tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56254812930719430182024-03-12T21:42:31.024-04:00NCFESince October 2008, a blog written by Steve Albert.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger2153125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-90455427675653778112024-02-18T20:12:00.000-05:002024-02-18T20:12:30.028-05:00Re-naming a Stadium & White-Washing History<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxC1LvNoNkysDyRxC9zOF7grk-Yar3bhS7CMPbt7nehasS216G7IQcX2qzyep1-nKr6aCfGANP5MwsYwJ08qlZ7zcKjQucZ4OLTPwlk-1QtHHE0YHfZZ_WB8VpJZScntpVf6jEWQu-yz3QaEzTcqat_pXN1loSmZ3KcHpDVDInb5ZBCLBfA1f9hqIIUlW0/s225/download%20(7).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxC1LvNoNkysDyRxC9zOF7grk-Yar3bhS7CMPbt7nehasS216G7IQcX2qzyep1-nKr6aCfGANP5MwsYwJ08qlZ7zcKjQucZ4OLTPwlk-1QtHHE0YHfZZ_WB8VpJZScntpVf6jEWQu-yz3QaEzTcqat_pXN1loSmZ3KcHpDVDInb5ZBCLBfA1f9hqIIUlW0/s1600/download%20(7).jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This will be short, simple and to the point.</div><p><a href="https://deadspin.com/penn-state-joe-paterno-ncaa-football-jerry-sandusky-1851263073" target="_blank"><b>Renaming Beaver Stadium to Honor Joe Paterno</b></a><br /></p><p>Yes, there has been some movement among trustees of the Pennsylvania State University (Penn State) to rename the school's stadium from the current Beaver Stadium to one that features former Penn State football coach Joe Paterno.</p><p>Just to save time, this is at the root of the controversy:</p><p><a href="https://www.cnn.com/2013/10/28/us/penn-state-scandal-fast-facts/index.html" target="_blank"><b>Penn State Scandal</b></a></p><p>From the above link...</p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0.4px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">March 2, 2002 - </span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">Graduate Assistant Mike McQueary tells</span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;"> </span><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2013/08/23/us/joe-paterno-fast-facts/index.html" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.4px; line-height: var(--theme-paragraph__line-height--from-small); text-decoration-color: var(--theme-paragraph__link-decoration-color); text-decoration-line: var(--theme-paragraph__link-decoration); text-decoration-skip-ink: var(--theme-underline-skip-ink); text-decoration-thickness: var(--theme-paragraph__link-decoration-thickness); text-rendering: optimizelegibility; text-underline-offset: var(--theme-paragraph__hover-link-offset);" target="_blank">Coach Joe Paterno</a><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">that on March 1, he witnessed Sandusky sexually abusing a 10-year-old boy in the Lasch Building showers. On May 7, 2012, prosecutors file court documents to change the date of the assault to on or around February 9, 2001.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0.4px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">March 3, 2002 - </span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">Paterno reports the incident to Athletic Director Tim Curley. Later, McQueary meets with Curley and Senior Vice President for Finance and Business Gary Schultz. McQueary testifies that he told Curley and Schultz that he saw Sandusky and the boy engage in anal sex; Curley and Schultz testify they were not told of any such allegation. No law enforcement investigation is launched.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0.4px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">May 6, 2016 - </span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">CNN reports the story of another alleged victim who explains how he was a troubled young kid in 1971 when Sandusky raped him in a Penn State bathroom. He says his complaint about it was ignored by Paterno.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0.4px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">July 12, 2016 - </span><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2016/07/12/us/sandusky-paterno-penn-state-documents/" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.4px; line-height: var(--theme-paragraph__line-height--from-small); text-decoration-color: var(--theme-paragraph__link-decoration-color); text-decoration-line: var(--theme-paragraph__link-decoration); text-decoration-skip-ink: var(--theme-underline-skip-ink); text-decoration-thickness: var(--theme-paragraph__link-decoration-thickness); text-rendering: optimizelegibility; text-underline-offset: var(--theme-paragraph__hover-link-offset);">Newly unsealed court documents </a><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">allege that Paterno knew about Sandusky’s abuse and that he dismissed a victim’s complaint.</span></span></p><p>A bottom line of sorts, for me, is this: At some point, Joe Paterno did follow the letter of the law in reporting the abuse allegation. <u>He did not, however, follow the spirit of the law</u>. He did just enough to try and move past the controversy in order to focus back on football. Simply put, that's not enough. As I noted in a Facebook comment, if what happened was some NCAA rules violation, then I'd be somewhat sympathetic. But this was something that involved sexual abuse. This was more important than football. For coach Paterno though it was not. </p><p>Joe Paterno had a moral obligation to put the welfare of children and young adults before that of his football program. He should be held to a higher standard over and above simply compliance. He did not do that, and that is unforgiveable.</p><p>Does this tarnish everything that Joe Paterno did at Penn State? No. <a href="https://www.psu.edu/news/university-libraries/" target="_blank"><b>He still has a library named after him</b></a>, which is fitting given his reputation for nominally insisting that Penn State football players also be serious students. I also happen to believe that his coaching record should not reflect the scandal, and attempts to somehow erase what he accomplished as a coach were/are a bad idea, as it punishes the students who played on all of his teams.</p><p>I don't have much of a voice when it comes to Penn State internal politics, but I'm not without one either. As a graduate, Life Member of the Alumni Association, benefactor to the university (helping to fund a scholarship at Penn State Harrisburg), former board member of the Penn State Harrisburg Alumni Society and member of the <a href="https://ed.psu.edu/alumni-giving/make-gift/atherton-society" target="_blank"><b>Atherton Society</b></a>, I think I've earned the right to express an opinion. And express an opinion to the Trustees and Administration I will.</p><p>Joe Paterno does not deserve the honor of having a stadium named after him. Doing so is an insult to the victims of sexual abuse and to those alumni of Penn State who view the university as far more than just a football team. Penn State is better than this.</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-83574402449127138432024-01-14T17:57:00.001-05:002024-01-14T17:57:05.272-05:00Just Browsing...<p>I love looking at real estate listings. Granted that there actually is a practical, if not immediate, reason to do so, namely the purchase of a retirement home in a few years. The bigger reason though is that I just find old homes to be interesting. </p><p>The house shown below is old, but I wouldn't use the word interesting to describe it.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafeeovY2CC_YyTuVLBDknIw_bJ48lf9Lw9aIB1Mb8UE_EChHM_ZGS1shnkFVW8Pg22RZVEaFASORnvD6tEsrHkIyUgbVYJASksUh2h6V_k5Y0xOOBAAUrQkepzRM9zYrlvURUpucPNL6eVVvljf7WCXtQs6o11mpwVGCj2EAMch9ZNuUGTnDiNr13Vivs/s636/Screenshot%202024-01-14%20172537.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="636" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafeeovY2CC_YyTuVLBDknIw_bJ48lf9Lw9aIB1Mb8UE_EChHM_ZGS1shnkFVW8Pg22RZVEaFASORnvD6tEsrHkIyUgbVYJASksUh2h6V_k5Y0xOOBAAUrQkepzRM9zYrlvURUpucPNL6eVVvljf7WCXtQs6o11mpwVGCj2EAMch9ZNuUGTnDiNr13Vivs/w400-h370/Screenshot%202024-01-14%20172537.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />This was my late brother Chris' house. The last time I was in that house was probably early February, 2017, as it was being prepared to be sold by his wife. My thought was to just go through the place, with her permission (of course), looking for any old family things that could be saved, prior to the sale. I don't recall what I found there on that day, as it was an extremely difficult visit. Prior to this, I had been there late morning on January 5, 2017 when I found my brother after he had passed away. At the time, there was no heat in the house, so his body was frozen. My fingers can still feel the sensation of touching him, thinking initially that he was just sleeping. <p></p><p>More on this is noted in prior blog postings.</p><p>Seeing the listing was kind of stunning for me. I have stopped once or twice over the past few years (as recently as three weeks ago) just to see the condition of the place, as it slowly rotted away. I don't believe that it has been actually occupied since it was sold in 2017; as best I can recall from Chris' wife, it was sold to someone from New York, but nothing was ever done with it. Fast forward to now, and I did see a condemnation notice on the door from the City of Scranton, so perhaps the absent owner thought it best to cover his/her losses and get rid of the property. Interestingly enough, there already is a pending sale for it.</p><p>The timing of this listing/sale in mid-January I suspect is a kind of synchronicity of sorts, given the history noted above. Maybe this is a kind of karmic way of getting it all over with together. Maybe this is a kind of ending chapter.</p><p>Whatever happens regarding the sale, I just have one hope: That whoever buys the property fixes it up and that there end up being children living in the place. I think little kids running around is precisely the kind of exorcism the place needs. The house, and my brother's memory, would like such a thing.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-51780780109916396582024-01-07T19:05:00.003-05:002024-01-08T21:29:58.094-05:00Making 2024 Small<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: inherit;"><i><b>"How 'bout getting off of these antibiotics?</b></i></span></div><i><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: inherit;">How 'bout stopping eating when I'm full up?</span></div></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: inherit;">How 'bout them transparent dangling carrots?</span></div></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: inherit;">How 'bout that ever elusive kudo?"</span></div></span></b></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Thank You, Alanis Morissette)</span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I noted in a prior post, every end of year I think about what happened in the 12 months past, and what I want to accomplish in the 12 months to come. "Resolutions" sounds so formal...and I'm not a really formal kind of person...so I'm going to go with "goals"...and I've been thinking a bit more about this over the past week or so. My track record in achieving these goals is, by all objective standards, terrible. Like Don Quixote though, I keep at it for reasons that mostly escape me but nevertheless seem like something of a noble quest. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>Anyway, a part of what I want to accomplish in 2024 can be thought of as "Thinking Small"<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u><b>Thinking Small</b></u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Given my pending birthday this year, I actually think I am reasonably healthy. Granted that there are a few chronic things going on (heart rate issues, for example), but all things considered, I think I am doing okay. This noted, I need to do a better job of managing my weight. That's not for reasons of vanity or anything else of the sort...it's strictly because I want to be as healthy for as long as possible, mostly because there is still a lot in my life to be done. First on the docket for this goal is to simply think smaller in terms of what I eat. As in just eating less.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Managing weight is basically a simple math problem: Calories in, calories out (burned). For me, a big part of this is that I simply sit too much. Especially when I am at work. More on some work stuff in a moment. But I can't afford to be desk bound for hours at a time either. This is an easy thing to write, but hard to do (for many reasons...), and I don't have a way to solve for this yet. But I am going to figure something out. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Perspective</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I need to re-envision, if you will, my relationship with what I do for a living. I don't want to work less, I don't want a simpler job, and I don't want to be "comfortable". What do I want? It's not a question of want in as much as it is a need...I need a greater mental and physical balance in my life. Some might call this "work-life balance", but that doesn't do this justice. Besides, I have an entire posting in my head on the subject of "work-life balance", so I'm not going to hash that out here. Instead, I just need what I do to earn a living to not exhaust me, mostly because it shouldn't. Yes, what I do is important, and I get to work with great people; however, I'm not curing cancer, stopping crime or preventing the fall of Western Civilization. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I need to find a spot where I work hard, help those I work with, and have more time for the rest of my life. Simple, huh?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As a side note, my retirement from the full-time workforce isn't imminent, but it's also not that far away. Do I have a date in mind? Yes. Am I going to share that? No. One of the smarter things I learned from nearly three decades working with very smart people at Prudential is that you never give an employer <u>too much</u> advanced notice of your retirement. Why? The moment you do, you give your employer license to possibly treat you not as well (Think <i><span style="color: red;">"</span><b><span style="color: red;">He's going to be leaving anyway, so __________."</span></b></i>). </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Simplify, Simplify, Simplify</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've already started working on this goal. What is it, you may ask? Well, I need to let go of some things. Most of these things are physical stuff, as in I have DVI to HDMI converter cables for some reason. As in I have a ton of old books that I don't ever plan on reading. As in I am right now looking on a shelf where I have old notebooks. Heck, I don't even know what is in these notebooks. I am simply awash in stuff. There is also some mental stuff in the back corners of my head as well that could probably do for, if not a purge, then a re-assignment to the mental equivalent of a Siberian Gulag. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Time</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><i><b>"Time the past has come and gone</b></i></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">The future's far away</span></div><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And now only lasts for one second, one second"</span></div></span></b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">(Time, Hootie and the Blowfish)</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Time is speeding up as I get older, a point which I think is ultimately at the heart of what Einstein was trying to prove with his Theory of Relativity. It's only been over the past 2 or 3 years that I've actually been aware of this fact. Nevertheless, I have things to do, and it's getting to the point where those things need to be larger in my life and less about the nuts and bolts of what I'm doing between 8am and 5:30pm-ish most days. There are pictures to be taken, words to be written, things to be torn down, things to be built, cats to be petted, people to help and walks to be had with Ms. Rivers. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">None of us are promised time, by the way. It all can end at any given moment for reasons of the tragic (struck by a drunk driver) or the dramatic (nuclear holocaust created radioactive cockroaches) or the mundane. We just don't know, so it's all the more important to treat the time we have with the sense of </span>reverence that it deserves.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;">Simply put, I think we all need to do a better job of honoring our time. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Persistence</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Recent events have left me thinking "why me?" once again. This, by the way, is not a question of "why did this terrible thing happen to me?", but instead, <a href="http://www.sgalbert.com/2017/01/my-brother-chris.html" target="_blank"><b>why am I the one who is still standing</b></a>? Think of it as being a kind of survivor's guilt that's tough to explain to someone else who hasn't been through certain kinds of terribleness. Anyway, as I ponder this sort of thing most every early January, I've come to the conclusion that it all comes down to one word: Persistence. Either I've been blessed with this personal quality or I'm just too pig-headed to back down from things. Both probably are true. While this has certainly served me well, I'd gladly give a bit of it up if it would be/have been available in some small measure to certain others.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieep7UQgGI2tpeyqEItk5nongREMpPoaPf817JOuCdpWcCdrL0Y-6BZZv3WRaxWfkxzpErsEKC8i5YOUZsi4wf6zNMnqp9yQf1zUjIvKBaCqN1YuVcbzYn5nINJ58QGKC5DC18CYOZq8odfJWgwY0UKssR-TT9cCjOPV9z-f2-YkTNz0synOjRSm2lNSrn/s2887/RichSteveChrisLate80's.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2131" data-original-width="2887" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieep7UQgGI2tpeyqEItk5nongREMpPoaPf817JOuCdpWcCdrL0Y-6BZZv3WRaxWfkxzpErsEKC8i5YOUZsi4wf6zNMnqp9yQf1zUjIvKBaCqN1YuVcbzYn5nINJ58QGKC5DC18CYOZq8odfJWgwY0UKssR-TT9cCjOPV9z-f2-YkTNz0synOjRSm2lNSrn/s320/RichSteveChrisLate80's.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">So, long ago, was it just a dream?</span></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Time to march into 2024.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-5037785894981660982023-12-31T22:44:00.004-05:002024-01-01T07:07:00.268-05:00Time Time Tickin', Tickin' Away<p style="text-align: left;">The title of this posting comes from a wonderful song by Don
Henley called The Last Worthless Evening.
Well worth listening to (see below), although it has very little to
actually do with the topics at hand.</p><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, it's nearly New Year's Day as I write this, and over
the past few weeks I've been full of thoughts related to the year that's coming
to an end, my getting older, and just a sense that things in the world are
spinning a bit more out of control than they are normally (if
there is such a thing as "normal" these days). These thoughts aren't all bad, mind you, and
I'm not sure why some of them are only recently coming to mind. Yes, I am having thoughts about
thoughts...not exactly productive...but not completely out of character for me
either.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As for the year that's coming soon to an ending near you,
well, I'm glad. That would be "glad
it's almost over". There are a few
themes to the year if you want to think of it in those terms. Themes like...</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>...my priorities were sometimes very wrong in 2023. The time and mental energy I spend at work
has gone up quite a bit. Part of that
isn't all bad, as I think I'm good at what I do, and certainly I think many
seem to appreciate my efforts, but at what cost? My physical health has suffered in that I'm
almost perpetually locked to a desk. My
mental health has suffered because after 9 to 11 hours a day of work, plus
often work over the weekend, there just isn't anything left for me. I can point to a few things, for example, in
our yard that I didn't get around to this year because I was either too physically
or mentally tired. It's a kind of
negative cycle that's easy to identify but very hard to stop. But stop it I will.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">...there's also the idea that my life is going to be
changing pretty dramatically over the next few years. This is because, having entered the workforce
full time in 1986, I have far, far less time working in front of me than
working behind me. I am not complaining
about this, by the way. If anything, I
have been incredibly blessed as I get older in terms of financial security,
general health, my home life, etc. It
all seems just so, well, "big".
