by Richard Timothy | Aug 12, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, I Do Suggest, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
So I recently accessed the hard drive of my old computer that died about 9 months ago. There were two brilliant things that happened as a result of this. First, I was able to retrieve about 30GB of music that I had ripped to MP3s and then sold the CDs to a used CD shop. The second thing I found was a download of a commercial that I absolutely love.
My brother found it years ago and sent me a copy because he too thought it was well worth the viewing. I remember I use to watch the thing about once a week. As time passed, and eventually when the computer died, this commercial got stored into the spring loaded closet in my mind. This is a closet that we all store memories in, memories that are only lightly or barely forgotten. When something finally triggers one of these memories it is not a subtle “Oh yeah, I think I remember that” experience, but instead it is a sudden jolt or remembrance, which shoots the memory with such an intense remember fondness that you are surprised you had ever forgotten it in the first place.
It’s a foreign commercial, so I have no idea what is being said, but it is made well enough that you will definitely get the message. Enjoy (click here if video does not play).
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzmzL0hALQs]
It’s subtle and absolutely brilliant, and it makes me want to be better and help others. I remember when I first saw this, years ago, I tried to find out what the site was, but all my Internet searches kept coming up as ‘not found.’ Today however… let’s just say it’s amazing what five plus years of internet evolution can do for situations like this. This time, with Google as my search buddy, I discovered a link to the company Friends. They even have a section in English explaining what it is they do.
Turns out Friends is a ‘stop bullying in schools’ organization that was founded in Sweden in 1997. It was set up to help schools create a system for addressing the issue of bullying. To sum them up, I’m just going to give you the following excerpt from their site, “We work with helping pupils to speak up against meanness and injustice, to make them believe in themselves and to respect and care for each other.”
I remember my own being bullied experiences, granted, usually it they were from my older brothers. Winter time was always the worst because I always found myself being attacked by a barrage of snow balls by my oldest brother and his ruffian friends. All of which were at least five years older than I was. Sure I always lost, but every once in a while I hit one of them in the head with a tightly packed ball of snow, which always made for a sweet defeat. There were a few instances though that I remember from grade school that terrified me for a few weeks until the bully found some new victim that couldn’t run as fast as I could.
I have to admit though, that having found out what the organization does helps me enjoy the commercial that much more. I think I appreciate it so much because it’s the subtle, simple acts of kindness that can transform a situation from horrible to passable, dreadful to encouraging, or simply bad to good, or even good to the best day ever. Random acts of kindness, they make the world a better place. Making friends instead of controlling minions seems to be a growing part of our evolutionary approach to others; at least I hope it is. Maybe there will always be bullies, but helping the next generations create a dialogue and experience that reduces that number every year, that’s just pretty damn cool.
So, what did you think of the commercial?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: commercial, anti-bullying, and free hugs.
by Richard Timothy | Aug 5, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
I’ve heard this saying for years, and at times I myself have said it to others. As a philosophy, it makes absolutely no sense. I think that if people feel that way about their life it is a result of their own poor choices, which is solely their fault and then need to own that and move past it. If they try to compare their grass to someone else, then that is clearly one of the key problems they suffer from and need to work on.
Today though, I am referring to this saying in a very literal… archaic translation, but literal all the same. Instead of literal, let’s go with a loose translation. I’ll get to that literal portion in a minute. The thing is, I hate yard work, and by hate I mean hate hate. Much in the same way Attila the Hun hated people telling him to use a napkin and utensils when he would eat. Yard work has always been that daunting task that loomed overhead when the weekend rolled around. This included things like weeding, trimming trees, planting flowers, edging, and the always tedious mowing of the lawn.
I don’t mind the outdoors, and I’m always fascinated by the raw beauty of nature. It’s just as a participant there in I usually try my best to stay clear of direct sunlight when I’m experiencing nature due to a skin condition. I believe the Latin’s call it sunburnus alloverus easilus. The invention of SPF enriched goo’s and creams have helped legions of people with the same skin condition exist and interact more in naturesque shade-free areas. I mean what did we have before that? Coconut oil, and all that did was make you smell really good when you would get sun cooked while wearing it, causing those less evolved and nostril motivated to want to eat you.
