That Would Be a "Nope"

Some will have a long holiday weekend that started/starts today and runs until the beer and bbq runs out late Tuesday. Every Independence Day I try to imagine the Founding Fathers getting organized in Philadelphia to make a beer run after signing whatever it was TJ brought with him. Don't ever quite fully visualize it. I guess having big plans for the weekend can take many different forms.

And then you have this fellow free-climbing El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.

This is Adam Ondr, a Czech professional rock climber, specializing in lead climbing and bouldering. I don't pretend to know before today that one could be a professional rock climber much less have specialties within it. 

I don't think I need to add 'don't try this at home' over your holiday, right?
-bill kenny 

"Get Ready to Stumble..."

Wow is my face red or what? 

I had not heard/read/known about the Zuckerberg/Musk cage match, seemingly being organized by Dana White who brought us the Ultimate Fighting Championship, UFC, which differs from Mixed Martial Arts, MMA, by the amount of blood that gets shed, I think. Talk about FOMO.

I cannot imagine a more vanilla event since, well... ever. Just picture: A massive amphitheater, jammed to the gunwales with white guys, all wearing dress shirts with color-coordinated pocket protectors, with (of course) no ties and the top button buttoned, all neatly tucked into Docker pants with sensible shoes. 

Doubtful there will be any women attending as the Geek Mafia wouldn't know how to ask them out, assuming they knew any women in the first place. They can always get dating tips from Charlie Kirk, who really should sign on as a sponsor. And, maybe if we're all lucky, he can take on the winner. Unless Andrew Tate wants to step up, assuming he can make bail. 

I'd hope the throwdown, or up, is carried on every live stream imaginable and that all the Pharma Bros and the Crypto Bros put big coin behind each of the combatants. Perhaps we can have June Osborne and Serena Joy Waterford on the undercard as an "Incel Special."  

Hopefully, the wagering will generate enough winnings to buy everyone in the arena a blow-up doll so they can live happily ever after for the next forty-five minutes.
-bill kenny

Not Our Finest Moment

If you visit this space with any frequency and consistency, this will be a blinding glimpse of the obvious (BGO): I'm a really big fan of Norwich. I wasn't born here and I didn't grow up here but I settled here a skosh more than thirty years ago and have grown old here (still waiting for the wisdom to arrive). 

I strive very hard, some say 'too hard,' and they're not always incorrect in that assessment, to look on the bright side and be positive about what goes on here and why, as best as I can understand it. I do it so often that I'm perceived as a sort of cheerleader which explains those saddle shoes in my closet and that set of rather bedraggled pompoms, but I  try to applaud us whenever I can because I don't think we celebrate ourselves enough. And if I err on the side of excess, that's fine by me. 

All that said, we blew it last Monday. By 'we,' I mean all of us, and by 'it,' I mean the city's observation of  Juneteenth as the national and state holiday it now is. Yes, we had a sizeable crowd and glorious weather the morning of Friday, June 16th in the courtyard at City Hall for the unfurling of the Juneteenth flag, and by all accounts, there was a great deal of food, fun, and fellowship along Franklin Street Monday afternoon at the Juneteenth Community Cookout. (Some might say a 'Jubilee' in the original spirit of the word.)

But it was business as usual in municipal offices, just as it would be of course, for Independence Day, Memorial Day, Veterans Day, or Presidents' Day (as well as eight others).

Sorry, my mistake. 
On those national holidays, City Hall is closed (I never realized the 'Day after Thanksgiving' was a holiday but it is around here). But last Monday, when the United States was observing Juneteenth Day, we Norwicheans were observing our traditional third Monday of June. 

Yeah, I know Connecticut is called 'The Land of Steady Habits' and I do not pretend for one minute that negotiating, or renegotiating, labor agreements the City has with all the talented people in its employ is the easiest thing in the world (I know it isn't), but the kabuki theater that went on at the City Council meeting last Monday night (on the Council's agenda, a motion to cancel a scheduled meeting for July 3rd (y'know, the day before a national holiday); who says God has no sense of humor, right?) didn't just anger and annoy me (though it did both, sitting in my living room and watching it on public excess access television) but dismayed and demoralized me.   

Sometimes the things we do (or do NOT do) speak so loudly I can't hear what we are saying which is sad because, at the City Hall flag-raising, Mayor Nystrom had some terrific historical notes about Norwich's attitude towards the slave trade in New England and our first in the state embrace of Juneteenth through the efforts of Daniel Jenkins more than three decades ago. 

