Thought for the Day: Help

Remember what she says:

In the event of a decompression, an oxygen mask will automatically appear in front of you. To start the flow of oxygen, pull the mask towards you. Place it firmly over your nose and mouth, secure the elastic band behind your head, and breathe normally. Although the bag does not inflate, oxygen is flowing to the mask. If you are travelling with a child or someone who requires assistance, secure your mask on first, and then assist the other person.

It's always a good idea to make sure you have prepared yourself before you try to help others.

Herb Ratliff

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

Thought for the Day: Work Tracks

Choose the advice you follow carefully.

There are no calluses on the hands of self appointed experts.

©Herb Ratliff

Thought for the Day

It was Sisyphus who brought us rock and roll.
And Narcissus found the pool in which beauty doth extol.
But neither could deliver
Cupids missile from his quiver
So love, was sadly eaten by a troll.

©Herb Ratliff - All Rights Reserved

But Echo loved Art Deco

Part III - This is Your Captain Speaking - Camelot, Richard Burton and...

Part III

 Conclusion of: This is Your Captain Speaking

For unexpected behavior nothing rivals people. I have always been an avid observer of animals. I have also read a number of books about animal behavior. Desmond Morris wrote a fascinating book called The Human Zoo. In the book he describes characteristics of chimps in a social grouping. It presents a very convincing case for their behavior mirroring our own or more likely the other way round.

I could scarcely believe what had just happened between the Australian woman and her friends.  I could find no reason why she would start an altercation among her friends without provocation. However, there was a chapter in Morris’s book that did just that. Whatever the reason, it had no bearing on my plans for the evening. I certainly couldn’t do anything about it and as it turned out I had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and get ready for the theater.

There is a great little restaurant downstairs from the lobby of the hotel called Vienna Coffee House. It’s a great place for any meal but I found myself there for breakfast and dinner on a pretty regular schedule. The wait staff was very well schooled in the service ethic. They made you feel at home and were quick without hurrying.  There was a predictable clientele that frequented the rooms and we all showed up about the same time for our evening meal. It was one of those natural harmonies that formed without being planned.

When I arrived on most occasions there was a man with snow white hair and a navy blue uniform of some kind that implied sailing. I later learned that his wife lived in Hong Kong and he resided here as the Executive Director of the Pacific-Union Club. At the time of the event I am recalling I did not know his name or his calling. That would come later. Another man, quite elderly would also be present and seated along with his Scottish terrier. I had met him and his companion. He lived at the hotel in a penthouse apartment, the only apartment. His name was I. Magnin. Yep, that’s the one.

If the schedule was in its natural flow the next arrival would be a woman with long dark hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. She was then and has remained a complete mystery even though we nodded to each other many times over the course of my stays at the hotel. She only attended for dinner.

Finally, always in quick step with perfect posture, impeccable dress and a courteous yet clipped pattern of speech Mr. David Thorn, General Manager of the hotel would arrive. He would sit at the very end of the coffee counter and order claret in a bulbous stemmed glass. That would be followed with his order for a New York Strip Steak, medium rare and baked potato. The salad required no comment from him. That must have been memorized.

Not this particular evening but once while in that harmonic pattern I had been waiting without the usual quick and courteous service from the wait staff. When Mr. Thorn made his entrance and sat down, but before he ordered, I interrupted the silence with, “Now that Mr. Thorn has arrived perhaps we can begin.” The comment was followed by a remarkably loud silence that seemed to extend beyond reason. Everyone was looking straight at me with a look of utter despair except Mr. Thorn. His eyes were trained upon mine but he was completely unruffled. Then, he broke easily into an unrestrained belly laugh. “My apologies for being tardy,” he said and the entire room joined in a chorus of laughter. From that moment on we all had a connection that was quite unique.

But, I digress, back to the night of the story at hand. I had a quick and simple meal, returned to my room and dressed for the theater. It would be the Orpheum tonight, a beautiful venue for one of my favorite plays, Camelot. I asked the doorman to order a cab and went to the theater.

The theater was clearly sold out. The magic of a gifted concierge is not to be trifled with. I looked at my tickets for the first time. I had not been in the theater before so I ask for assistance. My seat was in the orchestra section, fourth row and dead center, beautiful. This was Burton's last performance in Camelot. And, for my money, he was the only actor who could do justice to the role. It was time for things to change for the better. I was a bit early so people were still finding their seats but my location caused no impedance to anyone. I simply sat back and enjoyed a little people watching. I had the best seat in town.