It's worth reminding myself that I'm actually pretty good at doing big
things.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">...in this country, the very nature of our political system
has become mired in the worst of both parties, although much of the blame falls
to one man who doesn't read books, can't admit that he's ever wrong, engages in
Olympic-sized fear mongering, views immigrants not from Norway (or apparently
Slovakia) as being evil, and treats the <a href="https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2017/07/31/how-trump-embodies-seven-deadly-sins-brian-klaas-column/523664001/" target="_blank">Seven Deadly Sins</a> as personal
goals. You do know who I am talking
about. My hope is that when this person
passes along one day, some may recover the parts of their humanity that seem to
be broken. <i><span style="color: red;">If you support this man, then
I feel badly for you. A phrase like
"may they rot in Hell" <a href="https://www.huffpost.com/entry/donald-trump-rot-in-hell-truth-social-christmas_n_658a5753e4b03e698a141df3" target="_blank">in a social media Christmas message</a> says far
more about this person than I...or anyone else for that matter...ever could. Ask yourself, "Would a decent human being say such a thing?". You do, by the way, know the answer to that question, and quite frankly, he's not worthy of your support.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">...in our world, well, there's a shortage of simple, basic
caring. In fact, it sometimes feels as
if caring for others is viewed as a kind of weakness best left to idealists and
others not "living in the real world". No one needs to die because a bunch of folks
in power simply want more of it. Yes, I
get it...fighting things like injustice sometimes require difficult decisions,
but if those "difficult decisions" involve killing children (be they Israeli or Palestinian, for example), well,
call me suspicious.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wish 2023 were a better year, but it happened as it was
supposed to. What's left for us is to
learn what we can so we can make tomorrow a bit better than yesterday.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Speaking of tomorrow (as in 2024), I do have a few
thoughts. Some of them are basically
kind of antonyms of what's noted above, so I'm not going to waste time with
repetition. What I will note though is
this: It's important for me (and I
suspect all of us, to one extent or another) to remember that we have far more
control over the things in our life than we recognize. That's not to say that exercising that
control is easy...in fact, sometimes it is incredibly difficult...but that
doesn't negate that sense of control's very existence. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So for 2024, here's my wish: May we all...</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Dare to do big things</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Show compassion (not just for others, but for ourselves
as well)</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Always ask the question "Am I running away from...or
towards...something?"</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Take time to smell flowers, listen to good music and pet a cat (or dog, or both)</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-weight: bold;">Cultivate friendships (</span>I especially need to work on this<span style="color: #2b00fe; font-weight: bold;">)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Honor those who serve us, be they restaurant staff, healthcare workers or first responders</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Be humble</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Live for today, but always plan for tomorrow</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">2024, bring it on.<o:p></o:p></p></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/j7kjHDKZpSw?si=jFo_c5I-O_KI3_w2" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-81855247214272257312023-12-11T22:17:00.000-05:002023-12-11T22:17:05.293-05:00Kate Spade for Christmas<p>Before I started actually writing this, I had to check and see what I had previously written about (the late) Kate Spade. This post...</p><p><a href="http://www.sgalbert.com/2018/06/i-dont-know-anything-about-kate-spade.html" target="_blank"><b>http://www.sgalbert.com/2018/06/i-dont-know-anything-about-kate-spade.html</b></a></p><p>...came up. So, what made me think of it again? It's a bit of a winding journey.</p><p>Today was the annual "drive a bit to go shopping" trip with Ms. Rivers. We do this every year before Christmas, with the trips ranging from the Philadelphia area to the Poconos. A few times we've gone to the Lehigh Valley Mall, which was where we ended up today. There is no grand plan to this, and truth be told, most of our shopping (for Christmas gifts) is already done. It's more the idea that we are heading out to go Christmas shopping, which is the real gift I suppose. I say "gift" as it's just been too damn busy this past year. Even the weekends are full of stuff, and on more than one occasion, I think I'm more tired on Sunday evening than Friday. First World Problems, I know.</p><p>Anyway, while at the Lehigh Valley Mall, we stopped in the small temporary <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/" target="_blank"><b>Barnes & Noble</b></a> bookstore (the "real" one is being remodeled) and while wandering around, I came upon a section of stationary related gifts with the Kate Spade New York brand. I'm sure it's high-quality stuff, but nothing I would buy, mind you. In an odd sort of way though it made me stop and think. A moment, if you will, of clarity. See the above link for context.</p><p>Life can be hard for some. I've struggled a bit this past year between my desire to make a difference at work and still maintain a healthy balance with the other parts of my life. That's been a losing battle; as evidence I offer the fact that I haven't really been writing much. And, by the way, I haven't been reading much either. Basically, I've just been working (as in the paid variety + working on my stepson's recently purchased home). Yet, as much as I can bemoan my minor struggles, Kate Spade reminded me of the importance of perspective. </p><p>At the risk of repetition, the <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2018/06/05/us/kate-spade-dead/index.html" target="_blank"><b>Kate Spade story</b></a> tells us, in part (at least according to me...) that you can be very attractive, physically healthy, smart, hardworking, wildly successful, popular and have all the things...and yet be deeply troubled. For me, this is genuinely difficult to process. I can though, as I get older, process a part of this, in the sense that the seeming tangibles of our lives sometimes matter far less than the intangibles. In the middle of a consumption-fueled holiday season, it seems like an important lesson.</p><p>While I do my best to give myself credit for climbing (figurative mountain) summits, sometimes the even steeper summit someone else manages to climb is out of a hole.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvotA6JByPukXNteT_zLet08L5TFubxHGLIRsgOdBrX4XsjgbHUuRA6vIfI3MGRRIstnr0CLwORVBj7UdH0U3XKplMoxd5yyTBkz1IZ9jhp_ugcgzsanVebC9ljOhTLggd9n9BWiscLXTuMcW0TzRDbutNI6aWzYb5sPHe2fLiot3asVEGK9n60ETJ0ip/s1308/409564171_1094078512047045_5664997042387094769_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1308" data-original-width="1284" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvotA6JByPukXNteT_zLet08L5TFubxHGLIRsgOdBrX4XsjgbHUuRA6vIfI3MGRRIstnr0CLwORVBj7UdH0U3XKplMoxd5yyTBkz1IZ9jhp_ugcgzsanVebC9ljOhTLggd9n9BWiscLXTuMcW0TzRDbutNI6aWzYb5sPHe2fLiot3asVEGK9n60ETJ0ip/w393-h400/409564171_1094078512047045_5664997042387094769_n.jpg" width="393" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I think the latter is worth more admiration.</div><div><br /></div>*****<div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Post-Script</b></div><div>The shopping experience today was underwhelming. Like most indoor shopping malls, Lehigh Valley seems like it's struggling a bit. That plays out in empty store fronts (no Williams Sonoma for us today) and in bathrooms that look like they time traveled from a 1970's vintage of a Port Authority parking garage. Realizing that much of our shopping has been done on-line, Ms. Rivers and I have sadly contributed in a small way to this decline. We'll do better next year.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-47585496099986364472023-10-09T17:29:00.000-04:002023-10-09T17:29:37.806-04:00If We Only Had Time...<p style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">"If we only had time, only had time for you" </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">- Gone Hollywood (Supertramp)</span></b></i></p><p>Sometimes it seems like time isn't this fixed thing that we seem to think it is. Maybe that's the "relative" part of "relativity" in action. Such things may be a bit above my paygrade, and while they are sometimes fun to ponder, in the end, it's a bit like shoveling water: A lot of effort but little practical result.</p><p>It's been a bit since I've written, but things have been busy. On the professional side of things, I have been working harder than ever before: Not exactly for more money, but it's now at the part of my life when my desire to do good work sometimes exceeds any sensible reasons (to be working this hard). On the non-work side of things, well, I have plenty of other work to do, including helping out with my older stepson's new home. One has not experienced sweat until you are steaming wallpaper off in a house that is in the 85+ degree range. That work is mostly done, and things have now moved to the wall prep for paint phase. Mind you, there is a bathroom that still has wallpaper in it, but I'm waiting for those marching orders. My work at the house extends beyond wallpaper removal, although I draw the line, as usual, at plumbing<span style="color: #04ff00;"><b>*</b></span>.</p><p>Anyway, this summer has been something of a blur. And now it's October, a month that has provided more than a few challenges for me over the years (many, many related postings here over the years). I won't tempt fate...or October...with any further commentary, other than to say, "let's just be friends October, okay?".</p><p>These past few days have provided a kind of late punctuation to the summer of 2023 in that Ms. Rivers and I have been spending time with her parents in Cape May, NJ. In fact, tomorrow we head home, with Ms. Rivers stopping in The Philadelphia on the way back (we took two cars). I'll note that I've never really spent much time in Cape May, but I would come back in the future, as long as it was either before or after the summer season. </p><p>Speaking of Cape May, it is an old place, saved in so many ways from the kitsch of the 1950's/1960's motor inn phase that became something of a statement for New Jersey shore points. Many of those motor inns have gone the way of the early 1970's land yacht cars, but certainly a few of them still remain. Just not in Cape May. Here, well, it seems that efforts have been made to keep something more distinct, at least from an architectural (and possibly larger cultural) basis. While I didn't bring any camera gear with me, my Google Pixel is more than capable of taking some wonderful pictures.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO1JdlYgNNrQqtAl_Uujj_GZUjxCA3t7No9hDw8utepVjrD-7-spHlIB7wMjL3Fq1zlWdzAZvLNMMxpyu7mg6rfZBX9bIweNufvqm77Njev9ioAkTUp8Kr0xCk4wp8SZYM61UaLlcSNxsFWaR7XAFuBcyzWqtrGxZAjohwhrryrFJ1cbCBoCA63jL6_je7/s1841/PXL_20231009_151409088.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1386" data-original-width="1841" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO1JdlYgNNrQqtAl_Uujj_GZUjxCA3t7No9hDw8utepVjrD-7-spHlIB7wMjL3Fq1zlWdzAZvLNMMxpyu7mg6rfZBX9bIweNufvqm77Njev9ioAkTUp8Kr0xCk4wp8SZYM61UaLlcSNxsFWaR7XAFuBcyzWqtrGxZAjohwhrryrFJ1cbCBoCA63jL6_je7/s320/PXL_20231009_151409088.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirnTLlFbQ4Qkh11OGY-WGdBinsBI8U1jaET8ItxKnzhyphenhyphenUNM2G13zQBpi19k837NYA7ZE4WURgBTjvd1lWO8KF2UE9QRYiFtVydcN_Ew57gprC-D-3zydrCqUlDEqPYOf6Ib5WKsCU8qjI5OQ7UtDRF5YQLB-CegUtZUtAZ2VPjAHRHPAkUGd-mOsFkn-6O/s1960/PXL_20231009_151451906.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1476" data-original-width="1960" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirnTLlFbQ4Qkh11OGY-WGdBinsBI8U1jaET8ItxKnzhyphenhyphenUNM2G13zQBpi19k837NYA7ZE4WURgBTjvd1lWO8KF2UE9QRYiFtVydcN_Ew57gprC-D-3zydrCqUlDEqPYOf6Ib5WKsCU8qjI5OQ7UtDRF5YQLB-CegUtZUtAZ2VPjAHRHPAkUGd-mOsFkn-6O/s320/PXL_20231009_151451906.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAqUnVIqRxcD9N0DtEbRSNu4DSrir7kBZamIzk09nt27o5sBtmDUXy5XOj4QeCwEIH2GKhtLNZbzCU_ty6cBnHBGtMEXZYLCtDYqWCMvzcolDEdKF88EHzJw3XpKeLoqTSiHgo0k9frF94bLoGJWO0hSLTqZoF5SlYywrQnwiDsvVmEBuLMeRctoOfcs0/s2041/PXL_20231009_151554559.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1537" data-original-width="2041" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAqUnVIqRxcD9N0DtEbRSNu4DSrir7kBZamIzk09nt27o5sBtmDUXy5XOj4QeCwEIH2GKhtLNZbzCU_ty6cBnHBGtMEXZYLCtDYqWCMvzcolDEdKF88EHzJw3XpKeLoqTSiHgo0k9frF94bLoGJWO0hSLTqZoF5SlYywrQnwiDsvVmEBuLMeRctoOfcs0/s320/PXL_20231009_151554559.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYu2FKIoslO04qSoQIC8_nezyHUZN3TkzXUYS3h5_qh_uQ0mECpgO15jUXX1o4LC-NUdDxR58-kC7sLg36Ax3iWuP0PKwR5SjUFpCtHQEZUkyxxU7qELjeo7I-PZWi5fkw5xM_1F1EL44de4o9Dyvtiaj-Wp1NhbTz65nctKGNvil84oUC5gemfIrnfE0/s1612/PXL_20231009_161626912.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1213" data-original-width="1612" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYu2FKIoslO04qSoQIC8_nezyHUZN3TkzXUYS3h5_qh_uQ0mECpgO15jUXX1o4LC-NUdDxR58-kC7sLg36Ax3iWuP0PKwR5SjUFpCtHQEZUkyxxU7qELjeo7I-PZWi5fkw5xM_1F1EL44de4o9Dyvtiaj-Wp1NhbTz65nctKGNvil84oUC5gemfIrnfE0/s320/PXL_20231009_161626912.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3HykJi97wvSocmfSqBVmgPP-kWf1nRLIqstKbnQzDHIUg8rkFDSoQWyZY6uqRer-7UTLXzRx9BLd7nhr_jAB3l8XN4_qIlOcTTnuCrmxFAoHtXl3BqTlfAk4lfHMT8fE2_oEEIvkCUXKUsT3WWB4qtjua8h47EcnwGIOHUbzSTewIPfjH6Nu0W447BwaK/s1648/PXL_20231009_161654447.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1241" data-original-width="1648" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3HykJi97wvSocmfSqBVmgPP-kWf1nRLIqstKbnQzDHIUg8rkFDSoQWyZY6uqRer-7UTLXzRx9BLd7nhr_jAB3l8XN4_qIlOcTTnuCrmxFAoHtXl3BqTlfAk4lfHMT8fE2_oEEIvkCUXKUsT3WWB4qtjua8h47EcnwGIOHUbzSTewIPfjH6Nu0W447BwaK/s320/PXL_20231009_161654447.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>There's a real kind of beauty to be found in older places that have been well maintained and remained purposeful over the years. In a way, that's something (well maintained & purposeful) that we should all be striving for in our own existence. Being here with Ms. River's parents puts an exclamation point on this overall sentiment, as how they are now, we will all be, more or less, if we are blessed.</p><p>The above noted, this has proven to be a very difficult posting to write. I find it more and more difficult to take the step back required to actually think about these kinds of things in a way which can translate to rational thoughts that make some written sense. In other words, writing is hard sometimes, and my lack of it speaks more to my own life priorities than anything else. I'm not just failing to make time for writing, by the way...there are several other (non-work) things I am not doing these days that don't seem to be making the cut. That needs to change. </p><p>Here's to cool Fall evenings and better life priorities to come.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hbqVPYZgK48?si=X5eaKCtW-vckgjX6" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe>
<br /></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(<b><span style="color: #04ff00;">*</span></b>) Reasons why I despise plumbing work, in no specific order: A) I have big hands that don't fit well in small spaces. B) It's dirty work. C) It always leaks after round one of the repair. D) You often need specialized tools that make no sense for non-plumbers to actually buy.</i></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-3412710695157354282023-07-30T08:50:00.000-04:002023-07-30T08:50:03.857-04:00Reach the Beach<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit;"><i><b>“Don’t waste the time. Time is the final currency, man. Not money, not power - it’s time.” </b></i></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">- David Crosby</span></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWBfOqaprZc1rPdS1E4TKdYBvIoJSKLxYlCx-R9RoEMsayXnjXKAWHSZRRXYaM79ZwUcj7RFPtiT5SBx0XFjVXOE_pMSPmpgwZb8ri-virjPcYUZIpLKRW35_axNoOVRw55LQvNEUUkX1RY7vxIaeVPQYD0osBWzyu5gmtMaiF2MiQfTxitbIZUIHBONiC/s2878/Beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="642" data-original-width="2878" height="89" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWBfOqaprZc1rPdS1E4TKdYBvIoJSKLxYlCx-R9RoEMsayXnjXKAWHSZRRXYaM79ZwUcj7RFPtiT5SBx0XFjVXOE_pMSPmpgwZb8ri-virjPcYUZIpLKRW35_axNoOVRw55LQvNEUUkX1RY7vxIaeVPQYD0osBWzyu5gmtMaiF2MiQfTxitbIZUIHBONiC/w400-h89/Beach.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>I say, with no disrespect to the memory of the late David Crosby, that the whole money/power thing is an interesting sentiment when you have had money and power to begin with. This noted, he was right, and the older I get, the more I understand the point. This is a good way to being today's travel post.</p><p>So it's thinking about time that I'm here outside of Ocean City, NJ for an extended weekend mini-vacation. We spent yesterday on the Ocean City boardwalk in the morning, and then later in the day at Longport and Margate City for the late afternoon/evening. About 12,500 steps into the day, and it seems like it was a long day. But yet, in the true spirit of David Crosby, it also seemed to pass by quickly. And I have been thinking a lot about time lately. </p><p>One of the traits that Ms. Rivers and I share is a tendency towards being planful. We try to think things through and do what's right for the longer term, the bigger picture if you will. I think that a point of commonality between our very different upbringings is the fact that neither of us grew up in households where there was a lot of money, which probably play a role in the whole security/planful thing. Nowhere is this more evident than when it comes to retirement planning. </p><p>As I've likely (I am not 100% sure, and I'm too lazy to check...) said before, this is the part of our life when we can see retirement on the horizon. Not imminent, but not far away either. The good news is that the whole planful stuff means that we will be financially ready. So says our financial advisor. For most folks that would be a relief...and for me it mostly is. However...and you knew a "however" was coming...I often wonder if I'm ready in other ways.