But by Monday evening, I could only conclude Friday's words were just that, words. The newspaper report I found on the City Council meeting read, with apologies to Dickens, almost like a Tale of Two Cities and underscores to me, especially when I read some of the readers' comments, just how great the growing divisions are becoming in our country. 

Juneteenth and July 4th are both part of our shared history, along with hundreds of other events, occasions, and moments that create and strengthen our national narrative. Respecting the significance and importance of Juneteenth must be more than a mere gesture because we have become a nation of citizens who far too often rely on angry gestures especially because brave words fail to be followed by bold deeds. 
-bill kenny

Weather or Not

We had another nearly-nice day yesterday around here. I'm treating June in Connecticut as if it were a chocolate layer cake, always moist. Seems to be more or less a national trend but I don't live in Indiana or any other exotic environment, so I don't know what it's like where you are. 

I do know when John Donne rings the bell around here, I'm the only one in my corner. And right now, even though summer has officially started, I'm not working on my tan, that's rust.

Of course, we had showers, not much just enough to get everything damp. If we were to NOT have showers, I'd fret something was wrong with the clouds. Oldest children worry about everything and when stuff is going great, we worry that we overlooked something. As I said, we didn't have torrents of rain (at least around here) but enough rain that you knew it was raining as if Gene Kelly could keep a secret if his life depended on it.

And as I walked from Point A to Point 2 (I majored in neither math nor phonics at Rutgers, nor orienteering (come to think of it) which must be why so many people tell me where to go) I passed a building where the sprinklers were on, making sure the lawn was getting watered. 

I imagine there's a schedule for this kind of stuff and a contract to regulate the relationship between the waterer and the wateree and yet, this is another one of those bridges that becomes a wall. Instead of an agreement that helps get things done, we have a starting gun in a footrace to see which side can come up with a faster reason for why something cannot be accomplished. 

Or, we have a variant of the Abilene Paradox in which one party is not willing to even attempt to change a relationship even though they say they want to change. Instead, they maneuver to have the other side come up with reasons for why change is bad so they are absolved of any responsibility to change.

Happens every day and more often than you'd imagine. Just watch the evening news and listen to what those who are our leaders say and then watch what they do. In Washington D. C. both Republicans and Democrats say they want to help middle-class voters with a responsible budget and balanced spending (not sure they care a fried rat's hindquarters about anyone else)

With both sides saying they want the same thing you could well ask what could be easier to accomplish? Yeah, right. Tell you what, how about you hold on to the umbrella, just in case, and I'll go get a yellow Macintosh and a rain hat. I already have the tartar sauce, so no pressure; but come Friday we'd all like a nice piece of cod, okay?
-bill kenny

Witless More than Witness

This popped up in my Twitter feed at midmorning yesterday courtesy of my local CBS station, and it made me happier than a wooden spoon at a spelling bee. 

 And pundits wonder why local TV news viewership is down.
-bill kenny

I'm Workin' On My Rewrite

I started because I wanted to try what was at the time new tech. 

And then I discovered people both strangers and not quite didn't look at me as weird as they did when I talked to myself out loud.

And now, what were once vices are now habits.
-bill kenny

And Forgive Us Our Trespasses...

I almost forgot this but while out walking Friday shortly after mid-day I remembered a moment from my walk the previous day. I understand the whole, 'pictures or it didn't happen' but my hands were otherwise engaged and I couldn't work my cellphone even if I'd thought of it. 

Just steps from our house, actually halfway up the block and then across Washington Street, is Chelsea Parade, a pocket park as I call it whose origins predate the founding of Our Republic. It separates Washington Street from Broadway, with the two streets connected by Chelsea Parade South (we used to also have a Chelsea Parade North but that was turfed over a number of years ago for reasons that I heard but never really appreciated). 

While out walking Thursday I watched more cars than I could count reach the intersection of Broadway and Chelsea Parade South and staring at the "No Turn on Red" sign to their immediate right, go ahead and make that very turn despite having a stop signal. In the course of the hour or so that I walk Chelsea Parade I'd guesstimate about every fourth or fifth vehicle decides to blow off the light and just slides right around the corner. 

I smile because almost all of the scofflaws are members of my tribe: older, white guys who somehow know we're more or less invisible to local law enforcement and are comfortably confident we won't be pulled over. Some might suggest a form of 'white privilege but I think of it as arrogance born from being told we are God's Special Creatures (because most of our lives we've been treated as such). And the folks ignoring the law don't see themselves as bad people they just have better things to do than wait at a traffic signal.    

