The Golden Rule

Thought For The Day

The Golden Rule is, I believe, one of the more common applications of good manners. Or is it?

If I give you a new set of metric wrenches for your birthday because I want them, is that an example of practicing the Golden Rule? No, I don't think so, and yet, is that not exactly what we do quite often to those around us. We measure happiness by what we want and rarely consider the feelings, needs and interests of others.

If you think I'm wrong about this, let me ask you a question. Are you more interested in what other people think about you, how you look, what you've done or in them and their accomplishments?

If you are going to the grocery store to get something for a dinner do you select something that you are sure others would enjoy with no regard for your own preferences? Seems to me that if I like it everyone will, right?

This is a participatory blog today. Do you do unto others as you would have them do unto you?

©Herb Ratliff, June 28, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Expectations

Thought For The Day

Much is said about the value of being considerate of others and I have no reason to argue that.

Being considerate is a behavior that sends good feelings in both directions. What is a bit confusing is what "being considerate" means to the parties involved. This is where some unhappy moment seedlings germinate.

I remember an event that happened many years ago that involved an inaccurate perception. There was an invitation to have dinner with the in laws. That was something I always enjoyed because I liked my in laws and the food was always good. When the table was set and the food placed on the table we all sat down. A prayer was offered with thanks for the food and then, as was his custom, my father in law sliced and served the meat to each person.

The choices of vegetables, rolls and so on were decided individually. What caught my eye was a bowl of creamed potatoes. (Why is it the starches always taste the best?) I took a hearty portion befitting a lumberjack, put down my plate and began with a large spoonful of potatoes.

To say that I was shocked is an understatement. Shocked, perplexed, disappointed and unhappy would better describe my condition. It was not creamed potatoes, it was creamed onions. Now there is nothing inherently wrong with creamed onions. They are quite good if you know what you are eating. But, if you expect potatoes and you get onions there is a serious let down.

My dear mother in law had been watching me, as cooks do, to see my pleasure exposed. I must not have looked pleasure filled because she fairly gasped at my reaction which was more surprise than anything else. Then, there was a forced silence while we gathered ourselves and then, uproarious laughter at the double mistake, hers in making creamed onions and mine in thinking it was creamed potatoes.

Hardly a life changing event but a text book example of putting too much stock in one's own expectations. What you expect and what you get are rarely the same. And yet, there we are, far too often, with drawn faces and flared tempers over something we imagined rather than what actually occurred.

The people around us do what they do with little or no regard for our feelings or needs, just like we do. To be filled with disappointment because things did not go as expected is a human condition that few of us will ever manage well. Here's to giving it a try just for today. O K?

©Herb Ratliff, June 25, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Cliches

Thought For The Day

Cliches. I could explain them to you, but then I'd have to kill you.

How we complain and denigrate the lowly, overused expression. How we love to elevate our lofty intellect above the crowded market place of commoners who languish in drab, familiar, citations of mediocrity. Why can't we come up with some new, interesting, intelligent expressions that lift the spirit and heighten our awareness.

"How can I soar like an eagle when I'm surrounded by a bunch of turkeys."

Theses overused expressions have a life of their own, primarily because the are pretty well conceived to begin with, but quite often we use them without having the foggiest idea what they mean or where they came from.

"Colder than the balls on a brass monkey." Many a crass lad has used this expression believing that he is being risque while completely misunderstanding the meaning of the phrase. They are picturing a brass statue of a monkey but a monkey in this particular case is a base upon which cannon ball are placed so they will not roll about on the deck of a ship. The "monkey" held the pyramid of cannon balls by the cannons. Not what you thought, eh?

"One day at a time."

That's a good one for me, every day. I can worry about things before it's their turn and end up lost in a maze of "what ifs".

I'm a pretty lucky guy, all things considered, as a matter of fact, I'm a very lucky guy and you are too.

©Herb Ratliff, June 22, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Do you ride?

Thought For The Day

It was an early Fall day in Michigan. I was going to a Rotary lunch meeting. It was a speaker meeting.

When I arrived I made the rounds then sat down next to Chris, a friend I had gotten to know through Rotary. The meeting started quickly and the speaker was introduced. I kept looking out at the bright Fall colors, the brilliant sunshine and was thinking about horseback riding in a quiet country setting. The speaker was not holding my attention.

I leaned over toward Chris and said, "Great day for horseback riding."

He looked back almost too quickly and said, "Do you ride?"

I didn't think about it before I answered him but that question can mean a lot of different things.

I answered in the affirmative and he said, "Let's go."

I looked at him quizzically and he said, "Now!"

When we got outside he told me to follow him to his farm. I had no idea he had a farm but followed him to a beautiful country setting with white fences and manicured lawns, barns and even a silo.

