. All I was trying to do was to check the doohickies that make the bed frame raise and lower. Perhaps there was a loose wire or a throw switch. Shirly, no one would think to put an emergency switch on the bottom of the bed frame. I mean “Surely

        The only thing working in my favor during the horrible ordeal was the fact that Kay had dust mopped the floor beneath the bed before I got wedged. Other than that it was “Death on the Tile”… I mean Vinyl Plank.

        How long was I trapped? I don’t know, during tragedy, time doesn’t flow normally. What I remember was Kay asking if I wanted any popcorn. I said, “Thanks, darling, but I fear I’ll make a mess down here.”

        Eventually, after discounting every escape scenario I said a prayer. “Father, please don’t let it end like this. When my time comes, let me be either while I’m sleeping or saving someone in a bad situation in a place easy to get to.” I’ve always believed that if God didn’t have a sense of humor, He would’ve dismissed me long ago.

        In answer to my prayer, I was able to locate my left foot, a fete that helped me find my right. It was just like they belonged together. As soon as both walking appendages were in place, I thought it a good time to stand and extract myself from the non-adjustable behemoth. Then with all my strength I gave a mighty tug, then Kay yelled out, “Don’t mess up the rug!” (To be read to the tune of Big John)

        I’ll never know how I came out of that trap with my nose in place. In fact, I wasn’t all that messed up. The bed? Well, it’s pretty much in the same location. Kay asked me if I was ready to call the adjustable bed repair-person.

        I said, “No, sweet pea, it’s your turn. You always do better on the really tough jobs. – Before I put this episode to sleep, let me ask that you email me if you know a reclining bed repairman. I’ll give the info to Kay. She’ll know what to do with it. – That’s it. Move along people. Nothing to see here. Until next time.

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com