When Something Wicked This Way Comes

It's amazing how a religious devotion, a commemoration, and remembrance, really, evolved into an all-the-candy-you-can-eat-without-barfing exercise all the way to an adult party hearty event. Greetings and salutations, nevertheless. 

There was an ancient Celtic festival called Samhain that some sociologists theorize 19th-century Irish immigrants brought with them, which supposedly helped create our current observance/holiday/day on which to go gluttonous on chocolate. It certainly caught on in the United States, but we are no longer alone. Far from it. 

Halloween is celebrated in about a dozen countries around the world, gladdening the hearts, I'm sure, of candy manufacturers in the days leading up to it as well as the bottom lines of dentists in the days and weeks following it. Alas, poor Linus, I knew him well. We can always console ourselves that Strongbad doesn't do candy, I guess. Did you have Trick or Treat for UNICEF in your neighborhood? Sign of the times now, I fear, I haven't seen or heard about it in years and years.

Remember how our Moms used to go through the goodies, making sure that the apples didn't have unpleasant surprises and throwing away all the unwrapped candy 'just to be safe?' Would it have killed them to pretend the Mary Janes were unwrapped (talk about a dentist delight-it could take fillings out)--a candy that I don't think I even see at any other time of the year except now. And what about candy corn (and I love it, btw)? 

If scientists are correct that cockroaches would survive an atomic war, I believe they would do it munching on candy corn, indestructible, indescribable, often imitated but never duplicated. It was one of the many things I was supposed to surrender once my doctors made me understand that, as an adult, I couldn't be a part-time diabetic. 

As a parent, I can recall that some of the worst weather of the season always seemed to start about two hours before the kids got organized to head out. So I'll keep my fingers crossed for all the goblins tonight. And every child, no matter how young, wanted to trick or treat with her/his friends. Only a baby goes out with a parent. 

So with a heavy heart and a quiet footstep, the trick was to figure out how far back to trail them as they went from house to house, and no matter how many times a child was told 'no running', what happened? Yep. Why was I always surprised when mine paid as much attention to me as I had to my parents? 

And every neighborhood had a trick-or-treater without a bag-usually one of the hyperactive kids from down the street who ate the candy as quickly as he got it. Can you imagine how much magic it was in that house later that same evening? Me neither.

My own children long ago outgrew the doorbell ringing and candy-collecting aspects of the evening, and we don't even play anymore at my house. But the Dream Children and ghosts of ghouls past sometimes encounter one another on my porch when "Open, locks, Whoever knocks!"
-bill kenny

Just Tuning-Up

I know it's early, but Happy Very Nearly Halloween!!

For those who observe.
-bill kenny 

When I Look Out My Window

My fondness for Autumn is tempered by my knowledge of what happens next, not because of anything Autumn, itself, has ever done to or for me. In New England, we pride ourselves on the 'leaf peeping' weekends (which are just about over for this season), where excursions travel throughout the region, oohing and ahhing at the multitude of colors adorning the branches of the deciduous trees as their leaves die.

Sorry. That's what they do, hell, it's what we all do. I'm not planning on taking a dirt nap for a while longer yet, but I'll concede I don't have that color thing going on for me unless grey is the color you're talking about and the only part of me thinning is the hair covering my scalp. 

Industry left New England in the first decade after World War II. We didn't know it at the time, but the Age of Greed triumphed over the Age of Need, and those who owned factories that made things got tired of paying the folks who worked in them a living wage and benefits and shifted everything South by 900 miles and only had to pay a fraction of what their labor costs had been.

Mills that had been in Massachusetts for generations were shuttered as their doppelgangers opened in one of the Carolinas (it all sounds like banjo music to me), and then a generation later, lather, rinse, repeat as the new location is somewhere it takes you ten minutes to find on the map, all in the name of value to shareholders. The business of America is business; don't forget your receipt.

The offshoot in Norwich is there tracts of land, monuments to Mammon, sprawling factories in every corner of the city that have lain fallow for forty years and often longer, slowly disintegrating, releasing toxins into the air and poisons into the earth so that, like the salt Rome plowed into Carthage to kill it, nothing will grow. No neighborhood is immune.