We parked near the barns and went inside. Without a moments hesitation he went to the tack room and got the saddles, English, should have been a clue. I was accustomed to western but didn't say anything. The horses were beautiful, black Arabians. Should have been another clue. He saddled my horse and told me to take him outside. I did as instructed and adjusted the stirrups and mounted the horse.

My riding was made up of rented horses, a PE course I took in college, and utility farm animals I had used. The only thing I knew about horses was told me by a farmer friend who said that to successfully manage a horse you had to make it easy for them to do what you wanted and very difficult for them to do what they wanted. He also said the horse knew your skill level the minute your butt hit the saddle.

With that in mind I did what I always did when I got on a horse. I neck reined it left, then right, and backed it up. The horse was not terribly responsive and a bit disagreeable. So I pushed on with my superior attitude toward the horse. That's when the trouble began.

The horse reared and set off at a gallop into the woods. I was completely off guard and nearly lost my seat. Once I upright, I began seeking control of the situation. It seemed the more I directed, the less progress. I should mention here that Chris had not missed the theater occurring in his back yard. He was following me and screaming at the top of his lungs for me to stop, which I would have happily done if my mount had been more cooperative.

After a brisk romp through the woods and over the countryside on a recalcitrant horse and a screaming owner following, the horse tired, my reining prevailed and the horse stopped.

Chris pulled up beside me and with a look of terror in his eyes said, "I thought you could ride."

"After all that and I'm still on the horse, what kind of question is that?", I barked.

"That's a $150,000 worth of horse, an Arabian, dressage, Herb, dressage." He pleaded.

Well, what can I say? I knew the meaning of the word, dressage in a limited way. I did not know how to accomplish it or apply it.

When we got the horses back to the barn there was no more interest in riding. We put the horses away and Chris and I never went riding again. We did remain friends and that's a mark of Chris' character and largesse. We both learned that day that "Can you ride?" needs a bit more qualification to be useful.

©Herb Ratliff, June 20, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Summer Morning

Thought For The Day

Near Yellowtail Dam, Fort Smith, Montana



Summer mornings break more softly.

If Spring is Champagne,

summer is a rich, earthy Bordeaux,

not lavishing one with quick bursts of excitement,

but slowly enriching the palate

with hints of oak, mushroom and peat,

then finishing in an orchestral

denouement of sensuality,

like a sigh.


Even the bright sounds of birds,

rise more roundly like

a mother brushes her child's hair

from out of their eyes and cups

her hand to hold his cheek and

lingers there with her eyes.


The low sun quickly warms

all creatures with

gratitude

for

a summer day.



©Herb Ratliff, June 19, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Feeling Good

Thought For The Day

Zoe and Charley

I'm not sure you ever really understand how much giving is about satisfying your own need for acceptance and appreciation until you have a dog. Where I have written dog you may substitute, cat or horse. Children also may be used there, but only if you have figured out how to have a predictable relationship with them. I'm about to lose control of this and I've only just started.

Charley is my part this and part that "rescue" dog. He enjoys being brushed. For him, that is like a day at the spa, I suppose. I have never been to a spa. Anyway, he sheds, big time. I am constantly aware of his unwanted contribution to my untidy house. It just goes with the territory. It occurred to me once while I was bathing him  and using a brush to make sure the shampoo got down to the skin, that if I had done that before the bath I might avoid dealing with all of that wet dog hair. And so, I began brushing him regularly. At first he was not interested. Gradually he became more and more appreciative of the activity and now when I offer to "brush" him, he is at the ready the moment I offer.

For my part, I began the process because it helped reduce the amount of ambient fur in the house. OK, not much but it gave me illusion of being helpful. Then, I noticed how much he had gotten into the process. His whole demeanor would change when I offered to brush him. He would run for the door and wait for the fun to begin. 

As I brushed him I could almost hear him making grateful groans and saying "a little to the left" as we proceeded. After I decided that enough of this had happened he would start running in circles and jumping about. That is his method of saying thank you or I'm very happy. But what really surprised me was how good I felt. And all I had done was brush him. 

I've learned a lot from Charley. He has been responsible for teaching me a number of things. And, a reminder that being attentive and thoughtful to those around you is a very good thing, even if you get some pleasure from it too.

©Herb Ratliff, June 18, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Thanks Dad

Thought For The Day

I was more inclined to complain about the limitations of my father than to praise him. He knew that he was not the object of adulation, but went right on working anyway.

I grew up with five sisters, a stay at home mom and an absentee father. Not really absent, but he was gone most of the time. Gone because he worked an eight hour shift, unless he could get overtime, at Saginaw Steering Gear, a division of GM. He also was the proprietor of a small shoe repair shop, Economy Shoe Rebuilders where he spent another eight hours or more. He was not given to sports or other activities with friends, save an occasional get together with some musical pals with whom he could exercise his musical talent. And, his talent was considerable. Whatever else occupied his time, spending it with his family was not where he shined.