It took only a short while to fill the seats. It was nearly time for the curtains to open when I noticed the empty seat on my right. That’s odd, I thought. That must be the only empty seat in the house, one seat?  Oh well, doesn’t matter. The lights began to dim when I heard a disturbance. From back by the doorways to the auditorium a latecomer was making a fuss about something. They were coming down toward the Orchestra section. I turned to see what was happening and there at the intersection of the aisle and the fourth row, just as the lights went down and the curtain was drawing open stood the woman from Australia. I was reduced to a state of complete emptiness and utter consternation.

There is a feeling that goes with realizing you are inextricably conjoined to your fate and it is not a good one. I didn’t want to leave, I wanted her to evaporate and leave me alone. Then I started thinking of disguises. Logic disappears in the face of abject terror. Short of putting my overcoat on my head I could come up with nothing. Ignore her. Yes, I would ignore her.

She did not display even the tiniest amount of grace as she stumbled into the center of the fourth row. The overture was playing and the stage was set for the opening scene. She nudged me. I ignored her. She pushed me and began to apologize loudly. With as much distance as I could muster I assured her that her apology was unnecessary. I remained fixed on the stage. She remained fixed on me and her apology. I finally turned to her and looked directly into her eyes. I told her that I accepted her apology, thanked her and reminded her of the play that had begun. I explained that I wanted to focus on the stage and urged her to do the same. She continued to talk to me. I turned the temperature of my right shoulder down to its lowest setting and refused to allow her to see that I was disturbed. She began to cry. She didn’t just whimper and sniffle, she cried out loud with large gasps, snorts and moans. I remained in a state of frozen stoicism. I tried desperately to ignore the woman and engage with the play. It wasn’t working. The assault on my mind, my spirit and my body continued until intermission.

When the lights came up I turned away from the woman and headed in the opposite direction I expected her to travel. When I got to the lobby I discovered that she had either stayed in her seat or gone the other way. She was no where to be seen. I went outside and smoked four cigarettes all at once. OK, that’s not quite true but you get my meaning. As the nicotine began to calm my body and mind I was able to relax a bit and gather myself. That was not good because then I started worrying about the second half of the program. Should I just bag the whole thing and go back to the hotel? Why should I be the one punished? No, I would go back but if she so much as looked at me I would report her to security. So, it was settled. The lobby lights flashed signaling us to return to our seats. I took a deep breath and began walking toward my seat.

My heart was beating slightly faster than normal as I contemplated my fate. When I got to my row the Australian woman was no where in sight. There was still a little time before opening curtain so I settled into my seat. There was an unnatural interest in me by the patrons surrounding my seat. At first I nodded and smiled. Then, realizing they were not acknowledging me because of my wit and charm, but because they too were worried about the remainder of the play, I pulled within myself and pretended to be very interested in my program. The lights dimmed, the curtain opened and the music began. It was time to lose myself in the play and so I did.

She didn’t return to her seat. And while I did suffer some angst waiting for her to show up, I gradually forgot about her. And that’s what simple folks do, so they say.

By the time the play ended and Richard Burton made his multiple curtain calls I had all but forgotten about the strange woman from Australia. I walked back to the Hotel. I needed it. It had been a very long day. I was very, very tired. When I placed my head on the down pillow all my troubles went away and I fell asleep like a new born baby. I had no idea this ridiculous vaudeville act was anything but over.

What’s left of the story can be told in just a few words. There was one more encounter with the woman from Australia and it happened in the Lobby Bar at the Mark Hopkins. It was essentially a replay of the first encounter. I was sitting at the bar after work a couple of days later. She came over when she saw me to apologize for the previous encounters. She began with apologies, they turned into tears, her friends came to rescue her, she fought with them and they took her away. And that was it! I never saw her again.

There was however one more piece that tied it all together. The last day I was there, after I checked out, I stopped by the concierge, Dan Sotelo’s desk to thank him for the ticket for Camelot.  He wasn’t busy and I wasn’t in a hurry so I asked him if he had a minute to hear about the crazy tale of the Australian woman. He said he did.

When I finished telling him he actually blushed. It seems the woman had been to see him before me and ordered two tickets for the play. When I came and picked up my ticket he gave me one of those seats. That, of course, explained why we were sitting together. He thought we were together surreptitiously. The reason he thought we were together is because we had adjoining rooms with a common door.

