Of Course I'm Listening

   To her husband, the reindeer said,

   “We might get a little rain, dear.”

   “Can we afford to keep him fed?”

   To her husband, the reindeer said,

   “Oh, please stop chomping on your bread.

   Take a look at that thunderhead.”

   “Yes, babes are wondrous, and bring cheer.”

   To her husband, the reindeer said,

   “We might get a little rain, dear!

  

   “You never listen to your doe,

   I’m not sure you’ve got a brain, dear.”

   “Oh, not another tale of woe?”

   “You never listen to your doe,

   And even though I’ve told you so,

   We’re about to get some rain, dear.”

   “If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Joe.”

   “I’m not sure you’ve got a brain, dear.”

  

Confessions of the Egotistical Loudmouth

  I have this disability,

   The one called imbecility,

   Along with instability

   And rampant incivility.

   I lack dependability

   And have no credibility.

   I’m short on sensibility,

   Am prone to gullibility

   And have the inability

   To see my fallibility.

   And yet, with great humility,

   I say with plausibility

   The concept “genius” –  you’ll agree –

   Really fits me to a tee.

 

Notes from the Home - December 24, 2012

   Saturday morning, just after four o’clock, as I was doing the LA Times crossword puzzle online, the electricity went out. The problem was, rumor has it, a telephone pole got in the way of a drunk driver. It’s darn dark in the wee hours of a day so close to the winter solstice, but it wasn’t long – fifteen or twenty minutes – before the folks at the electric company had the juice flowing again. My Internet connection, however, had been lost. And so, back to bed.

   At eight o’clock, fortified with grapefruit, shredded wheat and coffee, I went off to Piggly-Wiggly. It was a beautiful morning. The sun bright, the sky clear and windshields covered with frost. It was a glorious day to be out and about. And the morning reminded me of my limitations. It was a morning that said, “Get out of that damn chair, Tom. On your feet, boy, move it, stride out smartly and generate a little body heat.”

    Alas.

   But, it was a morning to enjoy, and I did. And I returned to the apartment with a few groceries and lots of confidence that Mediacom had been on the job, and I would be able to get on the Internet.

   Alas.

   Unable to blast off into cyberspace, I called the computer at Mediacom. I don’t get along well with telephone computers. What we have is a failure to communicate. Able to sense my frustration after being led down several blind alleys, the computer said, “Please give me a few minutes to collect your account information.” I thought it strange that it didn’t ask any questions; it didn’t ask my name, or my address or my account number. But, surely a computer has caller ID, and it was able to match my phone number to my account.

   “Oh, I see,” the computer said. Really, it said, “Oh, I see, there is an emergency in your area, and our technicians are working to restore service.”

   A few minutes later, Johnny, the maintenance man, said he had seen the Mediacom crew at the accident scene on his way to work. So, I waited, ever hopeful that I wouldn’t have to call Mediacom again. I was not rewarded for my patience and eventually called again. This time the computer took me through an entirely different series of frustrations before it announced that it had my account information. When it had reviewed the information, it said there was an emergency in the area and played Mediacom’s announcement to its customers. And with that, the computer was exposed as a fraud. The alleged emergency in my area was severe weather in Iowa.

   And I’m left to ponder: Is the computer’s grasp of geography so weak that it thought Iowa is in the greater Columbus, Georgia, area? Does the computer have so little respect for my intelligence that it doesn’t think I know Iowa is more than a fifteen minute drive from here? Or has the computer evolved into an impudent bureaucrat, willing to say anything in order to get the caller to hang up?

   From the moment I lost the Internet, I’ve worried that the problem might be with my computer. To test it, I took the computer up to the activity room, which has Wi-Fi. I had no trouble getting on line. Don’t try to tell me, Mr. Mediacom, there must be something wrong with my computer.

  

   It is the morning before Christmas, and all through Columbus it’s raining. I don’t know if the weather is to blame for my mood. Maybe I’m having difficulty with the prospect of spending Christmas at the old folks’ home. Chances are the rain is the culprit.

   Five or six years ago, when my legs began acting like uncooperative, smarty-pants teenagers, I noticed they were less ornery when the sun was shining and the sky was clear. I assumed it was some sort of psychological phenomenon. Everyone feels better when the sun is shining and the sky is blue. Well, not everyone. Corrine says she prefers rainy days. But she enjoys being crabby, and dreary days undoubtedly enhance her crabbiness.

   At this time of year, however, old Sol is a slug-a-bed, and nowhere to be seen when I’m ready to face the day. On some winter mornings getting out of bed and getting dressed is easier than on others. The mornings when it is easy, the sun comes up an hour or two later in a cloudless sky. When getting ready to meet the day is more difficult, the sun rises behind the clouds. Which leads me to believe there is a physical element involved. Tomorrow’s weather is supposed to be much the same. But Russ and Karen are coming over, so it will be a great Christmas day regardless of the weather.

  

   Beth called last night and brightened the Christmas season for me. She said she has put all the Christmas cards they’ve received on the door, and Hayden’s favorite is the one I sent him. He goes to the door several times a day and opens the card I sent. This has nothing to do with the guy he sees via Skype once or twice a week. Hayden opens the card because he wants to hear Schroeder play the piano. But it makes his grandpa a very happy man.

  

The Winking Book

This was written two years ago and appeared in the Star Beacon.

“E-book readers like the Kindle or even the i-Pad may be more convenient for the tech-savvy reader today outside the classroom. No longer do you have to go to a physical store to buy a book or order from Amazon.com and wait a few days for it to show up.”

Robert Lebzelter, Star Beacon, Nov. 20, 2010

       In the library, wondering through the stacks, I notice a book that is almost as old as I am winking at me from a crowded shelf. Easily tempted, I pull it down and wipe off the years of accumulated dust, revealing an unfamiliar title by an author unknown to me, and a blurb from a blurbist I’ve never heard of. But the book seems to have promise, and I take to the desk and check out. That evening, I settle on the couch and start to read, a little surprised that the book is so informative and well written.

       A few years later, I’m watching Jeopardy. Alex gives the answer, and I blurt out the question, suddenly aware of a fact I didn’t realize I was aware of. Or I’m trying to write, and a phrase or sentence spreads across the screen. I look at it, rub my eyes and look at it again. A thought so well stated that it’s hard to believe it sprang from my mind. But there it is.

       Where did the fact come from? And where did I get the notion to put words together in that particular fashion? Maybe from the dusty book on the crowded shelf.

       An e-book undoubtedly improves the mind of the reader just much as a book for which several trees gave their lives. The trouble with e-books is the e-store.

       With the possible exception of a well-stocked bakery, libraries and bookstores are the most delightful places in the world. Their shelves and tables groaning under the weight of thousands of books you haven’t any interest in. And yet, as you walk by, a book you weren’t looking for catches your eye. Maybe it has a provocative title, maybe it’s a book you were supposed to have read in school, maybe the name of author rings a bell, or maybe it just looks interesting. In any case, you take it home and enjoy the unexpected.

       The e-store has a larger selection than the largest library or bookstore. If you know what you’re looking for, you will find it at the e-store. But, if you find it by clicking the mouse, and you never wander through a maze of other titles on other subjects, will you ever find the book you didn’t know you wanted until you found it?

       According to the ad on the back of recent issue of Time, the new Amazon Kindle can store up to 3,500 books and weights less than a single paperback. To be able to throw a library of all the books you want to read into a brief case, purse, backpack or capacious pocket is amazing.

       But so is the sense of discovery that comes from walking through the stacks and finding a book you had no interest in until it winked at you.