Let the Day Begin

Realizing this is a bit belated but nevertheless sincere (the special election for the Norwich City Council vacancy was, after all, last Wednesday) I'd like to thank both Shiela Hayes and Bill Nash who volunteered their time and talents and offered themselves as candidates for the vacancy. 

Congratulations to Mr. Nash on his victory and I'm sure he's already rolled up his sleeves because he and the other six members of our City Council have a lot of hard work before them.

What had been a council with four Democrat and three Republican members is now just the opposite. Just as its never eaten as hot as it's served at the local level as at the state and national level, I don't think anyone, including the members themselves, anticipates cataclysmic changes in the policies and/or priorities of the Council between now and the November elections when we'll choose a new City Council and Mayor. 

I think/hope we'll see/hear nuances rather than differences in the tenor and tone of the discussions and in the making of the decisions that will move us forward. Sometimes while we hope for substantial or substantive change, we benefit more from subtle. 

And while news stories have persuaded us to see politics in the stark contrasts of black and white, here locally, where everyone is, or should be, everyone else's neighbor, we will continue to disagree without being disagreeable (fingers crossed).

I'm unclear when we went to the polls last week how much any of that was on anyone's mind. I usually have my hands full just making sure to fill up the whole oval and remembering to let go of my end of the ballot when the tabulation machine grabs it (timing is everything). 

Quite frankly, based on the paltry if not pathetic turnout, I'm not sure how many registered voters appreciated the opportunity to make their choice known and their voices heard. But again, in this case, change is what happens when you're busy making other plans, perhaps especially when you make no plans. Choosing to not make a choice is actually a choice and all of us get to live with it. 

Cynic that I am (I know; feign surprise), it'll be as easy as always to spot the stay-at-home voters over the next weeks and months as they'll be the ones loudly lamenting across various social media platforms about how 'no one ever listens to them'. Between us, I've seen that movie once too often. 

I think the question we and, by extension, those whom we choose to represent us in elected office, struggle with here in The Rose of New England is 'What should we do next?' Perhaps for a start, we could promise one another to give everyone in office, whether we voted for them or not, the benefit of the doubt and help them to succeed because when they do, we will as well. 

Think of it not so much as a leap of faith but more like a short hop with an element of a skip thrown in for good measure (just remember to stick the landing). We too often and so quickly jump to conclusions about ulterior motives based on little to no evidence whatsoever that just maybe allowing an extra moment to listen to another's point of view might be what helps us to help each other to build, or rebuild, this place we call home.
-bill kenny

I'm Wearing Vegan Sneakers

Came across a random feature the other day, a listing of foods that help you burn excess weight (usually through a process that requires your body to use up more calories processing the food than the food, itself, has in it). 

You've seen lists like this for years and about once a decade someone comes up with a new name for it and you have the Blah-Blah Diet with a book for only $29.95 (plus processing and handling) and an infomercial where a lot of folks who look vaguely familiar sit on a couch and tell each other stories about their own amazing weight loss journeys while taking turns staring in wide-eyed incredulity at somebody else's 'true story of weight loss'.

"Gee Buzz, your colon is so clean you can pass a car through it!" exclaims Mitzi, who looks like one of the people who used to be on Three's Company. Not one of the original members, of course (the survivors are out doing supermarket openings), but one of the replacements after the show started into its glide slope of ratings decline and burned up on reentry. 

And Buzz who may or may not have been in Encino Man with Pauly Shore (how'd you like to have that on your resume?) tells us all about it. I had a great idea for a drinking game one night watching these infomercials. The group makes up a list of pat phrases you know will be said and every time one of them is uttered, everyone has to quaff a beverage. And the winner is me because I didn't come to your house and do this drinking game stuff.

Meanwhile, back at the list.
They're basically all the same--just a slight variation of what your Mom told you to eat and not to eat. There's never a lot of chocolate eclairs on these lists of fat-burning foods and I've often wondered, near-altar boy as I am, why is it that God, who moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform, didn't make the stuff that's good for us taste better? 

I know broccoli is a lot better than a hot sausage sandwich for me, but guess which one tastes better? Maybe He could hire the fine folks from International Flavors and Fragrances (you thought I was goofing on you?) to work on short-term solutions to that challenge. Of course, smiting would work just as well. I figure after a while we'd all get tired of attending funerals where the guest of honor had marinara sauce on his cheek (and you could still see where the lightning bolt hit him).

I don't care how good something is for me. If I don't like the taste, sight, smell, or sometimes the sound (or the name-I almost ate calamari once. I will NEVER eat octopus), I'm not having anything to do with it. 

My favorite example is hot oatmeal. I've tried everything and I still can't bring myself to eat it. I know it's good for me (I don't know why, but nevermind) and I can read the side of the box and get the nutritional information (by the way, what is the point of nutritional information on bottled water?), and I'm sure the flavors are marvelous.

I boil the water and pour it into the bowl and stir it up without gagging and dip the spoon in and lift it out, next stop, lips, and glottis, and no deal. I will not open my mouth, no matter how good oatmeal is for me. And if you want to offer me a swig of a probiotic drink to wash it down, you'd better have a Maid of the Mist raincoat on, buddy boy, because you are so going home to put on new clothes. Could be quite a hike; I'd chow down first.
-bill kenny

Maybe?