</p><p>I will note that physically, I am something of a wreck. A "hot mess" and the younger folks would say. While I have a good job that makes use of my skills, it's pretty demanding on my time, and while in years past I could make time for exercise, that hasn't been happening for years now. Between the extra weight and a very actively lived 58 years behind me, the parts are starting to show some wear. The point of discernment for me is trying to understand just how much of this just comes with the territory (i.e., something like my arthritic right big toe), and how much of it is actually self-inflicted. The former I can't do all that much about, but the latter? I'm feeling some guilt about that part. The trick, if you want to call it that, is turning a fairly useless feeling like guilt into some concrete actions. So far, I'm not doing so well. But I have time...or do I?</p><p>One of the reasons why I enjoy the beach, in addition to the childhood memories associate with Atlantic City vacations, is the fact that the ocean is this hunkering big-a$$ed reminder of how large the world truly is, and how small the machinations in my head probably are. Someone with the gift of brevity would says that it provides perspective. I personally think it's actually more than that, although I can't come with reasons to exactly say why. The saltwater smell hitting my nostrils is a kind of gentle reminder to me of a world that surpasses my dismay at physically aging and fears of forgetting, at some point, how to tie my shoes. </p><p>I try to think about things like this from a 95/5 perspective. This means that if I can take away some deeper sense from this (or other) experiences, even if it's just a small thing, then it's a good thing. On the other side of the coin, as a wise person I know would say "why can't you just have a good time Steve?". Maybe that's the 5% this time around. Suffice to say, the jury is still out in the enlightenment department.</p><p>As for Ocean City NJ, well I was here once a long time ago. In addition to being a typical Jersey beach town, it's simply and impeccably clean. I also appreciate the whole "no smoking anything" policy that keeps the boardwalk not smelling like much of Atlantic City these days (see <a href="http://www.sgalbert.com/2021/09/late-summer-in-town-decay-part-2.html" target="_blank">THIS</a> posting) i.e., what I image to be the odor of Snoop Dog's limo. </p><p>Today brings a trek to the beach in Brigantine, a spot we enjoyed when we were last in Atlantic City. There's also this hotdog/ice cream joint we found that calls our names. Loudly, and robustly, I will add. I'm hoping to also finish <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Help-Thanks-Wow-Essential-Prayers/dp/1594631298" target="_blank">one of the books</a> I brought with me. Yes, this is what passes for fun. And this is okay, by the way.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-14289278577857886102023-07-29T08:18:00.004-04:002023-07-29T08:28:57.175-04:00Wet Your Fanny (in the Susquehanny)<p>Each summer, Ms. Rivers and I do some kind of water trip, either a canoe or kayak(s) down the Susquehanna River. I readily confess that this is something Ms. Rivers really enjoys, as it evokes memories of prior times. Me? I like being on the river and seeing the beauty that it offers. I don't like getting into or out of a canoe or kayak. That latter part is mainly due to two factors:</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>I am admittedly uncoordinated.</li><li>Canoes and kayaks are, by design, tippy. And I am not talking gratuities here.</li></ol>The above noted, I glad to go, and each year of going presents its own version of an adventure.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggSPisI8ztGhBVgL83iHllf1XfSrfQQYBXmfNERU3v3Sz-ltzZACquBioD-c9RxvurM5O4BIAdULDgWnvD9jRsEaVzoDKDMywpjRvNGI8C70jYBseYsW5u16f6C4DtE3SSynrqr03tgVQFVKi4UbLyo7VWgAh9W3v5atXGnNJegSfIwSVFHLpoD6m-DYpb/s1749/Paddle2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1749" data-original-width="1317" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggSPisI8ztGhBVgL83iHllf1XfSrfQQYBXmfNERU3v3Sz-ltzZACquBioD-c9RxvurM5O4BIAdULDgWnvD9jRsEaVzoDKDMywpjRvNGI8C70jYBseYsW5u16f6C4DtE3SSynrqr03tgVQFVKi4UbLyo7VWgAh9W3v5atXGnNJegSfIwSVFHLpoD6m-DYpb/w301-h400/Paddle2.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(note the ankles)</div><p>This year we were on a group trip from Mehoopany to Tunkhannock (PA), which is about an 11 mile water trek. Our vehicle of choice was a double kayak, with me in the back and Ms. Rivers, as usual, in the front. This, by the way, seems to be the logical arrangement of these sorts of things.</p><p>Before I go any further, a big shout out to <a href="https://kayaktheriver.com/?fbclid=IwAR3E7L_-aARSbdGHrWggRsP3kQdae9CpTsDnLgO0sXKRdXiUmdKo3-pKenY" target="_blank">Susquehanna Kayak and Canoe Rentals</a>, who we have used for our paddle trips for several years. They are wonderful folks and highly recommended.</p><p>Normally we just take a solo paddle on the river, but this time around we opted for a group trip, where "group" was something like 50-ish people. What was wonderful about the trip was the age range of participants: Some were older than us (a nice thought...), some were our age, some were younger. There was even a very young man (more to come on that...). We did chat with some of the other participants, and everyone seemed to have a good time. </p><p>This is the inevitable part of the posting where I add some weird element to the trip. To that point, we had three special paddle participants.</p><p>First, there was "Old Man Playing Loud Music". One of the attractive parts of paddling in the Susquehanna are the sounds. These include paddles in the water. Birds overhead. The sound of the water flowing. The wind through the trees. Things like that, all of which have a certain calming charm about them. This year? We had an old dude playing loud, crappy music from a speaker bungie cord tied to his kayak. Yes, you got that right. So we are paddling down the river and see four bald eagles flying over head. It was a spectacular vison. What did we hear? That would be "Old Man Playing Loud Music" insisting that the entire group listen to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foghat" target="_blank">Foghat </a>(instead of the eagles overhead). Other notable artists included Charlie Daniels, Journey, Boston and a few others I have tried to blot out of my head. Had he been a bit younger, I'm sure there would have been some Nickelback thrown into the mix. We did our best to paddle ahead of "Old Man Playing Loud Music", but every once in a while he would catch up and we would be forced to confront, for example, Separate Ways by Journey.</p><p>Second, we had "Standing Man". This was the guy who had his own special kind of kayak that he could stand in every once in a while. It was actually kind of interesting watching him. Think a cross between an older Tom Sawyer and a skinny biker dude. I want to state for the record that there is no version of Steve Albert in any version of any multi-verse that could ever muster the coordination to do such a thing. While "Old Man Playing Loud Music" was annoying, "Standing Man" was weirdly kind of inspiring. </p><p>Third we had "Little Man", who apparently was the son of "Standing Man". "Little Man" was probably 8 or 9 years old and even had his own little version of his father's specialty kayak. I didn't see "Little Man" actually do the standing thing though. What did see was "Little Man" getting towed by his father towards the end of the trip, which was cool. "Little Man" very much reminded me of my late brother Chris when he was that age...both in how he looked and his seemingly boundless energy. This was nice.</p><p>Other than the characters on the river (see above), the two other notable parts of the trip involved how wet we got, courtesy of one too many speeding-boats-n-resulting-wakes and the fact that I badly burned by ankles. Yes, to that latter point, I took reasonable precautions to prevent sunburn. Except for my ankles. One lives and one learns.</p><p>There may yet be another paddle this year. We shall see.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-19618254055234306512023-06-25T21:47:00.006-04:002023-07-08T23:10:03.527-04:00The S Word<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWuPi7wifngzdnAUi5AR9HkwQdl3UyCB-OvJBmMiAHrz_m-1TuLXDhmiSkTRrHDjofkaETU7-BiGEADYAdo5pDAiVWLHVQUVMC6gUkZtlt5wM6RL2AYEcBQleHuZ7aQYbgiwkIfKyMgHaW83qCIGC4oxOyMaKkJ5lizwLMQ7wQq2WWC6WIhvNb6Wo7rjJ/s1024/FRESH-6-1024x576.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWuPi7wifngzdnAUi5AR9HkwQdl3UyCB-OvJBmMiAHrz_m-1TuLXDhmiSkTRrHDjofkaETU7-BiGEADYAdo5pDAiVWLHVQUVMC6gUkZtlt5wM6RL2AYEcBQleHuZ7aQYbgiwkIfKyMgHaW83qCIGC4oxOyMaKkJ5lizwLMQ7wQq2WWC6WIhvNb6Wo7rjJ/w400-h225/FRESH-6-1024x576.png" width="400"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div>This is not the word you may be thinking of when you read the title. Instead, today's word is "sobriety". </div><div><br></div><div>Here's a useful definition:</div><div><span style="color: #990000; font-family: inherit;"><i><b><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">Sobriety refers to </span><span style="background-color: rgba(80, 151, 255, 0.18); font-size: 16px;">the physiological and psychological state of being unaffected by the presence of an intoxicant</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">. For people who are in recovery from substance or alcohol use, the definition of sobriety is similar to the definition of abstinence. It means living a life free of drug or alcohol use.</span></b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">(Source: <a href="https://www.lakeviewhealth.com/blog/definition-of-sobriety/#:~:text=Sobriety%20refers%20to%20the%20physiological,of%20drug%20or%20alcohol%20use. ">Lakeviewhealth.com</a>) </span></div><div><br></div><div>As a practical matter, I have practiced sobriety since about 1999 or so, with the exception of the rare glass of champagne (such as at a wedding) or a sip of wine. Even prior to that I was not a substantial drinker. Since 1999, I have gone literally years at a time without drinking any alcohol. When you consider the social and cultural aspects of alcohol consumption in this country, I'm definitely the odd person out.</div><div><br></div><div>I don't, by the way, advertise this fact (well, this posting is an exception), as I am definitely not the person who wants to draw attention to himself...unless I am getting paid to do it. The drinking thing mostly comes up during family, work, or social gatherings. The reactions I get range from...</div><div><br></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>[Nothing]</b></div><div><br></div><div style="text-align: center;">(an astonished)<b style="font-style: italic;"> "What? How is that even possible?"</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"What kind of freak are you? Come on, have a beer!"</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"Oh, you poor soul, you must be a recovering alcoholic."</i></b></div><div><br><div>I've definitely felt the second and third comments a few times in social and family gatherings, and I will be honest, it has made me uncomfortable. Mind you, am not always comfortable to begin with in these situations, so the sobriety thing just compounds the matter. The final comment seems to more occur when I am dealing with co-workers; in fact, I am reasonably sure that I have not been invited to certain functions mostly because I don't drink (the perception likely being that I am "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f68VXKMZT1Q" target="_blank">Mr. Buzz Killington</a>").</div></div><div><br></div><div>So then, why is this important? Why don't I just go with the flow and have a beer or three?</div><div><br></div><div>Since we are dealing with me here, the answers will of course not be all that simple. But I will try.</div><div><br></div><div>First, I genuinely don't like the taste of alcohol. And yes, alcohol has a taste. Outside of maybe some red wine, I've never felt that drinks with alcohol actually tasted all that good. I have a theory: I don't think most people like the taste of alcoholic beverages, but instead, they learn to like it because they actually like how it makes them feel.</div><div><br></div><div>Second, I don't like how alcohol makes me feel. Now more than one person reading this is going to be thinking to themselves something like "But I like how it makes ME feel" or "It doesn't affect me much at all". Alcohol definitely impacts humans in both physiological and psychological ways. One of the more interesting concepts out there is that of alcohol tolerance (read more from the NIH <a href="https://pubs.niaaa.nih.gov/publications/aa28.htm#:~:text=Tolerance%20means%20that%20after%20continued,the%20same%20effect%20(1)." target="_blank">HERE</a>), which I summarize as simply this: <i><b>Over time, the more you drink the more you have to drink in order to get the same buzz. </b></i> The practice apparently makes the perfect. Anyway, none of the feelings I've gotten from drinking over my lifetime have been positive. In excess? Well, let's just say that I see nothing all that great about vomiting booze into a toilet (or gutter, or hotel wastebasket...I've done all of those, and more). </div><div><br></div><div>Related to the above, I discovered that I would drink at (work-related) events because it was so hard for me to engage in all the related social stuff after hours. It wasn't long before I realized, in addition to how drinking in excess made me physically feel like warmed-over dog crap, that I was using alcohol as a kind of crutch. Looking over my lifetime prior to 1999, this has been a repeating pattern. In the end, let's just say that this is a big enough red flag to cover my Silverado, with room to spare.</div><div><br></div><div>Third, alcoholism runs in my family. I'm not smart enough to know truly whether this kind of thing is inherited (my sense is that the answer is complicated, but you can read for yourself <a href="https://americanaddictioncenters.org/alcoholism-treatment/symptoms-and-signs/hereditary-or-genetic" target="_blank"><b>HERE</b></a>). For example, one of the few memories I have of being with my father was when I was very young and sitting in a bar on Adams Avenue in Scranton. Just typing this brings back the smell of cigarettes, beer, and pee. It's pretty sad that for some reason I've held onto this memory. I will also note that my brother Chris had significant issues dealing with alcohol, and towards the end the front-row seat I had only reinforced my feelings about consumption.</div><div><br></div><div>All told, there's no real compelling reason for me to drink, and I am perfectly fine being in that place. As alluded to above, the more interesting (and sometimes very frustrating part) is how this plays out with others. In some respects, I think there are folks who genuinely don't know how to react to someone who does not drink. Given the value society places on this particular practice, I kind of understand that point. </div><div><br></div><div>Speaking of "points", now is when I'll break down my reactions to what's noted above:</div><div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>The [Nothing] reaction, "How is that even possible" & those that assume I am in recovery camp.</li><li>The "What kind of freak are you" and "Come on, have a beer" crowd.</li></ol></div><div>I am good with #1, even if the sentiment is somewhat misplaced.</div><div><br></div><div>#2? One of the few things that can make me angry (and I am not an angry guy) is when someone who knows that I don't drink insists on my trying an alcoholic beverage. As if I am this little kid who can be goaded into doing something I don't want to do. More than once I've had a kind of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Mitty" target="_blank"><b>Walter Mitty</b></a> movie play in my head where someone insists that I have a can of beer, so I take the can, dump it out in front of them and then crush the can against their forehead. <b><span style="color: #cc0000;">NOTE THAT I WOULD NEVER ACTUALLY DO THIS</span></b>...but I will admit that, at times, the thought of it has been a bit satisfying. </div><div><br></div><div>Well now, this post has gotten a bit exciting, which means that I should probably finish things and call it a night. To end on a positive note, I'll state for the record that I am glad some people find pleasure in drinking alcohol. I really and truly am. If it makes someone happy and it isn't an addiction, then it truly is a good thing. My hope though is that maybe some of these same folks will afford the same positive affirmation to those who do not drink, regardless of the reason(s).</div><div><br></div><div><b><u>A Final Word</u></b></div><div>In case it isn't really clear from what I wrote, above, I have absolutely no problem with the consumption of alcohol by others. It's just not for me. If you ("you" being anyone reading this) enjoy a beer, wine, or a mixed drink, then I am glad that is a positive thing in your life. As it stands, life really is kind of short, so it's important to have things to enjoy. It's equally important though to realize there is a line between "positive thing" and "harmful thing". With that noted...</div><div><br></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.webmd.com/mental-health/addiction/ss/slideshow-signs-alcohol-problem" target="_blank"><b>Signs You Might Have A Problem With Alcohol</b></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.niaaa.nih.gov/publications/brochures-and-fact-sheets/treatment-alcohol-problems-finding-and-getting-help" target="_blank"><b>National Institute of Health, Treatment Resources for Alcohol Problems</b></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-wrap: nowrap;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit;"><b>1-800-662-4357</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; text-wrap: nowrap;">(SAMSHA - </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156;">Confidential free help, from public health agencies, to find substance use treatment and information.)</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156;"><br></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><a href="https://www.va.gov/health-care/health-needs-conditions/substance-use-problems/#:~:text=What%20services%20does%20VA%20provide,depend%20on%20your%20specific%20needs." target="_blank">Substance Abuse Treatment For Veterans</a></b></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br></span></span></div><div><div><b><u>The Really, Truly, Honest-to-Goodness Final Word</u></b></div><div>Writer Anne Lamott is, to me, an inspiration for many reasons. I've read several of her books, and I actually have another one on the way. Every year she posts about her sobriety anniversary. The posting below (<a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnneLamott" target="_blank">from her public Facebook Account</a>) is worth taking the time to read, and it is as good an ending to this posting as I think is possible.