Thought for the Day: I Remember

The look you get from a child should remind you when you tell him, 

"Wait until tomorrow."

Thought for the Day: What Are You Thinking?

It doesn't matter near as much what others think of you as what you think of yourself. I mean respect not pride. In the long run you teach people how to treat you.

Herb Ratliff

Can You Bake A Cherry Pie?

Thought for the Day

I don't have a lot of stories I can relate which describe activities I did with my father. There just weren't that many. He worked a lot. There was not a lot of time available for us to have one on one activities.  There were some though and they were a bit like caviar: an acquired taste.

One such event happened on a rare occasion when my mother and sister left the house together for some activity I cannot name. All I can remember is that dad and I struggled with the "what to do" monkey until making a cherry pie emerged as the winning topic of the day. It was during this father - son work project I found my natural talent to instruct others. My dad was relatively unfamiliar with the kitchen. He knew the general process but the specifics were a bit daunting. That's where I came in.

I cannot accurately give you my age at the time of this endeavor. I can give you a range of somewhere between five and seven. Even then, I was very sure of myself - right or wrong. Cherry pies, actually any pies, were made from scratch which includes the crust. There may have been some kind of mix available for the crust but I seriously doubt we had any in our house. Mother was a purist when it came to baking.

My first job was to locate the Crisco, flour, salt and sugar for the crust. Butter was not an option. Then I had to show dad where the bowls were. There was a certain bowl mother used to make the crust. That was the only bowl that would do. This was the first indication to my father that I might be a bit anal, but it was just the beginning. Then I had to locate the pie plate, cherries and tools for the preparation of the ingredients.

We made the crust without much difficulty. While my motor skills and attention to detail had not fully developed my enthusiasm for what I did know was in full bloom. And so we prepared the crust, the cherries, turned on the oven and began rolling out the crust. My pop was not a detail guy in the kitchen. I was. The crust had to be done properly. The shape, turning it over, the absence of unwanted fissures, and texture had to pass the scrupulous examination of the the pastry chef. That was me. We had to roll and re-roll the crust a number of times. When it was placed in the pie tin it had to have the exact measure of excess to allow for sealing the top and bottom layers together.

When we had finally placed the bottom layer of crust in the bottom we added the ingredients and rolled out the top layer. This time it was done properly on the first roll-out. The pastry chef was pleased but not for long. The next action was to place the top crust on the pie and flute the edges.  Dad placed the upper crust on the pie and pressed the edges against the pie tin to remove the excess crust. Then, he took a fork to place a designed edge on the seam. I lost it. That wasn't right. Stop! Stop! This is wrong!

That caught my sire a little off guard. What's wrong, he asked me. What's wrong, I said. That is not how you fix the edges. That's what is wrong. I did not know the word "flute" so I tried my best to show him but I couldn't do it right. I was making a mess of the edges and that made me crazy. I was pushing my father, a man with little patience, to the edge of his understanding.

In the end, he did the best he could with the fluting. The pie was a highlight at dinner. Everyone was amazed that we had accomplished such a feat and dad was very complimentary about my part in the preparation of the cherry pie. What is a bit sad is that is the only thing I can remember he and I doing together. But as I look back at the pie baking memory it reminds me of a few things that I could not have any other way. And when you are looking for something to hang on to as life changes from one scene to another, it's nice to have a solid memory of the people who are important to you, even if your life and the people in it are imperfect.

©Herb Ratliff, September 5, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Nothing but the Truth

I've been trying to remember the earliest event in my life that I can recall in some detail. Most memories of early childhood are more akin to a panel or two from a Sunday Cartoon page. Not because they are funny or a vehicle for satire but because there simply isn’t enough trapped information to give it a beginning, a middle and an end. The other difficult part of such memories is memory.

I have been writing stories about my life for about nine months now. They have not been based on any chronological order just what I remember. In one such story about my father, my sister, Jo Ann told me the information in my story was incorrect. That has to be true because her story didn’t have the same details as mine but as far as I am concerned it’s her story that is wrong. And I know that is true because I have the memories to substantiate it.