Realizing some of us have already started grilling while others are sorting out the teams for the backyard softball game we play every year when we get together, if I may, maybe a novel way to remember our war dead this Memorial Day would be to remember our war living every day. 

Just a suggestion.
-bill kenny

Runnin' On (Close to) Empty

One of the most interesting and lesser-advertised positives behind retirement, at least for me, is the reduction in mileage I put on our car. No joke, This was a matter of some concern when we opted to lease rather than buy our 2022 Subaru Forester. 

We ordered it in the midst of the COVID-19 supply chain disruption over the Thanksgiving 2021 weekend and a big decision was the 'how many miles to lease it' question. We opted for 36,000/3 years which made me a little jittery until I realized even after we clocked 3,075 miles traveling to visit Michelle and Kyle in Virginia and then continued to Florida to see Patrick and Jena (and came back) we were still home and dry. 

We didn't hit the first 10K until about two weeks ago, or fourteen months after we took delivery. 

I love the car and the mileage it gets but, speaking of that, perhaps like you, when the needle on the fuel gauge starts to head south of a quarter tank my palms start to get a little sweaty. I have never in over five decades of driving ever run out of gas. Not once. Hey! I know it's not impressive, but it's the closest thing to a superpower I have (and explains the cape I keep in the car. Sadly, nothing explains away the tights.). 

But, in answer to everyone's question, and the title of the story, here's how far you can go. 

And you thought I'd invoke Jackson Browne. You were so close.
-bill kenny

The Note Is Eternal

I've always enjoyed music and admire immensely and insanely those who can make it in any manner. I cannot carry a tune in a bucket and cannot play an instrument of any kind, and have on more than one occasion been asked to leave a Guitar Center because I'm frightening the salespeople, so this caught my eye and ear, a polychromatic keyboard and the sounds it makes.

The composer/performer says, "Exploring the musical space between consonance and dissonance." I say beautiful.
-bill kenny

Pedro for President

I have a confession, of sorts, to make: I have never watched Napoleon Dynamite in its entirety. I've dropped in on the movie, 'Already in Progress',' a few hundred thousand times and have found what I viewed to be funny not necessarily at the Algonquin Round Table level of counterpoint and repartee but at least beyond the puerile label, so many folks have for it. 

No matter. 

One man's Jon Heder is another one's Sir Alec Guiness (though without the dance moves I suspect). And having endured the Reign of Error that The Malevolent and Maniacal Mango Mussolini ushered into the White House not that long ago, who am I to cast aspersions on the ambitions of Efren Ramirez?

I mean, between us when did you last think of Tater Tots and NOT think of him?
Well, until now, I mean. Bon Guten Appetit! 
-bill kenny

Translated from the Original Hieroglyphics

Wow. If you dig deep enough, sometimes you find a pony in all this horseshit. 

Admittedly, NOT today, but it could happen. I wrote this in 2009 and the subject passed away from COVID-19 some fifteen or so months ago. Anyway. At the time I called it:

All Hat

Driving in the middle of the day on Wednesday, I passed a fellow in an electric blue Miata convertible with the top down, wearing a large hat. The fellow, not the car. Actually, I knew the driver, not that I waved or gave any sign of recognition, though the 'You're #1 with me' gesture did come to mind.

I'd worked with the man a really long time, and I suspect neither of us recall that period with any warmth or fondness. He had the Miata then, when it was a new and cute little car that sort of reminded fossils like me of a classic Lotus without all kinds of pieces falling off every time you drove it someplace. 

For over a century, the sun never set on the British Empire and for many years the same was true of British Leyland Motors. The same nation that built Lancasters and Spitfires to thwart Hitler and his Horde for the ages cranked out Austin Metros and Triumph TR7s with little thought of tomorrow. From the few seconds I saw it, the years haven't been kind to either of them-and between us, he had far less to lose to start with.

Anyway. What had caught my eye was, on a beautiful day (and it was and we deserve as many in a row as we can get for as long as we can have them), he had the top down, to catch the rays (I'll assume). Except, he had a large hat on in the car, behind the wheel. To me, that defeats the whole purpose of having the top-down. If you wear a hat in a car with the top down, it should be the law you must also shower while wearing a raincoat. I'm sorry, some rules are needed here. What is the point, otherwise, of having a car with a convertible top?

If you have a sensitivity to the sun, put the top down only at night or when the car is in a garage; leave the top up when you're driving outdoors (and when you're driving indoors and the indoors is a car wash) or just sell the car and buy one with a permanent roof (We have a name for a car whose roof can be lowered or removed, a 'convertible.' What should we call a car whose roof does NO tricks at all and why doesn't that car deserve a name?). Or in this guy's case, lose the hat that covers your scalp and get one big enough to cover your head. Keep America Beautiful, bozo (and if it's of any solace, that's NOT what I started to type).
-bill kenny

A Hero Understands the Responsibility that Comes with Freedom

All those Shakespearean tomorrows and tomorrows that creep in at such a petty pace have brought us to very nearly the unofficial start of the summer, the Memorial Day weekend. 