Anyway, a little after one in the afternoon I watched a later model Subaru Forester coming down Chelsea Parade South and there was just something about the way the car rolled that I knew it wasn't stopping. And I was almost right. It didn't stop at the red light at all but, surprise!, made a left-hand turn onto Broadway heading towards Backus Hospital. 

I stopped. Yelled. Threw both arms up in the air, and extended the middle fingers on both hands as the Forester, a sort of golden color with a Sacred Heart School sticker on the tailgate, passed me with two nuns, Sisters of Charity if I remember my habits correctly, in the front seat. 

In a perfect world, they'd have either blessed me or flipped me off. Sadly, a perfect world is two more exits north on 395. 
-bill kenny 

A Casualty of the Calendar

Who of us has NOT asked ourselves this question at least once in our lifetimes?

Actually, for many years, I did so on average once or more a week. Every week.
-bill kenny

Where's the T-Bird?

Since we are now officially in the 'sun and fun' portion of the calendar, I'm saddened to discover that my state, Connecticut, doesn't rank really well on the Large Fun-o-Meter. 

Yeah, I'm still having trouble with the framing of 'my state, Connecticut' in the previous sentence. Once a Jersey Guy always a Jersey Guy but let us move on, shall we?

According to Wallethub, California is the most fun to visit and Mississippi is the least fun. I especially enjoy the way they break down the fun into "Entertainment & Recreation," and "Nightlife." 

Connecticut finishes 43rd with a total score of 25.34 while New Jersey comes in at 37th, with 31.58. I love when folks get all mathy like that, although I'm not sure how you can stand on the boardwalk anywhere from Asbury Park to Belmar (and you thought I wasn't paying attention, Adam) at night and still rank it at 34th of 50 states.

My heart goes out to you if you're a nightlife devotee in New Hampshire knowing that your quest will not be crowned by success if the magazine's scores are any indication.

I don't put a lot of stock in other people's grades for fun since I'm a firm believer that you make your own, and this is just the time of year to make as much as you can.
-bill kenny

Herrick Approved

Depending on when you are reading this, summer 2023 has already begun or is about to. We have scads of people who worry about the meticulous calculations required to connote the precise moment when the transformation occurs (for the record, it was/is shortly before eleven this morning), but I'm sort of with nature when it comes to the shifting of the seasons. 

That mindset's worked out well, at least for me, for over seven decades, and I'm not all that comfortable thinking I can do better than Mother Nature (besides, if it's not broken don't fix it, right?). The Summer Solstice, which is what today technically is, means that we are having the MOST daylight we will have for this entire calendar year, and (sadly from my perspective), every day through Friday, December 22, will have just a tick less daylight. 

As the Cavalier poet, Robert Herrick, offered, "Gather ye Rose-Buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying. And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying." If you want to read that as a suggestion to visit the Veterans Memorial Rose Garden at Rockwell Street in Mohegan Park, by all means, go ahead. 

When we talk about must-see places here in Norwich, both the Rose Garden and Mohegan Park should be at or near the top of anyone's list. This time of year, most especially (because I have daylight to burn metaphorically speaking), Mohegan Park is a delightful destination and that's not including the disc golf course that I keep meaning to try out and yet still haven't. 

On sunny, even when it's not summer, days, I walk around Spaulding Pond, admittedly no longer with quite the vim and vigor that I once had back in my young and innocent days, and I'm always among friends even if we've not yet met. 

This time of year, I'm always enthralled by the canopy of tall trees, mostly oaks I think, forming over parts of the pathway, sometimes completely obscuring the sky above while on the pond banks, maples, and what we used to call poplars where I grew up, hug the shore.  Intermingled among them are pine trees which I'll notice more as the colors of the leaves on all the other trees start to change this autumn.

Everyone I meet in Mohegan Park is friendly in that smile-and-nod-while-passing way, more so than when we meet on the street elsewhere in Norwich, but to be honest that's as true of me as it is for them. And that might be why so many of us go to Mohegan Park; to recreate as well as re-create ourselves, our hearts, and our spirits.

I always take a pocketful of peanuts for the chipmunks and squirrels I hope to encounter. We have squirrels at my house but no chipmunks (maybe the HOA has something to do with that?) so I always look forward to seeing them while walking along the path at Spaulding Pond.  Other people come for the fishing, and I always ask (quietly to not disturb the anglers or the fish) 'How are they running?' though when people do tell me, I don't know what to make of the answer. 

There's always a gaggle of geese and other waterfowl, all hoping us bi-ped visitors pay no attention to those 'Do Not Feed the Waterfowl' signs posted everywhere. And on weekends, as the parking lots fill, the picnic tables are a high-traffic area and so is the pavilion. 