So what, exactly, is a memory of a childhood event if not a combination of history, belief and idealization mixed with a little fantasy? The truth is what is in your head. It isn’t as if you are knowingly reorganizing or manufacturing data to misrepresent an historical fact. The story my sister took exception to was as clear to her as my recollection was to me. The big difference in that particular incident was two other sisters who agreed with her memory of the story. I’ve always felt like an outsider, who wouldn’t as the only male among five sisters?

I read an article once that described what happens in memories. What I recall is this: When an incident occurs we almost immediately lose a large percentage of the details of the event. A large percentage of those lost details are gone forever. The parts that are most important remain in our more immediate memory and are retrievable but not necessarily accurate. Then there is the matter of the connecting material.

What happens is the brain realizes the story has to flow. If part of the story is missing the flow is interrupted. The brain doesn’t like interruptions or premature ends to its stories so it fills in the missing information with plausible or preferred flow material. That changes the story but might even make it a better one. We may like that story better than the real one so that becomes the story. See?

You are a human being with a brain that does what it wants sometimes. That does not make you a prevaricator or inaccurate purveyor of historical events. It makes you an extemporaneous historical information creator who smoothes out the potholes of failing memory. It just works better if you can avoid people who were at the same places you were when the events happened.

In no way is it my intention to appear critical of my sister(s), I’m only interested in enlightening my readers with relevant information about these stories I tell. I applaud their interest in the accuracy of my meanderings. I just beg their indulgence and yours when there appears to be a discrepancy in the facts. I would never deceive you dear reader, never.

Herb Ratliff, August 29, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Hoxeyville

Thought For The Day

The first time I ever went trout fishing was with Doug Jensen and Fred Doerr, friends from my church. So when Doug suggested the trip to me I simply told my parents who I'd be going with and it was an automatic OK. My parents were not big on authorizing trips out of town.

I grew up in Saginaw, Michigan, a town built on the back of Michigan's forests. When the area had been stripped of it's trees a new kind of industry was taking shape. General Motors foundries and steering gear manufacturing facilities were beginning to spread across the landscape. But, that's another story. Michigan was a natural wonderland for hunting and fishing. Just an hour or two north of Saginaw there were forests, lakes and rivers in abundance. That's where we were headed.

Fishing had not been a big part of my life. I had done a little fishing at Boy Scout camping outings but that was either from a boat or a dock. What Doug was offering was wading in the stream and fishing. That sounded interesting. It also sounded strange. My parents were deathly afraid of water. I never saw them swim, ride in a boat or dangle their feet in the water. If any of their children got near the water they panicked. That had made natural water sources an unknown to me. I took swimming classes at the YMCA but that was entirely different. I began building danger into the adventure.

Doug explained the fundamentals of trout fishing to me. He said we would use spinning rods, split shot and hooks. Our bait would be night crawlers. To fill out our equipment package we needed old tennis shoes. They would protect our feet while we waded. He said that trout had a soft mouth. I had no idea what that meant but he explained the process to me. It basically meant we should not jerk hard on the line if we got a bite. If we did we would likely pull the hook out of the trouts mouth and injure the fish.

I asked Doug where we were going. He said we'd head up toward Cadillac and look for a good place near there.There were lots of streams in the area. At that particular time in Michigan many people had cottages in the north country. Many of them were small, primitive buildings. That offered only minimal sanctuary, but a chance to be in a natural setting before returning to the factories. that made it possible for them to afford a home away from home. Cadillac was an area with a lot of these cottages.

Doug said we would find an area that had a river by watching the terrain. When we saw a valley, we knew there would be water at the bottom of the slope. We'd look at the area and decide it it were primitive enough for us to set up camp and do some fishing.

It might help if I told you a little bit about Doug and Fred. If I don't you won't believe a word I say.  And, believe me what I am about to tell you could test our relationship. But I promise, it really did happen this way. I'll tell you about Fred tomorrow.

