A Day without Women

Tomorrow is International Women's Day. I'm biased (and I should get some credit for admitting that to start with) in my support of International Women's Day because my mom was a woman, and a strong woman at that.

I grew up in a household where she and my dad raised three lovely and strong sisters (though there were moments I confess when I wasn't all that wild about them) and, as luck or fate would have it, I was to marry a beautiful and relentlessly capable woman (causing many who have known us both to wonder what possessed her) and we, in turn, have had two children of our own with one a daughter who is a brilliant musician, a wonderful cook and a wickedly funny, remarkable human being.

Womens' rights are human rights. I'm glad it's that simple because I'm a simple person. This year for reasons well within our control here in the USA, maybe it's not quite as simple as it has been, but that's okay because anything worth having is worth the struggle to achieve it.

#BeBoldForChange
-billkenny

Rhymes with Weird

The weekend has ended and I'm still growing the beard that I'm not growing. This time is different though parts of the process are still the same. The same part is that I'm not shaving. I started not shaving about a month ago so technically I guess you could say I am growing a beard especially when I tell you that I have also purchased beard softener (seriously and necessary too) as well as beard oil (and not a squeak has been heard since I started). And a trimmer, yep; in addition to a razor, I have a trimmer to keep the beard I'm not growing in control, sort of. 

Right now, I look a lot like that guy near the intersection with the cardboard sign that reads "Will Lick Your Leg for a Quarter." I sure hope that's not the look I'm going for (I hate change, literally and for a dollar), but I don't have a plan or an endpoint on this. It's not like anyone is shooting a remake of Grizzly Adams (I've always blamed Dan Fogelberg for Thom Pace). And I'm in no danger of running out of razor blades, hot water or shaving cream. Ich hab im moment kein bock mehr and until I do, I could end up looking like Cousin It. 

My wife has suggested except for the improvement, no one would notice the difference. I was going to suggest something connected with the famous four initials, (mit oder ohne ohren ist mir egal) but then I remembered it's her language and she wields it like a surgeon does a scalpel. Besides, I'm probably compensating for the top of my head where hair doesn't grow with a place on the bottom of my head where it does. Perhaps the ultimate combover? I guess when we're next out shopping, I could pick up some new hairbrushes.

I got new eyeglasses to start the week. I wore out the old ones trying to see other people's points of view. Since I've had no luck teaching the seeing eye dog how to shift, figured the glasses were a good investment. They're a lot like, but not quite, the same style as my previous ones so there's been some slight squinting as folks speak to me and attempt to look closer because they sense something is different (not better) but aren't sure what. Technically, I got new glasses because I lost the old ones, case and all. 

My wife celebrates her birthday later this week so perhaps I could shave as a present to her. Yeah, even as I typed that, my brain was swearing at my fingers, so that's a dog that won't hunt (no idea what that means, sounds rustic-all us mountain men do rustic real well). I should make an effort and get a real present (last year someone suggested, in light of the length of our relationship, I should get her a medal).

I will note my not a beard kept me warm during our Saint Patrick's Day Parade yesterday though I saw other people without beards who seemed to be as warm as I was, so make of that what you will. If you pass somebody in the next couple of days who looks like a dust bunny with a limp, feel free to say howdy. And keep your eye peeled for Sweeney Todd. That guy really creeps me out.
-bill kenny

Nearing the End of Another Winter of Our Discontent

We're having a cold stretch of days here in Southern New England after a promise this time a week ago that Spring was right around the corner. I wanted to believe it but didn't because I'm old and wizened and a wise-ass if not actually wise.

Some of my wife's crocuses in the side yard were fooled, I fear, as they were above ground and open earlier this past week but when I looked at them on Saturday morning as our temperatures in the sun hovered at around twenty, they were being brave even if they looked a bit bent and beaten.

We had no snow accompany this current wave of arctic air and I'm grateful for that, as this time last year we had both cold and snow. I'm treading carefully since I have a well-deserved reputation as a whiner but I see no need to pad my resume.

The calendar says just a few more weeks of winter (and a bit longer for Lent, but that's the stuff for another time) and we can put all of this in our rear-view mirror as we make top speed for the days of Endless Summer that seem to anyway. I think knowing, or believing you know, an end is in sight can make the current progress of the journey, no matter how halting, feel more bearable.

"Wait all year for the parting shot, for the epilogue,
For the moment when it stops and the days fade away."
-bill kenny

Sports Is Life

We're barely a week into MLB's spring training and it's already time to to get excited about the World Baseball Classic (or try to). Sorry. I love it in theory and hate it in practice, or at least hate where it falls in terms of getting in the way of my enjoyment of "real" baseball. 

And am I really a bad person because I cannot get jazzed over the prospect of watching Israel tangle with The Netherlands. I've always thought of baseball as our national sport so I'm happy (I think) that so many other nations play it, and less than happy that so many others can play it as well as they do.
  
But what if baseball isn't our national sport? Do we have a Plan B and if so, how about a Plan C? Perhaps we should move on. Start small and approach the Olympic Committee with exhibition sports' requests and then barrel right on through with a torrent of ideas and hope some stick. What do you say to some of these? 

When will the summer Olympics add NASCAR? Why shouldn't Andorra's Olympians have Go Daddy fire suits? Or how about Monster Trucks? Why settle for Greco-Roman wrestling when there's WWE? And don't tell me we're the only country on earth with dogs running the length of docks leaping into the air and landing in the water. I feel a Wide World moment coming on. 