The actual holiday is next Wednesday but we've moved its observance to this Monday so we can have a three-day weekend with plenty of time for cooking burgers on a barbecue, taking a run to the beach, watching some laps at the Brickyard, or any of the other leisure-time activities we come up with (as long as they don't involve serious thinking). 

Some of us have (grand)parents who can remember when Memorial Day was called Decoration Day and even farther back than that, when it was an attempt to honor the war dead of the War Between the States, evolving into a remembrance of all of those in uniform who sacrificed their lives to preserve our liberties.

Across the country Monday there will be memorials and remembrances and here in Norwich,  we'll have a parade from the Cathedral of Saint Patrick at noon, ending at Chelsea Parade. We live very close to Chelsea Parade and I routinely walk among the markers at Memorial Park to Norwich's war dead from the conflicts that have shaped and shaken our nation. 

It's a strange feeling, to see the monuments to the conflicts you've read about in history, but to realize the deeply personal price so many of our neighbors' families paid with the sacrifice of loved ones for something so abstract, but intensely, vital for each of us, this country we call our home. 

But it's not just their sacrifice I'd hope you'll consider as you double-check the count on the hot dogs and buns for the weekend cook-out but, rather, the price paid by so many in uniform for opportunities and privileges to which too many of us seem oblivious. Freedom has a price and each generation pays its share. 

Memorial Day is a thank you to those who foot that bill and most especially those who paid the ultimate price. If you regard it that way, it ceases to be about picnics, previews of summer, or a shortened work week and becomes again become a day to honor those whom we have lost. 

Those who gave their lives in Afghanistan and Iraq are perhaps foremost in our thoughts and hearts but we cannot forget those who are the original greatest generation of World War II, the heroes of the Korean War, the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines who served so valiantly in Vietnam and the First Gulf Wars. We remember those who died in Somalia, Grenada, Beirut, and many other places across the globe whose names we cannot seem to pronounce but where we have placed our sons and daughters in harm’s way.

But when we speak of honoring our heroes, we should ask ourselves what is our responsibility to them? They gave their entire lives—we owe them more than a day. We live in a world of computer-animated GIFs online and fifteen-second sound bites on television where every earth-shaking and history-making event is replaced by the next wave of breaking news stories and our eyes glaze over and memories fade. 

We get confused but we shouldn't. Celebrities make headlines-heroes make a difference. 

And the men and women we honor and remember this weekend are heroes. 

In the words of John F. Kennedy, himself a veteran of World War II, "A nation reveals itself not only by those it produces but also by those it honors and remembers." On Memorial Day we honor and remember the men and women who died defending the belief that freedom is the most precious gift we have. 

They forfeited their lives to prove that and their sacrifice requires us to live as engaged and energized citizens of the world who merit that sacrifice, because we do. Start by voting in today's City Council election.
-bill kenny

Another Day in the Land of the Round Doorknobs

I'm guessing perhaps because I'm old and crotchety and my lumbago is acting up today that whole "Good guy with a gun will stop a bad guy with a gun" mantra isn't so much an exercise in optimism as just outright bullshit. 

It's been a year since Uvalde, Texas, and the murderous rampage at Robb Elementary School. 

I know, 'how quickly we forget.' Not all of us.

The Lone Star State isn't alone in permitless carry which I'm sure someone, somewhere, thinks is an important aspect of maintaining their freedoms. In a nation with more firearms than people, by a  wide margin, why is it we insist more guns will somehow reduce the carnage of gun violence? 

That's NOT magical thinking; it's insanity.
-bill kenny

Tempus Fugit

To my knowledge, no other species on our planet divides time into arbitrary units of measurement, just us. And damn, some of us are really good at it. 

Actually amazing at it might be a better word.

And that's all we have time for today.
-bill kenny 

Maybe It Is the Journey

Growing up in the Sixties I often heard 'It's the journey, not the destination.' Admittedly, that was mostly when Dad got lost on the way to one place or another (in my case, as my family knows, the apple did not fall far from the tree). 

When it happened, Mom used to say we were taking the scenic route. They made quite a team and it was only much later I more fully appreciated that. But as for that particular turn of phrase, 'the scenic route,' I think this may be what everyone was supposed to be talking about. 

Makes you sort of sorry this has ended for today, right? At least sort of.
-bill kenny 

That Many Dollars Should Buy a Lot of Sense

I usually write about the goings-on, albeit somewhat obliquely, in the town where I live on Wednesdays because that's the day of the week the local newspaper, The Bulletin, publishes my rambling as a column within its pages. I/They have been doing that for over a decade (I admit it feels longer if you're been reading them). 

This past week was a busy one in court for folks formerly associated with our public utilities which is NOT a private corporation like Eversource or United Illuminating but rather, community-owned, the Norwich Public Utilities. 

Drew Rankin, James Sullivan, and John Bilda demonstrated the dangers when a public trust is treated like a private trough, and have been punished with prison terms and large amounts of public scorn. I'm not sure where justice ends and vengeance begins but the behavior they were accused of and for which they were found guilty puts the E in egregious and while for some there will never be enough punishment for others it's better a horrible ending than horrors without end.

All of that was going on while, as is true across our state, Norwich's City Council was struggling to finalize a municipal budget that, no matter its final shape, will make large portions of my neighbors unhappy because it will spend too much/too little (pick one or the other, or both in some cases) on matters closest to our hearts while allowing other line items to either be extravagantly funded or fiscally starved. 