©Herb Ratliff, July 16, 2012, All Rights Reserved 

While You Were Out: Part II

Thought For The Day

From yesterday: While You Were Out


On a fourth of July weekend somewhere around their child's third year I invited them over for a cookout. As fate would have it the event we speak of was just after the Berber carpet was installed.  In planning the event I gave no consideration to child care. Since it was a cookout, hot dogs and hamburgers seemed the logical choice along with cold slaw, potato salad and baked beans, finished off with chocolate cake and ice cream.

This is going to take a little longer than I thought. Stop by tomorrow for the rest of the story.

Part II

When my friends arrived I was almost surprised to see their daughter. I was not accustomed to being around people with small children. She was a lovely child, pretty and charming but then she started exploring. A three year old in an adult males apartment is not a pretty sight. Everything needed to be picked up and put in a holding area until the tiny explorer left.

This is when my obsessive nature began to rear it's ugly head. I began thinking about the food. How could I manage cooking, serving and controlling a three year old with baked beans, chocolate, ketchup and mustard on a paper plate? I knew the guests would not be concerned about my cream Berber carpet. I could see the ketchup on it, being ground into the fibers with grubby little hands. Damn! What could I do?

Seems like something else was happening of interest, maybe Wimbledon. Anyway, there was something being watched on tv and people were wandering around inside and out chatting, munching exploring. I was preparing the hot dogs and hamburgers while obsessing over the carpet and ketchup.

When the burgers and hot dogs were finished I placed them on a buffet table along with condiments and accessory dishes. I invited people to help themselves to food and went back into the kitchen to take a quick inventory of what was out and what would come out later. Then, she caught my eye. The little person was getting her own food. Damn! I rushed over to help her. She didn't require any assistance. (I think that's the adult version of: "No! Me get.") I was hovering over her with fear and trepidation and wondered why her parents were so calm and relaxed. I needed a quart of Maalox.

To my absolute amazement. She got her food, accessorized it, ate it and put her plate in the waste basket without a crumb hitting the floor. (I , on the other hand, had developed a bleeding ulcer.)

When folks left I sat on the patio for a bit and then went to the pool and took a swim. I didn't realize how tired I was until I woke up from an hour long nap. When I awoke I was starved. It was then I realized I had not eaten. I was seriously hungery.

I went back to the house and fixed myself a couple of hot dogs, slathered with onions, ketchup, et al, loaded my plate with potato salad, cold slaw and baked beans; threw on a couple of brownies and headed for the TV room to watch some more tennis. As I hustled through the living room I stumbled when the plate started to give way under the weight of the meal atop it. Only then, in painfully slow motion, did I see what all of those things that I worried about a three year old spilling, could do to a new, cream colored, Berber carpet.

So, if it gets in your head and you start focusing on it, it will happen; just not necessarily in exactly the same way you think it.

©Herb Ratliff, July 3, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Communication

Thought For The Day

Communication in a nutshell:

I can explain it to you, but I cannot understand it for you.

Herb Ratliff, June 13, 2012, All Rights Reserved

I'm going to......

Thought For The Day

One of the more difficult concepts to integrate into daily life is how important it is to manage your thoughts.

What you believe is not nearly as powerful as what you think. I know, you don't agree with that on the surface but let's take a look at the bottom line. Let's look at what you do and what precedes what you do. Yep, what you think.

Let's take a walk together. As we walk down the street or path or sidewalk lot's of things start rolling past the monitor between our ears. Maybe what happened last night, that could be a good thing or a bad thing and that will influence how you feel and if it's good you may start skipping. OK, you'd have to feel exceptionally good to skip but you get the idea. If you did something bad or hurtful then your steps might be heavy or slow and you might plod along the way.

Whatever mood prevails gets to pick the things you think about. So, if you're happy and skipping you might fancy yourself a ballet dancer, or a decathlete in competition for the Olympic gold metal. You will be focused, alert, positive and you will believe that your actions will be beautiful, winning and inspirational. And, guess what? They will be, in a relative sense.

