Author: halfcnote

Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport.

I love knots.  Always have, don’t know why.  I don’t sail, have never done macrame or looming or anything that really calls for a concentrated effort of knot tying.  They just fascinate me.  I mean, have you ever seen a monkey’s fist? The simplicity, yet elegance of a well done Flemish/eight knot? Brilliant.

Where would Celtic love be without that knot? Or the Windsors? How would you tie down that dang kangaroo?

Tying of knots began long ago.  It started when Homo habilis first tied a rock to a stick or made hide clothing.

Archeologist have found artifacts that are up to 10,000 years old, but the only written reference to knots before the 18th century was found in a medical record.  It references a 4th century physician describing the making of slings, with nine different types of knots.

Don’t get me wrong here I love knots, but I’m sure his patients would rather he had spent his time figuring out an anesthetic rather than how to tie up their arms.

Anyway, the art of knot tying is ancient, but like many old things, very handy to know.

If you’ve ever had to help a friend move and tie down a pickup truck load of stuff, a little knowledge of knots can be really handy, as well as, impressive – especially, and I hate to say it –  if you’re of feminine persuasion. Femmes take note.

There is even an International Guild of Knot Tying! I know geeky.

Knots can be generally put into one of three categories separated by use:

Stopper – knots used at the end of a rope

Hitch – knots used to hitch or tow

Loop- knots used to connect

And like all specialized activities knot tying has its own vocabulary, knotology – if you will.  It’s not quite as complicated as legalese or some government agency, but it takes some getting used to and sometimes makes sense.

The end ofthe rope being used for knotting is the working end.

A bight is any slack section in the middle part of the rope.

The standing part is the main part of the rope, or that section of the rope about which the end is turned to form a knot.

A loop is bight that forms at least half a circle.  Bringing the end parts near each other forms a closed loop; leaving them apart makes an open loop.

When the ends of a loop are crossed, the rope is said to have taken a turn.  If the end is passed over the standing part, it is an overhand turn and if it passed under the standing part, it is an underhand turn.

One last term:  when either end of a turn is put back through the loop, in an over-and-under sequence, the turn becomes a so-called overhand knot, a building block in making other knots. It’s basically the one that all stored string gets itself into whenever left alone.

Got all that?  ‘Cause now we are going to tie a very useful hitch knot.  Rescue workers and law enforcement use this one.  How you use it is your very own business.  It’s called the Handcuff.

You will need a good length of rope about 3 feet will do.  I use clothes line to practice with.

If you think you can’t do this, look down at your feet.  Are your shoes tied? Ye Gads, the Velcro generation!  Do you own a pair of shoes that have laces?  Then you can tie a knot.

The Handcuff Knot:

Form two loops in the middle of the rope.  

Place the right loop over the left loop.

                                              

Pull the left sideof the right loop down through the left loop while pulling the right side of the left loop up through the right loop.  This was the hardest part for me to get.  Just keep trying and the lightbulb blinks on.

                                                                                               

Place the two loops you have created around the victim’s, er, assistant’s wrists. Pull slack out of the knot.

Voila’!  That stuffed dog isn’t going anywhere.

I once tried getting a friend who was a security analyst (as in figuring out how people got things out of secured warehouses, security) to be my assistant, but she wouldn’t have it at all.  Guess she’d seen it in use.

Really, once you get past the image of cheap seafood restaurant decorations knots can be very interesting and possibly helpful. One little knot has aided me greatly in my time management efforts when it comes to ending meetings.

Its called a noose.    

Tarzan and the Art of Communication

Tarzan. The name conjures up a wide variety of images doesn’t it?

My favorite is of Johnny Weissmuller standing on the fabled escarpment in his loincloth.  But this is not about fighting alligators, saving Jane or looking really good in animal skins. No, something entirely different.

While Tarzan is a fictional character (to most), there is no denying he holds true command of the world he lives in and frankly, I admire the way he had to learn the secrets of the jungle world in order to survive.

Millions of words are used every day, but only a portion of them are put together simply and directly enough to get their true meaning across.  Tarzan spoke and was understood.  This could be a lesson for us all.

Tarzan was a man of few words.  Tarzan was a man who didn’t know a whole lot of words.  But he was able to become Lord of the Jungle with the simple vocabulary he possessed before gaining an extensive British education.

How?

He used direct, specific and simple language to rule the jungle he presided

over.  He called it as he saw it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Tarzan always cut right to the chase of the matter.  In his world, there was no time for misdirection or misunderstanding.  When you are wrestling with your despotic, great ape, step-father Kerchak, you can’t take the time to state:

“Please, my elephantine friend would you be so kind as to throw my recently stone sharpened, seven inch dagger in my approximate vicinity?”

Nope.  You’ve got to state it directly, “Tantor, knife!”