Lots of potential for acrimony and animus, most of it short-lived (we have memories like goldfish it's always seemed to me at this time of year), fueled slightly by a report in The Bulletin, based on publicly available information that in 2022, with a total budget of $145.6 Million, city employees were paid $69.8 Million. 

More than one hundred municipal employees earned in excess of one hundred thousand dollars with the highest paid being a member of the police department, though, not the police chief, who received over two hundred and thirteen thousand dollars. Pretty impressive for what I think of as a small town where most of us know the rest of us, although it's a little less starry-eyed when described by the US Census Bureau. 

We're slightly less glamorous as viewed by these folks. 

In all honesty, I'm hard-pressed to figure out how we manage to afford the payroll we currently have, to say nothing about the pension obligations we are accruing by maintaining this level of compensation as deserved as I'm sure it is. 

The role of and compensation for public service positions is long overdue for a careful and thoughtful analysis and examination as we slowly reach the tipping point where all we're doing is turning over our wealth to the people who are working for us. This may be an ideal moment to start that conversation. Everyone deserves to earn a fair wage, no less and certainly no more.
-bill kenny     

Jesus, Take the Wheel

Or in this case, I'm guessing more like "Rex." 

Of course, if God is your co-pilot and you're a dyslexic, what else could we expect. Did I just hear someone say 'a dateline from somewhere in Florida'? Fair point. 

As is whatever happened to their follow-up album?
-bill kenny

I'm Union and I'm Proud

I was surprised to read the other day that the percentage of Americans represented by a labor union is a hir (or skosh) above 10%, at 10.1% as of 2022 which is when the Bureau of Labor Statistics last counted noses. 

I know, 'we had covid, and precautions from lockdowns and the impact of all of that on the economy' yadda, yadda, blah, blah. We also had, and continue to have unparalleled levels of greed at the personal and corporate wealth level and there's data to suggest a majority of us think declining membership in unions is BAD, not that we seem to be in a hurry to join ourselves.  

But both the total number of union members and overall interest in unions, well, some unions, may be about to get a decent-sized bump if not grind as well.

Proving again there are some things AI and teleworking just can't do. Yet.
-bill kenny

Vote (and Other Four Letter Words)

Do you remember those insurance commercials on TV where getting coverage was "so easy even a caveman can do it?" In the ensuing years, it's gotten even easier I guess which is why perhaps these days a cousin to a Salamander is now the company's spokes amphibian. 

I always think of that lizard and caveman when we get to talking about the city budget and municipal governance in general. There's an old saying, 'Nothing is impossible for the person who doesn't have to do it,' and for many of us that captures our perspective perfectly. 

Admittedly I'm being too sensitive and perhaps I'm only half-listening to the points (not) being made, but the sense of the city I'm getting on social media and radio call-in shows is the people in charge don't have a clue about what "we" really "need" (= want). 

Oddly enough, it doesn't seem to matter who is in charge; it can be a different cast but the movie remains the same. And perhaps over-simplified, our thoughts and desires on the current, and/or ANY city budget approved by whatever configuration of the City Council we have can always be characterized as 'everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die."  

I bring all of this up, not because I'm offering to throw my hat into a political ring but because next Wednesday we're voting to fill a City Council vacancy we've had since January. Perhaps you've seen the lawn signs? Yep, next Wednesday's vote is what that's all about. 

Would I have liked to have seen/heard/read interviews and conversations with both of the candidates seeking to fill that vacancy and learn what they view as the challenges as well as opportunities Norwich is facing, or what they see as their priorities should they be elected next Wednesday?  Yeah, and ideally, so, too should you. But, as my mom used to say, 'If you don't ask, you don't get.' So I guess, we asked for lawn signs.

Except, the lawn signs I'm most concerned about are the For Sale signs, on houses, apartments, small businesses, you name it. And I confess to being frustrated that we spend so much time around here talking about the past and the good old days. I don't know why so many of us like to look back; that's not the direction we should be heading in. 

I could fib and tell you that I don't care for whom you vote, but that's not true. I'm very passionate in my support for one of the candidates but I don't want to poison your well with my unsolicited opinion but rather want to encourage you as strongly as I can to make sure if you are eligible to vote that you cast a ballot. 

A very wise man, Gene Nathan, once observed, "Bad officials are elected by good citizens who choose to not vote." I have a slightly abrasive attitude on all of that: if you don't vote, shut up. You had your chance. Next Wednesday you can make your voice heard or you can shrug your shoulders and say it doesn't matter. And if you do that, you'll be correct, but we'll be poorer for your inaction.

You cannot possibly have anything better to do than exercise your right to vote next Wednesday. Norwich, our home, is too important, for you to not find the time to be counted. As we've proven over and over around here, talk is cheap.
But good news! Voting is free and effective. 

Go to the polls next Wednesday and prove it.
-bill kenny

Here's to the Peck & Snyder No. 1

As the bald spot on my head inexorably grows larger (I used to refer to it as a solar panel designed to power my brain but folks quickly saw through the farce of that explanation), I've developed a fondness for wearing ballcaps.