I know that for some, yard work is the cat’s meow, the marshmallow in your rice crispy treat, or the Bailey’s in your White Russian. It’s like seeing a bear in its natural habitat… a Studebaker. (I watched the Muppet Show recently and have been wanted to use that line ever since.) I for one am very grateful for people like that. Mainly because it allows me to hire someone to do something they love, so that I can avoid doing something I hate. It’s a rather brilliant exchange, one of which I have just started to partake in after all these years of begrudgingly working in the yard. It’s clear my yard knows how I feel about caring for it. It’s clear to everyone on my block, because it’s burned, withered, and tarnished. So believe me when I tell you that in my neighborhood the grass really is quite literally greener on the other side of the fence.
Now some people might consider yard work one of those must dos when they become a home owner. It might even be one of those relationship expectations, commonly expected to be completed bi-weekly by the more masculine in the relationship. Well if that’s the case, I say put a bow in my hair and call me Ethel. Fortunately my cutie-baby-sweetie-pie and I share the intense abrasion toward working on, in, or around our yard. So with our new yard guy it’s amazing how joyous we have become by simply giving that task to someone else who is happy to do it.
It removes any grumbling about mowing the lawn, or “I did it last week, it’s your turn this week” or any pointless petty conversations that can arise because we both feel the same way about yard work. Some might grumble about the cost, but seriously $60 a month for not only peace of mind, but the joy that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to do it is more than worth it. Besides, the 2+ hours it would take me to work on the lawn is now 2+ hours I can spend working on my book(s), or even writing a weekend Smirk for others to read and get a giggle or two from.
If you hate yard work as much as I do, hire it out, trust me on this. You will be amazed at the joy it can bring into your life, and you’ll thank you, the person you hire will thank you, your partner will thank you, and your lawn will thank you, which is a lot of thanks for a relatively simple and effective solution.
What are you feelings about yard work?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: grass is greener, tan lines, Fozzy in Studebaker, and jumping for joy.
by Richard Timothy | Jun 21, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, I Think There's a Point, Life Characters, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Father’s Day 2010, began as any other Sunday so far this summer. It consisted of me sleeping in. Now I normally don’t pay much attention to storybooks that try to teach the readers lessons via parable, but I really do think there is something to be said about that whole day of rest thing. I’d go so far as to add that if we were to split up that whole day of rest concept and do a few hours of rest each afternoon from two to four, sometimes five, then the world would be a much better place in general.
I was looking forward to today. It was going to be filled with visiting friends and family for the purpose of good conversation and grand food consumption. When noon arrived Angela and I were both ready to go to our friends house for brunch. There was however, one hiccup in this plan. When Angela ran downstairs into our living room, the floor was saturated with a thin layer of splash just waiting to attack an unsuspecting dry foot or two. Our basement had flooded… again.
The first time was a result of our neighbors turning on the outdoor faucet next to our fence, and leaving it running for a day or so… in January! We did catch that flood much earlier, but it was around midnight and it took a lot longer to get any assistance from any professionals. I had managed to spend 3 hours out in the freezing cold bailing water out of our stairwell and my jeans were frozen and had about a half inch of ice caked around them from my knees to my feet. Needless to say, it was a very long and very, very cold night. When all things were said and done, at least we got the basement re-carpeted with a much lovelier color. There was some concern that I may have accrued a mild case of hypothermia, but a two hour long hot shower and about two days in bed pretty much moved that concern into just a passing thought.
This time it was a much warmer disaster. I mean the flooding was a little worse, but nowhere near as horrible an experience as last time. Plus, this time Angela knew someone that has a business that cleans up homes from these very types of mishaps. They were over and working on the cleanup in less than an hour. Plus, bailing water out of the stairwell was sooooo much warmer this time. Just as exhausting, but completely hypothermia free. I even got to work on my tan a little.