Ruins of Capehart Mill by Lacey Raymond

There's the Capehart, the gun maker in the middle of downtown, and small ruins that ring the approaches to the city-reminders of what once was, once upon a time. But this time of year, in the early morning, hours before dawn, when stepping outside, the stars seem so bright and so near you can touch them, you remember there's no ground light to dissipate their glow or make them seem as far away as they really are. 

It's nearly Halloween and colder than a witch's teat, and you know which way the mercury is heading. Dress warmly and mind the shadows.

-bill kenny

Season to Taste

The calendar says we're hip deep into autumn in New England, and leaf peepers are out on weekends trying to catch that blaze of color across the countryside's woodlands that signals the beginning of the end of this year's cycle of the seasons and warms the hearts of lift operators, bed and breakfast owners and snow plow drivers everywhere in the Northeast-I'm just hoping we're not there yet.

After a mostly cloudy and punky day (I hate to be critical since I'm certainly not very good at creating days, or nights for that matter, but it was pretty crappy outside), the skies darkened almost beyond belief, and then a hard rain fell on the just and the unjust, as well as those just being there. 

And then, as suddenly as the end of the world had started, it stopped, and the clouds parted, and the sun came out. I would wonder if God had Alzheimer's and ADD, but if They didn't, and They really exist, when I stand before the Throne of Judgment, I'll hear ALL about the beginning of this sentence. I'm going to be in enough trouble already, so let's pretend you wondered about it instead, okay?

After the second round of dark skies and rain, it became a quite nice, albeit very short, afternoon, but I could see the lingering clouds as evening reached out to embrace us. I don't mind a biblical visitation of the plagues, if it's absolutely unavoidable, but I'm hoping we start with the frogs. 

After all, they're supposed to taste like chicken, right?

-bill kenny

Cut the Crap!

It has, so far, been a relatively quiet election season in Norwich. I realize we're still transitioning from summer to autumn, so for a lot of people, it hasn't been the right time to think about elections or what comes after them (governance, or attempting it), but it's time to turn to the task at hand.

I have no idea what the format for any future candidates' forum will be if held (the one at NFA could have been better organized), but I'd hope there'll still be opportunities to meet the people who are offering to help out by holding elected office and if not really "get to know them" then perhaps, "get to know them a little bit." And for them to get to know us a little better. 

I used to attend a lot of City Council meetings (and now watch them on public excess television), so my interest in getting to know the candidates is perhaps (selfish and) based, in part, on my understanding of how our political dynamic here works (or doesn't, as I sometimes despair).

If there's a chance to discuss particular topics, I'm very interested in learning more about how the candidates feel about our city budget but what I really will listen for from each person is how he/she envisions working to build our municipal grand list so that my personal property taxes go down (and yours, too, if you live in Norwich, Connectciut). So far, all across social media is a lot of vitriol and vicious comments about others who are running for office. Lots of heat but no light.

I'm tired of office seekers telling me 'Norwich needs economic development.' Newsflash: I already know that. I want people who wish to be the Mayor or Alderpersons to tell me, in detail, how they will grow the Grand List, attract new business, and create additional revenue streams for our city government.

I have a box of cliches at home, under the bed: 'pull together', 'work as a team', 'check our egos at the door', 'work across party lines', so we can skip all of that and cut to the chase.

I'd like to hear the candidates' thoughts on how the Council could be more effective and efficient in the accomplishment of their duties (and come to think of it, maybe they can help me understand what exactly the City Council does, and what they think it should do). But to be honest, I'm not holding my breath as we continue to choose new brooms to sweep old dust and pretend it's progress.

-bill kenny

Good Advice If Heeded

Someone once told me, 'Never Trade Luck for Skill' and cretin that I am often (with reason) accused of being, I thought about the tens of thousands if not hundreds of thousands of small and quiet decisions that households across this nation make on a daily and weekly basis as the economic tides continue to threaten to pull so many of us under.

A non-economist acquaintance once said, 'When you're out of a job, it's a recession; when I'm out of a job, it's a depression,' and I suspect there's more to that than meets the eye. At the end of last week and intermittently this week, the Dow Jones Industrial Average has been 'flirting with 45,000 points'. I have absolutely NO idea what any of that preceding sentence means, but I've heard it repeatedly and parrot it like I know what I'm talking about.