Not necessarily baseball caps, but when I do wear one of those it's for the Yankees. In recent weeks I've been mostly wearing my VoteVets cap or a soft, nearly denim-blue colored cap that says "I'm old, but I'm like, cool old." 

I have a collection that's much larger than I first thought and which Sigrid, my wife, has brilliantly organized and includes caps from Backstreets magazine, HBO's The Newsroom, a Legalize Voting ballcap I like to wear around election time, one in support of James McMurtry even though he never comes anywhere near my house so I can see him live (HINT), one or more Beatles ballcaps, as well as one from FC Bayern Munich, and one from Rhein-Main Air Base (spellcheck sticks a dash in there though there isn't actually one supposed to be there).

This makes more sense once you read the article

A recurring favorite is a soft brown ballcap, exclusive of ornamentation as we used to say in the Air Force, from a company called Lift-down (that does have a dash, go figure) and it was that ball cap that led me to this collection of thoughts and words on ballcaps. 

And, not so coincidentally, that article is why I love the Internet. You wander down a rabbit hole and take one or more side excursions and the next time you look up from your screen it's three days later and all the plants in your living room have died because you didn't water them. But, damn! That ball cap looks sweet!
-bill kenny

Actually, It Swears

Across Connecticut, towns, and municipalities are practicing their ability to walk on eggs while holding their breath, knocking on wood, and keeping their fingers crossed (mine already are-you can tell by my typing). 

Despite the calendar which starts in January and ends in December, the fiscal year starts on 1 July--meanwhile, the Federal government starts its fiscal year on 1 October. You can't tell the budgets without a calendar.....get yer red hot calendars...

Cities and towns whose sole power to tax is restricted to property are busy measuring three (or more times) and cutting once all across the state as many, like Norwich, have requirements to have an approved budget for the next fiscal year by a date rapidly approaching in the upcoming month.

They should be nervous-a great deal of their budget depends on allocations from the state of Connecticut. And, let's face it, no matter the state and no matter the town, if the choice comes down to a program or position in the Capital or one someplace in the 'boondocks', guess who's going to win? Color me surprised only as long as we can afford crayons.

We go through this to varying degrees, every year. And every year we all get a case of the heebie-jeebies and vow to 'fix' this 'broken system' and then suffer amnesia when the crisis passes. As a matter of fact, since it's so familiar and recurs so often, I'm not sure if 'crisis' is even an appropriate word to describe it.

It's not must-see TV by any means, but for a few weeks, all of us Nutmeggers watch the evening news a bit closer, open our local daily newspapers to the "Capital Doings" section before we hit the sports page, but after the comics (there has to be a constant in the universe), and generally muddle through with a stoic smile as if we were under siege.

Better a horrible end, than horrors without end, I suppose, but this annual dance could end with very little effort if we could all sit together and work it out. After all, money talks. And some days you can't get a word in edgewise.
-bill kenny

He's Not Responsible for What He's Doing

I assume everyone with a pulse, or an approximation, is waxing poetic today in honor of Mother's Day, as we well should. My mom, who passed away almost six years ago, was a self-described 'tough old broad' who wrangled six of us to adulthood, the last three for a significant distance without her partner of (at that time) nearly thirty years. I miss her every day but a little more today.

When I was a kid, Mom was more than unflappable, she was a force of nature and in the decades after the death of her husband, all of her children, joined by grandchildren and great-grandchildren watched her finally lead her own life after taking care of so many of us for so long.

Decades ago, Mom came to visit Sigrid and me, and our two children when we all still lived in Germany. She and Franz and Anni Schubert, Sigrid's parents, got along wonderfully well even though they shared not a single syllable of a common language. 

Sigrid's mom was a Rubble Woman upon whose back the Federal Republic of Germany became the economic engine of Europe in the decade after World War II. Anni's husband passed some years ago and Anni followed. However, and I note this lest there be any confusion, the two women took ZERO shit from anybody and raised children pretty much who are the same way.

My sisters, Evan, Kara, and Jill are accomplished, masterful, and successful. They take care of their own families with the same devotion and also the same discipline (no feet on tables, no glasses without coasters) as their mother did them. Glenn, Russ, and Joe were/are fortunate to have them in their lives and smart enough to know it.

I and my two brothers, Kelly and Adam, are married to women, Sigrid, Linda, and Margaret whose Moms raised them to give us the confidence every day to go out into the world and try to reinvent it in our own image and, when we come home at the end of each day, defeated but undaunted, to convince us we can begin again on the morrow because of their love and support. They make us want to be better.

I realize you're afraid with my diabetes, being so sweet puts me in danger of becoming terminally mushy. No worries, I'm not, as I choose to invoke the deathless words of Ray Wylie Hubbard to close. Love ya, Mom(s), all of you.

-bill

Crawl Up to Your Door

Shakespeare's Hamlet once offered, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Substance-assisted or otherwise (that part of the speech disappeared in later editions of the play). 

Of course, had Willie lived now with all the means of communication, and miscommunication, we have, I suspect Hammy might've told Horatio, 'nevermind.' I mention that because I came across a news item the other day on CNN, the new home for Mendacious Self-Serving Misogyny, Racism, and Xenophobia, that, until Samuel L. Jackson starred in those Snakes on Planes movies, no one would have ever even seriously considered reporting. Well, almost.  