You will note that Tarzan is also very specific without being verbose. (A challenge of mine for sure.)

In the novel, Tarzan the Ape Man, there is a note written to the would-be squatter in Tarzan’s house on the beach. (I have p.c.’d it a bit. ERB wasn’t known for his outstanding feminism or race relations.)

“This is the house of Tarzan, killer of beasts.  Do not harm the things which are Tarzan’s.  Tarzan watches.”

The note reveals in no uncertain terms that the house belongs to Tarzan, who will probably kill you if you mess with his stuff.  And to make sure nothing happens, he adds the unveiled threat that he is going to be watching to make sure nothing does!

You can’t get much more specific and direct than that.

The simplicity of Tarzan’s message is self evident.  His language is simple and clear.  He doesn’t overload his audience with extraneous details, be it jungle or urban animal.

If he needs a knife, that’s what he asks for.  If he doesn’t want you on his territory, that’s what he tells you.

Try this – read the statement and then translate it to its most common phrasing.  Answers will be at the bottom.

  1. “May I please have the distinct pleasure of escorting you out to the floor so that we may ambulate in rhythmic time to the melodious sounds emanating from the gathered musicians?”
  2. “Two siblings traversed a local geographic land mass to retrieve a cylindrical container filled with the potable liquid confined within the walls of a manmade, hollow depression located at the apex of said mass.”
  3. “I would like to initiate an invitation for you to join me in entering my personal vehicle of transportation powered by a combustable gasoline engine, so that we may voyage about the general surrounding areas.”

Fun, huh?

So while Tarzan may not inspire you chuck it all and go running amok through the jungle, you do have to admit he was a leader who proved that a direct, specific and simple message is often the best approach in a complicated and competitive world.

He did after all manage to conquer the jungle, lead a nation and get the girl, without wasting time or confusing the issue.

Answers:

  1. “Wanna dance?”
  2. “Jack & Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.”
  3. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Just keep singing

I attended a funeral today.  A friend lost her valiant, last battle against breast cancer.

Jewish funerals are usually pretty cut and dry. The rabbi may say a few words, but for the most part, they follow a certain rhythm of traditional prayers and solemnity.  Family members rarely speak.

Today was different.

Her son sang a psalm to honor his mother that I shall not soon forget.

Alberta was a woman with a voice.  The kind of voice that brings to mind Ethel Merman. It was unmistakable.

Alex recalled his mother’s love of singing with that voice.  But unlike her grandfather, a professional opera singer, Alberta was not bestowed with so much melodic talent.  Nor was she the best at remembering the words to what she sang, be it prayers in service or popular music to her children.

She sang for the joy it brought to her soul. If she could not recall the words, she filled in with la-la’s.  She just kept singing.

Alex said he tried to find the perfect song that would summarize his mother.  And like with many things, inspiration and revelation come from unexpected sources.  Alex found his mother’s song playing in his car by random shuffle.

From Wicked – Defying Gravity:

So if you care to find me

Look to the western sky!

As someone told me lately:

“Ev’ryone deserves the chance to fly!”

And if I’m flying solo

At least I’m flying free

To those who’d ground me

Take a message back from me

Tell them how I am

Defying gravity

I’m flying high

Defying gravity

And soon I’ll match them in renown

And nobody in all of Oz

No Wizard that there is or was

Is ever gonna bring me down!

For all the struggles Alberta faced in her life, this truly was her anthem.  She was a woman who loved her family, community, friends and life. And she kept on singing.

It would do us all good if we just kept singing.

Keep belting them out Alberta. Nothing can bring you down now. Fly free.

Mom’s Face

My Mom has had the same face her entire life.

You know how you can look at someone’s baby pictures and never know they were the same person?  Not my mom.

If you were to take a series of infant images and their corresponding adult images, how many do you think you could match up – infant face to adult face?  I most likely couldn’t match my own or my daughter’s if I wasn’t familiar with them (my son is a different story, but he’s not far enough away from babyhood just yet).

I am grateful that my great grandmother, Mar – she added the ‘r’ so that people would be sure to pronounce her name as Mah, why she thought Ma wouldn’t be sufficient, I don’t know – anyway, I’m grateful that she had a love for and instilled that love of photography in her children.  We have a treasure trove of encapsulated history because of it and that’s how we know that Mom’s face has always been the same.

We have portrait of Mom as a very little girl taken in the 1930’s, where the photographer carefully arranged her seated on a bench holding a wooden toy. Its colourized, Mom’s eyes are not blue and I don’t think her cheeks were ever that pink, but it is definitely her face.

