I Wonder

Thought For The Day

I wonder if death is like a cool drink

on a cruel, hot, humid day in August

or the last bite of a bowl of ice cream.

Could it be complete indifference  or

complete happiness, ultimate satisfaction.

Do you think there's fear or resignation?

Could it be the greatest pleasure, saved for last

knowing you would be unhappy living 

while knowing it was waiting?

I don't mind waiting 

but I was thinking....

©Herb Ratliff, July 31, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Daydreams

Thought For The Day

Who pulls the strings 

that make us dance 

or 

lie  softly on the edge 

of sleep?

From my spot

under the staircase

I see you

walking back and forth in the kitchen

flour on your apron

strands of soft hair 

around your eyes 

focused fiercely 

on the crust 

for cherry pie.

©Herb Ratliff, July 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Morning Light

Thought For The Day

Do you remember

 waking up

 on a summer day 

when you were a child?

I listened to the birds

I mean really listened

Not to identify them

Just to hear them.

There were no plans

Only possibilities

Cornflowers, clouds

Bumblebees, grasshoppers

and tall stems of grass

with a sweet taste.

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

Hoxeyville, The End of the Story

Thought For The Day

Fred wowed the crowd with his peerless performance. He was born to be on stage or in front of people at the very least. He thrived on it.

He actually won the grand prize.He refused it, saying it was in violation of the rules of a fraternity he belonged to which did not allow him to accept gifts.
We did a few songs together and the crowd seemed happy enough with our offering. It was one of those times when part truth and part fiction becomes a real event. It was good enough to find it's way onto the header for section two of the local newspaper.

Other than create the expectation of an article on Hoxeyville in Life Magazine, we did nothing terribly wrong. While they believed that, they stood taller and dreamed larger than before. We told them there were no guarantees that it would make the final cut. We told them that it would be a while before anything happened at all. And the whole time it lived in their lives, life was good and they were special. Who knows when they finally gave up on the dream? Maybe they never did. I hope not and in a way they are more famous now than they would have been in a magazine article then. Approximately 2.3 billion people have access to the internet. At it's peak Life's circulation was just over three million.

And the girl? She was a lovely young lady and it was my privilege to spend a little time with her on that evening a long time ago. Nothing we did would compromise her beauty or character. She made me the envy of our little group and that made me happy. And the truth is, she didn't believe a word of our story.

Fred Doerr died in April 22, 2009. He was 68. I hadn't spent much time with him since college. He was living in Saginaw and I live near Atlanta. He left me with a lot of memories. I will cherish them.

Doug Jensen is teaching business law at Reed College near Seattle. I have kept in touch with him over the years. He is still ever the gentleman, perfect manners, thoughtful and a lot of fun. He still loves to wet a line as fly fishermen are fond of saying. He goes to the Bob Marshall Wilderness every year to renew his outdoor spirit.

So there you have it,  Hoxeyville - The Life Magazine Project

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

Hoxeyville, Part IV

Thought For The Day

When I saw her I knew I had to meet her. She was surrounded by friends and admirers. There was nothing to do but make our entourage more interesting than what she was doing. With the casual, in charge air of  a war correspondent I walked up to her and said:

"I'd like to get some pictures and interview a few people. Who should I speak to for permission?" 

The look I got from her told me she was right where I wanted her to be. She almost stuttered when she asked who I was and  why I wanted to take pictures. I decided at that moment to see if it would work. 

"Herb Ratliff, free lance journalist. We're doing a piece for Life Magazine." 

Then I just waited. There was a pause while she moistened her lips and swallowed. She pointed out the Mayor, who was watching our exchange. When we made eye contact he moved toward me smiling. Bingo! We're in.

When the Mayor came over we introduced ourselves around and explained our reason for being there. We were doing a series of articles about small towns in rural areas. Michigan was our current focus. 

I asked if he was willing to participate. He couldn't say yes fast enough. He invited us to stay for the festivities. He even offered to show us his collection of different types of wood. He also had a collection of animal fetuses in formaldehyde. (I could have lived without that.) He said there was going to be a program that evening and a talent show. 

"Would you fellows like to participate in the talent show?" He asked. 

Fred, Doug and I looked at each other and grinned. This was working out much better than we expected. It was getting on toward dinner time. The Mayor invited us to stay, offered his home for showers and promised a great evening of fun. 