I had no idea. I had never seen her on the floor. As a matter of fact I had never seen her other than the times I mentioned in my recollection. And I have never seen her since.

What is kind of strange is that for as much as I remember the events of that day I wouldn’t recognize her if she stood next to me at the registration desk at the Mark Hopkins. But, I’d be willing to bet Dan Sotelo would, he’s still the concierge there.

©Herb Ratliff, August 27, 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 

We Had Some Chickens

Thought For The Day

My grandpa Johnson was a farmer. When he was alive I was too young to know much about farming or life on a farm. But, it was sufficiently different enough from my normal lifestyle to be pretty interesting.

Living on a farm is a classroom for self sufficiency. Attica, Arkansas is in the northeastern corner of the state. It is quite flat but, there are plenty of rivers, springs and lakes. There was a small creek near my grandpa's farm and a spring which provided refrigeration for the Johnson family perishable goods. The Spring House was where fruit, meat, butter, milk, and eggs were kept. 

The largest quantity of meat was kept in the smokehouse. The meat was salt cured and didn't smoke very much at all, only a couple of weeks a year. That confused me. I don't think I was ever there when the smoke house smoked.

There were animals to support life on the farm: milk cows, pigs, chickens and assorted horses, mules and dogs. Each of them had something to offer. Dogs were sentry's, guardians and hunters. Milk cows need no further explanation. Pigs ate a lot, rolled in the mud, ate slop and then became residents in the smoke house. The horses, mules and dogs performed services that seemed too difficult for grandpa to explain satisfactorily. And the chickens? Now there is a useful animal.

Chickens provided eggs, of course, feathers, their entire bodies and often provided a bit of entertainment. They were also self sustaining. A chicken gestates for 22 days on average. They can live for 7 -  8 years, 14 is the record life span. It only takes three to four months before they mature and they begin laying eggs in 4 - 6 months. This does not mirror the lifestyle of the chicken you eat. I am going to spare you that detail. They are a product controlled by profit motives. You know what that does to anything.

On a farm with chickens you can eat eggs indefinitely, chicken occasionally, with sensible management of resources, make a mattress or pillow and sit in a rocking chair while you enjoy the scratching, clucking and pecking of the barnyard denizens. But watching peaceful chickens clucking around the yard was not my idea of fun. I liked to throw rocks at them.

Right alongside the chicken yard was a stand of sweet corn. Once in a while the chickens would wander off into the cornfield. The rooster considered this behavior unsafe since he was unable to keep a wary eye on them and any predator that might have designs on a chicken dinner. So when the chickens would wander into the field, he would go find them and chase them back into the yard. I thought he was a bit of a bully and saw no danger anyway. So, when he chased them back into the yard, I would pick up a stone and throw it at the rooster. I wasn't that good with my aim so the rooster was not in any great danger of bodily injury. Nonetheless, the rooster would, on occasion, look at me with a jaundiced eye when the pebble came too close to him.

Now chickens, roosters too, have bad days and good days. And, all things considered, the country fowl don't have a bad life, albeit a short one, and so most days little irritations just don't cause them any aggravation. But, every now and then, they just seem to get up on the wrong side of the nest, so to speak, and just come a spoiling for a fight at the least provocation.

It was a dry, dusty afternoon and I had grown tired of whatever my cousins were doing. I decided that I would go "play with the chickens" for a while. I made my way around the smoke house, behind the corn crib and into the sweet corn plot. Once in, I moved slowly and quietly through the rows, (they were two feet over my head) until I caught sight of the rooster. I had a pocket full of pebbles from the creek where I had been playing. I reached into my pocket and tossed a stone at the rooster. It was so dry that it looked like an explosion when the pebble hit the ground beside him and continued on a rebound into his side. At that moment, he jumped like he had been shot and I felt like I had just shot my first elk in the Wind River Range of Wyoming.

I continued to throw pebbles and for some unknown reason, kept hitting the rooster. What happened next happened in ultra slow motion. 

The rooster raised his head and looked at me with reddish-yellow eyes filled with fire, the hackle on his neck looked like razor sharp mini blades of death. His comb was erect, his head held high and his chest was blown into an exhibition of raw power and fury. He put down his head and began advancing toward me with a menacing walk that increased in speed as he got closer and closer.