The underlying structure stays the same whether she is plump toddler, skinny girl in a tap dance recital costume, a free spirit on the beach or the grandmother of eight.  Deep set grey-green eyes, with a longish nose and a mouth that shows off her high cheek bones when she smiles. She has one crooked tooth, the right one next to the front teeth, whatever that’s called.  I think it adds to the genuine quality of her smile.

Her adolescent photos often remind me of Anne Frank, but I’m guessing that’s the time frame just as so many kids always seem to look alike.  Her face was surrounded by jet black hair in her youth, now its a beautiful, soft white.

Sometimes the face is stern, sometimes on purpose – ask my younger brother about the time he ran home and hid all the spatulas and wooden spoons – and sometimes not, she’s just deep in thought. Mostly it shows a twinkle that pokes fun at the world. But with any expression, Mom always looks out recognizable to the world.

Either of my brothers, my sister or I would do anything for that face.  Each of us in turn has told her that she should come live with us if anything (turn around three times and spit) should happen to our father. She always replies with, “Don’t worry about it, I’m okay with going in a home.  Just be sure to check on me, a lot.” As if.

Today I celebrate that face, that wonderfully consistent face. Happy Birthday, Mom!

“We turn not older with years, but newer every day.” – Emily Dickinson.

Bravery

I think with age comes a certain amount of bravery.  Not necessarily the kind that will carry one through battle or make one suddenly go bungee jumping, but a kind that allows for a certain new approach to life.  My Mom always said once you reach a certain age, you just don’t give a damn about some things anymore.  I believe I’m reaching that age.

My sister can’t fathom that I am on Facebook.  I am notoriously private and shy.  But I’ve decided in my approaching advanced age, that if I can’t take a few chances then I’m not really in the world.

So, in light of that declaration these last few days before I have to return to work I’ve been doing some writing and daring to publish it on my tiny little blog.

I can’t figure out how to get more than one at at time published on one page, so I’ll leave one up and then change it out in a couple of days.  I’ll also publish friends and family if they will give permission.  So, I bravely ask that you check out the Writings page.

And also check out the photos page, there’s a great image done there!

Wise 3/3

I found lots and lots of stuff on the internet and in my own library about wit, wisdom, knowledge & inspiration. But when it came down to it, I found myself drawn to just two of my favorite quotes about wisdom and the philosophy of life.

“Whatever you are be a good one.”  ~Abraham Lincoln

“Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day.” ~ Harry S Truman

What more do you need?

Awesome.

Wealthy – part 2/3

I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor: Rich is better. — Sophie Tucker

The Money Song (Monty Python) -Eric Idle & John Gould

PRESENTER:
I’ve got ninety thousand pounds in my pyjamas.
I’ve got forty thousand French francs in my fridge.
I’ve got lots of lovely lire.
Now the Deutschmark’s getting dearer,
And my dollar bills would buy the Brooklyn Bridge.

PRESENTER and CHORUS:
There is nothing quite as wonderful as money.
There is nothing quite as beautiful as cash.
Some people say it’s folly,
But I’d rather have the lolly.
With money you can make a splash.

PRESENTER:
There is nothing quite as wonderful as money.

CHORUS:
…Money, money, money, money.

PRESENTER:
There is nothing like a newly minted pound.

CHORUS:
…Money, money, money, money.

PRESENTER and CHORUS:
Everyone must hanker
For the butchness of a banker.
It’s accountancy that makes the world go ’round.

CHORUS:
‘Round, ’round, ’round.

PRESENTER:
You can keep your Marxist ways,
For it’s only just a phase,
For it’s money, money, money makes the world go ’round.

CHORUS:
…Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money, moneeeeey!

Ah, what the hell.  It was better than some pompous rambling about the wealth of life with or without the moolah.

Health, Wealthy & Wise – 3 part rambles

1) Healthy

The plantar fascia is a broad ligament just dorsal to the foot’s subcutaneous fatty tissue. Microtearing, and the body’s attempted repair of it, results in chronic inflammation.  Heel pain with the first few steps in the morning and after a period of rest is the classic symptom of plantar fasciitis. The pain improves with activity but recurs after prolonged weight bearing, often at the end of the day. Usually, the pain is felt in the front and bottom of the heel, but as the definition of “plantar fasciitis” indicates, it can be felt in any portion of the bottom of the foot where the fascia is located. Often, patients report that the pain is predominantly in the heel but radiates to the arch. (The Journal of Musculoskeletal Medicine. Vol. 26 No. 3 April 1, 2009)

When plantar fasciitis symptoms occur in menopausal women, it’s believed to be…compounded by a decrease in the body’s healing capacity. (vibrantnation.com)

Had my one month check up on the foot yesterday.  Doc says looking good this time except for the stiffness of the scar tissue underneath the incision site.  Its preventing me from getting into my shoe just yet.  Put a piece of duct tape tightly across the bottom of your foot just where the ball starts to bend.  Now walk – that’s pretty much what it’s like, but tender, too. I keep thinking I’ve stepped on something that’s stuck to my foot.