He and my mother had a tenuous relationship at best. This is not the place for that discussion, but suffice it to say, they needed each other, and that seemed to be the driving force in their relationship. What that need was is between them and that's where it belongs.

Dad began each week day by going into the Shoe Shop. He stayed there until about 3:00PM, then came home to a hamburger and canned peaches. There was no variety here, that was the daily fare. After eating he would either drive or have mom drive him to the Steering Gear where he worked until midnight. Quite often mom would go over and have "lunch" with him at work, then go and pick him up after work was completed.

On Saturdays he worked full time in the Shoe Shop unless overtime work was available which he would very often take. Sunday was a church day and dad would participate most of the time but not always. Church was not his preferred venue.

Sunday dinner was the weekly reward for going to church. We normally had quite a nice dinner and we all ate together. Sometimes we would go on picnics. When that happened it usually involved cousins and lots of good food that was punctuated with musical renderings by talented aunts, uncles and cousins along with my parents and sisters.

Dad was never offered the Pulitzer Prize or a position on the president's cabinet. He never ran for office. He wasn't a great hunter or fisherman. He didn't graduate from high school or college. What he did along with mother was provide a home, food and an education for six children. He taught us that not all that you do is reflected in what you personally have, but has a way of showing up like a vein of gold through hard rock and scrabble in the people you touch.

I do not believe I ever said so much as thank you to him for all the years he gave to make my life better than his. I even had the audacity to think he should have done more.

I was sitting in the funeral home alone one afternoon before his interment and a friend from high school came by to visit. It was a surprise to see him. He told me some stories about dad and visits he had with him. It was good to hear a friend talk about the man I barely knew in a warm and friendly way.

Happy Fathers Day, Dad. I wish I had gotten to know you better. And, thank you dad, thank you ever so much for all you did for me.

©Herb Ratliff, June 15, 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

Justine's Part 2

Her smile was relaxed and easy like she was greeting an old friend. She waited for an answer.
I was having a little trouble finding my voice.

She was very attractive and still in that ethereal place between the picture and reality. I'd been going since 5:30 AM and it was now past 9:00PM. I managed to utter something.

Then, she said, "I'm Justine."
And, capturing the situation perfectly she quickly took control and began a commentary about the food, what was fresh, a little about home grown vegetables and then how splendid the weather was and wasn't it a pity the Gazebo was full? It's such a fine place to have dinner.

She was so elegant, so charming and so welcome after the long day I had spent criss-crossing the country. I asked her if she would like a glass of wine.

Her reaction was measured but swift. "Yes", she said, so I stood and held her chair.

She asked if I would mind if she had a bottle of her favorite wine brought out and then began a conversation filled with interest and coincidence of remarkable proportions.

Things like that don't happen very often. As a matter of fact, I can say with considerable certainty that nothing like that will ever happen to me again. You never know when you lift your head from the pillow what the day holds for you, so no matter how it goes for the the first few hours, do not despair. What is waiting for you at the next bend in the road may make it all worth while.

I know that you would like to know a bit more about that evening and frankly, I would enjoy spending a bit more time remembering it, but I've shared all I am willing to. She was as much a lady as she appeared and I was as much a gentleman as I ever hoped to be.

The restaurant was closed a few years ago, 1995, I believe. The name and facility was auctioned off but the ambiance was not for sale. So, while you may be able to find a restaurant named Justine's in Memphis and a few other places, you will not find the one mentioned in this remembrance.

©Herb Ratliff, June 12, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Justine's

Thought For The Day

Justine Smith 

owner of Justine's, Memphis, TN

Travel sets the stage for a lot of unusual adventures and encounters. This is one of the more unusual ones.

I had been working with some people in Charlotte, North Carolina when I got a call from a group in Memphis who needed to see me as soon as possible. As soon as I wrapped up for the day in Charlotte I caught a flight to Memphis so that I could prepare for the morning meeting there. Going to Memphis from Charlotte meant going through Atlanta, changing planes and then going to Memphis. It took a lot out of me on days like that but it was part of the job.

As I sat in Hartsfield Airport Atlanta I began to realize that I had not eaten for hours unless you count peanuts and little cookies on the plane. It was then that I remembered a restaurant I had heard about which had been highly recommended by a friend who lived in Tennessee. The prospect of having a good meal in a new restaurant with a good pedigree seemed a nice diversion from a frenetic day. I went back to planning for the next days meeting while I waited for the flight to depart.

It was late when I arrived in Memphis. I got a rental car, found a hotel dropped off my luggage, washed my face and got directions to the restaurant. It was a short trip from the hotel to a place I'd never forget.