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkHTuOjuHFGZ7VRR0M_nXMp9yApFWyo_12mNe4z_qPyam_ezEBC4gt5IE0M_Xd_qgVRsxJfnaDDyOWE0UQkHobJBGDuzwmm2XvWKMrFW6qewwmoC4akII3iYJj1n3xn1lD654hUYM1FoCBhr0vBjOLd208kYHQ_pKP0ulXSOpyufu3AxqcjfLekHuVWg8S" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="732" height="622" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkHTuOjuHFGZ7VRR0M_nXMp9yApFWyo_12mNe4z_qPyam_ezEBC4gt5IE0M_Xd_qgVRsxJfnaDDyOWE0UQkHobJBGDuzwmm2XvWKMrFW6qewwmoC4akII3iYJj1n3xn1lD654hUYM1FoCBhr0vBjOLd208kYHQ_pKP0ulXSOpyufu3AxqcjfLekHuVWg8S=w640-h622" width="640"></a></div><div><br></div><br> </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-56818362317131183002023-06-17T23:22:00.000-04:002023-06-17T23:22:56.430-04:00Council Skies<p>The title comes from a song by Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds, which I really enjoy. Have a listen...</p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/awQYXYn1kWQ" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></p><p>I don't normally listen to much newly released music, but I gave this one a try and am glad for the decision.</p><p>I found the song after reading about the Gallagher brothers from the (former) group Oasis, namely Noel, and Liam. For those that may be unfamiliar with the Gallagher brothers, they are mostly famous for:</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>The above-referenced English & defunct band Oasis, and...</li><li>Hating each other's guts.</li></ol>While in Scotland I was talking to one of my stepsons and asked him if he was familiar with Oasis and the Gallagher brothers; his response was something along the lines of "Yeah, they hate each other, one of them writes songs and plays the guitar (Noel), and the other is bat$hit crazy (Liam)". That answer had the benefit of being both eloquent and pretty much factually correct as far as I can tell.<p></p><p>A few articles and an hour or three's worth of video interviews and I now know far more about the Gallagher brothers than what is actually required for any practical reason. There is, of course, a bigger thought and story here, over and above Noel and Liam: Namely family dynamics between siblings.</p><p>Thinking back over my life, I realize that I have been pretty lucky in the sibling relations department. Perfect? Hell no. It feels as if I haven't vested nearly enough time in keeping in touch with my sisters, which I own, and I need to do better. As I approach the end of my primary working years, it's pretty clear that other parts of my life up to this point have been pretty much all-consuming, at least as far as my physical, mental, and emotional energy has been concerned. Some of this is unadulterated ambition: I desperately wanted to have a better life than I had growing up. I think that, when it comes to that last point, I've been more or less successful.</p><p>When it comes to maintaining relationships with my brothers, I think that I've tried...probably more so since my brother Chris' passing in 2017. As for Chris, I wish I would have spent more time with him. Like me though, he also had a kind of inherent ambition, which made connecting doubly more challenging. Then there were a few squabbles, of which 99.87% always had to do with politics. I still, for example, recall the seeming mix of hurt and disgust in his voice after I repeatedly referred to Rush Limbaugh as "Pumpkin Head". This was because Chris adored Limbaugh and he (Limbaugh) truly had an enormous head. I think though that, for the most part, we both knew that the political arguments were more of a sport of sorts, and neither one of us liked to lose. </p><p>I'll also note that, in retrospect, it's clear that my brother Chris was a deeply conflicted man who was fighting an ongoing (and losing) battle against self-medication. I wish I could have helped more, but I also know that I did what I could at the time, including listening. Among the many things I am grateful for is the fact that we were in regular contact before he passed.</p><p>Getting back to the Gallagher brothers, it's painful to think that two siblings are so disconnected. I don't pretend to understand all the dynamics between them, but I know that our siblings understand our story better than others do. That's true for the children of my parents as well as rock musicians from Manchester. Denying the benefit of that connection...not having that person in your life who has some sense of your story and struggle...is tragic.</p><p>My ongoing hope is to not make that mistake. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-39386265643401138192023-06-12T22:08:00.001-04:002023-06-12T22:08:52.633-04:00So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish<p>I wanted to come up with an interesting and engaging title for this posting, but I more or less failed. The result is noted above. If you don't get the reference, well then that's okay. It probably means you have something of a life (reference <a href="https://ell.stackexchange.com/questions/115782/what-does-the-line-so-long-and-thanks-for-all-the-fish-mean#:~:text=%22So%20long%20and%20thanks%20for%20all%20the%20fish%22%20is%20the,the%20fish%20they%20had%20gotten." target="_blank"><b>HERE</b></a>). On to the real business of this posting stuff.</p><p>We've now been back from Scotland for going on three weeks, so I'm thinking an update is due.</p><p>The traveling back was hell.</p><p>Yes, thanks to something of a British Airways meltdown (<a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/travel/news-and-advice/british-airways-cancel-flights-heathrow-passenger-rights-b2346014.html" target="_blank"><b>HERE</b></a>), our initial flight from Edinburgh to London was canceled. Luckily, we got a very competent agent, who was able to book us on a later flight. That's the good news. The bad news? We had to spend 8 hours at Edinburgh airport. Many of the gate seating areas at the Edinburg airport look like this...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYNjRWrV-yO1qZTXF8mdKQ2lysMKFu-mX-DhUHDvHid739sa0r5BnVGQqFvspGyhNlP3UU8_T8CVn4o_9M9zx05CXWE5VwbZVYiiwnf_sXcbHDE7BdIlPYu4aPJwKp3ddU2K1WX6y265O0EC-BcYpZ73BKP7vjC_zFyFE63y-9P1hTZ4DcqL4JLAn2sA/s929/Benches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="929" data-original-width="699" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYNjRWrV-yO1qZTXF8mdKQ2lysMKFu-mX-DhUHDvHid739sa0r5BnVGQqFvspGyhNlP3UU8_T8CVn4o_9M9zx05CXWE5VwbZVYiiwnf_sXcbHDE7BdIlPYu4aPJwKp3ddU2K1WX6y265O0EC-BcYpZ73BKP7vjC_zFyFE63y-9P1hTZ4DcqL4JLAn2sA/s320/Benches.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><div><br /></div>The benches scream, in a loud Scottish accent, "Laddy, don't even try to get comfortable". I suspect that Edward Longshanks probably used something like these benches to torture William Wallace.<p>The really bad news? The new flight was leaving at 3pm local time, meaning that we would not get back to the U.S. until 10-10:30pm. Note there is a 6-hour time difference to figure into all of this. True to form, that happened, and the net result was Ms. Rivers and I took turns with the drive from Newark back home. Honestly, we are lucky that there wasn't a lot of traffic. Put another way, had we still been in the U.K., we would have been up for something like 20+ hours by the time we got home. </p><p>Oh, and British Airways lost one of our bags, which we got back...a week and a half later. Given the reach of British Airways, there's no way of knowing what happened to our bag during that time. I told my younger stepson to smell the suitcase to see if it had an odor of "curry and despair".</p><p>All well and good, and certainly first-world problems, for sure.</p><p>It took me days to fall back into a regular sleeping schedule. And I was absolutely buried with stuff at work. Ms. Rivers and I both agree that there won't be any Atlantic crossings for a few years to come. Come to think of it, I'm pretty good not flying for a while, truth be told.</p><p>It's important, or at least it seems like it should be important, to separate the travel from the destination. In that case, the destination is wonderful. British Airways is not. Enough said.</p><p>So here I am back to more life as usual. A bit wiser and more worldly for the wear. Now I feel somewhat compelled to pay more attention to my flowers, especially my burgeoning honeysuckle forest. Pictures to come at some point.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-10596939380872989412023-05-27T15:19:00.002-04:002023-05-27T15:19:32.009-04:00Scotland - Day 8: Mar sin leat<p>The above is my feeble attempt at saying goodbye in Scottish Gaelic. Given that my language skills are somewhat lacking, even in English, the title is about as correct as Google can make it. Anyway, today is our last day in Scotland, and tomorrow, bright and early, we return home. </p><p>As for today's activities, well, things were intentionally kept on the light side. The first stop this morning was to the Edinburgh farmer's market, where a few things were purchased. From there, it was off to the <a href="https://www.nms.ac.uk/national-museum-of-scotland/" target="_blank">National Museum of Scotland</a>, which we barely made a dent in before deciding to call it a day. Our plan from there was to head off to <a href="https://www.nms.ac.uk/national-museum-of-scotland/" target="_blank">Arthur's Seat</a> and do some hiking, but two things got in the way: 1) It was a bit chillier than expected and 2) We were just tired. To that second point, I'm glad we stayed here as long as we did, but by now, the hiking miles upon miles a day is wearing a bit thin for all of us (myself especially included). If there is ever a return trip, Arthur's Seat (and one or two other places) will be first on the list.</p><p>Back to the National Museum of Scotland...this is a must-see. The fact that it's completely free only adds to the coolness of the place. The museum itself has a bit of everything, from fossils to religious artifacts to weapons of a thousand years ago. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5VA35DU71pDjW-vzdOWERs-wcMiz7kWmKpXuz0lD0-IZ4lmmRP7m4mK6pnn_OZLG-n_Z4-ganRGmmEqZ1qOSVV0VeHSaXBJZFSf5NCHndG-4Fa9jlecfb2EEnFF486Qe7W9fBLq9mkhdFuNZQ_rSb91BdUCCCbAy9lExzttli5y_-x5fq6BCTPx2XaQ/s1367/interior.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="1030" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5VA35DU71pDjW-vzdOWERs-wcMiz7kWmKpXuz0lD0-IZ4lmmRP7m4mK6pnn_OZLG-n_Z4-ganRGmmEqZ1qOSVV0VeHSaXBJZFSf5NCHndG-4Fa9jlecfb2EEnFF486Qe7W9fBLq9mkhdFuNZQ_rSb91BdUCCCbAy9lExzttli5y_-x5fq6BCTPx2XaQ/w301-h400/interior.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">The interior of the museum.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOFp5MPli25IeiuCT4rSWjsxQTe6ymAljbin6r_qwbzBLh5q_fgAlLm0w8yZCkoY8fG-3b7_UahBvSXwR8JVTHjF34BXSpkscIDuyiismTi5Bv9a1aIxD6e-sUER72sKFN9-KlH8ilKqbpFtm5KGdlaLPiOPV2yiSG5h-4_HL1gofwmpYUuxi_KwfuA/s1492/MaryQofS.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1123" data-original-width="1492" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOFp5MPli25IeiuCT4rSWjsxQTe6ymAljbin6r_qwbzBLh5q_fgAlLm0w8yZCkoY8fG-3b7_UahBvSXwR8JVTHjF34BXSpkscIDuyiismTi5Bv9a1aIxD6e-sUER72sKFN9-KlH8ilKqbpFtm5KGdlaLPiOPV2yiSG5h-4_HL1gofwmpYUuxi_KwfuA/w400-h301/MaryQofS.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">A copy of Mary, Queen of Scots's casket.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0rnGRPvrJW8HSb2pE97er9X41VN2PplIkCXwU_5yJKkUNOBM770r_Zrljz1VB2ZzVbz4OIfJcBugdeTgZbW7FzHELv2o8cdGOsFdAA2EyNi7d91LHLeXt1XPlplQIS-9QJuZ1E_vmhE8Iyv2IHaVlRhIlKYlCyc5MbsESRPf4oOdhWmpHik7yLL1ag/s2052/headchop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2052" data-original-width="1545" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0rnGRPvrJW8HSb2pE97er9X41VN2PplIkCXwU_5yJKkUNOBM770r_Zrljz1VB2ZzVbz4OIfJcBugdeTgZbW7FzHELv2o8cdGOsFdAA2EyNi7d91LHLeXt1XPlplQIS-9QJuZ1E_vmhE8Iyv2IHaVlRhIlKYlCyc5MbsESRPf4oOdhWmpHik7yLL1ag/w301-h400/headchop.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">A precursor to the French guillotine.</p><p>Ms. Rivers and I also had a final stroll in the city before things get too dark, and we get too tired. Of course, this somehow ended up involving a cemetery.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRAUDP-NMwImKA4bgCCAaQpdfYe3tnAHT6JkxYavtHV2YlzZ_OHNz9iX4QHaBXgQFPoHG7-1_IOe26xomaPzO_wLd1czTlYipbjO3ygLawUAJWyG5Ami1ON-xSZFTITe6NHHCrUzgtcT_lJmBNPcdcpGJ4pAQoDZlAagmN5effVaahvkPIeEtLQ1Ckw/s1593/Catherine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1593" data-original-width="1199" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRAUDP-NMwImKA4bgCCAaQpdfYe3tnAHT6JkxYavtHV2YlzZ_OHNz9iX4QHaBXgQFPoHG7-1_IOe26xomaPzO_wLd1czTlYipbjO3ygLawUAJWyG5Ami1ON-xSZFTITe6NHHCrUzgtcT_lJmBNPcdcpGJ4pAQoDZlAagmN5effVaahvkPIeEtLQ1Ckw/w301-h400/Catherine.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's to Catherine, being remembered again. May she be resting in peace.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjakElWml4QEA63AM5eyGkzvKuFOEgb5zOGTMuKK2ZzPB9nPF-60jJQn5FlWeuFmXbsFCH5rrqKgWhUw8SoNLhtKRfG0vz9yvWjpqpRheAGbnIH0mk3YB53OXGJqd-XPUReVhBv0OaqT-aVrp_ZD2igkP7NGtgXaurCpbhl7wZwbVO1CFTByYjEXMwuKA/s2020/Cemetery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2020" data-original-width="1521" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjakElWml4QEA63AM5eyGkzvKuFOEgb5zOGTMuKK2ZzPB9nPF-60jJQn5FlWeuFmXbsFCH5rrqKgWhUw8SoNLhtKRfG0vz9yvWjpqpRheAGbnIH0mk3YB53OXGJqd-XPUReVhBv0OaqT-aVrp_ZD2igkP7NGtgXaurCpbhl7wZwbVO1CFTByYjEXMwuKA/w301-h400/Cemetery.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">View of St. Cuthbert's cemetery and steeple.</p><p>On that note, that brings "the big Scotland vacation" to an end. I suspect that we will be back, at some unknown point in the future. As for me, I confess that it will be nice to sleep in my own bed, not walk up quite so many hills, and having the time to plant flowers on Monday. There is a certain serenity in routine, but yet in leaving, I'm hoping that some of those routines are forever changed. We shall see.</p><p>I'll end this with my favorite song about Scotland.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OrbuDWit1Co" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-79835222538122079442023-05-26T16:15:00.000-04:002023-05-26T16:15:54.093-04:00Scotland - Days 6 & 7: Winding Down<p>We're on the back end of our Scotland vacation, so I'm going to combine activities from Thursday (May 25th) and Friday (May 26th). This is mostly because, at least for me, things are dialing down a bit. No big tours, and no tight schedules. I am good with this, by the way. While I have thoroughly enjoyed what we've done so far, I'm starting to feel as if my vacation insights cup is almost full. This is less of a writing thing and more of a mental/physically tired kind of thing. </p><p>Homesick? Not really. It's probably more of a function of my incredibly short attention span. I've seen wonderful things here, and I've learned a thing or two. And not just about Scotland. Big things like this...and traveling to a different country is a big thing...create a tremendous opportunity for growth, I think if we're open to it. As I'm looking at one full day left, I'm still trying to sort out some of what I've learned. This is a wonderful thing by the way, namely, the fact that, at age 59, I readily confess to learning new things about myself and the world.</p><p>Something I will note is that the night before we flew out here, I had something of an incredibly troubling dream. I wouldn't use the word nightmare, but one of those sleeping cerebral movies that just sticks in your head like old gum on the bottom of a movie theater seat. The kind of thing where the emotion of it all makes you think there must be some deeper meaning to it all, even though there probably isn't. Flying out here that quickly evaporated. Indeed, there was no deeper meaning. It was just a dream. This is, however, one of the examples of how travel can impact us: It takes us outside of our own heads for a period of time. The sheer difference of it all reminds us that there is much more to the world than what we think (or dream) or see in front of us every "normal" day. </p><p>In the end, seeing the "bigness" of the world is both humbling and incredibly insightful.</p><p>I wish there was some way to expose younger folks of all economic conditions to overseas travel. I think the world would be a far, far better place. As it stands, this kind of travel is an example of a kind of privilege in action, which, growing on the lower socio-economic side of status, I fully appreciate as an adult. I also appreciate the fact that Ms. Rivers is far more keen to undertake these kinds of things than I naturally am. Granted that I do enjoy this kind of travel, but left to my own druthers, I'm not sure I would do it.</p><p>As for the last two days' worth of travels, well, as I noted above, it was a bit less scheduled. On Thursday, we did an hour-long tour of some of the vaults that are found under the King's Mile (in Edinburgh). It was interesting, and the guide did a good job of conjuring up some spooky mojo with her stories, in addition to talking about the real hardship of living at a time when 1) There wasn't enough housing for everyone, and 2) Actually being homeless was a criminal offense. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGIM2DKJyahjMRJXibhIzx2SSkzElY_qeCBO47gtZI8dRgJfQnXeA-AELvfUNmhGia3G6nFHvOQrBA9_ETC3NkzVOfx6oKCOYvb92f5jaZiqZLFcfmq7JOc6h-XQrl-3eYLG4w1P8Vjy35OHu5y3Mprtg24Yr44VeJkAMmi9A_2cMkDojUh_-NdqkYEw/s1730/Cows%20Gate.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="1730" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGIM2DKJyahjMRJXibhIzx2SSkzElY_qeCBO47gtZI8dRgJfQnXeA-AELvfUNmhGia3G6nFHvOQrBA9_ETC3NkzVOfx6oKCOYvb92f5jaZiqZLFcfmq7JOc6h-XQrl-3eYLG4w1P8Vjy35OHu5y3Mprtg24Yr44VeJkAMmi9A_2cMkDojUh_-NdqkYEw/w400-h301/Cows%20Gate.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The vaults we visited were off of Cow Gate, which just so happens to have the backside of a cow displayed in one of the nearby buildings.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimwjl-yOrwZAXM-uf3ZHpkclqMbjNAMD7AUmBF5JHt8HVcwJ_nHpDMs7zqPP3y1U3BJKNl7Qxbj6t891LN61d2OMB-lakEFgZq54tuRkSS7enQCQ5h58roPZJ6zmbrx_Dx6PWpQAoMIuOwcTaFga71LImgWeIC7T95kPX8OBrUYgfVkhqa3Sjiu77zHg/s2067/Wiccans.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1556" data-original-width="2067" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimwjl-yOrwZAXM-uf3ZHpkclqMbjNAMD7AUmBF5JHt8HVcwJ_nHpDMs7zqPP3y1U3BJKNl7Qxbj6t891LN61d2OMB-lakEFgZq54tuRkSS7enQCQ5h58roPZJ6zmbrx_Dx6PWpQAoMIuOwcTaFga71LImgWeIC7T95kPX8OBrUYgfVkhqa3Sjiu77zHg/w400-h301/Wiccans.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">One of the vaults was used by a local religious group for many, many years. After their leader passed away, the group broke up, up but allowed the owner of the vault they used to be maintained, provided that no one could enter. By the way, the vaults in this area are owned by different folks and are used for everything from nothing to storage to a bar. </p><p style="text-align: left;">You can read more about the Edinburgh vaults <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edinburgh_Vaults" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After the vaults, we had a rather uneventful dinner at what we think was a chain restaurant of sorts. Ms. Rivers tried the beet sauce. I didn't. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Today (Friday) we did some more walking (surprising!) and found the beginning of a canal, complete with canal boats.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaBKX-tzhpNyFL79dP0Fwfd7SiisLbsu-AxbyWpJKd0M-gEXbeAjkz9G_QT1dgNvOWcCuEcT92KO1cT8n7q2fZatERrqOvXonI-oEut2hcW22mktkn95sAHo6lEKj1TIpYUH9yyvfS3iimRSyqLepo8l8YPu7oyXzqM1zvDYDgIdNLbhCictG1d5x7Wg/s2142/boats.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2142" data-original-width="1613" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaBKX-tzhpNyFL79dP0Fwfd7SiisLbsu-AxbyWpJKd0M-gEXbeAjkz9G_QT1dgNvOWcCuEcT92KO1cT8n7q2fZatERrqOvXonI-oEut2hcW22mktkn95sAHo6lEKj1TIpYUH9yyvfS3iimRSyqLepo8l8YPu7oyXzqM1zvDYDgIdNLbhCictG1d5x7Wg/w301-h400/boats.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">We also found a very neglected cemetery in of all places, Coffin Lane. We would have gone down the explore, but the encampment of folks who looked like they may be been using some illegal substances was there already. Discretion was the better part of valor.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZo-NOoOIKLgL3G4KcoW1EyIojgaE7Qo-BnWmuepuRxKfOm9CO0OwzpKRV-CAs-BTHOrjRlTk4At5ZeLrw6PLMcDpw7JGrgfKNigolBB_JvkI0oLppflQGM2934TizHaDsJW8w5tbweSS6a7x69uqqcssIq0ZsiOBY7ymnvzlxlX-Risl1JLjLS1U3g/s1356/coffin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1021" data-original-width="1356" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZo-NOoOIKLgL3G4KcoW1EyIojgaE7Qo-BnWmuepuRxKfOm9CO0OwzpKRV-CAs-BTHOrjRlTk4At5ZeLrw6PLMcDpw7JGrgfKNigolBB_JvkI0oLppflQGM2934TizHaDsJW8w5tbweSS6a7x69uqqcssIq0ZsiOBY7ymnvzlxlX-Risl1JLjLS1U3g/w400-h301/coffin.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Ms. Rivers and I went for a walk further down King's Mile later in the day. A few things caught my eye:</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwtcl_OHhlSPfgGwmHONlICqZkhYeEk_-IXFhe3QuOGomTBeOQONE7QIYDzPBZeGI2XrIT00kVZs0fUSiZI4rOqktqgSEqWAE3UtKIpC7IqOFa0a-rupU4LiqjXizdNl9moT9g-z3avc5ooMvpk0b-LuVVBYBJuayerZOXgml1wpurOuQb5KNbt0TAfg/s1751/crowd.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1319" data-original-width="1751" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwtcl_OHhlSPfgGwmHONlICqZkhYeEk_-IXFhe3QuOGomTBeOQONE7QIYDzPBZeGI2XrIT00kVZs0fUSiZI4rOqktqgSEqWAE3UtKIpC7IqOFa0a-rupU4LiqjXizdNl9moT9g-z3avc5ooMvpk0b-LuVVBYBJuayerZOXgml1wpurOuQb5KNbt0TAfg/w400-h301/crowd.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Note for those with agoraphobia: Edinburgh is a very crowded place.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2DyEcL8pj9n7U-smaWDF3vT9sck5PikjDP9Zd0FOfEbw0r8hGDKvMIXEi2LP6-Y4FjAkpaWqLPh05wV9YUvgkOFlAm5baHElHoVmp1XCUw9fcaAAVoTXDNjJt-elx_qs0b6yupAPaZI_NVLy4ArYu2hlwrrdw2rPZ7VReqnDjhywcu_n-I-MXwKWOQ/s2395/Turd.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="2395" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2DyEcL8pj9n7U-smaWDF3vT9sck5PikjDP9Zd0FOfEbw0r8hGDKvMIXEi2LP6-Y4FjAkpaWqLPh05wV9YUvgkOFlAm5baHElHoVmp1XCUw9fcaAAVoTXDNjJt-elx_qs0b6yupAPaZI_NVLy4ArYu2hlwrrdw2rPZ7VReqnDjhywcu_n-I-MXwKWOQ/w400-h301/Turd.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, I could not help myself: Another picture of the turd building.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mw5ndHZe-4135P4zjoRso5r26sOMD48eTXYpW5N-S0jvr17UGJzsZa1vwz6amxb8GvT-wSaIYg0TAG5T0fXTBj_f6DNQMkIFv2Kq5fc3WSOvUfNUUTKf_EqB8wLIyJ5VV0gU3udSrGvu1DHnsWcjbnLSf9yexEaKH43qJiXVe6n9e5qsXWudrKcfeQ/s1514/news.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="1514" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mw5ndHZe-4135P4zjoRso5r26sOMD48eTXYpW5N-S0jvr17UGJzsZa1vwz6amxb8GvT-wSaIYg0TAG5T0fXTBj_f6DNQMkIFv2Kq5fc3WSOvUfNUUTKf_EqB8wLIyJ5VV0gU3udSrGvu1DHnsWcjbnLSf9yexEaKH43qJiXVe6n9e5qsXWudrKcfeQ/w400-h301/news.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm not sure about the significance behind the locks, other than I am sure there is some significance. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At this point, I am pretty damn tired. Tomorrow we will be seeing a few more things that we don't want to miss before flying out bright and early on Sunday morning.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm thinking I have one more post in me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">More to come.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-77369541824812040382023-05-24T17:26:00.000-04:002023-05-24T17:26:27.205-04:00Scotland - Day 5: There's Something In The AirI mentioned fairly early on that there is a certain smell to this place. Since that initial olfactory observation, I've been able to fine-tune things a bit. Specifically:<div style="text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>There is a distinct Edinburgh smell.</li><li>I also got a whiff of it in a smaller town we visited (see below).</li><li>It reminds me of when I used to live in York, PA, and was downwind of a paper plant.</li><li>Said smell goes away when you leave the city; in fact, the countryside here smells wonderful.</li></ul>I'm reasonably sure I'm smelling some Scottish version of sewer gases. Now that this mystery is solved, it's time to move on to bigger and better things.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">How about a few random facts?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sheep outnumber humans in Scotland by over a million. Reference <a href="https://www.welan-tiree.com/lifeontiree/ewe-asked-us-about-sheep-in-scotland#:~:text=In%20fact%2C%20it%20would%20seem,Scotland%20for%20over%206000%20years." target="_blank">HERE</a>. That's easy to see, literally. Some of today's sheep...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNq-kN4KX7OAKOyMefBnNn2n8EOUb7YcoZSzoisW5T1etMMLEITvQ-tD4ftmqVSRkwXawvdK8quLUWU2W4iN_GPWR68XT_O6pEzpV8_2eHn-1ZxdSFN4z81MoGP5d7yvPstRtzIPFcleDoWG1VBpVgLHRIsEG_zzEvr3VBLYxvbCiqOQu_3eRAfBlFyQ/s1605/Sheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1209" data-original-width="1605" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNq-kN4KX7OAKOyMefBnNn2n8EOUb7YcoZSzoisW5T1etMMLEITvQ-tD4ftmqVSRkwXawvdK8quLUWU2W4iN_GPWR68XT_O6pEzpV8_2eHn-1ZxdSFN4z81MoGP5d7yvPstRtzIPFcleDoWG1VBpVgLHRIsEG_zzEvr3VBLYxvbCiqOQu_3eRAfBlFyQ/w400-h301/Sheep.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Those white things towards the left horizon? Sheep.)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's a lot of smoking here. Interestingly enough though, according to Scottish government statistics, it's the tourists, not the locals. In fact, the smoking rate in Scotland as a whole is 11% as of 2021. Reference <a href="https://www.gov.scot/publications/scottish-health-survey-2021-volume-1-main-report/pages/12/#:~:text=Smoking%20rates%20have%20declined%20steadily,as%20current%20smokers%20in%202021." target="_blank">HERE</a>. In Pennsylvania, the most current rate I could find was 17.9% (reference <a href="https://triblive.com/news/pennsylvania/how-the-smoking-rate-in-pa-compares-to-the-nation/#:~:text=In%20Pennsylvania%2C%20the%20smoking%20rate,highest%20smoking%20rate%20among%20states." target="_blank">HERE</a>). Why bring this up? Well, today's trip was the Hadrian's Wall, which I'll get into in a moment. The tie to smoking is that Ms. Rivers and I sat at the back of our tour bus today, behind a group of folks speaking Italian (Ms. Rivers seems to think they said they were from Switzerland, but I'm not so sure...). These folks were lighting up constantly every time they left the bus, leaving us to deal with the smell when they returned. I know, first-world problems, for sure, but it does remind me of how much things have changed for the better in this area since I was a kid. For the record, if you smoke, please try to stop...it's simply a horrible thing to do to your body, and you deserve better.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What we haven't smelled much of is marijuana. That could be because it's illegal in Scotland (reference <a href="https://www.livebreathescotland.com/is-weed-cannabis-legal-in-scotland/#:~:text=Cannabis%20is%20a%20Class%20B%20drug%20in%20Scotland.,content%20is%20less%20than%200.2%25." target="_blank">HERE</a>). I'm not complaining.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On to the business end of today. As noted above, we visited Hadrian's Wall<span style="color: red;">*</span>, and it was wonderful. Well worth a day in Scotland. Prior to arriving at the wall, we stopped at a town named Jedburgh, where there can be found the ruins of a large abbey. It was actually really interesting. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPyXhD_Tzw3b_y8FKJSA08zV0f9h8WZds3Hd-zY9r2tQ6PuYGstNReaedhQVguHOtwhmjNiKEs7mo6FG33kCbqBwAHahqfvgFDLhGmZvhIQAIb8_EX924s0YXpUUr3LJxZbs-_BzQcrxiNhM9mCG_jFlaCu8NmQtsAAnIDsdz5FNjOGHsRaGfFgdvtDQ/s1694/Abbey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1694" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPyXhD_Tzw3b_y8FKJSA08zV0f9h8WZds3Hd-zY9r2tQ6PuYGstNReaedhQVguHOtwhmjNiKEs7mo6FG33kCbqBwAHahqfvgFDLhGmZvhIQAIb8_EX924s0YXpUUr3LJxZbs-_BzQcrxiNhM9mCG_jFlaCu8NmQtsAAnIDsdz5FNjOGHsRaGfFgdvtDQ/w400-h301/Abbey.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">This is also a place where Mary, Queen of Scotts stayed at one point. From here, we visited 4 different sites related to Hadrian's Wall. Here are some of the better pictures:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72YG-zK43lulNWAwht2Lh4ucbUqvdiogNQyOvVSf93eT4GzxzQYEjCsSbxrcLZ196G5twrxSgKCyMCYF1_OrQlV9huN28LoCRR90VmosVCtTcdih04b04NPA9frtNvsc3-yxFrYJYm-dWkNagz8FrDNR4_dEuLqrJ_ApE-t_VSXmz_D-j87G-7yiz-A/s2068/Hadrian1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2068" data-original-width="1557" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72YG-zK43lulNWAwht2Lh4ucbUqvdiogNQyOvVSf93eT4GzxzQYEjCsSbxrcLZ196G5twrxSgKCyMCYF1_OrQlV9huN28LoCRR90VmosVCtTcdih04b04NPA9frtNvsc3-yxFrYJYm-dWkNagz8FrDNR4_dEuLqrJ_ApE-t_VSXmz_D-j87G-7yiz-A/w301-h400/Hadrian1.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZsxgzcaPl4VZ61mWB0FMa-TXwSi5NTUObilAUlPEY4LegVuVWk5tFwW27_sJw5wTbCzYCTCQrPsPvBPPIJmB5fSG2yFyGMQnkQveWe4PZKrsNmHIh6lckaYXs65b4gjlfRxVPZ_RBPK7K2rIT_pQR81fdXka5PihKEax8mFJ_r0hYGXXsuK8dX1vVxg/s1539/Hadrian2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1159" data-original-width="1539" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZsxgzcaPl4VZ61mWB0FMa-TXwSi5NTUObilAUlPEY4LegVuVWk5tFwW27_sJw5wTbCzYCTCQrPsPvBPPIJmB5fSG2yFyGMQnkQveWe4PZKrsNmHIh6lckaYXs65b4gjlfRxVPZ_RBPK7K2rIT_pQR81fdXka5PihKEax8mFJ_r0hYGXXsuK8dX1vVxg/w400-h301/Hadrian2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmsU0MkSZqAA4Kkj8BgiMGOwZb4iC-DTEpe92Jc5kbnq1LNt8qUi-IF7LaIf3TlTiq5kN4TXQy5-WBs0CnQzZbwZM-ABJM3zhj8KGIuDDOX8U3H-UA5DOVFz9KBz7hpZAr51P3ayRKWSjvPaeOzDeIYdBwbxXQ_IQRSDac23KvWumJxe1KVkIiSxQnQ/s1905/Hadrian3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1905" data-original-width="1435" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmsU0MkSZqAA4Kkj8BgiMGOwZb4iC-DTEpe92Jc5kbnq1LNt8qUi-IF7LaIf3TlTiq5kN4TXQy5-WBs0CnQzZbwZM-ABJM3zhj8KGIuDDOX8U3H-UA5DOVFz9KBz7hpZAr51P3ayRKWSjvPaeOzDeIYdBwbxXQ_IQRSDac23KvWumJxe1KVkIiSxQnQ/w301-h400/Hadrian3.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">None of this, by the way, does the wall...and its related ruins...justice. This is just something you need to experience. It felt kind of unique to sit on a section of the wall, knowing that over 1900 years ago soldiers from the Roman Empire were doing the exact same thing. It's also rather marvelous to experience something so old yet created by humans, particularly in an age where it seems like everything is disposable.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll post more pictures on the Facebooks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Finally, I saw this stone at the border between Scotland and England (Hadrian's Wall is in England). It tells its own story.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvicPDEXzSCFo-2JA24XCs-tewzg2RQH-7ADj82X-uHgortXYkccfSWhyOf9XxmsdOgXq-m3A3sCOppLkC7DLDgaCM5Ol0JKUiCOIwngx641tlmBtS9mxRboBMyNOZtsLx_f6FoI35VVN7ShUs7SQpOIzmKnzu8GQR5nT2FiLg1UPBY7ApJJraA_KGg/s1616/Stone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1616" data-original-width="1217" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvicPDEXzSCFo-2JA24XCs-tewzg2RQH-7ADj82X-uHgortXYkccfSWhyOf9XxmsdOgXq-m3A3sCOppLkC7DLDgaCM5Ol0JKUiCOIwngx641tlmBtS9mxRboBMyNOZtsLx_f6FoI35VVN7ShUs7SQpOIzmKnzu8GQR5nT2FiLg1UPBY7ApJJraA_KGg/w301-h400/Stone.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I (obviously) have skin in the Scottish Independence game, but it seems to me that this is a culturally distinct place. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(<span style="color: red;">*</span>) You can learn more about Hadrian's Wall by linking to: <a href="https://hadrianswallcountry.co.uk/">https://hadrianswallcountry.co.uk/</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">More to come.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-64409124726616846492023-05-23T15:58:00.000-04:002023-05-23T15:58:09.108-04:00 Scotland - Day 4: King For A Day<p>Maybe, quite possibly, I might have gotten enough sleep last night. Granted that sleep is sometimes more of a concept for me than an actuality. That's a fancy way of saying sleep and I don't always get along. Anyway, I actually got something along the lines of 8 hours of sleep. That's a good start to the day. This was needed as today we spent a few hours at Edinburgh Castle. </p><p>As we were waiting outside St. Giles Cathedral, we heard an actual Scottish street preacher doing this thing catercorner to the church. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEls_wd7XO5etKtkg0J2c3m3-7bXNsBmi_0PXmPWstsNSKynBsqGjLB--_zfz1VnvLR3Wbaz8GRbF18AQpFrTHJhOk-J1_Eg_t-0-5iibfvPlQtLkWV0uDocnogPA_SDBq27zSK9d94wrWkzJzJMhqe9-bJ1h3F5c2UylktudBaEHNuapaEbhUW0RAQ/s1390/Street%20Preacher.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1390" data-original-width="1046" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEls_wd7XO5etKtkg0J2c3m3-7bXNsBmi_0PXmPWstsNSKynBsqGjLB--_zfz1VnvLR3Wbaz8GRbF18AQpFrTHJhOk-J1_Eg_t-0-5iibfvPlQtLkWV0uDocnogPA_SDBq27zSK9d94wrWkzJzJMhqe9-bJ1h3F5c2UylktudBaEHNuapaEbhUW0RAQ/w301-h400/Street%20Preacher.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><p>I almost feel guilty burning up a posting photo on the guy (due to posting size limits, I can typically fit about 5-6 high resolutions per posting), but it's worth it. There's something unqualifying interesting about a man yelling the name of "Jesus Christ!" in a thick Scottish accent at one of the busiest corners of Edinburgh. He was literally fighting a losing battle against traffic. Some nice soul in a passing taxi was even kind enough to take of one his pamphlets. All in a day's work I suppose.</p><p>On to Edinburgh Castle, which is many things, including amazing. A few points of interest.</p><p>St. Margaret's Chapel is one of the oldest buildings in the U.K. dating back to around the year 1130. It's also the oldest surviving building at the castle, here basically because King Robert the Bruce was afraid of creating bad mojo with the Pope.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjwr-H00GA3XtGBqpVWCXnNMLfwmd0w8wJOeMgqalsdtSGAdesi3vDuZUZPsTJrciIuAEwH7oUG1oOc5MKKgEprP8xGvPhFXQW3Am70v24aDU8l9gExDA8W_2TvRrUpk4yhMH5PH9ffHNEe6d2XjvWO17OW-Cg3_ozuM5ER9r1A7h4RlPg6NPsTIruw/s1755/StMargarets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1321" data-original-width="1755" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjwr-H00GA3XtGBqpVWCXnNMLfwmd0w8wJOeMgqalsdtSGAdesi3vDuZUZPsTJrciIuAEwH7oUG1oOc5MKKgEprP8xGvPhFXQW3Am70v24aDU8l9gExDA8W_2TvRrUpk4yhMH5PH9ffHNEe6d2XjvWO17OW-Cg3_ozuM5ER9r1A7h4RlPg6NPsTIruw/w400-h301/StMargarets.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>You can get married in the chapel, which is why I couldn't take any interior photos, as that was actually happening during our visit. Congratulations to the groom and bride, whomever they are.</p><p>I didn't go into many of the castle buildings, mostly because it was nice outside and many of them don't allow interior photography. I did, however, get to see the changing of the guard. Fun fact: Edinburgh Castle is a real U.K. military base, with a garrison of troops stationed there at all times. One of the places they guard, in addition to the actual castle entrance, is a building dedicated to those from the U.K. military who lost their lives during their service.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_KAeyWvE0-UKMfeMzgJAXx7MSZ5XJUNYzo5SzPzBxgqe2_asz6bk071SmDQKdne5djQ0Mxto3S0SjOqB5j3eRxfULJoS0DDuLEOC8mch5Bxo7TU6obw0bWTeazqw7hQGmEUgNLXal38cBDxWqyEpn-ltO6hjV0zgVJvCuzhwdR6RF5gRq-vXxLnBQw/s1755/Castle2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1321" data-original-width="1755" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_KAeyWvE0-UKMfeMzgJAXx7MSZ5XJUNYzo5SzPzBxgqe2_asz6bk071SmDQKdne5djQ0Mxto3S0SjOqB5j3eRxfULJoS0DDuLEOC8mch5Bxo7TU6obw0bWTeazqw7hQGmEUgNLXal38cBDxWqyEpn-ltO6hjV0zgVJvCuzhwdR6RF5gRq-vXxLnBQw/w400-h301/Castle2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>The above was right before the changing of the guard. A side note: One of the other tour groups had a guide that was speaking loudly as the ceremony began. Very, very disrespectful. Thankfully, I think she got the hint and stopped.<div><br /></div><div>I have about a dozen castle exterior shots that I'll post on the Facebooks, but here's one of the nicer ones.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3P2Cd-1GmL-on1ZdKBcmmcLT360gJXynXtKF0zG7eeMaC-cdgo6IX1y0E2dnqJFKogbRMKlk6Y0sTkDRp3SuCSDzeXGW7TA2H-46Zha-bomNLgfBoPun3DjzJlXJUEP854OUKBitrrfgIeXx6Mrr4Y7HQniB6RXNPVHtutL4KumqsX1NU37KOt0obg/s1428/Castle3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1075" data-original-width="1428" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3P2Cd-1GmL-on1ZdKBcmmcLT360gJXynXtKF0zG7eeMaC-cdgo6IX1y0E2dnqJFKogbRMKlk6Y0sTkDRp3SuCSDzeXGW7TA2H-46Zha-bomNLgfBoPun3DjzJlXJUEP854OUKBitrrfgIeXx6Mrr4Y7HQniB6RXNPVHtutL4KumqsX1NU37KOt0obg/w400-h301/Castle3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The view from the castle can best be described as jaw-dropping. Here's a sample:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWoIWzZNang_MuRx5RUHyOR9O7juUV6Uplp79bLcMWtBtAPf2Va-VXtsVA9NmfOOtVf2jJLsPLKvyVC-kUJARc-yosnxRfdlA_kRhHx2U6NZS58nHo-m9UvVA1BxhV9x_64WEUb0AVSaKAsS-pT2z4_VlMAP43laGVJa21wPHT6AEVL4rNnYvm6USsPg/s1916/Castle4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1443" data-original-width="1916" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWoIWzZNang_MuRx5RUHyOR9O7juUV6Uplp79bLcMWtBtAPf2Va-VXtsVA9NmfOOtVf2jJLsPLKvyVC-kUJARc-yosnxRfdlA_kRhHx2U6NZS58nHo-m9UvVA1BxhV9x_64WEUb0AVSaKAsS-pT2z4_VlMAP43laGVJa21wPHT6AEVL4rNnYvm6USsPg/w400-h301/Castle4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>If you look carefully at the photo, towards the top right, you'll see a rather new-ish building that is actually shaped like a turd. I am not kidding. Said building is not on the graphic at this location of the castle that points out city landmarks. This could be for two reasons:</div><div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>The building came after the graphic was installed.