I was paralyzed. My feet refused to move. I had forgotten to breathe and so I was gasping for air. It was then he hit me with his full fury and began pecking and wing flapping around my head and shoulders. I found my legs and my lungs and began running and screaming back into the barnyard. The hens then joined in the fray. I was near death until my grandpa stepped in and shooed off the birds and saved me from an untimely demise. 

He looked into my tear streaked face and told me to calm down, the chickens were gone. I was still sobbing when my mother came running out of the house. Before she reached me he quietly said, "This won't be the last time you'll get henpecked." I didn't really understand what he meant then, but I do now.

©Herb Ratliff, July 13, 2012, All Rights Reserved

What I Did The Summer of 1959

Thought For The Day

In the summer of 1959 I was seriously in need of a job. I was beginning to panic. There seemed to be nothing available and from out of the blue I got an offer I couldn't refuse.

If you remember 1959 you'll recall that was the year our President, Dwight D Eisenhower made the first phone call to Canadian Prime Minister, John Diefenbaker by bouncing a radio signal off the moon. Now, we use satellites as bouncers. The US launched half a dozen satellites that year and sent a couple of monkeys into space which returned unharmed.

Jack Kilby of Texas Instruments filed a patent for the Integrated Circuit.

It was also the summer of the "Kitchen Debates". Richard Nixon, then Vice President and Nikita Krushchev, Russia's top man exchanged barbs. Nixon proclaimed that our technological advancements in kitchen appliances would make kitchen duties for  women easier and Krushchev retorted, "Russian women aren't confined to the stove." (I know, you were wondering when that started.)

One of the more notable enterprises of 1959 was the introduction of the Xerox 914. There had been "wet" process copiers for a while but the Xerox was the first dry technology system. Hence, Xeros, Greek for dry and 914 which alluded to the capability of reproducing a 9" by 14" document.

My job? I was in church discussing the serious lack of work opportunities with a friend within ear shot of my mother. A gentleman from the congregation overheard us and approached, he said he had a rather large field of sugar beets that needed to be hoed and would pay us .75 cents an hour to do it. My mother accepted the offer almost before he completed the sentence. I had been thinking of an executive position. Welcome to humility. Mother said something about "living by the sweat of your brow" and I mumbled something inappropriate that was thankfully lost in the exchange.

"Thank you?" It took all my strength to say it. Fortunately my friend accepted the job too and so my summer was spent in the fields hoeing sugar beets for seventy five cents an hour. 

Sometime, if your job really seems like the pits. Go out into an agricultural area and find a field of low lying crops. Walk out into the field and stand at the edge of the field. Turn and look the full length of the row and imagine making certain that no weeds are in that row after you have walked the entire length and removed them. Your reward is to turn and walk back on the next row all day long. 

Just for the record, seventy five cents wasn't that much in 1959 either. But, after a full day I would accrue $6.00 and $30.00 for the week. I didn't date much that summer.

©Herb Ratliff, July 9, 2012, All Rights Reserved

While You Were Out

Thought For The Day

When you think things, they usually happen, but not always in the way you thought they would happen.

When I lived in South Florida I had a townhouse in a small golf course community. It was ideal for me. There was a swimming pool, tennis courts and golf at the ready. There was no maintenance for me to do day to day, security was provided and there was even a hospital close by for medical services.I traveled a lot. It was not uncommon for me to be away a couple of weeks at a time.

So when I returned from a lengthy business trip to find an old friend sitting in my kitchen amid fans, rolled up carpeting, open doors and windows, it was more comforting than shocking. I immediately knew there had been a problem and more importantly that it had been addressed.

He greeted me with.... "You had a leaky water heater. It's been replaced. We'll have the rest of this stuff dried in a few hours. Got another place you can stay a couple of days?"

That isn't what you are looking for after a long trip.

During the next few days it was insurance adjusters and color selection for paint, carpet and the rest. My friend owned the company doing the work so it was fast, high quality and thorough. The carpet ended up being a Berber. It was cream colored, but since I lived alone I figured I could make do with it. A moment of lost perspective led me down the primrose path of forgetfulness. I am far too punctilious for cream colored carpet.

When living alone one quickly overlooks bad decisions. There is no one there to remind you of those errors in judgement. They lie dormant until you are subpoenaed to the court of practicality.
So here we begin that case.