Justine's was a french restaurant housed in a plantation house built in 1843. It was light pink stucco with white marble steps. It had wrought iron gates and round iron vents across it's front. It dripped with old south charm and enjoyed a fine reputation for fabulous New Orleans Style French food. My stomach was growling loudly.

There were several old magnolia trees, myriad rhododendrons and in the back was a charming, over-sized gazebo where one could dine al fresco with a well planned reservation. The waiters wore white gloves and waistcoats and dripped with good manners and lots of southern charm. I could not have been happier and I hadn't even had my first cracker.

I was alone, a condition of traveling that was common and many times preferred after a day with business contacts. It was a chance to breath deeply and exhale slowly and deliberately until a modicum of relaxation entered my body. The main dining room was full as well as the gazebo and in my haste I had not called for a reservation. There was another room where I was taken just off the main part of the entry where there seemed to be ample seating with a few empty tables and one setting for two against the wall on the left side of the room where I was seated. Finally, I thought, I can eat.

The waiter gave me a menu and offered the specials of the day, took a drink order and wandered off to get the drink. I looked around at my surroundings and noted a life sized portrait of a woman in a creme chiffon floor length dress walking as if directly toward me out of the portrait. I paused to look at it briefly and thought how elegant it was and how very southern. I looked back down at my menu and began the difficult job of deciding what from this array of mouth watering offerings would be placed in front of me this evening.

Crab Justine seemed the obvious choice. If it bore the name of the owner, it must be the best. Having made the choice I lifted my head to consider my selection and as if I were in some surreal magical world the woman in the portrait was walking toward me. At first it startled me, then I was mesmerized as she fairly glided toward me and came to a stop at my table.

"Welcome to Justine's." she said.

To be continued....

©Herb Ratliff, June 11, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Little Things

Thought For The Day

Little Things

Like a stone in my shoe

I prefer the discomfort of knowing it's there

to stopping long enough to remove it.

Like a too stiff label on the back of my shirt

that pricks and irritates  me every time I turn

I believe that hoping will make it go away.

Like the cinder, so small, in the corner of my eye

that scratches, tears and blurs my perspective

the blinking should subside it, soon.

Little things I wait on while they goad me,

small irritations and diversions

that bring me to my knees, later.

Tragedy demands attention,

perhaps it is more kind.

©Herb Ratliff, June 6, 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

Knuckles Down

Thought For The Day

I was thinking about sports.

When I was a boy the first competitive activity that I can recall is marbles. That was real competition since losing meant giving up your marbles. That was a horrible idea and why many games were prefaced with the comments,  "Playing for fun. or Playing for keeps." . You learn a good deal about your opponents in competition. It is often where cheating emerges as a real concept in one's life. Rules and who makes them is also a part of this learning opportunity and the fine art of cheating or misleading.

Knuckles down, plunking, histing and lagging - all terms that set conditions for the game. It could have been the training ground for lawyers, surgeons, salesmen and entrepreneurs. There is no place like a playground and no commodity like a pocket full of marbles to teach caution, fear, greed, strategy and intimidation.

When I watch my grandchildren play with their friends marbles is rarely an activity I encounter. One of the reasons marbles was a good training ground was it's lack of adult supervision. That kind of activity brings out the more natural state of humans. In the "kids only" arena, size, strength, intelligence, knowledge, manipulation and guile surface rather quickly and the commodity is seized by those who accumulate and handle those characteristics the best.

Do kids play marbles these days? I don't think I have seen a game of marbles for many years. What I do see is a bunch of very well managed children, supported by parents and grandparents wearing uniforms and equipment that only existed for the professionals when I was a kid.  And, they get trophys for just showing up. They get snacks and drinks served by their parents and the cost of these activities is amazing.

I don't remember what a bag of marbles cost and it's irrelevant anyway. The point is marbles was  a bit like a board room conference or a strategy meeting or sales presentation. I'm not sure how I would compare today's youth activities with business, but entitled, selfish, greedy and lazy  are adjectives that come to mind.

There are lots of reasons why we are in this state of affairs that isn't working out very well, but it just doesn't seem like anyone is willing to say, "Knuckles down!"

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

Life's a Beach

Thought For The Day

When we moved from Michigan to Florida the differences were pretty extreme. We lived only a couple of miles from the ocean and we all enjoyed the water so when we had the time we would go to the beach.

Lake Worth was a smallish town that was an outcropping of West Palm Beach. There were and still are a lot of small towns that exist along the coast of Florida, but Lake Worth was where we lived. We moved there in the summer and summer in Florida is a different animal. The heat is overwhelming and staying inside with the air conditioning is like being in jail. So, we went to the beach, a lot.