If you watch Tiger Woods play golf and frankly, this is why so many people do, you can almost see his belief in his skill and his intent. So when he makes the sixty foot put to win the Masters, you find yourself captured in the moment because you believed it too.

This is a dangerous skill. It works no matter what you think.

I know you can't help what you think every moment of every day, we are human. But here is what you can do. You can believe that you own your thoughts and that they answer to you. So if they get out of line, you have a short meeting with them and explain that you prefer looking at the bright side and pulling for the good in life. It doesn't always work, but it does a lot of the time and as I practice I have noted that I don't have to stay in a bad place. I can think my way out of it the same way I thought myself into it.

Finally, look at it this way. You are going to think yourself into the next thing you do. Why not make it a force for good. It is for you

©Herb Ratliff, June 4, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Paying Attention, Really

Thought For The Day

Sometimes what is really amazing is how little attention we pay to things that are truly amazing.

When I worked in the financial field of computer technology and development there were many things that were done by both hardware and software engineers which were literally changing the world. It was sometimes hard to comprehend how these ideas could be conceived, let alone produced and made available for use in the home and office.

Consider how it would have sounded to Thomas Edison if you had suggested that you had created a language which if used properly would allow you to talk to a machine. Further, you would be able to tell the machine to follow a variety of different instructions if and only if you could create a machine which could read instructions which were essentially a series of electrical impulses which did nothing more than say open or close.

That would be amazing, right?  OK, it's a little difficult to compare yesterday's world with today's. But that is, in a nutshell what the early computers did. They read one's and zero's as yes and no, or open and close. What made it all work was the exceptional speed at which the processor was able to read these instructions. By the way, those speeds today are snail like.

I am fairly certain that people who don't even care about computers would be willing to agree that they are exceptional tools. So let me get to the point of this thought, paying attention to amazing things which came to me as I was thinking about all the flying I did when I was working in that field.

One day I was sitting on a plane bound for California from from Michigan. The early instruction sets had been offered by the flight attendants, preparations were being made for beverage service and I was settling in with a book when the captain in a smooth, confident voice began to give us a bit of a trip tic for our journey. He began by saying that we would be cruising at an altitude of     35,000 feet. (That's a little over six and a half miles above the ground, I thought.)

Hmm, I murmured, that's about how far it was from my childhood home to the High School I graduated from. He then said, "We'll be traveling at about 550 miles per hour." That's when I pulled out my calculator. After a bit of figuring, eye brow raising and reconfirmation I discovered that in understandable terms that meant that we were moving in a straight line at the rate of  807 feet or a little over two and a half football fields a second.

That, is amazing, wouldn't you agree?

©Herb Ratliff, June 1, 2012, All Rights Reserved

It's My Brain

Like the sound of snow falling,

or the sound of the sun rising,

the thunder of your silence

overwhelms

this empty room.

I read an article about stress reactions of the brain. One of the aspects discussed was how people tend to see things in slow motion. Well, they think they see things in slow motion. What actually happens, according to the article, is the brain is so focused, it works like a slow motion camera and takes many more frames per second than it does during normal brain activity. So, you see each frame in real time and that slows the action down because there are so many more pictures of the action that took place. Not only that but it turns out that many of your other sensory perceptions are in an altered state. Hearing decreases in favor of visual acuity.

Things are not always what they seem. Think of yourself as you were when you were forty, then look in the mirror. If you are forty one this is not a big deal, for some of the others of us this is a very big deal, over or under. 

I like to think of myself as a good communicator but when I explain things to my children or grandchildren they 

just look at me with a face that can only be described as "in pain". Surely there must be something I am good at.

That is where Charley, my dog enters the conversation. He thinks I am great. He has convinced me of it. Everything I do suits him just fine. Well, some of the things could be a little faster.

This is the season of dreams. It is for me anyway. I can still get that feeling I did when I was a kid that something magical is going to happen any time now. It really is, and everything is going to be OK.

Herb Ratliff, December 1, 2011, All Rights Reserved.