This is the best and simplest diagram I could find to give an idea of what went on.  Doc has some great photos of my actual surgery, but I’m a bit chicken to ask if I can have a copy.

The 1st surgery was just a slice across and the ligament grew back together through the scar tissue.

The 2nd surgery entailed taking out a small square of the ligament, which then attached higher up.

The 3rd surgery was a bit experimental, higher on the foot and taking a larger, postage stamp chunk of the ligament out.   This was to try and avoid having to ‘strip’ the ligament where a zigzag incision is made down the length of the foot and the ligament is cut across in various places down the foot..  Not the option I hope we have to resort to.

I also had a cortisone injection in the other foot. Not fun.  He freezes with a spray of ethel chloride, which in itself stings like the devil as the skin temp drops.  I have no fear of needles, but when he hits the internal the spot where my foot is hurting – oh yeah, its bullet biting time.  Of course it didn’t help that my 7 year old kept asking me, “Does it hurt?”.  My inner childishness was thinking just wait until he has his next round of inoculations.

I can only describe the feeling afterward as if I’m walking on something stuffed inside my shoe.  Its definitely different from the novocaine shots the dentist uses to have you drool, not that this caused me to drool – just wince and wish I could let loose with a sailor’s curse.

So, now I look like I’m walking on hot coals trying to baby both feet at the same time. I feel a bit like those old ladies one sees hobbling around WalMart.  Or for those of you who may remember, Festus from Gunsmoke. “I’ll be right over Mr. Dillion.”

I’ve been on disability for this round.  First time I’ve had to deal with the insurance company in this manner. Its a joy.

We have saved the latest message from them on the answering machine.  Think extremely heavy New York accent – “I need to have the paperwork faxed back by the 10th ‘cawse, I’d really don’t want to have to deny this.”  Are the insurance companies now hiring goodfellas?  I’d made sure that the Doc’s office was up on the paperwork!

I get good parking right now, although I’d rather just park next to the cart return.  What good is it to park in handicapped but have to walk all the way back and forth to return your cart?  Parking lot planners did not think well in that area.

I also get to ride in those little motorized scooters in the store.  I’ve finally gotten the hang of driving them.  I can make hairpin turns now.  In the beginning it was a bit like the golf cart scene from Austin Powers.  My partner will walk with me without fear and that’s saying a lot.

That’s about it for this rambling, especially since I have an impatient 7 year old staring me down.  He wants to go to the store with me so that he can drive the scooter.  Whatever it takes, eh?

Next segment will ramble on about the second of Mr. Franklin’s suggestions: Wealthy.  That should be a hoot.

First Lines

Last night before turning in , I was served up a site that challenges one to come up with a story in one line (www.onesentence.org). There are some great ones on there, check it out.

Anyway, this set my mind off on a tangent, as it is wont to do and I got to thinking of the first line, “It was a dark and stormy night…”. Many don’t realize these are the actual words from the 1830 novel Paul Clifford, by Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton.

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents – except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

Baron Lytton also gave us “the unwashed masses” & “the pen is mightier than the sword”, but I digress.

My mind was churning with the now melodramatic language and when I woke in the wee hours of the morning random lines kept popping into my head. I offer but a few here:

Zoos, as a whole, bothered me.

She hated plastic bags.

She smiled as the exhaust choked the pretentious bastard in the convertible
behind her.

The curve of her hips reminded him of the smooth swerve of ice cream carved
out by a spoon.

He was right, I’d never seen one before.

Who knew that an elephant can’t jump?

There is a precipice at the edge of sanity.

It was a childhood dream come true and she wished she could wake up.

And the dish ran away with the moon, what’s up with that?

George continued to stare wondering how on Earth it got there.

Now if I could just get the second sentences going, I might have a chance in The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. (www.bulwer-lytton.com)

Randomness at 50

Simpler times

This is the year I turn 50.  My golden anniversary.

To celebrate, I want to do new things.  Joining the cyber nation of people publishing their unsolicited thoughts & opinions is one thing and here I am for better or worse.

For the most part I want this year to be about having fun. You know that feeling of happiness and fulfillment that lurks somewhere beneath all the stress of family, job & other categories of adulthood?

My partner read recently that the best watermelons get their sweetness from the manure they are fed.  My life is often overcome with the overwhelming stench of manure that piles up around different areas of my life.  This year, I want to find the sweetness underneath the manure, so I want to have fun with this blog and share all the silliness and trivia that can also be life.

Now listen, Pollyanna, I’m not – ask anyone who really knows me, but I do have a good sense of humor and its high time I use it again.

So post one is complete.  Its bare, but complete.  Let the good times roll.