All of us do. We all assume, or did until the whole house of cards decided to reshuffle itself, that someone somewhere knew and understood what it was we were doing. Like Wimpy, offering to gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today, knowing full well we would have no money on Tuesday, we just kept adding days to the calendar and hoped Tuesday wouldn't arrive.

I didn't really understand and, like so many, haven't been as successful as I'd like in appreciating the larger picture and fuller impact. Conversely, with Jerome Powell in the Seventh House and Scott Bessent aligned with Mars (or something like that) am I alone in detecting a tone of barely-controlled euphoria by broadcast and print news reports about economic growth? Except I'm still not "getting" it.

Why isn't it all this Accidental Excellence? When we got it right, we had no idea what we did to produce those positive results, so, not surprisingly, we couldn't duplicate them. When things started to go south, we went with them. It's hard not to be very superstitious. 

In times of stress, we rely more on routines; they offer us the appearance of the familiar, the known, and the comfortable while serving, in their way, as a mantra against a world we cannot otherwise manage.
-bill kenny

Words Are Pouring Out

I've made my living with words for more decades than I'm comfortable admitting. I suspect, though I've never tried to calculate it, that my written vocabulary is larger than my spoken word vocabulary, but I have no idea why or how. 

I fell across this nugget of (k)nowledge the other day on the interweb about the average adult's vocabulary and felt I was among friends, though they probably use a multi-syllabic word for that. However, I suspect none of us uses many or any of these.

Child of Warner Brothers cartoons growing up, my favorite of these is wabbit, though in recent days I've found myself leaning towards Snollygoster. 

Sorry, Elmer.
-bill kenny 

If Ernest Thayer Could See Us Now

I wish we had a Mighty Casey because between our City Manager and City Council, we're close to having a Mudville Nine. 

We have a baseball stadium from thirty+ years ago, Dodd Stadium, when we attracted (lured is a better word, and bribed even better) a minor league team, an affiliate of the New York Yankees, based in Albany, New York. After four years, they left and were replaced by an affiliate of the San Francisco Giants. 

Then they left, the minor leagues reorganized, and we hosted a Single-A affiliate of the Detroit Tigers. And then, stop me if you've read this before, they left because the minor leagues were radically reinvented. There was no room at the table for anyone in Norwich until the Norwich Sea Unicorns of the Futures Collegiate Baseball League (a college summer league) took up residence. 

Meanwhile, the meter on costs and expenses kept ticking, and the current operating deficit for the stadium is over three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Monday night, the City Council (unanimously) and City Manager signed a one-year extension with an 'increased lease payment', from 22K to 35K, that will do close to nothing to fill the deficit in a city where children are shortchanged at budget time, public safety needs more funding than the city can offer, and the roads and sidewalks need repair everywhere

I'd be curious to know how large the operating deficit of Dodd Stadium was when the Norwich Baseball Stadium (NBSA) was still functioning (and why, at the Council meeting on October 6th, when 'inactive boards and commissions were dissolved,' the NBSA wasn't among them) and how much additionally has been thrown into the hole created by all the lease agreements negotiated by Mayor Nystrom and City Manager Salomone.

Dodd Stadium long ago devolved from a Field of Dreams to a Field of Schemes. Nothing in a one-year lease agreement with a summer collegiate baseball team that averaged (in 2024) 1,648 attendees will do anything other than exacerbate the current fiscal situation for the city of Norwich.

The mantra being voiced by City Council members and the City Manager is that somehow, in some way, Dodd Stadium (with a tenant) can help spark the continuing economic development of Norwich. This is well beyond wishful thinking and borders on abject bullshit.

The stadium, for a variety of reasons, was built as far from downtown as possible, snuffing out the hopes to use it as a fulcrum for downtown development as Hartford has tried to do with Dunkin Donuts Field (It results in an annual loss for Hartford. In fiscal year 2023, the stadium generated about $915,000 in income while the city's debt payments for the stadium were about $4.6 million, leaving a deficit of nearly $3.7 million that year. )

"Minor league baseball team owners maintain ex ante that ballparks increase employment, tax revenues, and other private economic development in the host municipality. The presence of a team or a stadium leads to neutral or negative changes primarily due to leakages and substitution. 