Considering the dollars, petro and otherwise, changing hands for the rights to broadcast any and all international sports competitions to the farthest corner of the universe where, I suspect, the reaction is often like it is in my house on most weekends ("I didn't know the Pro Disc Golf Association channel was an NBC affiliate!"), we might seriously consider throwing the competitions wide open to let curling, animal calling, and log rolling have a shot at fame. So put those thinking caps on.

I'm holding out, of course, for that most national of all of our past times, bailing out Too Big to Fails with other people's money. The problem, as I understand it right now is lining up sponsors. No worries, we've got just the national leadership team in place now to square this away. How about a show of hands for Beer Pong? Brilliant! 
-bill kenny

Left of West and Coming in a Hurry

No, today's title isn't a reference to my social habits during my wild and wanton youth, but thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt, Thomas. I mumble and jumble all that I understand of the lyrics to that REM song to be when I'm confronted by confusion and consternation and, in the case of this news tidbit datelined Palm Coast, Florida, topped off with a side order of Do-si-dos and Tagalongs.

All of that for Girl Scout cookies.
I shudder to think about what they would do for a Klondike Bar.
-bill kenny

Misty, Water-Colored Memories

This is from a very long time ago and was called "Bustin' Broncos on the Mac & Cheese Ranch" (to my knowledge neither Peyton nor AC was harmed in the creation of that title). So much for the disclaimer.

Brushing my teeth yesterday morning, that turn of phrase popped into my head. I'm not sure where it came from and when these things happen, I get a little nervous. Has anyone ever said to you, 'what were you thinking?' and you struggled to recount the process that had resulted in your suggestion to drill a second hole in the boat in order to let the water out? No one has ever done that with me and I'm finally starting to understand why, and in this case, knowledge is not necessarily power. 

I have a brain that's more like Captain Billy's Whizbang, a turn of phrase supposedly from "The Music Man" (I adore every Lullaby on Broadway (but prefer Hackett's Lamb to Charles') as my collection of Iron Maiden attests) with which I have no familiarity and to which I tend to add 'Closet' though I don't know why.

The frontal lobes are crammed with badly-remembered snatches of melodies from decades of rock and roll songs, some of which went plywood in Indiana while others are anthems (C'mon! Let's all Do the Clam!) none of which are improved when I sing them aloud at the top of my lungs, along with film clips projected on the inside of my skull (I can see them when I close my eyes) in random order and with no reason and less rhyme.

I've been holding out for decades for pony rides for my birthday but I don't think I'd go out to the North Forty in search of a Chestnut Mare. Besides, my sister, Evan, is the equestrian; I'm more of a pedestrian (and the world is better for both of those choices), so there's not much danger I'll be moving to Montana soon(er or later).

I think the only way this could turn out well would be if I end up riding Mr. Ed into the sunset-perhaps dueting like Dale and Roy, hopefully without ending up like Trigger, to safeguard against that, I'm swapping my sneakers for top-siders.
-bill kenny

But I Was Mad for Jigs and Reels

You know events have become annual traditions when you’re surprised that they’d almost snuck up on you. I said almost. It wasn’t that long ago a small group of volunteers hoped their first Norwich Saint Patrick’s Day Parade would be a success. That was in 2014; and now, it’s a tradition.   

Weather permitting, the annual Norwich Saint Patrick's Day Parade steps off at one this Sunday afternoon from Ferry Street, parades through downtown before returning to Ferry Street.  We had remarkable weather last year (much like most of last week) and I see no reason we shouldn’t hope for an encore.

Speaking of encores, allow me to reprise some words passing for thoughts I offered for previous Norwich Saint Patrick’s Day Parades while also cheering the new additions and enhancements to this year’s parade.

“If you like marching, you’ll love running.” I suspect that’s the premise behind the Rose City Shenanigans 5K whose first ever start is Sunday at noon from Courthouse Square, along the parade route, past the Cathedral and concluding at the Street Festival (with spectators, Irish fare, and food all in abundant supply). You can still register through the start of the race Sunday and there will be prizes for the largest team, the best costume, and best-themed team.

The parade grows a little larger and gets a little better every year with more marchers, more vendors and more spectators, doing better each time around in terms of cosa a chur ar an tsráid (Gaelic for ‘putting feet on the street’) in Chelsea.

If you’ve yet to attend, think of the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade as another reason to stop and visit somewhere too many of us too often simply drive through on our way to someplace else, usually while complaining that ‘there’s never anything to do in Norwich.’ Which, I would argue is as true as you want it to be, except when it’s not, like this Sunday.

Last year, I stood near someone costumed as “Paddy O’ Furniture,” a fine figure of a man and we were in the midst of a gaggle of people I met who did not live in Norwich but heard about the parade and the family-oriented crafts festival, as well as the authentic food and beverages (both adult and unadulterated) and decided to try it on for size and were very pleased they had come.       

As I said, if you want to march, you’ll be in good company. In previous years, the parade has featured all/some/part of our Norwich City Council and the Mayor, members of the Norwich Police Department and various area fire departments, marching bands, local service organizations and basically anyone who felt like stepping out and stepping off.

When Irish Eyes are Smiling, let’s hope they brighten and warm up Sunday afternoon enough to allow both the wearing of the green and the marching of the feet. And though it’s technically early, it’s right on time for Sunday: Beannachtam na Feile Padraig "Happy St. Patrick's Day!"

-bill kenny