I have some friends who are writers. They do it for a living and they do it rather well. It is a second marriage couple and so children did not come up as an issue until the biological clock of the incubator began to creep dangerously close to edge of dormancy. Then a darling baby girl was born and became the highlight of their lives.

Artistic types make for interesting parents. They just see the world differently than earth people. So, there are certain conceits they are less likely to embrace. There is rather, an excessively laissez-faire approach to parental control. When their daughter became ambulatory she was immediately given free reign to advance her dispositions in a very democratic arena. This was a rather alien concept to me as a somewhat hands on dad.

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.

©Herb Ratliff, July 2, 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

Old Friends and Old Habits

Thought For The Day

Jim Trembley

The last Saturday in April is the traditional opening of Trout Season in Michigan, a day that I looked forward to above all others for many years at least for my own benefit. The long, cold, grey winter could not diminish or dilute the longing to enter the river, fly rod in hand to test my skills against the wary trout. It was one of those spiritual moments when I became a part of the water, the environment and the promise of life's goodness. Here began the soft music of the fly line whistling through the air, the soft gurgle of the river, the ambient sounds of birds and insects all arranged in such precision that I felt weightless and intractably immersed in pure harmony.

Sometimes I got immersed in the river. Wading in a stream is an interesting way to spend a day. It is not without problems and surprises.

When I graduated from University of New Mexico and moved to Flint, MI I met a man who would become my closest ally in the world of fly fishing. Jim Trembley had grown up in Flint and in his pursuit of his goal of Eagle Scout had been exposed to nature in the best possible way, through the leadership of men who cared deeply for a good design for living, respect of people and the environment and a love of nature. Jim and I became frequent partners on the ride to the Au Sable  River. We would often take off on Tuesday evenings and drive north to the South Branch and fish the Mason Tract late into the night. We would fish all day Wednesday and return that evening. We rode together, had lively conversations and then fished alone and met at an agreed upon time to discuss our results. Sometimes the results were less about fish and more about how many different kinds of larvae live in the river that you can see quite clearly while sitting on a log by the bank or the richness of bird and animal life in the area.

Jim also ties flies and provides me with an endless supply them. Truth be told, every fish of size and memory that I have ever caught has been deceived by Jim, but he's a lawyer. What can I say?

Saturday I will not be fishing with Jim but I will be thinking about him and all the openers we spent together, I am in Atlanta, GA now and he still lives in Flint. Hopefully we will get together this summer for a fly fishing appreciation day if he isn't too old and tired for it.

Herb Ratliff, April 26, 2012, All Rights Reserved

The Pelican Brief

Thought For The Day

It was just a few months into being a single parent. Scheduling ended up being one of the bigger problems. Everyone seemed to have something to do other than being on time. The lives of the kids get busier because they were busy to start with and now the going back and forth just added to the normal confusion. I was on my way to pick up my youngest from her alternate home, wondering what we would have for dinner, whether we would make it to the meeting on time and reminding myself to make sure she had all of her school books. It was an unusually pleasant evening for south Florida. The humidity was low, temperature very comfortable, a clear sky and just a zephyr of a breeze off the ocean. I pulled the car up to the house and Lindsay was waiting with her things on the porch. It still seemed odd to do this dance. Lindsay has a smile that can light up a room. When she saw me she was smiling and when I got out of the car she met me with a big hug and a handful of stuffed animals.
After we loaded the car, we exchanged our hellos and got to the business at hand, what are we doing for dinner? Most of the reliables were not hitting the target and I needed to get some gas so I pulled into a station to fill up. We went into the station together to settle up and Lindsay spotted some junk food racks and asked if she could have something that could not have been anything but colored sugar. I took a quick inventory of the available food stuffs and decided to attempt to make a meal out of what was there.
Loaded up with what could only be termed the most non-nutritious meal since Boy Scout camp, we headed out and Lindsay said, "Let's have a picnic.", I agreed and we headed for a local Park. It was pretty much deserted so we had a lot of choices for a spot. We parked and for some reason which now escapes me, decided to eat in the car. It was party time and the sugar just helped it along. We were laughing and talking and giggling when out of the blue it sounded like someone had launched a basket full of oranges into the air and they had all individually fallen on the top of the car. It absolutely shocked both of us into statue like states. We were frozen in place, looking at each other and then out the window. I immediately thought it was kids making mischief but unable to see anyone or anything, I got out of the car and there in perfect formation, just beyond the car were a half dozen pelicans. I turned and looked at the car, it had been thoroughly whitewashed and the mystery was solved. Lindsay let out a primal yuuuuuuuuuuck and we headed for the car wash.
Now, whenever Lindsay and I are together, if we should happen upon a pelican or two, a wide grin begins to form and sometimes uproarious laughter emerges without control. The food may have been without any nutritional value but the laughter and the memory still makes us smile.