</li><li>No one wanted to actually include in the graphic the description of the "Turd Building".</li></ol></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">Either explanation seems plausible to me. I'll post a larger picture of the Turd Building on the Facebooks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our day of exploration ended with a second trip through the cemetery where <a href="https://www.expedia.co.uk/Greyfriars-Bobby-Old-Town-Edinburgh.d6152384.Attraction" target="_blank">Greyfriar's Bobby</a> is buried. And yes, I get that it seems like we're spending a lot of time in cemeteries during this trip. Actually, I'm not quite sure what to make of that myself, come to think about it. In any event, here's one more cemetery picture.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidA6Qrm2hTKdULM4E41DKqBWVO2WwI2e9QI7rEGlSwpaenQWndmjcb2qRuH1wUpASSc4C6ahDMx3XOvUaMAYnR9xuqTAyhLdWMN2j-DIpa0iMzr7WGjYYMnGECtTsVcDIvtDiK0Pv-_4dcUyA56nslhvoyDiZIR7zfdfoMJL4AMCcQZDdZjVOkGC1ing/s1648/Cemetary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1648" data-original-width="1241" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidA6Qrm2hTKdULM4E41DKqBWVO2WwI2e9QI7rEGlSwpaenQWndmjcb2qRuH1wUpASSc4C6ahDMx3XOvUaMAYnR9xuqTAyhLdWMN2j-DIpa0iMzr7WGjYYMnGECtTsVcDIvtDiK0Pv-_4dcUyA56nslhvoyDiZIR7zfdfoMJL4AMCcQZDdZjVOkGC1ing/w301-h400/Cemetary.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Finally, when I was thinking about castles and kings, the Thompson Twins song "King for a Day" came to mind. That's a fine way to end things...</div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JJgvEeq9Kco" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">More to come.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-70785092501547975242023-05-22T16:33:00.001-04:002023-05-23T04:29:46.071-04:00Scotland - Day 3: Authenticity<p>I don't try to explain, after the fact, what these bordering-on-ridiculous blog postings mean. There are a couple reasons for that, none of which are entertaining enough (for me...) to write about. This noted, what I do find fascinating is how easy it is to read intent into written words. That's both a curse and a blessing for folks that write things, even hacks such as myself. Anyway, I'm going to make an exception to the blog posting interpretation rule.</p><p>For example, in my Day 1 posting, I compared how Edinburgh is, well, gritty, dirty, and kind of smells like the Scranton I knew as a kid. I get that this certainly sounds bad...unless you are me, and you grew up in Scranton in the '70s. Granted that other folks, outside of fans of the U.S. version of The Office, probably have a negative impression of Scranton, but I don't. In fact, that gritty/dirty/smells description is, in a word, authentic. While there are tons of tourists here in Edinburgh, as I noted in the Day 2 posting, this is a lived-in kind of place. The tourists just seem to be here for the ride. </p><p>Another way to think about this is to consider Edinburgh as a kind of anti-Disney. This isn't a magic kingdom; this is a place where people work, sieges have been had, and more than a few people hung and/or otherwise dispatched. In the words of our tour guide on Sunday, Edinburgh had for the longest time a reputation for being one of the most disgusting cities in Europe. The magic in this kingdom is that people have called this home and fought for it over centuries. </p><p>The above noted, my quota for actually explaining blog postings has been met. Since this is about the first time since 2008 that I've done this sort of thing (explaining...), if I do the math then I won't have to do it again until sometime in 2038.</p><p>On to the day's festivities.</p><p>******</p><p>Today we did the quasi-common bus tour of the countryside thing. It was fun, based partially on the fact that my knees appreciated that they weren't responsible for all of the day's locomotion. To be a bit more specific, the big stops today were <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loch_Lomond" target="_blank">Loch Lomond</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stirling_Castle" target="_blank">Stirling Castle</a>. See the links for more (likely & possibly) factual information. </p><p>As we were headed to Loch Lomond, we stopped to see an attraction known as the Kelpies. For purposes of picture set-up, know that this is a very large metal sculpture. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37Ax3F8at_u31EgVnR8R1Y3WPLisDhSmMFD1pMoYsH6Bpscflz6Eopvm4KgC0pzTkfw_hDywlDq6sjQD6HGdyKksfD-Yh9OtjCBW6h5tsFkOMu7PkoLdXPihIdISCIfKRxuhYgt-Eubw7Uz3Rd9cP9WJ8cjV4ChGUCQ0b1PpYyUm15Bq8tmI_gI8j5w/s1367/horses.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1030" data-original-width="1367" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37Ax3F8at_u31EgVnR8R1Y3WPLisDhSmMFD1pMoYsH6Bpscflz6Eopvm4KgC0pzTkfw_hDywlDq6sjQD6HGdyKksfD-Yh9OtjCBW6h5tsFkOMu7PkoLdXPihIdISCIfKRxuhYgt-Eubw7Uz3Rd9cP9WJ8cjV4ChGUCQ0b1PpYyUm15Bq8tmI_gI8j5w/w400-h301/horses.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I alluded to in the first paragraph or so of this posting, Scotland pretty much does what Scotland wants. Giant horse heads? Sure, why not. There actually is some mythology about the Kelpies, which you can get from the horse's mouth <a href="https://www.visitscotland.com/blog/scotland/the-kelpies/" target="_blank">HERE</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From the Kelpies we headed to the Loch, for an all too brief visit. Photographs don't do it justice, but here's one anyway.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUsa1Mt8Uzh2JpMUkOYoHV9F7yQw2kSxhybZASLJHYcuYe7keHiwybUR1XDc65CKDXYSCIXDUyec1vv3OzKKOyHT6tqe8zJcIO8tsmFZYLdqaQrEbz-zZP2hexunw6GDRez0f7P-ZxQIve01L4XQ4SZZYVElJqaqPXc7EFjRpUP7v02UPcucYvDLmCQ/s2829/LochLo1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2829" data-original-width="2130" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUsa1Mt8Uzh2JpMUkOYoHV9F7yQw2kSxhybZASLJHYcuYe7keHiwybUR1XDc65CKDXYSCIXDUyec1vv3OzKKOyHT6tqe8zJcIO8tsmFZYLdqaQrEbz-zZP2hexunw6GDRez0f7P-ZxQIve01L4XQ4SZZYVElJqaqPXc7EFjRpUP7v02UPcucYvDLmCQ/w302-h400/LochLo1.jpg" width="302" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is an old place, well-used, yet still incredibly beautiful. Something else to mention? It smelled wonderful. Actually, the Kelpies smelled wonderful too. Just the right combination of flowers were in bloom I suppose, creating a scent that would rival a stand of honeysuckle. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">By the way, I am reasonably sure that there are more sheep in Scotland than there are people. Without any exaggeration whatsoever. The sheep we saw driving around the countryside were legion, for they were many.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheCYFBVi9G9quEovjBQWn9PA2WC0c6I5Sv8Z2fxTeuR-SnaalkQEsXTJ6wtmB_p4VctwLgFhx_B75tc8KkY0cKmyTC094X2ztkv2bg9KPHSlWQzIWw0u6J4JiSFBy9NcZYVEpXe_z_7NXu5v4wuJIeOQMI_2Ozs1THNNDpeLm3bpD_QUqy1k6kH3esQ/s1282/Sheep.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="965" data-original-width="1282" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheCYFBVi9G9quEovjBQWn9PA2WC0c6I5Sv8Z2fxTeuR-SnaalkQEsXTJ6wtmB_p4VctwLgFhx_B75tc8KkY0cKmyTC094X2ztkv2bg9KPHSlWQzIWw0u6J4JiSFBy9NcZYVEpXe_z_7NXu5v4wuJIeOQMI_2Ozs1THNNDpeLm3bpD_QUqy1k6kH3esQ/w400-h301/Sheep.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Granted, I don't want to think too hard about Scotland's sheep, as that results in thoughts about what becomes of the cute little guys (re: Haggis).<div><br /></div><div>After the Loch and countless sheep-spotting opportunities, we stopped for lunch. That was something of an adventure (for mundane reasons I will not get into), but what was really cool was the fact that we stopped at a town that was literally at the border between the Scottish lowlands and highlands. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfafjsDGK_GrGUYF8CVDLVVN8-SDEIk2TRtxqP4dWlUeq5uwV6XU7cZg07su8OnyYvAIYTnH-_VPzITf0FJ1JMC9Y-r8jCGpBWzgAwuwJDIXSKYfnlmNK9QZGhsU1J6tjwEj_4nNkzLKo56-A5mx632e3kr-tFFxfVT8D6Vx6BZy6nRN0Qsnp8qIrPng/s1909/lowhighlands.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1437" data-original-width="1909" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfafjsDGK_GrGUYF8CVDLVVN8-SDEIk2TRtxqP4dWlUeq5uwV6XU7cZg07su8OnyYvAIYTnH-_VPzITf0FJ1JMC9Y-r8jCGpBWzgAwuwJDIXSKYfnlmNK9QZGhsU1J6tjwEj_4nNkzLKo56-A5mx632e3kr-tFFxfVT8D6Vx6BZy6nRN0Qsnp8qIrPng/w400-h301/lowhighlands.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Foreground = Lowlands. Background = Highlands.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our final stop was Castle Stirling, complete with a larger-than-life statue of Robert the Bruce. Yes, that was a character in the movie Braveheart, and yes, the locals are keenly aware of how inaccurate Mel Gibson's movie really was. Regardless, it's an impressive statue.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGCV__yGYHSZXdCcr4_HTSMU2S7KI6BBpmSuUA4gKJO6pmDAozYwcmGsvof2a4EKzbFlqct_Vy0F7UImEHah6Ho0R7xQ3lidfs3kNtIURHZfMAhkd6RnDpeUq92c4eftfzTqXqhY0mRkhG6PDgdZL4kS8Rk66fm5HRBJAduUpzoGNbw3wmP5-ED8uCg/s2332/RTB.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2332" data-original-width="1756" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGCV__yGYHSZXdCcr4_HTSMU2S7KI6BBpmSuUA4gKJO6pmDAozYwcmGsvof2a4EKzbFlqct_Vy0F7UImEHah6Ho0R7xQ3lidfs3kNtIURHZfMAhkd6RnDpeUq92c4eftfzTqXqhY0mRkhG6PDgdZL4kS8Rk66fm5HRBJAduUpzoGNbw3wmP5-ED8uCg/w301-h400/RTB.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I didn't do the castle tour (Ms. Rivers did), but instead went wandering around the castle grounds, which were beautiful. The history of this place literally permeates the air.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5yP8IJhaTjATR6K4a3cxhZrknO1d4LAAc8U2xfYjTwl5L63NWw0bbvzHaiTpRqEUiWZsxJ5h3-93hQ93389AVQ_2kzjxp8K8lbOdfZZ720O4tTmx6vmQ1obLrihDyn-ikNmPwz2x1G-5MMxD-lx1StXzzsTxRRg20XmxCHcJg-BLlHYv_DHkrHTX6A/s1719/Cemetary.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1294" data-original-width="1719" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5yP8IJhaTjATR6K4a3cxhZrknO1d4LAAc8U2xfYjTwl5L63NWw0bbvzHaiTpRqEUiWZsxJ5h3-93hQ93389AVQ_2kzjxp8K8lbOdfZZ720O4tTmx6vmQ1obLrihDyn-ikNmPwz2x1G-5MMxD-lx1StXzzsTxRRg20XmxCHcJg-BLlHYv_DHkrHTX6A/w400-h301/Cemetary.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Finally, I can't let the opportunity pass to take a few critter shots, and today was no exception. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Oa3s9JGMUxDXRHYJZNqvvUcfNtut2yhSZwLL4qnPFOWq4crI6sOT6SkfDiOZF2b_DD11KMJXwTHzqqxn58UjdPISKApF__uBwADgdp6WW1Jo5Z_Lc8p5zNjhT0zzvBK7qyFZfcJxEdZAGGzIR1OYb2hreSgUvUM1-0wLwDMwq49AP9HkZK4AFgzZbA/s1887/Raven.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1887" data-original-width="1421" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Oa3s9JGMUxDXRHYJZNqvvUcfNtut2yhSZwLL4qnPFOWq4crI6sOT6SkfDiOZF2b_DD11KMJXwTHzqqxn58UjdPISKApF__uBwADgdp6WW1Jo5Z_Lc8p5zNjhT0zzvBK7qyFZfcJxEdZAGGzIR1OYb2hreSgUvUM1-0wLwDMwq49AP9HkZK4AFgzZbA/w301-h400/Raven.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With apologies for the off-center shot, but in all fairness, 1) He was moving a lot and 2) I was using a cellphone camera.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All of the above noted, it was a long but interesting day. Now to get some rest. I think I slept for something like four hours last night, due to a variety of reasons. I need to do better,. Tomorrow will be more castle touring and maybe a ghost* bus tour.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">More to come.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(*) Ghosts don't exist, but for the purposes of this vacation, I'll play along.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-9320200862287614742023-05-21T13:52:00.001-04:002023-05-21T14:49:24.559-04:00Scotland - Day 2: It's Pronounced "Edin-Brah"<p>A minor mystery has been solved. What mystery, you may ask? Well, is this town named...</p><p>...Edin-boro?<br /></p><p>...Edin-burg?</p><p style="text-align: left;">...<b><span style="color: red;">wrong on both counts</span></b>. According to our tour guide this morning, the very talented Ms. Roisin, it's actually pronounced something like "Edin-brah", where the "brah" part sounds like what a 20-something-year-old dude who vapes a lot calls everyone he knows. See below.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0gNYaH_NjIA" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>On a more serious note, I highly recommend anyone who happens to be in Edin-brah (sorry, that's the last time I'll use that gag, promise) to check out <a href="https://littlefishtours.co.uk/" target="_blank"><b>Little Fish Tours</b></a>. Our guide, the above-referenced Ms. Roisin, was excellent. In fact, we decided to take another one of their tours later in the week. I'm not always a big fan of guided tours, but they do work best when you get to know the stories of the place...not just names and dates and assorted facts...but the very human stories of people who lived in a particular place. That's what we got today.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today's event was the walking tour noted above, combined with some additional wandering about (sometimes in circles) in and around the castle area of Edinburgh. One of the things I find most fascinating about places, particularly older places, are the roof lines of buildings. Modern architecture, in my extremely amateurish opinion, lacks a certain kind of distinctiveness when the building hits the sky. Instead of a kind of crown, many newer buildings just look as if someone arbitrarily just cut them off at some point. That's certainly not the case here.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2Mjpwak7RIGj3feqCnV6TRtApk3Bdqf9giwHVQzCIvLnvnzYkxVC_K5DYyN4u5n-9R4yO8TYqrZNjBOIzeGmc6wGvCZSFKDV7kT_T0OUp_zsINRj9wVEHujiSV0dS6qUHeMCW61XuE0-aUmzEXeWMiEozrx_VYeV0SRM1Id0NxTopBDb4PbPAVhGWg/s1648/Roof%20lines.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1648" data-original-width="1241" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2Mjpwak7RIGj3feqCnV6TRtApk3Bdqf9giwHVQzCIvLnvnzYkxVC_K5DYyN4u5n-9R4yO8TYqrZNjBOIzeGmc6wGvCZSFKDV7kT_T0OUp_zsINRj9wVEHujiSV0dS6qUHeMCW61XuE0-aUmzEXeWMiEozrx_VYeV0SRM1Id0NxTopBDb4PbPAVhGWg/s320/Roof%20lines.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">New vs. old building rooflines. See the difference?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One quasi-funny story: We were near the Scottish equivalent of the <a href="https://www.scotcourts.gov.uk/the-courts/supreme-courts" target="_blank"><b>Supreme Court</b></a>. As our guide was speaking, we were told to move back, and low and behold, the justices of the court walked by us (within about 10 feet), complete with powdered wigs and robes befitting the best of a 17th-century jurist. It was almost kind of odd in a way; as I mentioned to my stepson Alex if this were the U.S. we never would have gotten that close to the justices of the Supreme Court...it would have been one warning then 20 seconds later a taser shot to the abdomen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Much of today's walking was centered around High Street/the Royal Mile. Some of the buildings were spectacular. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokcCTDBwGEBalNLMOSpukI97uvXFk6UbNkL2wsTNq7zIQxvGjcZITDZteTot7dX0w-WsJswPPCpd07dqV6cTVI5HohHhp8mz2r68Hg1hA5cuZDySiYhNwd8_WWcB4Gvn1VuUgNYkdZjaI0MrU6dfDrVAWlxfD5Agt9QF07RkR3nipHK8P39iH965kTA/s1217/PXL_20230521_104604533.MP.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="916" data-original-width="1217" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokcCTDBwGEBalNLMOSpukI97uvXFk6UbNkL2wsTNq7zIQxvGjcZITDZteTot7dX0w-WsJswPPCpd07dqV6cTVI5HohHhp8mz2r68Hg1hA5cuZDySiYhNwd8_WWcB4Gvn1VuUgNYkdZjaI0MrU6dfDrVAWlxfD5Agt9QF07RkR3nipHK8P39iH965kTA/s320/PXL_20230521_104604533.MP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahjuGVPTt897La6CRLpmqLD48ky-0OPvZVB78LVeHxLwyVC9PJWLHzdbCvL_oYMvlwGDWrBC5xdmuXAM5_HCqo0UNYvWLEmlbQk3XJeCh9p76NGS6_bfSlJ4yOKOkGi47B0xpAcSL5WwoiAqr4Q4K9ONll-WBr6TsbUiXVIoeyI5GQf8_aBMYD88Ktg/s2075/PXL_20230521_102914408.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2075" data-original-width="1562" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahjuGVPTt897La6CRLpmqLD48ky-0OPvZVB78LVeHxLwyVC9PJWLHzdbCvL_oYMvlwGDWrBC5xdmuXAM5_HCqo0UNYvWLEmlbQk3XJeCh9p76NGS6_bfSlJ4yOKOkGi47B0xpAcSL5WwoiAqr4Q4K9ONll-WBr6TsbUiXVIoeyI5GQf8_aBMYD88Ktg/s320/PXL_20230521_102914408.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBuppaExegAM9PwPTdkPrXWGDsgJd0aW2mzicizclkBFORb4IxqIzG65lnWvKgYkduLEDlW6SQzs9d48K64DaYqFD3rgTFLorrG_Uy0Urz9ATI-DEdnhu7lJgI5of1vmWt8eDQaHhtTz2yRI2o7EHHi2fUL2_deZhiN50sTEZiXoDmjOHbkrW77hjZg/s2000/PXL_20230521_090245056.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1506" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBuppaExegAM9PwPTdkPrXWGDsgJd0aW2mzicizclkBFORb4IxqIzG65lnWvKgYkduLEDlW6SQzs9d48K64DaYqFD3rgTFLorrG_Uy0Urz9ATI-DEdnhu7lJgI5of1vmWt8eDQaHhtTz2yRI2o7EHHi2fUL2_deZhiN50sTEZiXoDmjOHbkrW77hjZg/s320/PXL_20230521_090245056.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdA2rlVjN2FdIL_Jl9FUq9QmMghHZk9yETMGmTPpk1N1Sr8QsazvE4pjrfeZ42_ZdMoGxtCZQglzkeFS-ptPesWoAh_XTpzqP2jWD5aBF9aA072Xibxn1xYbTemDJYobUHBe0_X6yvYgtl9ViublLUfLMepxMup-XuuKbo5qAgjGvA_ztO7Rw6BqCzg/s2099/PXL_20230521_102823533.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2099" data-original-width="1581" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdA2rlVjN2FdIL_Jl9FUq9QmMghHZk9yETMGmTPpk1N1Sr8QsazvE4pjrfeZ42_ZdMoGxtCZQglzkeFS-ptPesWoAh_XTpzqP2jWD5aBF9aA072Xibxn1xYbTemDJYobUHBe0_X6yvYgtl9ViublLUfLMepxMup-XuuKbo5qAgjGvA_ztO7Rw6BqCzg/s320/PXL_20230521_102823533.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Unfortunately, there is a limit to how many photos I can share in a blog posting, but I'll be adding more to Facebook over the next few hours.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While the buildings seen today are beautiful, what I noted yesterday, which is a certain grittiness, complete with an odd assortment of sights and smells, was sort of familiar. This is not a clean place. In fact, you can tell this is a very much lived-in, working, functional kind of location. The tourists are just here for the ride.</div><div><br /></div>More to come.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-88297543683810526832023-05-21T03:43:00.002-04:002023-05-21T03:43:54.949-04:00Scotland - Day 1: Far But Familiar<p><b>Fun fact:</b> The mountains in Northeastern Pennsylvania belong to the same range that, in Earth's past, also include the Scottish Highlands. You can learn more about the subject <a href="https://vividmaps.com/central-pangean-mountains/" target="_blank">HERE</a>. Here's a graphic, just to punctuate the point...