"Crowding out can take the form of locals not venturing near a stadium when a game is taking place, normal business or leisure travelers avoiding a local economy when a large event is occurring, or local area residents purposefully leaving the local economy to avoid a mega-event.

"In all of these cases, normal local economic activity is reduced below its regular level, meaning any gains from an event must offset the loss for the community to simply break even. Cities compete for teams and contribute millions of dollars for facilities without any evidence as to whether minor league teams and stadiums are wise investments or not." -The Economic Impact of Stadia and Teams: The Case of Minor League Baseball

When Dodd Stadium had minor league affiliations of Major League baseball teams, the NBSA broke even (I would know, I was on it), but those days are long past, and while the City Council and City Manager can hope all they want for a change of fortune, hope is not a plan, and there is no plan.

Have a commercial realtor sell the grounds and the stadium and let the purchaser do with it what they wish. Even if all the city gets is a dollar for the sale, the flow of red ink, to the current tune of 350K, will be stanched.
-bill kenny

Napkins Optional

There was at the turn of the century a marvelous if disquieting book, and later a movie, called Fast Food Nation.  In recent years/decades I've scaled way back on my McDrivethru habit though I will confess to having breakfast burritos at Mickey D's earlier this week because I had time, was near one and had a hankering (a word not often found in mixed company anymore).

I have no idea how many fast food places there are in the USA or even in just where I live, Connecticut, and I haven't yet lost any sleep over which states might be considered to have the most fast food places per capita. But as is the case in information-rich-but-knowledge-poor America, somebody knows.

And now you do, too. (You got a little schmutz on your chin there.)
-bill kenny

Confirming Your Suspicions

Whenever I get my car washed, one of two things happens within three days. 

It rains, and even though the car wash I go to has one of those 72-hour guarantees, I'm not comfortable about going back to them and getting the car washed for free this time. It just doesn't feel right.

The other thing that happens is that a bird poops on it. This is a personal insult, as we have three feeders at our house and I keep all of them stocked with food. A little reciprocity would be nice.

I've lived my life accepting bird poop on cars as part of the natural order. However, as it happens, some colors attract more alimentary action than others, to say nothing of brands. 

You'd think one of the auto sales websites would make a bigger deal out of that than they are.
-bill kenny

Two Hearts Are Better than One

This is one of my favorite days of the year, up there with the birthdays of our two children and that of my wife. All three are way cooler than the traditional holidays we all know, including some of the newer ones like 'Let's Get Dad a Pony Ride', which is thisclose to sweeping the nation.

Today is our 48th wedding anniversary. I used to say 'my' instead of 'our' because I saw marriage as a 'you and me, kid' against the world dynamic, a notion about which Erich Fromm had far too few kind words. I was wrong, and Erich is an ass.

My best man, Chris H, sometimes drops by this space, and if this is one of those sometimes, thank you. It was Chris and I in "Old Smugglers" the night I met my wife, come to think of it; he was present for both take-off and landing. Sigrid may have a few words for you (along the lines of 'why didn't you stop me?')

Sigrid's maid of honor was Evelyn of RickandEvelyn, who is now a part of a different double play combination but is still a good sport, I'm sure. And I think back to all those with whom I worked, to include my boss at the time, who asked forlornly the day before the ceremony in the Rathaus 'Do you really need the whole day to get married?' He contended for years afterwards he was joking. I assured him my response at the time was not intended as humorous, just anatomically challenging.

Sigrid remains married to me (I suspect) because she enjoys a challenge. And I am all of that, everyday and in every way. If I have any talent at all, and I think it's the most important one, I make her laugh. I am not handsome, tall, fast, smart, athletic, polybendable (wanted to see if you were still reading), or even healthy anymore, I just am (at least most days). Sometimes good is good enough.

I was a junior enlisted man when we met, requiring approval by my Detachment Commander to wed. I still recall him reviewing the paperwork and offering 'So you're marrying a foreigner?' "No, sir," I responded with alacrity. "This is her country, she's marrying a foreigner."