While Doug showered Fred and I worked out a little program to perform for the talent show. Fred was able to magically simulate the sounds of a variety of musical instruments. That would be a part of the program. Doug, Fred and I would sing a couple of songs for the rest.

Now, where did that lovely wood nymph go?


Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! - Nymph in thy orisons,
be all my sins remembered.
--Hamlet, scene i

.................to be continued

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

Hoxeyville Part III

Thought For The Day

Cadillac is only about two and a half hours from Saginaw.  Not a long enough trip for us to even begin to tap the energy such an outing creates.  We sang songs, laughed, talked about girls and discussed fishing for trout. The idea of wading in a stream to fish was still a novel idea to me but I was  game.

The first order of business was to look for a place to set up our camp. Michigan has long been a friend to the outdoor types. During those years it was not that unusual for people to grab some shuteye in a picnic area. As I recall we found a nice spot by the river, set up a place for a fire and a tent. We pulled a couple of fallen logs around to sit on and we were ready to set up housekeeping. There was and still is a lot of State Land in Michigan so we didn't worry about trespassing. 

I don't know if you have ever thought about it but a river seems deep just because it's a river. There is a vastness to water that exists in my visual senses. No one ever thinks of the Mississippi River as shallow. It is the Mississippi. That by definition makes it wide and deep and long. You do not need a map or a depth gauge. It is an American epic, therefore deep. Some of that carries over to ones perception of all rivers. Water, it's where we grew from a tadpole to a baby. It sustains our life. It's over 70% of our body and our planet. As Norman McClean said in, A River Runs Through it. "I am haunted by waters."

I was reluctant to get in the river. I didn't refuse, I was just slow to test the wading idea. After a half hour of it I was hooked. Some fifty years later it's harder to get me out than in. We spent the day wading and fishing. It was a blast. We caught a few trout and lost many more. We had the stealth of a rogue elephant with a toothache. The first night was a predictable boys camping trip, hot dogs, potato chips, brownies my mom had made and some kind of carbonated, sugar laden beverage, pure heaven.

The next morning we broke camp and headed out for another spot to try our luck. We had met some people who said there was a river near Hoxeyville, a little town about thirty minutes from where we were camped. We headed for the Pine River, one of Michigan's many rivers that had native trout. We would spend the bulk of the day fishing the Pine. There were a lot of fish, nothing in the way of trophy size behemoths but we never lost our optimism.

Finally, after a really long and tiring day, we reluctantly decided to break from the fishing. We exited the stream and found our way to the local roadway system. Once there we headed back to the car and the promise of a good meal. That was before we saw the girl on the fire truck that changed the whole nature of the trip and our identities. Did you ever wish you were a photographer for Life Magazine or a free lance writer?

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

Hoxyville Part II

Thought For The Day

Fred Doerr's behavior made Pandora's fiasco look like a misdemeanor. The lad was endlessly creative, persistent to a fault and more fun than a passkey to FAO Schwarz. When paired with Doug Jensen, an early version of Dr. Niles Crane and me, Opie without freckles there was no hope for the world which crossed our path.

When the call came from Doug to head north and go fishing, Fred and I jumped all over it. An adventure of any flavor was always welcome. Just being with Fred was an adventure. You were never able to predict what he might do. He was fearless, without boundaries and as convincing as Clarence Darrow. While all of that lay neatly packaged in the back of your mind you could never see it coming. It being whatever kind of jackpot he would eventually get us in.

Fred was musical. He could sing pretty well. He was persuasive and he loved adventure and the lure of the unpredictable. He was my friend and an endless source of inspiration and intrigue. Fred didn't always start things but everything that happened caromed off his brain like a cue ball gone mad.

Doug Jensen could have been an adviser to the king, even then. He probably is now. He was the picture of self control, excellent manners, thoughtful behavior, meticulous grooming and a generous nature. Doug has never known the pleasure of dishabille. His world is orderly, controlled and predictable. I still remember his mother and sister. The were elegant, gracious, well groomed and articulate. His father was personable, generous and a fantastic public speaker. Why Doug chose Fred and I as his travelling companions is still a mystery to me but the truth is we had a hell of a good time.

I'll begin the story about that trip tomorrow. And just so you know. I can document the upcoming story. It actually made the newspapers.

©Herb Ratliff, July 17, 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: Part II

Thought For The Day

From yesterday: While You Were Out


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

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

Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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