Snakes gave me the heebie-jeebies. I know all about that whole 'they're more afraid of you than you should be of them,' but when confronted by/with them I don't feel so brave. I mean, (read this in your best Samuel L. Jackson voice) how the hell does anything without legs move so fast? 

I hope Amber Hall's Go Fund Me page (actually set up by her cousin) nets her the dollars she needs to successfully sue everyone who hoodwinked her into buying the house in the first place. If you scroll down and read the comments from donors, the one that rocked me was "PLEASE LEAVE - This will Never be over - It's true, they will have 80 babies at a time. It is also true that, if removed, they will RETURN for 10 YEARS. A little-known fact, they follow their pheromone scent back." 

Wow. Horatio just sent me a message, "I'm out."
-bill kenny 

I've Always Loved the Trefoils

I've always been impressed at the timing that has Girl Scoot Cookie sales (hum a few verses of "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" right here while pouring yourself a tall, cold glass of whole milk. Screw that 2% stuff), happening so soon after the conclusion of Lent. 

Yep, I love me some Trefoils and Do Si Dos, admittedly by the carload. Just as the Good Lord intended them to be eaten. I can rationalize any and all purchases by pointing out how important the proceeds of the sales are to funding Girl Scout activities, especially as it's 100% true. 

And then I come across a story like this, and it makes me wanna buy even more of them.   
-bill kenny

Rbbbtt!

Mission creep is what group dynamics folks describe what the rest of us tend to call L.O.S.T, or Line Of Sight Tasking (I'm still not sure what we call group dynamics without making our moms cry). 

At some point in a project one of the very bright people who came up with the original idea realizes there's yet another function they forgot within the transaction and announces 'Someone needs to do/be .....' The first person who makes eye contact with the speaker inherits this new responsibility with absolutely no authority or means to accomplish the tasking. Don't look up! Oops, thanks for playing.

It's part of our lives as individuals, as well, as fretting in the various roles we each play in the drama. I had a plateful (and more) when it was just me, myself, and I. Falling in love and getting married moved me, or us, to Egoism a Deux and then we added children to the mix.

Solo, spouse, and parent, while also being a child, sibling, and wearing a half dozen other hats as we all go round and round in The Circle Game. The cliche is true: You can't tell the players without a scorecard, most especially when we cover numerous positions.

Is there a limit to all this multi-tasking, if that's what this actually is (I like to think that term is better applied to linked tasks vice totally different ones-like a product is both a floor polish and a dessert topping) and when do we reach a limit, how do we know? I remember the 'how to cook a frog in boiling water' semi-urban legend from back in the day (don't judge; I run with a colorful crowd, sehr bunte leute) that makes me suspect there's no 'top end.'

The story went: if you place a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will simply hop back out; but, if you place the frog in the pot of water and then slowly and carefully raise the heat of the flame under the pot, the frog will never move until it has been cooked. I've often wondered if this is why so many of us are called chicken?
-bill kenny

Pocket Change

I was going through my trouser pockets the other day as my wife organized the washing. For too many years someone kept leaving all manner of things in their pants' pockets. I won't use any names, of course, but if I did it would rhyme with 'chill', which she rarely did after discovering them, which was after the clothes had been in the washer and had stained other items of apparel.  

So now one of us has pocket-check duty on laundry day. Recently I found a twenty-dollar bill in the front pocket of a pair of jeans that I couldn't even tell you the last time I wore. Twenty dollars! Pre-pandemic and supply-chain difficulties, that was a modest chunk of change. Now, of course, not so much. 

Still, I was very pleased with myself to have found it until, as I folded it to put it in my wallet, I realized I hadn't found it but, rather, had not realized previously I had lost it. You’re probably not surprised when I tell you that I redoubled my efforts in checking all my pants’ pockets. Wouldn’t you?   

I was thinking about those pants and what I originally regarded as my good fortune when I came across a news story from CT News Junkie, a free subscription service I find helpful in rounding out my understanding of events across The Nutmeg State. The story's headline is "Nearly $200 M in New Projected Revenue to Spend". And the first thing I learned is that the M doesn't stand for marbles. 

The next thing I learned is that not enough of our state legislators spend time going through their own pockets since the tone of the article, accurately summed up in the headline, is 'gee, now we have more money to spend.' Except...

As my financial epiphany demonstrates, it's not found money at all. The 'new projected revenue' was in someone else's pocket before the Department of Revenue Services came calling to collect it. 

This is something that happens, not just here in Connecticut, but everywhere. 

We take six inches off the front of the blanket, sew it onto the bottom of the blanket and tell one another it's a foot longer. But it’s not, no matter how many times we claim otherwise. 

Since a well-known substance rolls downhill, it's usually (in order) the municipalities and then the residents of those municipalities who discover as local budgets are developed and finalized that the so-called rising tide didn't manage to lift quite all the boats. Again.

Here in Norwich, our Board of Education is looking at an over $2M deficit to close out the year. Again, the M ain't for marbles but the number is precipitated by unfunded state mandates. I'm sure we're not the only municipality whose school system is looking at a sea of red ink.  