Summer is the perfect season to enjoy our year-round asset, Mohegan Park, and if you're lucky, you can keep all the rosebuds ye may have gathered. 
-bill kenny

Not Right Away

I take them for granted and so do you, the changing of the seasons. They happen without us, our consent, and even our understanding.  

But happen they do. Here's why. 

"Crossed the line around the changes of the summer,
Reaching out to call the color of the sky.
Passed around a moment clothed in mornings faster than we see.
Getting over all the time I had to worry,
Leaving all the changes far from far behind.
We relieve the tension only to find out the master's name."
-bill kenny

First Things First

Happy Anniversary to my brother, Adam, and his blushing bride, Margaret. 

I remain amazed and impressed at what a good sport your wife is. I think she, Sigrid, and Kelly's Linda, are in the same club. 

I hope they continue to maintain their memberships. Congratulations, again!
-bill kenny 

I Was Once Like You Are Now

I wrote what follows when I was so much older; I'm younger than that now. I'm hoping the wisdom arrives shortly but I'm not holding my breath.

Being my wife's spouse and our children's father are the two things I do best and most days I'm not all that good at either of them. My wife makes the former work for both of us.

As for the latter, I didn't take classes and while I yearned for an indeterminate probationary period, there was none. And nothing but on-the-job training. It's the hardest job I could ever love and despite what I believed while I was on the giving end, Dad is the highest compliment I can receive in the whole world. 

And today is our day. Of course, all of us who are fathers have people to thank (especially our children without whom technically....) and I won't even try to list all of the fathers whom I have had the good fortune to know because that list would go on forever.

I have to pause for the father I shared with my brothers and sisters.

I caged this photo from Adam who got it from the school where Dad taught (and which I attended). 

Our dad was a short time here and is a long-time gone but there have been many times I've had wistful and wishful conversations with him about our two kids (who are now themselves adults). I've spoken more with my father in the four-plus decades since he passed than I did in all the years we shared the planet.

I know these are fantasy conversations because had I ever asked him for advice and had he ever offered it, there would have been no place for me to put it. So full of myself was I for so many years that it's only been in the last score and more that I've learned to appreciate how fortunate I am that those who love me do so despite rather than because of me. I can't help but think he'd have laughed his ass off at that because of how often I've laughed knowing it was true for him as well.

Getting married to my wife made me a man. Having and loving the children who together we made and raised made me a better person. Happy Father's Day.
-bill kenny

Try to Slip Past His Defense

 Everyone we meet is fighting a battle we may not be able to see or understand.

But because we cannot see their battle, it doesn't mean it's not real and, in a moment of weakness, they could lose everything struggling to be brave while all alone. 
-bill kenny

Working for the Weekend

This is pretty much for our children, Patrick and Michelle, and for those of their ages everywhere who were raised by one or more American parents of my age anywhere. 

As much as I fulminated and mumbled about how you grew up, I had no room to talk. This is not such a confession as it is an admission, because at some point you'd come across this item on YouTube for yourselves and would have known the truth. 

Oh. And one more thing about those Saturday mornings.
Non, Je ne regrette rien.
-bill kenny  

Not Quite Under Milkwood

Every morning's awakening establishes for me a new personal best of 'most days lived on earth so far.' In light of who I am and how I've lived most of my life that I've put 7-1 years on the board is more of a miracle than a vexation. 

Quite frankly there are more days than I'm comfortable admitting where I look at the face in the mirror that's staring back at me and wonder who the hell is that guy and whatever happened to Bill. And all I know is if that's what I look like on the outside, I don't want to know what I look like on the inside.

I've read about people who strive to grow old gracefully; I have no idea what that means. It's like the folks who encourage me to 'act your age' and I stare at them blankly because huh? Then you have Bryan Johnson who, based on this article, will be dragged kicking and screaming into middle age.  

I usually respond to folks with extreme beliefs with a smile and a nod while backing away from them speedily but without arousing suspicion, except, Bryan is well beyond all of that. I'd shake my head in disbelief but then the little marble inside makes so much noise that other people stare. And I still can't figure out what Bryan is trying to accomplish.  
-bill kenny

It's Kinda Hard to Lift Every Voice Singing

We who live here speak often about the history of Norwich and our downtown architecture and there's certainly a lot of both but I believe we shortchange ourselves when we don't highlight the richness and variety of the backgrounds of those who live and work here. 