Herb Ratliff, April 25, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Let Me Explain.....

Thought For The Day

When I was very young it was normal to ask questions. That's what children do, sometimes to the absolute distraction of the people being asked questions. But, it was expected and joked about and most of the time the questions were answered until the adult involved reached the end of their knowledge base and had to bow out of the discussion gracefully or not. My experience was quite normal in that respect.

As I continued to grow up and entered into relationships with others a good deal of my experiences still created questions, but the willingness to answer questions seemed to diminish. Sometimes the reason for the change in willingness was connected to religion. Let's face it, "Because God said so." is a real conversation stopper when you are a child. Add to it, "Do you want to go to hell?" and here ends the curiosity for most. However, there is always school and there in the halls of learning questions and dialogue are welcomed, right?

I will admit that I may have had more questions than the average kid, if not more questions, more persistence than most in pursuing clarification. This often led to a most frustrating condition for me and most likely for the teachers. They ran out of interest in my questions before I got my answers. Now, leaving a student with more questions is not a bad thing. Seeking information is the milieu of the student. But, asking the student to perform tasks when information has nothing to adhere to is likely to leave both student and teacher in confused state, one about the purpose of this information, the other about the teachability of this student. In this arena, both fail to accomplish their objective.

My curiosity was never sufficiently stunted to leave me without questions. It created some problems for me in the classroom but who doesn't have a problem or two to deal with anyway? What it did to me was sow a seed of passion for explaining things to people, never to leave a person with an incomplete set of reasons for anything I could explain and it drove my kids loony. As loving and caring as I was in my quest to never leave a question unanswered, my children lived in a world that existed on the hope that they would never have to ask me why.

And so the loves you have and promises you make to create a better life for your children can, on occasion, be the bane of their existence. But, that's why they make chocolate and vanilla, right? You can love, you can love deeply, passionately and selflessly the sweet children who enter your world as your babies but how well you love them will be decided by them. Just because your intentions are honorable does not mean they are successful. And in the final analysis isn't the real job of a parent to teach his offspring to be independent anyway?

Herb Ratliff, April 24, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Searching For Raisins

Thought For The Day

I was two, maybe three, but whatever the age, it was pure focus that led to this little tale
We had arrived the night before at my grandparents house in Pocahontas, Arkansas. The house was simple in design with two or three bedrooms, a dining room and a kitchen. The year was 1944 or 45 so plumbing for interior conveniences had not yet reached this particular house. I was in the care of my mother who was discussing something with my grandmother. Grandpa was at work in his smithy, a card he played quite effectively when company came.

I wanted some "razers", raisins to those of you who do not speak early childhood English. As politely, then as forcefully as I could the request was made only to fall on deaf ears. This, of course, resulted in an unaccompanied adventure into the kitchen in search of treasure. It was not far and the conversation was engaging enough that I was able to quietly slip away.

I was appropriately sized for a two year old, short basically and therefore everything I could see or reach was pretty much at ground level. This was useful for frequently used staples which were building blocks for baking primarily. So I began where I could and pulled out a container which turned out to be sugar. Since I pulled from the top it became unstable and softly fell forward and my little hands accidentally removed the top which resulted in a rather nice sized pile of sugar on the kitchen floor. Undaunted, I sought another container, even larger which I unfortunately handled in much the same way with the same result. Now I had two merged piles of white stuff and containers which were in the way of my quest and so I managed to crawl into them as I searched for the elusive "razers".

Before mother and grandma found me I had combined a month's supply of baking supplies into a pile in the middle of the kitchen floor and found not a single raisin. When you are young desires are not complicated but the desire is intense, good stuff to remember.

Herb Ratliff, April 20, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Nymphs, Midges and Streamers

Thought For The Day

You can: 

let go, 

drop,  or toss, 

throw out, cut off, or  abandon,

back out, bail out or bow out,

flake out, fly the coop, or give up the ship

quit, run out on or storm out,

take a powder, take a walk or wash your hands of,

leave behind, relinquish or withdraw

 but the truth is it's probably

a lot better to

just 

release gently.