I don't pretend to be a legislator, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night (with Clarence Thomas) and it seems to me, the state might better put however many M's there are, into paying for things we already have and are using rather than financing more and other initiatives. 

We need to remember there will always be more hands reaching into our pockets than the number of pockets and the money, no matter what pocket it came out of, is still ours.
-bill kenny

I Often Say this on the Way to Derby or Westerly

The older I get, the better I was, so with that in mind, come to your own conclusion when I tell you that at one point in my travels and travails on this orb, I had a better-than-average sense of direction (and purpose, come to think of it). 

Not a Boy Scout Merit Badge level of exceptionalism mind you but I could listen to and understand directions and use them to find locations.

Now, I spend a lot of time in the car explaining to my wife 'I thought you meant the next left-hand turn under the overpass' as we sail past whatever exit or entrance we were supposedly heading for. And yes, we have Google Maps and it is every bit as wonderful as advertised but for some odd reason, it doesn't seem to like me and enjoys making me look foolish in the presence of my spouse. Of course that both saddens and maddens me as I need so little help in that department.  

With apologies to J.R.R. Tolkien, perhaps not all who wander are lost, but in my case, very much so.
-bill kenny

Call It a Lesson Learned

 Experience is what you get when you didn't get what you want.

I've always enjoyed learning though I often do not appreciate being taught.
-bill kenny

Bob Hope Is Crooning Softly Somewhere

I've only experienced prom season watching our son and then our daughter prepare for theirs and that was in every respect of the word enough for me. I didn't go when I was in high school (it was an all-boys school so who would have had me then, or now, come to think of it?) and I never really grasped the origins of the word in the first place. But 'back then' we didn't have Google and now we do, so now I know.  

Knowledge is intoxicating, isn't it? I can still feel my legs wobble after that promenade through etymology. Heady stuff. 

Limousines, horse-drawn carriages, a parent's fancy car, you name it, and someone's child has experienced it unless you're Sherman Bynum. whose idea of arriving for the prom in a Sherman tank was almost as original as his crowd-funding page to pay for the tank rental. 

I'm sure everyone involved was tankful for the opportunity to be part of an iron-clad memorable moment.
-bill kenny

Good Luck, Chuck

At some point today, or maybe because of the time difference it's already happened, the coronation of King Charles III will be all that anyone, or nearly everyone, will want to talk about. 

If you're casually conversant with American history and recall studying the American Revolutionary War (you might need to remind yourself for the next few hours how that turned out), perhaps, like me, you can't really get all excited about this stuff. But to each his own, I suppose. But if you want to feel a part of at least the circumstances portion of the pomp then tuck into a heaping hearty helping of The Coronation Quiche.    

I suspect it's not quite as filling, or satisfying, as a Bacon Sarni or some Bangers (where's Miley Cyrus when we really need her, right?) but it's certainly pricey enough what with supply and demand and all. 

So, with a new monarch, the future's so bright the British Empire Will Need to Wear Shades, for obvious reasons. 
-bill kenny

Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits

My brothers have/had beards and mustaches. Our son has both. I've had one and the other at various times and sometimes or the other. I've also compromised settling in the middle and had a goatee.

I don't pretend to know why anyone else cultivates facial hair. I used to do it because I looked like a kid for a really long time and got carded in more places than you might believe ever served alcohol (but you would be wrong). Now, it's more or less a force of habit.

As I matured (=got older) my facial hair matched what was still left on my head and that was grey. I mention that because for about four days after I start growing a beard I think I look really cool. My spouse, on the other hand, thinks I look like a homeless person and I will acknowledge that I have noticed I seem to have a surfeit of spare change for reasons not entirely clear to me. 

I have beard oil, in case it squeaks (and since it doesn't I guess that means the oil works), and mustache wax, which tastes terrible and I know this because I have a habit of bitting at my mustache for reasons I cannot explain and that I still try to do even when I'm clean-shaven. And I own a bewildering assortment of razors for when I do shave and am constantly on the outlook for new and better ones since I'm never happy or satisfied with what I have.

I always end up shaving for the same reason, more or less, that I opted to grow a beard in the first place: because I can but fell across a short essay that suggests some people spend a LOT of time in deep thought on topics like this, though even after reading it more than once I'm not sure I understand why.

I prefer my musings on the subject to be slightly more musical.
-bill kenny

 

Like Grains through an Hourglass

One of my earliest memories and I'm guessing about the years here, was when I was six or maybe seven and my parents had a beach house (not really, they rented a bungalow), in the same colony that Mom's parents had one, in/near Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey. 

All the bungalows were on concrete block stilts (and this is the fuzzy part of the memory) and were probably three-plus feet off the ground. They were made that way for hurricane season when the high tides came all the way up the beach and into the town and practically all the way to Route 36. Because I was a runt, I could walk under our bungalow and all of us kids used to play underneath them when we weren't at the beach which was just a short walk at the end of the path. 

I don't think I've been as carefree and careless in my life since then and the irony, of course, is that I had no way of knowing that those moments were in many respects as good as it gets. The tragedy of youth is wasted on the young and I was decades away from getting wasted but still...

All those hours at the beach made me an expert at digging holes ('to China if you keep going,' insisted Grampy) and building elaborate forts by filling the sand bucket with still-wet sand and turning it upside down and stacking the mounds one atop the other. If I'd known then who he was I'd have considered myself the next Frank Lloyd Wright until an incoming wave crashed my fantasy. 