One of the important benefits (in my opinion) of the various celebrations we have in and around City Hall, many organized by Global City Norwich, that highlight the diversity, equity, and inclusion reflected on our streets and across our neighborhoods, is they help us share the stories we not only tell about ourselves but also better help us realize we are those stories (and so many more).

Today, Wednesday is Flag Day, which in light of the number of flag raisings we do here annually seems very appropriate to mention. Flag Day commemorates this date in 1777 when the Second Continental Congress adopted the design of our first national flag. 

Both our nation and the flag it represents have changed in these last two hundred and forty-six years, (some have suggested far too much while others feel it's not nearly enough) but our flag should always serve as a reminder of all we could and should be, of how far we've come and yet how much farther we have yet to travel towards that more perfect union.     

Later this week, Friday morning at eleven at the David Ruggles Memorial Freedom Courtyard is an even better moment to pause and ponder the state of our country and the notion of our nation. It's the 34th Juneteenth Commemoration Ceremony and Flag Raising sponsored by the NAACP Norwich Branch and Global City Norwich and marks the 158th anniversary of  Juneteenth, the oldest known celebration commemorating the end of slavery in the United States. 

The name, Juneteenth, combines "June" and "nineteenth", and is the anniversary of the order issued by the Union Army's Major General Gordon Granger, on the morning of  June 19, 1865, by the Union Army's Major General Gordon Granger who'd arrived on the island of Galveston, Texas to enforce the emancipation of its slaves and oversee Reconstruction. The order proclaimed freedom for slaves in Texas in the aftermath of the surrender of the Confederate Army of the Trans-Mississippi.

Juneteenth was recognized as a federal holiday in 2021 when President Joe Biden signed the Juneteenth National Independence Day Act into law.

Here in Norwich, there will be ceremonies and presentations to mark Juneteenth including The Daniel Jenkins Memorial Award, which will be presented to Artreach, Inc. for their commitment and dedication to raising awareness of mental health issues and continuing the fight to end the stigma of mental illness. 

The Daniel Jenkins Memorial Award is given to honor the late Lieutenant Daniel Jenkins of the Norwich Police Department who was the Chairperson of the first Juneteenth Day Parade and Celebration held in Norwich in 1989. 

As part of the Juneteenth observances, Global City Norwich is promoting Black Owned Businesses in the Greater Norwich Area with a Virtual Black Owned Business Expo. 

In a city with nearly forty thousand stories to share, and in a world sometimes with too many voices that make us feel weak and alone, Juneteenth is another opportunity to celebrate the strength and unity that each of us brings to this place we call home.    
-bill kenny

Not from the Moody Blues' Songbook

If you've stopped by this space before you know of my animus towards the Malevolent Mango Mussolini. I've had bowel movements with more integrity and intelligence than he will ever possess. 

You will not be surprised when I tell you that I'll be glued to my television this afternoon, watching cable news, and maybe (just maybe) the coverage of it all on Faux Gnus, when President Tiny Hands is arraigned in Miami on thirty-seven separate criminal charges.

Don't think the artist got the hand-size proportions correct.

Hell, I was tempted to not even turn the TV off last night just in case the circus starts earlier today than scheduled. 

With my apology to Campbell's, "so rich you'll be tempted to eat it with a fork, but use a spoon so you get every drop." Tuesday Afternoon. Bigly.
-bill kenny 

Eye of the Beholder

Maybe just me but sitting with my toes in the sand of a beach, any beach anywhere along the Jersey Shore, is my idea of beauty. Yes, you can add an umbrella and sunscreen, and in most cases, a swimsuit of some kind, and others would be more likely to agree with me. 

My larger point, hence the perpetual ballcaps making it harder to see, is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and if you've ever been or taken a child to the beach and left them alone with a spade and bucket and sand as far as the eye can see, you've been treated to some pretty ambitious creativity, I'd wager.

However. I'm also willing to bet in our discussion of beauty, Justin Bateman gets at the very least an honorable mention. 

Reminding me yet again that the purpose of art is to conceal art.
-bill kenny

Must Be an Echo

From a really long time ago (before spell-check it seems).
Appropriately (in light of the day of the week), I called it:

What if God Were One of Us.....

Every organized religion, and a couple of the disorganized ones, has sacred writings, scriptures if you will. No matter the region, or the religion, it's part of our human genome, the need to be a part of something bigger. 

Be it the Koran, the Old Testament, the New Testament, or the latest Roman clef by Danielle Steel, there's a narrative-a place to go look for details. When you argue a matter of theology and someone says, 'You can look it up!' the texts are what they're referring to.