Dewey W, wherever in this or the next world you may be, thank you for using your influence as the Captain's personnel clerk to distract him long enough to sign the permission, despite my being a wise-ass (but he started it). And that's why Dewey received a homemade cake from my wife once a month for all the months he had left in Germany.

Thank you to Sara, now Sara J on the Other Coast, and Rik D, then in Frankfurt and still in Berlin, and Roger W, now in Virginia with Dar, and Marge L, out of sight but not my mind, for enfolding the newly weds in the embrace of your friendship when all one of them knew was that she was going have her hands full with this knucklehead she found. And the knucklehead didn't know what he didn't know-and after all this time, still hasn't found out.

Except...she's my first thought when I awaken and the last before I close my eyes. I know love must be a gift freely given because I have all of hers and could have never possibly earned it myself. I had resigned myself to going through this life alone, and she saved me from being someone not even I would have ever liked. She has made a lot out of very little so often during our lives together that she can consistently make something out of nothing as a matter of course.

I would wish for you, if I had such power, to find and keep your special someone to better appreciate my sentiments and circumstances today when I wish the love of my life Happy Anniversary and so many more to come.
-bill kenny

Frankly Speaking

Frank Zappa was more than an amazing musician. 

There's no way to delay that trouble comin' every day.
-bill kenny

Simple Solutions

Local election season is in high gear, and there's a tendency to slap labels on those seeking office, which may be a help but can also be a hindrance. Remember in high school, with too much homework due at the same time, you'd grab a Cliff's Notes version of one (or more) of the mandatory reading assignments and rationalize it with 'what's the harm?' 

Let's face it, it's not like they made cheat sheets for trig or chemistry like they did for Tolstoy, right? I look back and realize some (or more) of my English teachers had to know I was dialing it up and phoning it in. 

They figured, correctly, I'd argue, that the guy getting the short end of the deal was I, since I was depriving myself of actually enjoying and learning from some of the best of 20th-century American Literature. I'm probably still not caught up.

My point? That's the danger of the label and the drive-by analysis. All ducks are birds, but not all birds are ducks. If you can reduce the world in which we live to a one-word political perspective that guides you, or how you would lead if chosen, I have a very different word to describe you, and it's a lot more accurate than you'd like. 

My point is that nobody eats just chocolate ice cream, or just vanilla, or just any single flavor at all. We see the world through a perspective developed by everyone we've ever met and ever known. We are all of those people, just not all at the same time.

We are the most complex organism on the planet, the crown of creation (with apologies to Marty and Paul), so it's silly and stupid to restrict yourself to one-dimensional thought, especially in a world as complex as the one in which we are living. 

We owned all the tools ourselves, but not the skills to make a shelf with. The Never Ending Now becomes a prison and not a sanctuary. Too late, we recognize the face of the jailer as our own.

-bill kenny

If Not Now, When?

There is a rally at Norwich City Hall this morning starting at 11. 

There's also a rally this afternoon starting at 2 on the Norwichtown Green on West Town Street.

Find an event where you live.
-bill kenny

One and Two

I'm not channeling my inner Lawrence Welk, though I do appreciate the champagne bubbles. The U. S. Constitution is a funny thing. Much like the Bible, it can be read to support an amazing variety of positions in the modern United States that the landed gentry white guys who wrote it might never have envisioned.

But make no mistake, they had a pretty good idea of what they were doing when they approved the Bill of Rights to lead off the document. 

The First Amendment: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

And perhaps surprising a few of my single-issue ammosexual acquaintances, the Second Amendment: "A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."

The former establishes, among other things, our freedom of the press, while the latter is the foundation for our armed forces. The drunken jackal who leads the Department of War and the convicted felon whose boots he licks should read our founding documents and not just the Heritage Foundation's condensed version.
-bill kenny 

John J. Jingleheimer Would Blush

It was Shakespeare who asked, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet." Never figured out how Juliet felt about that, but Romeo saved a lot of time at the vegetable counter, I assume.

Do you remember that riddle as a kid, "What's yours and yours alone but everyone else uses more than you do?" The answer, as I recall, was, "Your name."

Don't use that riddle with Larry Watkins unless you have a half-hour or more.