One blistering summer afternoon we sat on the beach with the children playing in the sand and near the edge of the water. Lindsay, my youngest daughter was deeply engaged in a project that appeared to be an attempt to move all of the sand on the beach from one place to another. She was close by and offered shovels, rakes and other excavation equipment to me when she was not using it.

The heat and the sun created a lazy, lethargic mood, almost a dreamlike state of mind. So when my baby girl, who was about three stood straight up and began running toward the water I was surprised and looked toward the edge of the water to see what had captured her attention. There, walking along the edge of the water as if on a runway in Paris were mother and daughter in crocheted lace like bikini's, the picture of elegance. They were both blond and walked with a practiced grace that was was at once alluring and endearing; too much so as it turned out to suit my clever, and very feminine daughter.

At first her interest was sweet, I thought, as she sped toward the pair, but as she gathered speed I began to doubt the humanity in her intent. It was too late. She took the little girl out with a full body tackle. The woman who was with her stood in absolute bewilderment at this animalistic attack.

Lindsay, my sweet little daughter looked completely satisfied, hands on her hips, sand on her face with a "so there, miss fancy pants" look on her face. And I thought as I looked at this amazing situation that women become women at a very early age.

©Herb Ratliff, May 28, 2012, All Rights Reserved

To Be Superior

Mike Pohlman and me

It was the sixties: sit ins, free love, Viet Nam, The Beatles, Kennedy, civil rights, communes and real change.

I got an email from an old friend, a very literate and learned man who has read myriad books, traveled the world, penned and published a couple of books, earned a Master's Degree and taught children about the magic of reading. It was he more than anyone else who encouraged me to read and ultimately to write.

We joined a book club in the eighth grade and met authors  like Isaac Asimov and Arthur Clark. Mike would give book reports that would hold the class captive and the teacher would have to tell him to sit down because he could have gone on the whole hour and we would have loved it. We spent all of our junior and senior high school years together. Then college split us up and finally a break in college for me put me back in Saginaw for a while and Mike and I reconnected. Then, marriages and jobs split us up again, but only temporarily.

We exchanged letters (they were in envelopes and bore stamps issued by the United States Postal Service) at one point of our lives, great quantities of words and ideas about life, love and politics. We did this while we were young and just piercing the membrane of the insular sac of our own dreams and ambitions. Some of the letters were dark with stormy visions of the inhumanity of man to his fellows, some were superior and filled with disdain for the common folk around us. There were things to do, children to create, houses to build and ambitions to nurture into reality. Compromise was for the weak and malleable who bathed in their own uncertainty. We knew what was right and made covenants to lead man to a higher plane.

The email today used words that had a different flavor. There was a sentence that lit up like a flashing neon sign from a film noir. "You are disgracefully sentimental by the way. That's not bad. Just true."
I looked at the sentence for a long time. I wanted to make sure I knew how I felt about it. Then, after carefully considering the words and the source I decided that I quite liked it. Guilty, as charged.
©Herb Ratliff, May 12, 2012

My friend and I used to read a poem aloud by D. H. Lawrence called,

To Be Superior.

How nice it is to be superior!
Because, really, it's no use pretending, one really is superior, isn't one?
I mean people like you and me.

Quite! I quite agree.
The trouble is, everybody thinks they're just as superior
as we are; just as superior.

That's what's so boring! people are so boring.
But they can't really think it, do you think?
At the bottom, they must know we are really superior
don't you think?
don't you think, really, they know we're their superiors?

I couldn't say.
I've never got to the bottom of superiority.
I should like to.



Herb Ratliff, May 25, 2012

Daybreak

Daybreak,

a red-tailed hawk captures a cottontail,

Eggs Benedict on the raptor menu.

Life is good, hope echoes her promise

and now it is up to me to live free.

Aho!

©Herb Ratliff, May24, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Daddy's Little Girl

War Bird

Julie Ratliff Kingsley, my daughter, celebrated her birthday on the eighth of May. To put an exclamation point behind her 40th birthday she competed in the Warrior Dash, a 5K wall climbing, mud slinging, swimming, running, jumping race that made it clear she is just getting warmed up.

Congratulations Julie. 

She finished 31st in her age group, 40 - 49, out of a field of 457, and 252 overall from a field of 2887 with a time of 35:11.30 . Makes me tired just to type it.

Touched

* Note to the reader.

Touched

A glass of wine, Rhine, you said.

Bright eyes flitting here and there but,

finding an oasis in mine.

They stopped and looked more deeply, then

you touched me and waited to be touched.

The clamor wrapped us like a blanket.

I smiled. (Sometimes noise can be a friend.)

Linen, silver and Henry brought dinner.

We talked of Ardrey, Leaky and Eisley,

acquiesced our boundaries and turned

our separate spaces into one we shared, 

for a moment.