There's the blood of the Lamb, the descent of the dove, the tongues of fire, the burning bush, and an almost unending number of symbols and signs that The Lord (however you perceive S/He to be) uses to get our attention and pass along the Word.

What if we were the first people on this planet who had a Deity? I don't pretend to know what all of those before us had, I'm just saying we're the first and Our God uses the tools we have today in much the way as in the days of old we've read about. 

Someone I encountered yesterday speculated on how would God communicate the Ten Commandments if S/He had to use text.

Perhaps:
1. no1 b4 me. srsly.
2. dnt wrshp pix/idols
3. no omg's
4. no wrk on w/end (sat 4 now; sun l8r)
5. pos ok - ur m&d r cool
6. dnt kill ppl
7. :-X only w/ m8
8. dnt steal
9. dnt lie re: bf
10. dnt ogle ur bf's m8. or ox. or dnkey. myob.

M, pls rite on tabs & giv 2 ppl. ttyl, JHWH. ps. wwjd?

What would you ask if you had just one question?
-bill kenny

But Is It Really?

Some days the universe smiles, through the smoke in recent times, but if you squint you can still see the smile. This is one of those days.

This is courtesy of Interesting Engineering, and the title basically says it all but read the article as well, "German Hacker Turns 10 Sausages into a Working Piano"

Somewhere not all that far away I hope Johnny Maestro is shaking both his head and his fist while shouting "It's O, not U, you lazy bastard!"
-bill kenny

Childhood Memory Reclaimed

Two things happened within minutes of one another the other day and I REFUSE to believe it was coincidence or an algorithm gone amok. 

First, I came across this print article about a toy we all played with in my childhood while waiting for the Civil War to end and for the dinosaurs to stop threatening us as we walked uphill in both directions through six inches of snow on the way to school. 

That stuff, as you can see in the video, was amazing. Was there anyone alive at the time who had it and didn't use it to lift comics from the newspaper page? I know I did about a bajillion times though I cannot remember what I did with those sort-of-etchings.

And did I mention it bounced? 

Not like Wham-O's Super Ball, of course, but really high. But woe unto you if you forgot to put it back in its protective egg at the end of a session. 

So go ahead and think you and yours have the greatest time-wasters thanks to technology and computers and I'll wager you a small jar of edible paste that when you whippersnappers were still a gleam in someone's eye while standing on my lawn, we knew how to make our own fun.
-bill kenny

Twain Nailed It

I do not play golf, but to compensate I also do not watch it on television even though it has its own channel. Some days I question if golf is actually a sport, unlike bowling which I always pretend to believe is a sport even though you can eat wings and nachos and drink beer while sporting. 

I've always wondered what's the matter with all the other sports and how come they don't get with the program and add food and beverages. 

But I digress. 

I was aware the Saudis had created their own golf thing, Association? Consortium? League? bone-saw, okay not that one, and that there was a furious and ferocious rivalry between it and the Professional Golfers Association, PGA (the amateurs have their own association I guess). But no more. 

Just one big happy ending, it seems. Organizational note: after the merger is finalized the PGA will control holes 1-8 and 12-18 while the Saudis do 9-11.  

When you abandon your principles for money, guess what? They weren't really your principles; they were your costume. 
-bill kenny

Lace 'em if You Got 'em

I took advantage of that run of glorious weather we had from the week leading up to Memorial Day to break in my most recent purchase of sneakers and enjoy the sunny side of the streets of Norwich. I see/hear and experience things walking at the speed of thought that just do not register when I'm behind the wheel driving somewhere. 

And the great thing about my walks is I have no destinations and no time constraints. I can dilly-dally, meander, perambulate purposefully (double word score in Scrabble), turn cartwheels on the sidewalk (a boy can dream), admire someone's flowers or landscaping, and not worry if I'm running ahead or falling behind. I have nothing to do and all the time I require to do it in. 

I see people and situations around me that I may have overlooked or underappreciated a previous time. While I, too, believe no one steps into the same river twice because both they and the river have changed, I've learned to accept those changes as perhaps the only constants we have, and to savor the opportunity to celebrate what seem to be random acts of kindness that only add to the richness of the experience.    

I witnessed a somber moment at the Memorial Day Remembrance at Chelsea Parade that had nothing to do with the events being presented, rather, watching as the ceremonies progressed as someone carrying a large American flag made his way, from marker to marker in the area of the monuments, paused with head bowed for a moment at each one and then drew himself to attention and rendered a hand salute to honor the fallen before executing a turn and striding to the next where he repeated his tribute. 