©Herb Ratliff, February 10, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Where the &*#@$%% are you going?

Thought For The Day

It seems a small thing but it is one of the more useful small things upon which most of us have agreed for  many years that has in the last few years seemed to have gone away. It is the convention of bearing to the right when walking in buildings, on sidewalks, paths, jogging, walking the dog and other like activities. It no longer seems to be an applied convention and it is, at times, really annoying and sometimes downright painful. The painful part is when the idea of sharing the designated space is not expressed in an amenable way, but rather approached as Wide World of Wrestling participant might approach an opponent. An expression only useful if you are angry and larger than the opposing perambulator.

I have never been given to convention for convention's sake but I must say that certain agreements of the human race are useful. This is one is of particular value because of its tendency to keep the flow of people speedy and without injury. To see it all but ignored is a bit frightening. I have been battered and banged by belligerent bipeds in churches, businesses, parks and hospitals without so much as a "pardon me". 

Are we really in that big a hurry? Is getting to a place that important? Is the intransigence of holding your space in the wrong lane important enough to injure old folks and children? But the real question is what do you give up by contributing to a predictable flow of people. Is it an affront to your individuality, an invasion of your right of expression or an admission of inferiority?  What gives?

If you can bear to the right in your automobile in the interest of avoiding expensive repairs to your body and your car's body why not do it when you are walking too? Please.

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

A Bag of Chips

Crows must have a rich sense of humor. The familiar sound of crows making editorial comments about the people and events in their lives remind me of a certain kind of person who feels prevailed upon to verbalize every thought that passes through their brain. You know one or two, I am sure, we all do. Crows can be forgiven. At least we don't make terribly severe judgments about them, their heritage or the level of intelligence they possess. Well, maybe the level of their intelligence is just  what we do wonder about. I do. I tend to give them rather high marks in that category. 

I have read a bit about crows and ravens. Most ornithologists give them pretty high marks. And while it is interesting to read about their behavior nothing matches seeing them at work.

Several years ago I was visiting a client in Texas. Frankly, I don't even remember what city it was but it was near some very good golf courses. One of the courses was quite well known among the golfers of the world and so I thought it should be a good location for a bit of business review. The man I needed to talk with was the chairman of the board and somewhat difficult to corner during the business day, but he loved to chase the little white ball and for a few bucks and a ride across some of the most beautiful landscape in Texas he was mine for at least four hours. 

Now you have to be a bit careful about mixing business and pleasure. Business on the golf course is tricky. Generally what you do is just play golf until you are finished and then over lunch or dinner get into the business. That is really not the point here though because this is about Crows.

We had finished playing the front nine holes and stopped for a bit of food and some drinks at the little halfway house. We each got a couple of hot dogs, some chips, something to drink and headed for the tenth tee. That's just the way we do it. 

The walk from the golf cart to the Tee was a bit farther than what one normally expects but not far enough to call it a problem. We had, at that point, begun eating the various food items and left them in the cart when we went to the tee. I had honors and so I hit my tee shot and my guest stood and admired the length and accuracy of my drive. (It's my story, I get to have a good drive.) He took a couple of practice swings and walked toward the tee and then he noticed that a crow was sitting in the cart eating his potato chips. For some reason he reacted rather belligerently, yelling obscenities at the crow. We were far enough away that the crow was completely nonplussed at he enraged man screaming at him and continued to eat the chips. To my complete surprise the man dropped his club and started toward the golf cart. The crow did not budge. Then the man ran, waving his arms and yelling. This caught the attention of the crow and he picked up the chips and flew a few feet from the cart. My client continued after the crow. The crow hopped on. 

Finally, my friend got close enough to the crow and the crow dropped the bag of chips, emptied the bag and flew into a low branch of a tree and cackled at the man.

I was in stitches. My friend was not. Never have I seen such ire over a bag of chips. And that crow, my guess is he still tells that story to his kids and laughs to this day.

©Herb Ratliff, January 30, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Little Girls, Fly Rods and Early Mornings

Little Girls, Fly Rods and Early Mornings

Anyone who knows even a little bit about me knows that I love to wade streams and tempt trout with hand tied flies. It has been a part of my life for a long time. So it would probably come as no surprise to people that wanting my children to join me in such an activity would be a logical next step and they would be spot on. The story begins with a trip the family took to Frankfort , Michigan sometime in the seventies, my guess is about seventy six. That would make Bud six, Julie four and Lindsay a coming attraction.