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMfSnqB07_dVLIhisKg-hgX0dDMemaPmEwk_4oxSW0iRWW8-i3dLis4xCDCyidKghHwOLrqlAE9ow9K-VGf26--v-VC7-sOlsRItwJsVmf9iLZjkOdXBU7Jajlu-rpUVJoZQBRmM5L6R1gbDE-v39V8x7zES_oHtc6oCw00JgaBoWbkuv6Tx9l8pfBA/s960/Central-Pangean-Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="804" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMfSnqB07_dVLIhisKg-hgX0dDMemaPmEwk_4oxSW0iRWW8-i3dLis4xCDCyidKghHwOLrqlAE9ow9K-VGf26--v-VC7-sOlsRItwJsVmf9iLZjkOdXBU7Jajlu-rpUVJoZQBRmM5L6R1gbDE-v39V8x7zES_oHtc6oCw00JgaBoWbkuv6Tx9l8pfBA/w335-h400/Central-Pangean-Mountains.jpg" width="335" /></a></div><p>This isn't the first time I've heard about the Central Pangean Mountains; that would be something Ms. Rivers' brother, a geologist, mentioned when we were visiting Scandinavia in 2018. </p><p>Based on the title of this posting, and the reference above, it's fair to say that I am visiting Scotland this week. By way of background, this trip is notable for a few reasons, including the fact that it's likely to be one of the last vacations we take with Ms. Rivers' sons (my stepsons). This is because they are getting older, we are getting older, and well, everything seems to getting older. Speaking of getting older, another reason behind the trip is the fact, as we approach an eventual, collective retirement age, it seems prudent for us to take advantage of the fact that we've been prudent with our finances. Put another way, was can afford to travel, so why not? In some respects, this is the first trip of what will probably be a few in the years to come. The downside? More tedious blog postings from me, but so I digress.</p><p>So, why Scotland? </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqX67Jt44Q_3fGYgq_gl6bWULCOsZyYGoAyy78i-9EShMdX0Fg3H9OhdZMSN6vrvpLYbWUI2CUewozubuhOqzClEA7WALt2chietTXi5oXLtXxHYWhmOckAPlcC8VldElAGyaXtpGmVlchlSegDBd1b1gxKCQElGU1t87hPhC53Y8vkdo-YvqB-pwZA/s1501/Fat%20Bastard.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1501" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqX67Jt44Q_3fGYgq_gl6bWULCOsZyYGoAyy78i-9EShMdX0Fg3H9OhdZMSN6vrvpLYbWUI2CUewozubuhOqzClEA7WALt2chietTXi5oXLtXxHYWhmOckAPlcC8VldElAGyaXtpGmVlchlSegDBd1b1gxKCQElGU1t87hPhC53Y8vkdo-YvqB-pwZA/w133-h200/Fat%20Bastard.webp" width="133" /></a></div><p>Well to the best of my knowledge, I have zero point zero connection to Scotland. This is the honest-to-goodness truth, <a href="http://www.sgalbert.com/2019/03/as-irish-as-paddys-pig.html" target="_blank">unlike what I've said</a> about Ireland for decades. Ms. Rivers? Well, she does. The genesis of the trip came after hearing about a similar trip that Ms. Rivers' sisters took years ago. The thought was that we would travel with them, but that part didn't end up working out. What did was our end of it, so here we are, about a year after starting to plan this vacation. </p><p>Butterfly knees.</p><p>There is a special 1,000-year place in purgatory for people who design modern airplane seating arrangements. Now if you are of average height, these sorts of things work out okay for you. Me? Not so much, so my knees end up being bent at unnatural angles for hours on end, broken up by the occasional trip to the bathroom (which is mostly just an excuse to unfurl my knees...like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis...every now and then). With 8 hours of travel yesterday, well, my knees were sore by the time I got off the second leg of our flights, here in Edinburgh. Making matters worse was the fact that we then had about 3+ hours (and associated walking) before we could check in at our rented apartment in Edinburgh's old city. By the time I was able to lay down (I had gotten about an hour of sleep the night before) my knees felt like they were got to explode and projectile my patellas across the room. Fortunately, this did not happen. </p><p>So here I am now, writing this on a dreary but more or less wonderful morning in the old city of Edinburgh. My knees are about 90% recovered, and I think that today's guided walking tour will actually help things. Or so we shall see.</p><p>One observation about Scotland so far: It sort of reminds me of growing up in Scranton. Connection via ancient mount range aside for a moment, this place is gritty, has lots of smells (diesel, food, stuff that was once food but now is rotting...), and is generally not well kept. In other words, Scranton in the 1970's, but sans the three strip clubs that adorn a corner not so far from us. Multiples seem to be a thing here, as in addition to the three strip clubs nearby, there are at least four barbers within a stone's throw from the kitchen window I am sitting next to at this very moment. Scottsmen love well-trimmed hair I guess.<br /></p><p>Lastly, I did not bring my usual camera gear on this trip. This is mostly because I didn't want to have to bring another bag with me, and my Google Pixel takes great pictures anyway. In service of my comment about Edinburgh's gritty-ness, I offer the following...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHArdBCMuAe9fBRiFXtlCZu3NBuQRWwfHVS-TXxMv--O7_7esIgj6YWVIv0jc4-CJZxGfY8DWlLt1bQdtgtCW_0qkJ00F0znkxsUbr3xYTv260LOLcwq8QxJcEweH3qYpxmtEsTwIVqsHs1N6Elg5ryiDYUrOD5w1pVS7Nrk_iBwJw4xNUcR3y0u2lrA/s2261/EB1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2261" data-original-width="1702" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHArdBCMuAe9fBRiFXtlCZu3NBuQRWwfHVS-TXxMv--O7_7esIgj6YWVIv0jc4-CJZxGfY8DWlLt1bQdtgtCW_0qkJ00F0znkxsUbr3xYTv260LOLcwq8QxJcEweH3qYpxmtEsTwIVqsHs1N6Elg5ryiDYUrOD5w1pVS7Nrk_iBwJw4xNUcR3y0u2lrA/s320/EB1.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_OyV5L5vDxO1YTPnJdG5R_xi9yXPs_Dxtj6uAOdJHwBqGXl5JOkx7ccBemvbmjyn7CxNbtDIqdsk9vKXCOU9X8jxF7Ckh5c-zgrZXpUqAh26dS2XmCJYkbgUkww27nO48Elx1_Q2L9MXrXwhzH0IdbV6nMBbNC9iroTKQzn0No-QC9wupznCROySeA/s1508/Pigeon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1508" data-original-width="1135" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_OyV5L5vDxO1YTPnJdG5R_xi9yXPs_Dxtj6uAOdJHwBqGXl5JOkx7ccBemvbmjyn7CxNbtDIqdsk9vKXCOU9X8jxF7Ckh5c-zgrZXpUqAh26dS2XmCJYkbgUkww27nO48Elx1_Q2L9MXrXwhzH0IdbV6nMBbNC9iroTKQzn0No-QC9wupznCROySeA/s320/Pigeon.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJqRMkfAgPTpon_buX41IE6c96LZkgwOdn_XUhNPwNe3THA-NoXTAwrwQZ289B7fYIlcn60FsSBE4G2_hGQ1uX1n8wmGS7vkz2jhO_Suz8eSsueQ3HwJ9KNOwg3JG_GlBDTGWbEUbtrIq3QluHQ35Vg41xr25u9P0nott8zPkXS3tPqqkuBzJ5gpUfQ/s2021/EB2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2021" data-original-width="1521" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJqRMkfAgPTpon_buX41IE6c96LZkgwOdn_XUhNPwNe3THA-NoXTAwrwQZ289B7fYIlcn60FsSBE4G2_hGQ1uX1n8wmGS7vkz2jhO_Suz8eSsueQ3HwJ9KNOwg3JG_GlBDTGWbEUbtrIq3QluHQ35Vg41xr25u9P0nott8zPkXS3tPqqkuBzJ5gpUfQ/s320/EB2.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><p>More to come.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-63973443532417904262023-05-07T22:45:00.000-04:002023-05-07T22:45:06.570-04:00Wind Up (or is that wind down)?I'm not sure what was going on with me from about early February through mid-late April, other than, in some respects, it wasn't good. Part of this was definitely physical...I struggle with some digestive issues, no doubt made worse by the "6-year-old eating mentality but with adult money" diet. However, I know, at least for me, that parts of my physical health are strongly tied to my mental health at any given point. This kind of makes how I am physically feeling something like a "Canary in a mine" for what's pinging around in my head.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPykY2VQK7U1AE4OQnZdzArglbVwvo8od36OG-Q-aqg5s_PZmNzhO8nOWre38z5iGuEUv5NMNt5K6JrdmqKGKLqdTgU1Hphthm18mGv9yeh9d5moYfFOdx9yNmp5MuLh4ELG2V3iiO4fJQP4CgRgYfhMwPP7kpYDiFVnVRUJQ-o27edIvm7tEcU3GZWg/s1280/thumbnail_PXL_20230508_020555809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="963" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPykY2VQK7U1AE4OQnZdzArglbVwvo8od36OG-Q-aqg5s_PZmNzhO8nOWre38z5iGuEUv5NMNt5K6JrdmqKGKLqdTgU1Hphthm18mGv9yeh9d5moYfFOdx9yNmp5MuLh4ELG2V3iiO4fJQP4CgRgYfhMwPP7kpYDiFVnVRUJQ-o27edIvm7tEcU3GZWg/s320/thumbnail_PXL_20230508_020555809.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div>I do have at least one theory.</div><div><br /></div><div>That period is probably the worst of the year for me. One of the few things in life I can say that I enjoy, without any qualification, is working outside. Yet during that period, there is just so little I can actually do. This is mostly because it's just too damn chilly/cold outside. And in the spirit of my ability to dramatically over-think everything, I would never want to live anywhere that is warm all year. I enjoy the seasons...even the advent of winter...but I just wish it would end. This year's relatively warm late winter was similar to hanging a cupcake just out of reach of a starving person. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is a larger issue at play here, namely that I am borderline (seemingly) genetically pre-disposed and always on the lookout for threats, be they big or small, real or imaginary. The appropriate mental health term is "hypervigilance", and in addition to being tiring, it takes up a heck of a lot of personal bandwidth. The ironic part is that when viewed objectively, I have a pretty good life. I suspect though that's all part of the larger set of complexities that reside inside my head. I am okay, and I wouldn't be me without this stuff, but yet there are times when I would just like less of certain stuff.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have no grand plan on dealing with the kinds of things that late winter/very early spring brought this year. Maybe this kind of introspection<span style="color: #cc0000;">*</span> is the plan. Who knows. What I do know is that I spent a few hours in the yard this weekend, and it felt right. In the third paragraph of this posting, I noted that I enjoy working outside; maybe an even better term for me is that it just feels "right".</div><div><br /></div><div>I need to be focusing more on what feels enjoyable and good and right, which is a far harder task than it seems. But it needs to be done. There is a kind of hidden guilt inside of me that wants to immediately engage in castigation at the mere thought of not being on the edge, scanning for threats. It all ties together, and I have some work to do.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's to basking in the warmth of the sun, the smell of flowers, and feeling growth all around us. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(<span style="color: #cc0000;">*</span>) Introspection: Something that requires no real effort from me, but I just wish there were more practical outcomes resulting from it.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-42035084350985470922023-03-06T22:30:00.000-05:002023-03-06T22:30:16.532-05:00Running out of Time<p>I've had this feeling lately, not based on anything, in particular,<span style="color: red;">*</span> that I am running out of time. </p><p>Time for what?</p><p>That's the real question, I suppose. And I don't have a good answer. Maybe this is what people think about as they can see age 60 on the horizon. Mind you, that's a year plus away for me, but still, like clouds on the horizon, it seems like something is coming.</p><p>Now right off the bat, I'm going to note that I'm not bemoaning all of the things I should have done by now. On the contrary, I think that I've done alright for a kid from a housing project. I never wanted, for example, to be the CEO of anything other than myself. And I am very proud of parts of my life, including 3 daughters and 2 stepsons, which ultimately is one of the better measures any of us can have as we take stock of uncertain things.</p><p>No, it just feels like there are things I still need to do, but while in the past the future seemed so very open-ended, well, now it seems more closed-ended. I sometimes wonder just how many other "big things" there are left in me. </p><p>"Big things" has been something of a theme in my later adult life. I've even had, for a few years in my mid-late 40s and early 50s a goal of "to do big things". I did some big things by the way, including literally turning one aspect of my life completely around and earning a Master's degree. None of these big things were easy, but I think most folks acknowledge that, at some level, the most important things in life are seldom accomplished without time and effort. Part of this whole mental ball-o-string may very well be the fact that I can't put my arms around the next "big thing".</p><p>The low-hanging fruit here is the fact that I'll probably retire (for real this time) in about 5 years. Oddly enough though, that doesn't seem like a "big thing" in the context of the other things I have done. This is probably because, unlike earning an advanced degree from Villanova University, the retirement thing (for real this time) is going to happen no matter what...I just show up for the event.</p><p>That last paragraph isn't without some decision-making and actions on my part. Some of those actions have been in the works for a while now. Others are far more recent, including my taking stock of what I am doing professionally and making some adjustments. There is an element of trust in this whole career thing for me: Speaking of decision-making, I am making the decision to trust that I am in a relatively safe place career-wise. Now, this could be an enormous mistake, but sometimes life calls for an act of faith. For me, well, this is one of those times, and I am prepared to just work hard and spend less time making contingency plans. I need the bandwidth to (hopefully) do other (big) things. </p><p>I just don't know what those other things are, big or otherwise. This might be why I feel like I am running out of time, as we humans have a tendency to view time in the context of events and things. I just need to find the next (big) thing.</p><p><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(<span style="color: red;">*</span>) For the record, I am not facing some kind of health crisis, although I would trade a kidney to rid myself of a chronically itchy back.</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Kg-Qdrr3XSk" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-40331743629035151622023-02-26T21:54:00.000-05:002023-02-26T21:54:23.803-05:00Artifacts and Safety Blankets<p>Flashback to December 2016, and I was just starting to recover from what was, up to that point, one of the greatest losses of my life. I know that sounds so very dramatic, but in my mind what I had with a former employer was more than a job...it was a kind of relationship that I expected to last until retirement, based on an unspoken promise of "if you work hard, everything will be okay". In hindsight, that was a big issue: What I thought of as a kind of relationship was, in fact, just a job. Those last three words, "just a job", are easier to type than to actually admit. In fact, I'll still call it something of a work in progress. More on that in a moment. </p><p>The above comes from a fairly deep place. Having grown up on the downside of the socioeconomic spectrum, I wanted nothing more than to have some measure of success, even if I couldn't actually define what success was, well outside of not being poor. What I could define though was the idea that success came from hard work. I got that much from my mother. And I did work hard, at pretty much everything I did. I earned some of the things that came with my naive vision of success, including more money, leadership responsibility, and decent professional titles. What I didn't understand though was that along with that version of success came a dependency...a risk if you will...that ultimately and actually had very little to do with hard work. </p><p>Fast forward to the working world of 2023, and any collective sense of employment being an actual relationship is continuously, truly, and utterly false. A fiction of the most poorly written sort. This isn't just me being overly dramatic for blog hits; you just need to pay attention to the news. See <a href="https://www.usatoday.com/story/money/economy/2023/02/07/tech-layoffs-2023-google-amazon/11135692002/" target="_blank">HERE</a> for just one of the hundreds of similar articles. I feel for these folks. Been there. Done that.</p><p>Part of my clarity has been an ongoing effort to understand that I am valuable over and above what I do to earn a living. I'll readily confess that this is an extremely difficult thing for me, and I can't declare any kind of victory; at best I can say that I've moved in the right direction. Heck, by the time I actually do retire, I may almost get it. The "it" is that "it's just a job". </p><p>By the way, my goal (if you want to call it that) of understanding that "it's just a job" isn't a reflection of my failure to care about what I do. If anything, I think I am doing better work now than I ever have in the past. It just means that I try to care about the right things, like the people I work with, and not some amorphous, amoral entity (and <a href="https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/research-reports/citizens-united-explained" target="_blank">to hell with what the U.S. Supreme Court has decided</a>). Anyway, at almost 59 years old, it's good to know that I can still be learning.</p><p>Driving all of this? The fact that I actually took a big step recently: I disposed of a ton of old work stuff. These were like artifacts that I kept of a former life. I wasn't using them, and they took up a lot of space, but for years I clung to them as if they were a kind of medal for winning a battle. Or more like a large participation trophy. They were a kind of proof that "I was someone" once. Lo and behold, I've always been someone; it's just taken a while to grasp that point.</p><p>I probably still have too many things I am hanging on to, too many things that are more of a safety blanket than anything else. As the song goes, "life is a series of hellos and goodbyes", and it's time to say goodbye to some things. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KdjyLcuxyQ4" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-16264351734200727262023-02-04T21:38:00.000-05:002023-02-04T21:38:57.048-05:00Loss is Not Logical<p>It's probably some inherent facet of human design that we search for meaning in times of personal loss. That loss could be the death of a family member, a beloved pet, some remembrance of our childhood, or even the end of a long friendship. At least for me, there has been this desire to somehow, at least initially, try to make some larger sense out of the losses I have experienced. I write that last sentence full of the knowledge that what I have experienced in the way of loss likely pales in comparison to that of many others. This noted, I have been an abject failure in my trying to understand loss.</p><p>Then someone smart told me something in four words that brought me some sense of understanding:</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Loss is not logical</span></b></p><p>Loss doesn't follow a neat, predictable set of rules that can be analyzed, re-engineered, and re-assembled then placed into a nice little and understandable box that we can put on a shelf when we should be done with it.