He spoke to me after the ceremony and explained this was his way of remembering two friends who had died during the Vietnam War and I, who had lost a prep school classmate in that same war, thanked him for the reminder and, by extension, letting me share in his recognition and remembrance of those lives.

And then the day following that, just before noon, while building up my step count walking around Chelsea Parade I spied a woman (I think, I was too far away to get a good look so that career in surreptitious surveillance is out of reach) adding fresh live flowering plants to that beautiful old stone fountain from another time and place in Norwich history. You know the one that sits at the very tip of Chelsea Parade at the intersection of  Broadway and Washington Street? 

Thousands of cars and trucks race by that spot every day, mine often among them, and I suspect very few of us ever notice the flowers or the fountain, but there they are and the person responsible for them doesn't do it for our gratitude or notice.  

Still enjoying the sun, I passed a couple with a young child, four or five years old I'm guessing, walking in the opposite direction from mine and as they approached I could see the child, perhaps drawing his energy and enthusiasm from the cloudless blue skies above, racing in front of them, weaving between the trees that line that grow parallel to the sidewalk at Chelsea Parade. He was singing I have no idea what song, and I'm not sure he did either, as he scampered and skipped always looking back over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't too far ahead of his parents. 

He was, with all due respect to my Latin teacher, carpeing the heqq out of that diem, let me tell you, and it made my day brighter just watching him enjoy his. I cannot remember the last time I saw anyone at any age enjoy green grass, blue skies, and bright sunshine quite as much as that young person. 

And I wondered what happens to all that joy as we grow older? Why can't we be enthusiastic beginners at thirty, or sixty, or whatever age we are? Trading maturity for the joy of living doesn't strike me as a particularly good bargain, so if you don't mind, I'll lace up my sneakers and keep walking.
-bill kenny

Remembering The Longest Day

I remember the two days we were there in the late spring of 1984, how blue the sky and the ocean were. That hadn't been the case, the historians assured me, forty years earlier. It was soothing to see how the sand seemed to go on forever along the shoreline but, when you turned to face inland from the beaches, how quickly the landscape changed to thick bushes, scrub trees, and rocky terrain. 

I found it hard to imagine what it all must have looked like as the landing craft lowered their ramps and men and machines poured from them struggling to cross the water to the beach all in the face of murderous counter-fire.

I was traveling with a US Army Helicopter Company from Hanau, Germany, to walk the beaches of Normandy, France. I had come with a young enlisted US Army videographer, Specialist Four Bob (the Human Sachtler) G. He was over six feet tall and had, it seemed, enough upper body strength to crush an automobile like a beer can. We called him the Human Sachtler because there wasn't a shot where he needed the camera tripod-between the arms of steel and the ability to control his breathing, he was as steady as a rock.

Walking, as we did for hours in the sand, can wear you out and the fatigue is profound. I could only wonder what, on D-Day, a GI with a seventy-pound rucksack, and all hell in front of and around him, was feeling on what we now call the longest day. We had done interviews earlier that morning with elderly Frenchmen who, as men our present ages and sometimes only boys, had been inadvertent witnesses to history, triangulating linguistically, as they spoke no English and we, no French.

One of them, to the undisguised scorn of the others, admitted he understood 'some German' and so I would ask him auf Deutsch a question that he would rephrase into French and ask of a neighbor who would reply to him and which he'd relay to me in German and which I'd translate into English.

When you read about Normandy and all the planning and staging that lead up to it, it feels very different when you can walk the beaches you've read about. There's a taste in your mouth from the salt air and a breeze coming off the water that helps the screams of gulls carry even farther. I wonder if those struggling ashore, from the landing craft or parachuting down onto those maintaining their watch on the Atlantic Wall had a moment in which to take any of that in. 

On a day when so many would die, was there a split second to savor life? There was no one to ask except those we visited the next day, friend and foe alike, at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial.

When you can struggle to climb to Pointe du Hoc (up the stairs carved into the soft stone and NOT the way the Rangers had to, directly vertical), you can almost, but not quite, grasp what it was like for the soldiers of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, first to seize this emplacement (actually to capture artillery that had already been moved) and then, as the Nazi High Command realized, finally, the invasion wasn't a ruse but the real thing, and threw itself at the Rangers trying to drive them over the cliffs and into the sea, how they held their positions for two days.

Today we mark the 79th anniversary of D-Day, the beginning of the liberation of Europe from the tyrannical, homicidal terror of the Nazi's Third Reich. Young American men had been in Europe thirty years earlier, in the War to End All Wars that didn't. And what they couldn't know as they waded ashore and struggled to stay alive long enough to shoot back at those shooting at them, in less than a year, all the shooting in Europe would be over.