We were to be there for a week and the weather had been very nice. Bud and Julie wanted to get up early and go trout fishing with dad so we planned for each of them to have their own morning to go alone with me. So far, so good. Bud's morning began with twittering birds, light on the horizon, the sun's head just beginning to rise and so we went to a dandy little breakfast place and had hot chocolate, pancakes, sausage and the lot. We trekked off to the river and gathered some trout and went back to the cabin for the cheers of the waiting crowds of expectant, adoring fans. We were not disappointed, they treated us like royalty returning from battle, victorious.

Julie's morning was somewhat less idyllic. It was raining torrents, we could barely see out the window. I meekly suggested we put off the adventure for a better day and Julie howled her disapproval and demanded we not let a little rain stop our adventure. What could I do. I did not have appropriate rain gear for a four year old or sufficient creativity to come up with a reasonable alternative plan to satisfy the desire of a four year old to go fishing with her dad. (This single minded determination was not a single incident. Did I mention that she is a CPA?) I tried a variety of approaches all designed to try a delay but that was useless. Finally, I had to come up with some kind of plan that would come close to keeping her protected from the elements. I searched through my fishing equipment but sizes were simply not compatible and so I had to take another tack. 

Garbage bags. Yep, that's what this great mind came up with to solve the problem. A cutout for the head and arms would work for the torso, the corner cutoff for a hat, a small bag tied at the thigh for each leg, (wading) and sleeves fashioned out of other bags. You've heard of  "The Man From Glad"? This was a little twist on the theme.

Dressed and protected, at least momentarily, for the elements we took our gear to the car and went as fast as we could to the little breakfast place for hot chocolate and warm food. I won't detail the fishing because what I remember most clearly is that I was with my little girl dressed in fly fishing gear and we were on our way to a glorious adventure. And do you know what? That is without a doubt one of the finest fishing or fathering experiences I have ever had.

©Herb Ratliff, January 26, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Gratitude

This picture is from 1993. Left to right back:Bud, me
Front: L to R:Julie, Lindsay, Dora holding Nick, Cory holding Lindsay.
There are now ten more grandchildren:Lindsey,Kirkland, Joshua, Skylar, Zachary, Logan, Keaton, Xander, Zoe, Brayden.

Have you ever thought carefully about the things you are most grateful for? 

I'm very visual and so my eyes are at the top of the list. Ears that function reasonably well, taste, touch, smell and a little esp now and again. I have enough athletic ability to engage in most sports and compete at a better than average level if I choose. I am teachable. That is what I may be most thankful for on another level. Second chances are high on the list too. If it weren't for second chances no one would ever see this blog. Good health, the ability to heal: physically, mentally and spiritually.

I've had numerous opportunities to apply my skills in a work environment that provided rich rewards. Sometimes I did it with a high level of competence and creativity and provided exceptional service to my employer and clients. Sometimes I did not and that's where some of those second chances I spoke of come into play.

I have met and been befriended by some of the finest people in the world. Many of them have taught me about life. All of them have given something special to me: their time, their experience, their forgiveness in some cases, their disdain in others. Most everything I have received has been as a direct result of my actions and attitude. I must add here that while complaining about results that were less than complimentary to me I was complaining to a friend about things not being "fair or just" and he looked me in the eye and said, "Herb, of all the people I know, you are the last who should be asking for justice. You should be praying for mercy." He was right and I hope I never forget it. I also hope I never forget there are a lot of people out there just like me.

Some parts of my life have been a train wreck. There just isn't any other way to express it. I have fallen hard and often on this journey but, I have never laid there and quit. I have hurt other people, sometimes on purpose, sometimes without intent and sometimes from just being too fixed on my own interests to care about anything else.

Most of my life has been a miracle. More good has come into my life from the generosity of others than I can begin to list. But I cannot continue without acknowledging the best part of my life, my children. They are smart, thoughtful, generous, forgiving. They are wonderful parents. They are dependable friends and they are good neighbors. I hope you get a chance to meet them someday.

Give some thought to making a list of your own. I think you will find that life is good, hope enriches it and experience can be the catalyst for change or plunging you deeper into the denial that life isn't fair. Thanks for stopping by, I'm grateful for you too.

Herb Ratliff, January 24, 2011, All Rights Reserved