You wanted to walk and drink in the cool 

November night. We shared my coat.

Arm in arm like some caped apparition

we laughed along the street, clinging to the moment

and looking for a place to embrace.

Dance? I asked, and then like an island in the stream,

we embraced in the middle of madness.

Morning found me alone, fondling a tiny, golden ear ring.

I stared into it's glow and recalled the fire from embers.

©Herb Ratliff, March 16, 1978, All Rights Reserved

* Note to the readers:
Although there is a school who believe poetry stands on it's own legs or not at all, I want to say a few words about this poem's origin. I wrote it several years ago after a friend challenged me to write a poem for The New Yorker. I never submitted it so I could be certain it would be accepted. I have seen many that are no better and a lot more that are not as good. HBR

Education: A New Look

Thought For The Day

An unconventional approach to education

"In 1999 the Indian physicist Sugata Mitra got interested in education. He knew there were places in the world without schools and places in the world where good teachers didn't want to teach. What could be done for kids living in those spots was his question. Self-directed learning was one pos­sible solution, but were kids living in slums capable of all that much self-direction?

  

"At the time, Mitra was head of research and development for NIIT Technologies, a top computer software and development company in New Delhi, India. His posh twenty-first-century office abutted an urban slum but was kept separate by a tall brick wall. So Mitra designed a simple exper­iment. He cut a hole in the wall and installed a computer and a track pad, with the screen and the pad facing into the slum. He did it in such a way that theft was not a problem, then connected the computer to the Internet, added a web browser, and walked away.

  

"The kids who lived in the slums could not speak English, did not know how to use a computer, and had no knowledge of the Internet, but they were curious. Within minutes, they'd figured out how to point and click. By the end of the first day, they were surfing the web and-even more importantly-teaching one another how to surf the web. These results raised more questions than they answered. Were they real? Did these kids really teach themselves how to use this computer, or did someone, perhaps out of sight of Mitra's hidden video camera, explain the technology to them?

  

"So Mitra moved the experiment to the slums of Shivpuri, where, as he says, 'I'd been assured no one had ever taught anybody anything.' He got similar results. Then he moved it to a rural village and found the same thing. Since then, this experiment has been replicated all over India, and all over the world, and always with the same outcome: kids, working in small, unsupervised groups, and without any formal training, could learn to use computers very quickly and with a great degree of proficiency.

  

"This led Mitra to an ever-expanding series of experiments about what else kids could learn on their own. One of the more ambitious of these was conducted in the small village of Kalikkuppam in southern India. This time Mitra decided to see if a bunch of impoverished Tamil-speaking, twelve-year-olds could learn to use the Internet, which they'd never seen before; to teach themselves biotechnology, a subject they'd never heard of; in English, a language none of them spoke. 'All I did was tell them that there was some very difficult information on this computer, they probably wouldn't under­stand any of it, and I'll be back to test them on it in a few months.'

  

"Two months later, he returned and asked the students if they'd under­stood the material. A young girl raised her hand. 'Other than the fact that improper replication of the DNA molecule causes genetic disease,' she said, 'we've understood nothing.' In fact, this was not quite the case. When Mitra tested them, scores averaged around 30 percent. From 0 percent to 30 percent in two months with no formal instruction was a fairly remark­able result, but still not good enough to pass a standard exam. So Mitra brought in help. He recruited a slightly older girl from the village to serve as a tutor. She didn't know any biotechnology, but was told to use the 'grand­mother method': just stand behind the kids and provide encouragement. 'Wow, that's cool, that's fantastic, show me something else!' Two months later, Mitra came back. This time, when tested, average scores had jumped to 50 percent, which was the same average as high-school kids studying bio-tech at the best schools in New Delhi.

  

"Next Mitra started refining the method. He began installing computer terminals in schools. Rather than giving students a broad subject to learn-for example, biotechnology-he started asking directed questions such as 'Was World War II good or bad?' The students could use every available resource to answer the question, but schools were asked to restrict the num­ber of Internet portals to one per every four students because, as Matt Rid­ley wrote in the Wall Street Journal, 'one child in front of a computer learns little; four discussing and debating learn a lot.' When they were tested on the subject matter afterward (without use of the computer), the mean score was 76 percent. That's pretty impressive on its own, but the question arose as to the real depth of learning. So Mitra came back two months later, retested the students, and got the exact same results. This wasn't just deep learning, this was an unprecedented retention of information. ...

"Taken together, this work reverses a bevy of educational practices. Instead of top-down instruction, [these 'self-organized learning environments'] are bottom up. Instead of making students learn on their own, this work is collaborative. Instead of a formal in-school setting for instruction, the Hole-in-the-Wall method relies on a playground-like environment. Most importantly, minimally invasive edu­cation doesn't require teachers. Currently there's a projected global short­age of 18 million teachers over the next decade."