Shirley Ellis would die of exhaustion.
-bill kenny 

Further Down the Road

I began mucking about in this corner of cyberspace eighteen years ago today. I screamed to prove my existence, but was also afraid someone would discover I really had nothing to say. So far, so good. So what? I understand enough of the world and the technology that drives it to appreciate that I was yelling theater in a crowded fire and might very well happen to catch the eye and ear of those whose native tongue is other than my own.

I make no apologies for or to you if you have stopped by. I appreciate the notes that crop up and pop up either here at the bottom of the page or via an email link that I still don't understand (I am consistent) but a suggestion like 'walk east until your hat floats' isn't especially useful since while I occasionally wear a Kickers ball cap, more often than not, I'm bare-headed (and mostly bald-headed).

My point, although not precisely at this moment, is that I write this for myself. It is therapeutic, perhaps equal parts Jung and Fromm (more hopefulness in the latter) or maybe not. This space serves as the wall against which I fling handfuls of, well, you can guess what I fling, and no matter what you choose, you'd be right. But make sure you're wearing gloves, should we meet, because I like to shake hands. And if you are, I'll try to lick the side of your face, because that's how I roll (over and fetch).

I've gone back and looked at this stuff from the start through here and now. It must be artistic or autistic because I don't get it. Would that I did, and pretty arrogant of me to then hope/assume it would mean something to you. That does sound like me, to be honest. I think 'sound' is the operative word.

Having spent most of a lifetime in people's cars and houses on and in the radio, I'm used to working things out in a semi-private manner, more because I have to than because you want me to. And the beauty of radio over face-to-face is when you give up and walk away, I don't know it, and continue on like that tree in the forest.

The bigger the world has gotten in scale and scope, the more intimate it has become through connectivity that was created for other reasons but upon which I have now hitched my wagon. I started writing this because I had no voice where I lived and even less where I worked. I had, like so many of us, freedom of speech as long as I didn't use it.

In my part of the enchanted forest, we were being rendered invisible, and if I learned nothing from my father, and the jury's still very much out on that, I learned to wield words as weapons that could wound and hurt those who would harm mine. "Let the bastards thrive, for all I care. Since I can do nothing to stop them except embarrass them by running away."

It should be sobering, all these years after starting to clean out the stables, there's still as much once processed equine output as there is everywhere. Most, far too much, of it comes from the biped variety. I live in a target-rich environment, and so do you. We can complain or we can clean up, but we can't do both, at least not at the same time. I've opted for the latter.

I've chosen macro and micro to witness who we are and how we are with one another when we think no one is watching (actually, especially when we think no one is watching). I'm not better than others because I know I'm fatally flawed.

When I say I do not forget, I don't mean I'm single-minded (though I am two-faced). I remember everything that has ever happened to me, who was there, what they wore, what they said, and most importantly, what they did (and didn't). When I say I don't forgive, that's when I'm vengeful and vindictive. I have seven-plus decades of scores, real and imagined, to settle, as futile as that really is. Leave it to God? Please. He crucified His own Son-He couldn't care less about my injuries.

For the kindness of your company all these years, I thank you. I wasn't always aware you were here, when you arrived, or when you left. Thank you nevertheless. I suspect I was not the best company, but you're not all that surprised, since you knew that when you picked me up. 

I started this as a cyber shout to prove how different I was and have, to this juncture, more often celebrated how similar we are. I think that part has been mostly your doing, and thank you for that as well. 
-bill kenny 

Won't You Stop and Remember Me

The season after summer arrived in New England, suddenly, over the latter part of last week. Not too hot, light breeze, no humidity, glorious skies, a deeper blue than the ocean, and the realization that Autumn will not last until Spring next year.

I had little use for winter even as a kid. I remember living in Belford, New Jersey, with snow in our backyard so deep that it was over my head. I was also a runt, which had something to do with that, I realized (years later). 

We had a dog, Sandy, a cocker spaniel that absolutely hated me. It was a present from Grandma and Grampy, my Mom's parents, and we always pretended how much we loved the dog when they came to see us (neither of my parents liked the dog; I stayed away from it to the point that months after we stopped having it, I noticed it was gone).