</p><p>Loss is messy. It lingers. It has a terrible habit of being open-ended, sometimes seeming as if it will never end. It overstays its welcome and lives rent-free in our heads. There are examples of it in my own head where in spite of my best efforts at understanding, it can become, at times, pervasive.</p><p>Loss for me sometimes "leaks out" in the form of very vivid dreams. These aren't what I'd call nightmares. There is no violence. There isn't even mourning. In fact, oddly enough, these kinds of dreams for me almost always involve doing the most mundane of things. Think traveling with someone long gone. Visiting with a long-ago friend. This is, I suspect, the heavy reality of loss that (what I believe to be) my logical mind is utterly incapable of discerning, no matter how much analysis I put forth. What's left? That would be what dreams are, namely a kind of biological cleaning of our mental cache. </p><p>John Steinbeck once sort of described this very same idea...much better than I ever could...when he wrote:</p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"It is so much darker when a light goes out than it would have ever been if it had never shone."<span style="color: #3d85c6;">*</span></b></i></p><p>That light could be a brother, a pet, a friend, or even a place. The specifics matter far less than just the sense of void that is created. </p><p>So what's the answer? Where's the solution? In short order, that would be "nothing" and "nowhere". I think we just learn to live with the loss, and it becomes a part of us. Some of us may even view this through a lens of faith, that kind of abstract thing where, in the absence of any real proof, we still believe in something. I admire faith, by the way. Well, make that what I consider to be genuine faith: That which is not driven by or about obedience or fear of punishment. If faith were only about obeying a higher power, then dogs would be our role models. Fortunately, that's not the case.</p><p>So in the end, what have I accomplished in this posting? I'd say a solid "not much", other than to maybe nudge myself away from a lifetime of viewing the world through a lens of logic and instead giving myself permission to just experience. This all sounds so very simple...when typed...but yet still so very difficult.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KmIkJgHISMo" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">(</span><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: small;">*</span><span style="font-size: small;">) From </span><u style="font-size: small;">The Winter of Our Discontent</u></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-72099892842065952382023-01-15T10:51:00.002-05:002023-01-15T16:45:48.063-05:00I Found A Picture of You...<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"<span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">I found a picture of you, oh-oh</span></b></i></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;"><b>Well, it hijacked my world at night"</b></span></i></div></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">(The Pretenders, Back on the Chain Gang)</span></div><p>If you are a consumer of The Facebooks, you no doubt see these challenge postings, whereby someone posts something and then asks others to do the same. I really enjoy these kinds of things, by the way. Well, more precisely, I really enjoy seeing pictures, and it's neat to learn about others I've met or interacted with over the years. In a world that seems ever so large, complex, and harried, these small acts of connection can, I think, help re-ground us. At least for me.</p><p>The above noted I don't do these kinds of things very often. That's less about a refusal on my part and more about the fact that, well, I don't get asked to participate. Trust me, that's not a cry for attention on my part. I don't have a thousand Facebook connections, so the odds just don't align to make these kinds of things happen. That makes the times when they do kind of neat. As such, I was invited to participate in a photo-sharing challenge. I make it a policy to not reference other (private, as opposed to public) people in these postings, well outside of special occasions, so I'm not going to mention names. What I will say this: The person who nominated me is someone I have an incredible amount of respect for, and I am honored that she thought of me. </p><p>This particular challenge involves posting photos that "bring me joy", without any explanations. This really is a challenge for me (pun intended) for two reasons:</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><b>I struggle with a concept like "joy". </b> Struggle as in "what does joy really mean"? How would I know if something "brings me joy" in the first place? Now reading this you may think "what the heck is he even talking about?", but it's a genuine thing for me. In a way, I don't process very strong emotions well. I know where this comes from...a childhood where a premium was placed on not expressing myself very often. </li><li><b>I also struggle with not being able to describe things.</b> It almost goes against my nature to not write about things like important pictures. In a way, I'm using this blog posting to kind of circumvent the rules of the challenge itself. Yes, guilty as charged.</li></ol>So, how do I find pictures that bring me joy if I'm not sure what joy means? Well, I ended up not dwelling on the word "joy" and instead thought to myself "okay, what pictures can I find that have some deeper meaning to me?". That was easy. The next step is going through the 10,000+ digital photos I have on file. <p></p><p>I actually came up with a strategy of sorts: This is a 10-day challenge, so I decided to pick an underlying theme for each day. For example, the second day was about my daughters when they were younger. Day 3 was about some of the vehicles I owned. Day 4 was about JeanLuc the cat, who meant the world to me and helped me, in a very real sense, get through one of the most difficult times in my life. Finding JeanLuc pictures to share was a mixture of fond memories and sadness that he's not here with me now. To the extent that anyone can actually love something other than another person, I loved JeanLuc. </p><p>Today is Day 4, and I'm still thinking about the theme. Rest assured though, there will be a theme. I literally can't do the whole random thing. It's as if my mind is always trying to create some sense of order in everything I do and around me, so the idea of just randomly posting photos seems nearly impossible. Emphasis on "my mind", as I think an ongoing theme of my life has always been the idea of my trying to make some sense of the constant, bordering on chaotic, noise of thoughts in my head. As a side note, that's also a damn fine explanation as to why I've never had a really good relationship with sleep...getting that constant noise in my head to quiet down takes some work.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Finally, these postings are shared publicly on Facebook, so if you want to see them, just view my profile.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/73K_LE3LMi8" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-38565057279794328602022-12-31T22:08:00.001-05:002022-12-31T22:18:35.434-05:002022: Time<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"> <span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><b><i>Can you teach me 'bout tomorrow</i></b></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">And all the pain and sorrow running free</span></i></b></span></p><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">'Cause tomorrow's just another day</span></i></b></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14px;"><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span></i></b></span></div><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">And I don't believe in time</span></i></b></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">(Hootie and Blowfish, Time)</span></span></div><div><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span><p>Seeing as though this is New Year's Eve, and my regular gig of being off the grid at Ricketts Glen State Park fizzled out, I think it's appropriate to reflect on the year that was (or will be, depending on when someone happens to be reading this).</p><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Time</u></b><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One of the things that became very apparent to me over 2022 is that my very perception of time is changing, literally right before my eyes. You see, in the past, things like seasons took forever to change, and some seemed to last forever. Now? Things seem to be changing in the blink of an eye. What where hot summer days seem only like yesterday, and their return will seem like tomorrow. I'm smart enough to understand that the actual passage of time is, relatively speaking, a constant. What's actually happening is wholly inside my head, and I'm not sure whether this is a good or a not-good thing. Time, as they say, will tell.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Communicating</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've come to understand something about myself that probably requires some work, specifically in the area of communication. What might this be, you may ask? Well, outside of my wife, I probably spend more time talking to my cats than I do my fellow humans. They have the advantage of either being very good listeners or are even better at pretending to listen to me. While either way works for me, this may be a sign that I need to get out more often.</div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Indestructibility</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am increasingly becoming aware of the fact that I am not, in fact, indestructible. This is another thing requiring something of a sea change inside my own head. One must understand that over the years I have been something of a walking accident waiting to happen. In addition to <a href="http://www.sgalbert.com/2022/12/all-this-and-bag-of-chips.html" target="_blank">THIS posting</a>, over the decades I have managed to gash the top of my head, filet my leg with a box cutter, stab my hand separating frozen hotdogs, shatter a drinking glass while cleaning it (and shredding my hand in the process), fracturing ribs after slipping on ice and probably a few other things that I won't share (out of fear that I will sound even more ridiculous). Shy of encasing myself in bubble wrap, I just need to be more careful out there.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rSE2JehSXww" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe>
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Tolerance</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">There are many things I seem to tolerate less and less as the years go on, such as cruelty to animals and bullies. It's to the point where I really can't elaborate much more on this point, as it is actually starting to bother me just thinking about the subject.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Health</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">In 2023 I will turn 59 years old. Clearly, as I sit and type this, my physical health needs work. For example, I have the diet of an 8-year-old that hates vegetables and has uncaring parents. In addition to making grown-up food choices, I also need to exercise more. Yet though, there has been some progress. I have spent more than a fair amount of time over the past several years focusing on my mental health. With a lot of work, I think I have made some progress. There is still work to do...to be honest, there may always be work to do in this area...but it feels like some of the things I've struggled with for a very long time are now better managed. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Persistence</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I only have one superpower: Persistence. While clearly not as cool as the ability to fly or having lasers shooting out of my eyes, I'm still grateful for the gift. It has served me well.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>* * * * * *</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>My wish for all of us in 2023? To remember that life is short and time is fleeting, so it's time for more kindness, less conflict, and less fanaticism...about everything.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/80cJYulk7Y0" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5625481293071943018.post-35461160268937687992022-12-26T15:07:00.007-05:002022-12-26T15:07:53.121-05:00All this, and a bag of chips<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">It's been an eventful few weeks.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">First, my right hand went from this...</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtCP8o8OudriHGQuCmI_8I1LWgiEIM8zZ7n-Vk8c6G0FUMwUbemnHEaHqu2S_4k8uO-AVByZONwjArOpwSd46kzGTkRwivmO_5jU7hHr0zHLBXoQkCArY4WwG4c4kCk0Gd0hhXlKaw-9EVj6IlJvSEX4JKDyXIaLVHNuSn_1DDdb3Vak1buAS5h0_LkQ/s2683/PXL_20220912_220342924.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2683" data-original-width="2020" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtCP8o8OudriHGQuCmI_8I1LWgiEIM8zZ7n-Vk8c6G0FUMwUbemnHEaHqu2S_4k8uO-AVByZONwjArOpwSd46kzGTkRwivmO_5jU7hHr0zHLBXoQkCArY4WwG4c4kCk0Gd0hhXlKaw-9EVj6IlJvSEX4JKDyXIaLVHNuSn_1DDdb3Vak1buAS5h0_LkQ/w151-h200/PXL_20220912_220342924.jpg" width="151" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">...to this...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBoGJUtmZnbpPirS8jcoGHX8lZZpP03blc0d0bnaxVkTIweY7Ig82PAWFXFDsBxJZJjk3uTdvZjLw0nIHWJ87K-PNl2Zbp20T6HWcmj8J7qQpV6zC-1heTCzSVfChfT63yVu8BojiH8ODAf6opXphKx7lqyLDalKeepvOEJt4TyNYl7nV9clXz4804Vw/s2151/PXL_20221118_164153498.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2151" data-original-width="1620" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBoGJUtmZnbpPirS8jcoGHX8lZZpP03blc0d0bnaxVkTIweY7Ig82PAWFXFDsBxJZJjk3uTdvZjLw0nIHWJ87K-PNl2Zbp20T6HWcmj8J7qQpV6zC-1heTCzSVfChfT63yVu8BojiH8ODAf6opXphKx7lqyLDalKeepvOEJt4TyNYl7nV9clXz4804Vw/w151-h200/PXL_20221118_164153498.jpg" width="151" /></a><span style="text-align: center;">...</span>to this...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLwm_SVMIILu27VHnKhH0GB7fTFyXa8pcr9RjyyFXi4s8H33wNQMNeUICGxId9ttofh1TMR7caoQXwxt_X4Pia42o9JUHTZY7wqkg5-RpXVbs9dPvNgF1CY4A4j_-S9HyC5-_IImhr1Ilqq7cuUqTiaA8g-gEkEmKDn56DA3eOVsoAYMPvZm93-EGIlQ/s2626/PXL_20221210_140105300.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2626" data-original-width="1977" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLwm_SVMIILu27VHnKhH0GB7fTFyXa8pcr9RjyyFXi4s8H33wNQMNeUICGxId9ttofh1TMR7caoQXwxt_X4Pia42o9JUHTZY7wqkg5-RpXVbs9dPvNgF1CY4A4j_-S9HyC5-_IImhr1Ilqq7cuUqTiaA8g-gEkEmKDn56DA3eOVsoAYMPvZm93-EGIlQ/w151-h200/PXL_20221210_140105300.jpg" width="151" /></a><span style="text-align: center;">.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The actual healing process continues. This was an entirely self-inflicted wound, in the truest sense of the word, resulting from my failure to wear work gloves while handling lumber. Whatever my co-pay ends up being from the surgery will be worth it. I will note that Dr. Culp and his staff at Geisinger in Pittston were nothing short of terrific. My only complaint, if you want to call it that? Getting the stitches out was a bit of a trial, but again, I basically did this to myself.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Second, there was COVID-19, where I went from this...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWN3ycfAxjbWNRVe0h_aFHAXbgG-F_uWMMH9jGHTNv42nJ3avdau2Wi9gxab6RLAwJcCydeJq_VhfDp-gzgCIx4ndfLsxswcOF4b_HCT_XjG00IDyFLrdFmih0bMkNRjrF_s1IF7ZPQJIC8p7kjwT0bGNJkoWSgOQeFUS5Fwtw5j-ZsVCcq4xvj6L1HA/s2471/PXL_20221201_184239343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2471" data-original-width="1860" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWN3ycfAxjbWNRVe0h_aFHAXbgG-F_uWMMH9jGHTNv42nJ3avdau2Wi9gxab6RLAwJcCydeJq_VhfDp-gzgCIx4ndfLsxswcOF4b_HCT_XjG00IDyFLrdFmih0bMkNRjrF_s1IF7ZPQJIC8p7kjwT0bGNJkoWSgOQeFUS5Fwtw5j-ZsVCcq4xvj6L1HA/w151-h200/PXL_20221201_184239343.jpg" width="151" /></a>...to this... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8fu4CHnv8i3L5aNrLqYPJObd2nuKvnYPEvLIrAfAgkOF0R-6rsnXql3bCXSFgZodaTKxjp0VlvwZr8ySAExIiogXBIf5FI0Fx_OHBE1C8nRnL1n46rfIwtTXkqTjAvUdcRLCor8llejkJ05kSRErnqGN6aAN2f7ieXssjmbQqQhGzJd4U667b8dFuw/s2457/PXL_20221218_224459947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2457" data-original-width="1850" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8fu4CHnv8i3L5aNrLqYPJObd2nuKvnYPEvLIrAfAgkOF0R-6rsnXql3bCXSFgZodaTKxjp0VlvwZr8ySAExIiogXBIf5FI0Fx_OHBE1C8nRnL1n46rfIwtTXkqTjAvUdcRLCor8llejkJ05kSRErnqGN6aAN2f7ieXssjmbQqQhGzJd4U667b8dFuw/w151-h200/PXL_20221218_224459947.jpg" width="151" /></a>.<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">...over the course of about 3 weeks. The ironic part was that I had an updated vaccination the Sunday before I actually got sick. The actual sick part wasn't all that terrible and maybe lasted about 5 days. As someone with asthma, I was a bit worried about having this negatively impacting my breathing, but all things considered, I did okay. It didn't actually impact my sense of taste either. Ditto for Ms. Rivers, who got sick around the same time I did. As to where/how we got sick, well, we think it happened around Thanksgiving. </span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Lastly, we had my taking a bit of a tumble down some steps last Wednesday. Where "little tumble"<br />actually means landing on my hip, then my elbow, and then my head. I now have the honor of having the largest bruise I have ever actually seen on a human being. It's literally bigger than two of my hands put together (and I have giant lobster-claw-sized hands). The brush burn on my head actually hurt more than my hip, and if I were a betting man, I'd say there was a mild concussion at work. Again though, I consider myself lucky in that it could have been worse...and my bruised hip deserves credit for breaking my fall. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">All of the above though is trivia when you think about it. Life is the ultimate contact sport, and I'd rather suffer some of the inconveniences of trying to live life to some degree of fullness and getting hurt (once in a while) than the alternative, namely sitting around and turning into some kind of gelatinous pile of physical, mental and emotional goo. I sadly see that alternative all too often, and it truly makes me sad. All of us have reasons to live, all of us have talents to offer the world, and all of us have important work to do. If that results in a scrape, a bump, or a bruise the size of Rhode Island, well so be it. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>In
the sum total of our lives, the actuality of getting hurt (physically or
otherwise) is always less dangerous than what happens when we take no chances. </b></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0