How much we've learned as a species all those on is a matter of debate and discussion (and for some, despair) as the young men, of all sides, who survived D-Day pass from our earth at a rate of thousands every day, taking with them every memory and meaning we might have shared, assuming we had cared enough to ask. 

Santayana noted 'those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it' but those who remember it was Santayana who said it are also few and far between. 
-bill kenny

Paging Doctor Doolittle

My wife and I do not have pets. Both our children and their partners do. All of my brothers and sisters do; I'm not as certain about my wife's siblings. When I encounter a dog while out walking I stop and allow the animal to make the first move. Despite rumors to the contrary I do not attempt to influence the outcome by wearing liverwurst aftershave. I don't even know where to buy liverwurst aftershave.

On occasion someone will drive by with a car window open and a dog's head sticking out of it. I've even seen dogs' heads popping up through the sun/moon roofs in vehicles and the looks on their faces is always similar if indescribable and unfathomable to me.

I feed the squirrels in my neighborhood peanuts we buy at one of the warehouse clubs and go through about twenty pounds of them a month (if you're telling time in elephants, that's about two minutes I suspect), and my wife has hummingbird feeders. 

I've often wondered 'What goes on in there?' when interacting with any and all sorts of animals, most especially with cats who usually bewilder and confuse me (though from what I'm seen, I'm not alone in that). And while I don't think this article is anything close to the definitive answer, it goes a long way to offering me some insights into how creatures I don't often regard as 'sentient' in human terms do think and why.   

And, let's face it, If Nietzsche Were a Narwhal would look great on a tee-shirt especially if you were a volunteer helper at an animal shelter.
-bill kenny

A Powerful Two Letters

The most powerful two-letter word? 

I don't know. You tell me.
-bill kenny

And Still

I have a very difficult time believing it's been six years since my mother died. 

I first offered what follows in the hours after her death and I offer it again today because I have never come up with anything better to say about a life well-loved such as hers.

I knew my mother, Joan Marie (Kelly) Kenny, every day of my life. She died after being briefly hospitalized for an infection in an artificial heart valve that slowly overwhelmed her body.

Sigrid took this picture when Mom came to visit us in Germany in 1989.
We are in Sigrid's parent's living room and appear to be discussing how much we
should have tipped our hairdresser.

Through the miracle of technology, I was able to speak to her on a phone held to her ear while I said goodbye if by goodbye I'm allowed to include sobbing uncontrollably while apologizing for crying and being comforted by the woman who gave birth to me and my brothers and sisters.  

Mom died very much as she lived, with quiet determination on her own terms and with her eyes wide open, rarely blinking because she knew losing sight of where the bastards of this planet are, even for a moment, could be catastrophic. There was nothing she would not and could not do for her children as I know all too well.

There was, in the end, too little, I, as her oldest could do for her. Kara, my sister who was with her in the hospital, told me Mom's heart was slowing down and she was sleeping more than she was awake so I was grateful she was awake when I called so she could hear me tell her how much I loved her one last time in this life.

Even then, Mom had her toes in the sand

Mom believed in heaven and I have no doubt that after her sometimes hellish almost nine decades here on earth that is where she is. Mitch Albom wrote, "When death takes your mother, it steals that word forever." 

The only solace I take from that is forever is only the length of my life and no longer.
-bill kenny

Despite What You've Been Reading

Many employers ask, "What's the most I can get for the least I have to pay?" 

Someone once told me, "You can have it fast, good, cheap. Pick any two."
-bill kenny 

Towards a More Perfect Union

June is a short month and thanks to reactions to outreach efforts by Bud Light and Target, among others, it could prove to be a slightly more tumultuous collection of days than we've had in the months preceding it. And that's too bad.

This is Pride Month. All month. That doesn't just mean THIS month, but the emphasis that the expectations and understanding that equal rights are human rights for everyone are highlighted.

No one should feel threatened by anyone who celebrates themselves this month or at any other time in the course of the year. If you're resentful about 'all the hullaballoo' and are wistful about the good old days and wonder and worry about why we can't return to them, it's because they never existed (and they weren't all that good for a lot of folks). 

Human rights aren't pie. Because some folks are just starting to get the opportunities that others of us have had all our lives doesn't in any way diminish our rights and privileges, but most especially our responsibilities to never cease our efforts to make our nation more fair, just, and equitable for ALL of us. 

Subject to your questions, this concludes my briefing.
-bill kenny