The house we live in has a front lawn and a backyard. They were both great to have when our two children were younger, as it gave them and their friends someplace else to play. Our kids are adults now. This time of year, we watch the leaves pile up as the season changes, but there are no trees on our property to speak of.

I love finding propeller pods everywhere. Do you remember those from when we were kids? Another great invention by nature to better assure the perpetuation of all the various species of trees, not that we ever saw it that way when we were smaller. There are so many again this year, and so many of them land on the walk leading to the house that every footfall sounds like you're walking in Rice Krispies.

The squirrels in the neighborhood love the pods and can tear through them in a blink to get to the seed in the center. The pods are so numerous that the squirrels have actually been leaving the peanuts we throw to them for later while they gorge themselves on the pods. Unfortunately for them, the blue jays are quite happy to eat their share of the peanuts.

It was very cold last Thursday morning. Crisp is a word my father would use, and so do I, in his honor, and that's the signal that the next phase of the journey has started. The darkness comes earlier now, and the shadows lengthen sooner as the afternoons move on. I promised myself this summer was the one I was finally going to enjoy, but then things came up healthwise, and promises turned to ash. 

Soon, the winds will shift and more often come out of the north and pick up in speed and intensity, and the simple joy of crunchy sidewalks will be gone as the animals and birds spend more time gathering and storing food with one eye fixed on the fall skies as a hazy shade of winter creeps inexorably closer.
-bill kenny 

Decisions, Decisions

This one?

Or this one?

It's the thought that counts, I guess.
-bill kenny

The Mid-Point of Another Three Day Weekend

Columbus Day is almost the perfect American holiday because Christopher Columbus is like us. He didn't know where he was going when he was going there, didn't know where he was when he got there, had no idea what to make of what he found where he ended up, and squandered all that he received for his troubles and effort.

When we were kids, Columbus Day was a big deal in New York City. The Department of Public (almost dropped the L off that; awkward) Works used to paint the white line on Fifth Avenue purple for the annual parade that was always held on the real date of the holiday, October 12 (no Monday holiday laws back then).

 

In light of so much, I, as a man of seventy-three years now, know that as a boy of twelve, I didn't know about the Rape of Paradise which ensued after Columbus' arrival, perhaps blood-red might have been a better choice of colors.

As a youngster, all I ever cared about was the day off, just like kids across the country. We all recited the rhyme because that's how we knew what we did know about Columbus, and since there wasn't a snappy couplet about genocide, we didn't hear anything about that aspect of discovering the New World (I also don't remember the Arakawa natives part, but some of my little gray cells have had some rough days).

Looking at the world as it is and how all settlements and civilizations have developed, I'm not sure it's just Old Chris we should be putting in the defendant's docket and charging. I'm thinking a look in the mirror, as well as a glance out a window, might increase our catch significantly.

And to compound the cacophony of facts clashing with opinions is the realization that not only did Columbus not discover the New World, but he also wasn't the first. We've spent hundreds of years observing a historical event that is neither historic nor an actual event. 

And now, as it's the dot on the "i" in Monday holiday, we have another excuse (and sale opportunity) to buy bedding, or is that just me in the last couple of days? Sandwiched between the 'My candidate is on the special advisory committee to Gawd while yours eats bugs" commercials have been a steady stream of ads selling mattresses. I'm not sure there's any more of a connection between one to the other than there was to India from Bermuda back in the day.

Speaking of which, you have to cross an ocean from a basement warehouse at Bertramstrasse 6 in Frankfurt am Main to get to a certain city in Ohio. That's as may be. All I know for sure is such a journey can take decades and cost you more than you ever believed you could pay when you first started. But it's worth every penny, for your thoughts and otherwise. 

-bill kenny

Too Bad "Climate Change Is a Hoax"

Today's title is my homage to the guy who failed to pronounce acetaminophen correctly before spelling it T-Y-L-E-N-O-L at the White House spelling bee.

And this news story from CNN leads me to suspect the woods were all full.

But, Good News! The Pope is not only still Catholic, he's an American.

-bill kenny

A Murder of Crows

We are a culture that celebrates ourselves as unique individuals, except that, for the most part, we don't define ourselves by our humanity, but rather by our utility. We are what we do. Our unique specialness is tied to our place in the world instead of the other way around. In essence, we already know what we are; all that remains is agreement on the price.