Author: Peter H. Diamandis and Steven Kotler
Title: Abundance
Publisher: Free Press
Date: Copyright 2012 by Peter H. Diamandis and Steven Kotler
Pages: 174-176

New Eyes

Thought For The Day

What is treacherous is not so much what happens as how well prepared you are for it. Life happens at the speed of light and getting ready for it is what you spend your life doing.

Life has a way of lulling you into a kind of blase attitude, convincing you that your life has little meaning, no excitement, not much in the way of prospects for the future. Then, in the midst of your complaints of being a public service announcement something happens in your life to shake the very earth you stand on. It could be receiving a large amount of money, an injury or a hidden condition found in you that calls for some serious decisions but, whatever the event, it gives you a new perspective, a new set of eyes. 

Now, the mundane, predictable acts of living performed by you and those around you take on a whole new meaning. If you are serving your country in the armed forces there are conditions that threaten you every moment of the day and night. There is no safe place and you must be alert at all times. If you are going to work, shopping for groceries, directing a merger or performing surgery there are trip points and land mines at every step. We have just become desensitized to them. When one of those moments wakes us from our walking sleep, we are surprised. 

This is your moment, your fifteen minutes of fame, your day, your life. Live it with new eyes every day. Don't quit before the miracle!

©Herb Ratliff, May 14, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Be Right Back

Thought For the Day

If you are unemployed because of circumstances beyond your control, refer to it as a much needed sabbatical for research. It will titillate your audience with considerations of your importance and make you feel a bit better while doing no harm.

Herb Ratliff, May 10, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Morning Mayflies

Thought For The Day

First you breath out and look across as much of the river as possible. Then, go from wide angle to a tighter focus of just the area the light shines on. It looks a bit like a path toward the sun. As your eyes relax and your body loses its tension you begin to notice the insect life in, above and beyond the water. Much of the insect life is very small, seemingly too small to be important. Then, the aerial denizens make their presence known with in flight captures of the wee beasties.

As you grasp the biosphere more clearly the clockworks precision becomes apparent and then you see the mayflies as they rise and drop, rise and drop, then fall to the surface on the gentle current of the river. Then, without remark nothing but a dimpled concentric ring. As sure as coffee in the morning the baetis have arrived, tiny blue winged olive mayflies, a staple of the watchful trout.

A 6x tippet, fisherman's knot, a tug to tighten and the early looks, fore and aft before the back-cast, then the soft uncurling ess and a feather drop on the surface. Let the games begin my friends.

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

Thanks For The Memories

Happy Birthday Julie

You Look Marvelous!

You Can't Be Serious

Thought For The Day

I suppose everyone has a story about religion. Some of the memories have deep meaning and great impact on our character, others are markers of changes in attitude and growth. My story has a little of both.because it is about something that happened when I was nine.

I did not grow up in a home where religious heritage had laid a path to follow. I do not know what religion was practiced in the homes of my grandparents, aunts and uncles. I did not attend a parochial school. I do remember attending a number of different churches and being required to sit quietly with my parents for church services that involved loud men making threats about the safety of my soul if I were not "saved". To say that church was not a destination I favored is a bit of an understatement. I dreaded Sunday in those days and was a reluctant participant. That all changed when the missionaries came to visit.

When the missionaries came to school my parents in the tenets of the new church they were investigating the whole picture of religion began to change. This was the introduction of growth, education, community, friendship and possibilities. While the threat aspect remained, it was muted in favor of the more positive attributes of new horizons and community.

After a fairly long investigation my mother decided this was the kind of lifestyle change that she deemed correct for the family. My father was less convinced and withheld approval and participation until further review. Since I was of sufficient age to be considered for baptism by immersion, that event was set as a goal to be accomplished as soon as possible.

Immersion was a word with which I was unfamiliar and so I questioned those around me for an explanation and was told that baptism was accomplished by standing in a large bathtub like tank and put under the water by an elder, all of me, the whole enchilada. Naturally, this did not meet with my immediate approval and since I had no real authority to argue the point I began to stew and ruminate about the event until I was so twisted up in my knickers that I could scarcely sleep. The largest part of the problem centered on the fact that I believed since this was an event which mirrored a bath I would necessarily be without raiment, clothing for those of you who don't remember Sunday school words. And, the idea that I was to be nude and watched by the entire congregation put me in a terrible state.

The terror did not subside until I was given the white clothing which was to be worn for the baptism. Just another example of the little things that make a big difference in the lives of children. But, I must tell you that the relief I felt when those clothes were handed to me is beyond description.