However, my ambitions were nothing in comparison to Leonardo Ugolino who, unlike another well-known Leonardo, stays away from ceilings and gets down to it. 

The purpose of art is to conceal art and while the creations do not last forever, they last long enough to be more than memorable.
-bill kenny

Beware of Darkness

Growing up, one of the things I recall with less than fondness was the later in the day a phone call came, the less likely it was to be good news. In my family, we knew better than to phone home after 8 PM, no matter what, and no matter where we were. This was long before caller ID when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and I know young people doubt me on this, we had no idea who was on the other end of the call. 

I have reached an age where, like it or not, I am all the adult I am ever going to be. I know I’m not alone.

The growing old part worked far too well and the growing up part didn't seem to work at all. I still get nervous going into a darkened room and will search out the light switch even if I'm only passing through. And phone calls now? Even with, or perhaps because of caller ID, when the phone rings in the evening, I am always startled (maybe wary is a better word). The phones we have require two rings to show me the number and name of the caller (and if I’m watching TV their identity is onscreen as well), and there I stand, momentarily transfixed, watching the display.

Despite 'do not call' registrations, I get a lot of callers who ‘technically’ don't want to sell me anything, which is prohibited by the registry, but rather only want a few minutes for a survey on a multitude of issues, services, and products which always seem to end in what sounds suspiciously like a sales pitch. And so many worries about my car warranty! Those callers I can handle and do so with a tad more relish and enjoyment than I really should have, truth be told.

But when I see the name and number of my son or daughter on the display, my bravado evaporates, and I start making horror movies in my head. I mutter 'Please don't be anything bad' at least three hundred times between the second ring, which displays their name, and the third ring which never comes because I answer the phone. 

Both of our children think it's amusing their old man breaks out in cold sweats when they call him after dark--if my wife answers the phone, I pace and fret within eyesight and earshot, lest she forget to tell me of a cataclysmic catastrophe that has befallen one of them.

When we brought them home from the hospital, and they still had that 'new baby smell', I used to sit in a corner of their room and watch them sleep. I was fascinated by their breathing and by any and every movement they made while in their crib. Being their father became the hardest job I have ever had, but I’ve loved the most.

As an adult, I understand and internalize the realization I cannot protect my children, who are in fact, adults, themselves now, from every evil and misfortune in the world, but when the day gets dark and the phone rings at night, my inner grown-up is nowhere to be found. And all the me that's left can do is stare at the ringing phone and hope the monster under the bed has vanished by the time I answer it.
-bill kenny

A Blast from Somebody's Past

I offered this a number of years ago on the occasion of our daughter's Natal Anniversary. Yet another orbit around the sun has been completed and it's her birthday, today. Our daughter, Michelle, gets annoyed when I write about her, even when I write nice things like she's the world's greatest squirrel wrangler or wranglette (I'm never sure) so I expect she'll be less than happily surprised I'm mentioning her today.

Michelle, who explains to people she has 'my father's wit and my mother's charm' has a birthday today. I have known her for every day of her life, she cannot make that same claim. I still cannot fully grasp my itty-bit is an adult, especially when I insist on calling her my itty-bit. But she is and in hindsight, I'm thinking perhaps she was born an adult intellectually and just grew into the size of one. This is from her 'early days.'

I can tell you we were NOT the biggest fans of Project Day when one of us was enrolled in Buckingham School's Integrated Day Program. The teacher would videotape each child's presentation and the question and answer session afterward and Michelle's mother and  I would take turns sitting in stunned silence as she departed from her carefully rehearsed script and descended into participatory educational chaos. On more than one occasion, I'm pretty sure I saw Conrad's Mister Kurtz, but then again it was awfully dark.

Michelle has an intensity about her that quite often can take you by surprise. She is in many respects, especially intellectually and emotionally, a quiet riot and amazingly confident in her own judgments, actions, and decisions. She may be wrong, but she is never in doubt.

She has a myriad of attributes and strengths from both the Schubert lineage as well as the Kenny clan but she is far more than the sum of her genetic inheritance or philosophic leanings and her character and intellect are very much her own. 

As she celebrates her birthday today you'd be well advised to join in, if you can, or be prepared to explain why you didn't. And Mike, I went this entire blather and only mentioned the squirrels once. What? Okay, twice! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

"I Am I, and I Wish I Wasn't"

If you realized from where I borrowed today's title, you may have already surmised that this will not be a snappy, sappy, yippee-skippy hooray it's Monday type of entry. And you would be correct. 

At the risk of sounding like the last of the steam-powered trains, I am more and more less and less enthralled with what 21st Century technology hath wrought. New is not always better and when I watch us adapt our humanity to complement extant technology I get nervous.

But when we deploy evolving technology to duplicate and replicate (literally as well as figuratively) our humanity, I do worry more than wonder where this is going and how it ends. I am taking some solace that in my advanced and advancing years, the end game will in all likelihood be accomplished ohne mich. 

Soon enough, we won't be able to tell one another from the machines we once controlled that now control us. And somehow once achieved, this will be considered a success.
-bill kenny