In economic hard times which, despite some political leaders insistence to the contrary, are still going on for many in our country and for many others around the world (when America gets a cold, other nations are in intensive care), a hidden cost harder to recover from than a bank statement or a bottom line, is the injury to that part of ourselves we can't put a price tag on, our pride in who we are.

We have a lot of people who have done nothing wrong and who are losing their jobs, perhaps their families and homes, places in their local circle of friends and acquaintances, who end up losing themselves. I knew a German in one of the places I worked in the Federal Republic who  teased that "Americans are people who buy things they don't want with money they don't have to impress people they don't like." We're near the point, as a nation, where the bills are coming due. Wer soll das bezahlen? Wer hat das bestellt? Wann man nur wusste.

In the frenzy of election season, where there's more action than date night at Piranha High, the highs are higher and the lows are deeper, at least when the other side is telling the story. But the thing to NOT lose sight of when the edge is off the rhetoric on Wednesday, November 5th, when we realize there is no revolution, just power changing hands, is a few more of us have become the walking wounded. That old coaching admonition to just 'shake it off' only goes so far.

An adult without hope or dignity hurts and then, in turn, hurts others, usually those closest to them, so what began as a personal tragedy too often becomes a community calamity. Sing a song of sixpence for your sake, and take a bottle full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds in a cake and bake them all in a pie. Crow, too often, tastes the same.

-bill kenny

Somewhere Hilton Kaderli Smiles

For many years, on one of our local television stations, we had a meteorologist, Hilton Kaderli, from Oklahoma. Never understood/learned how he ended up in Hartford, Connecticut, but I've watched The Wizard of Oz often enough to respect high winds.  

Whenever we had heavy rain, and I do mean heavy rain, he'd call it what he told us it was called in Oklahoma, a gullywhumper. I always appreciated expanding my vocabulary.

Yesterday, we made up all of our rainfall deficit for this year and maybe some more.

Sdeah reiht edih dna nur yeht. Semoc niar eht fi.
-ynnek llib

Stuck Between Stations

I’m impressed at election time with how signs for candidates appear on lawns and vacant lots across Norwich, much like wildflowers after a spring rain. Between the signs for supporting “Working for Norwich’ and ‘Making Norwich More Affordable,’ I almost can’t see the most prevalent lawn sign of all, For Sale signs on residences and commercial buildings.

My taxes increased by three hundred dollars a month last fiscal year due to re-evaluation and nearly one hundred more a month this year, which revealed two things. We don’t have enough money for any Board of Education to fund our schools to enable our children to compete in the Information Age, and we have negative commercial growth, dooming us to repeat this cycle endlessly.

Tomorrow night at six in NFA’s Slater Museum will be a debate among (I assume) three mayoral candidates, followed by a debate among City Council candidates. There's still time to submit questions at info.lwvsect@gmail.com.

Make the candidates articulate their vision for attracting and revitalizing our commercial and industrial sectors; how they will create spaces and places in our historic downtown that attract new residents, and artisan businesses to populate and reinvigorate our abandoned buildings, with specific targets, goals, and milestones so that we can assess our progress.

Ask them if they support a higher assessed value of a commercial building based on its potential, rather than its current use, resulting in a higher rate and collection of property taxes and mitigation of blight. If not, why not? And if so, how would they implement it? 

Roundabouts seem to be a solution that nobody likes, so what's theirs? How would they mitigate/alleviate traffic flow on Route 82?

Would they support a mill rate stabilization fund, and how would they finance it?

Do they support enhancing and enlarging the collaboration and cooperation between the paid firefighters and the volunteer companies? If not, why not; if yes, how would they facilitate and expedite that interaction?

What do they see as Norwich’s Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, and Threats when marketing our city to new businesses, industries, and families looking for a new home?

And don't let ANY of the candidates leave the stage before they answer the questions fully.

If you don't choose, you lose. And not voting is still a choice. We, the voters, hold the growth of our city in our hands with our ballots. We hear the same bullshite every election. It's like we're stuck between stations. Change channels and make informed choices, maybe for the first time in decades.
-bill kenny