Herb Ratliff, May 7, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Throwing Rocks

Thought For The Day

In the unconventional life of the kid there are many traps for tunnel vision moments. The is nothing beyond the challenge, nothing beyond the dare, only the excitement of the competition and the possibility of the win.

Living in a 1950's neighborhood in Saginaw, Michigan offered many perks, not the least of which was the possibility of walking over to a friends house after school. Subdivisions were something in the future, busing was minimal so bikes, walking and on rare occasions drop offs were the norm. This meant that after school the possibility existed for a visit to a friend's. So on one such opportunity I was invited to go to Mike Pohlman's house after school and that is what I did. As a matter of fact there were three of us who made that walk, Mike, Gordon Cann and me. I am reasonably sure that we were in the seventh grade, twelve years old.

Walking over to visit a friend is always an adventure and when there are three there is an inevitable built in challenge match of things to stretch the limits of good taste. That's what twelve year old boys do. A lot of the matches are bluff and empty bravado but if you can convince others that you would do something it is almost as good as the deed itself, better if you consider the consequences.

Our final challenge match occurred right at the driveway of Mike's house. We had been bragging about our great skills the whole way home and now that we were there something had to happen so Mike said that there was no way way anyone could hit the flood light on the garage at the end of the driveway. He said that we each could use three throws and that we should each select three rocks compatible with the event. That done we stepped to the marked line on the sidewalk and prepared for the games.

Each of us made our initial toss and were unsuccessful. Now began the trash talk, prelude to adrenaline psychosis and the second round of throws, no Kewpie Doll. Now began the disclaimers: It's too far, No one could do that, This is ridiculous and when the pressure was reduced the accuracy improved and the target got bigger and the rocks got closer and when I made the last throw, I hit it squarely in the center and smashed it to smithereens much to the chagrin of Mike, Gordon and me. Now what?

There were angry parents to deal with, repair costs to consider, restricted activity was introduced, no more kids over after school, it was awful. Some things never change.

Herb Ratliff, May 4, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Great Moments

Thought For The Day

Jim and Carole Carroll

Some of the greatest moments in life are impromptu events, kisses from the universe, life putting you in the spotlight without warning. One such event occurred one weekday evening in the mid nineteen seventies. It began with a phone call from my friend,  Jim Carroll. He had been given tickets to go to a concert in Detroit. Would we be interested in going with he and his wife Carole?

We had two lovely children and no family close by to cover such quick invitations but we checked with our best sitters and found the kids favorite would be available if we were not going to be too late.  The scurrying began. I left the office early and went home to help get things ready. Jim and Carole lived in Saginaw, we were in Flint and the Concert was in Detroit about seventy miles away. At the time that was a lot farther away than it seems now.

We got things ready for the sitter, fed the kids, got dressed for the concert, the Carroll's picked us up and away we went.

It might be helpful to know that I am a very big fan of the piano. And this concert was being performed by none other than Van Cliburn, youngest and only American winner at the time of the Russian International Tchaikovsky Competition at the age of twenty three at the height of the Cold War. I was over the top with anticipation.

We had front row seats. Seeing someone perform who is the best at what they do is an indescribable experience. He played Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Op. 18 by Sergei Rachmaninoff .  That was the same piece he had played to win in Moscow.  I have been to a reasonable number of concerts both popular and classical music and seen some remarkable performances but there is nothing that has ever approached the experience I had that particular night. I haven't even told you about the most interesting part of this event.

After the concert was over, Jim went over to thank Dr Freiling (that's a guess at the name.), his friend who had provided the tickets. When he came back he seemed rather animated and asked if we could go over to their house for a drink. We conferred for a bit, found a phone and checked with the sitter and agreed to go.

Their home was amazing. It was in Royal Oak, an area of Detroit that had many classical homes and estates and was five stories. Each story had musical instruments showcased. The first floor had clavichord, harpsichord and grand piano along with lutes and lyres. It turned out that, and I may have this turned around, that Mrs. Freiling was the president of the Founders Society and that was how the tickets had become available.

We moved from the tour to a lovely garden like room with a full bar and hors d'oeuvres. There were but a handful of people in this gigantic house and I knew a few of them from work. While it was lovely to see the house and museum like display of musical instruments I was beginning to feel uneasy about the time and the sitter and getting home. I leaned over to Jim and said that we should probably be considering taking our leave. It was then that he told me there was to be a complete sit down dinner. I was flabbergasted and about to make my excuses for leaving when I noticed a flurry of activity moving toward the room. I looked more closely and to my amazement the entourage was made up by John Cavelli, conductor of the Flint Symphony and his wife, a gaggle of roadies and none other than Van Cliburn and his mother.

When we were seated Van Cliburn was on my right and his mother on my left. I felt like royalty, What great fun. Thanks Jim and Carole

Herb Ratliff, May 1, 2012, All Rights Reserved