I do feel a little responsible for this flood though, for two reasons. First, I’ve been wanting to begin working out a bit more. Nothing insane like triathlon training, but something light and fluffy, kind of like riding my bike to the local pet story to pet some baby rabbits and then a bike ride back home. You know, just a little something extra that gets the heart pumping consistently for about 20 minutes every to every other day. The thing is, I never really specified to the universe how I wanted that to look. I really only shared that I had that intention. Let’s just say that bailing water out of a stairwell for an hour and then moving all the furniture out of the basement and up a flight of stairs is an amazing workout. My heart was power pumping for well over an hour today because of the action that this whole fiasco got me to do. Lesson: Try to be as specific as possible when setting your personal exercising intentions.
Reason two… so here’s what happened. Late last night I turned on the water to our sprinkler system for the first time this year. We have a nozzle in the back yard that I leave open when I turn off the water so that the water can drain out of that pipes so they will not freeze and break during the winter. I sort of, completely, forgot that that nozzle was still open. The result, water poured out of the nozzle all night, poring over our yard, across our cement patio and water falling down the steps into our stairwell and seeping in through the back door thus flooding the basement. Lesson 2: When you turn on your water for the season, always, and I mean ALWAYS check every nozzle in your yard to make sure everything is closed tightly before going to bed… ALWAYS!!!
A flowed basement does make for a very long afternoon, but things are now cleaned up and fans are blowing to dry out the carpet. Once it’s all dry, all we’ll need is some new padding installed and we can get our basement back to normal. See, I still have the workout of moving all of the furniture back downstairs to look forward to as well.
On another plus note, at least of the furniture in the basement has been thoroughly dusted for the first time in about four months. You wouldn’t think dusty book shelves would be something you’d notice when packing up boxes and hauling everything in your living room upstairs in a hurry, but they were pretty noticeably. I got them cleaned up once the cleaning crew arrived and started sucking all of the water out of the basement.
Once everything was situated, and the cleaners had left with the fans running there was nothing left for use to do at the house, so plans returned to normal and we headed to my parents house to have Father’s Day dinner with the family, which brings me to the fatherly portion of today’s Father’s Day theme. When talking about my dad there are a few things that do come to mind. First are his three favorite jokes, which are:
Q: What is the difference between a duck?
A: One of its feet are both the same.
Q: Why does a mouse when it spins?
A: Because the higher up the more.
Q: What’s the different between a banana?
A: It’s about this color (while holding up your index fingers about 10 inches apart).
When he would ask people if they wanted to hear a joke the actual joke was the person listening to him tell the joke. It was the reaction of the listener that was the joke, the punch line so to speak. The reaction to the joke the first time someone would hear it always got him laughing… and I’m sure it still does. He tells those joke every chance he gets.
A few other items that help explain the character that is my father are, he has all of his thumbs and fingers. Sure that may seem a bit standard for most people to openly accept about their parents, or people in general, but it just so happens that my father was an industrial arts (aka wood shop teacher) for over 30 years. You can now understand how having all of his fingers and thumbs is a much bigger accomplishment that you would have originally thought. It definitely helps one understand his attention to detail.
Some people are born to be artists, some are born to be singers, some are born to be that guy in IT that is incredibly self indulgent and bloated with self importance and will take two day to complete a task that only takes about 2 minutes of actual work. Then there are some, like my dad, that were born to be a teacher. Teaching has always been his calling, his passion, and his joy in life. He was the one teacher that everyone loved, and would get the loudest reaction from the student body when his name was announced.
He also treated everyone equally. I even flunked my brother one quarter because my brother felt the need to make a point to the other kids in class. A few kids were teasing my brother one day, telling him that he was going to get an A because his dad was teaching the class. So to prove them wrong, my brother did nothing in class for a good portion of the quarter and accumulated an F, just to show the kids that my dad always give the grade you earned. It didn’t matter who you were.
The stories about this man and by this man are almost as epic as the stories he would make up each night and tell us as we would go to sleep each night. I suppose if I had to pick just one word to describe my father it would be “storyteller.” He is, was, and has always been a storybook, waiting for someone to ask him a question so he could reply, “That reminds me of a story.” Then for the next 5 to 20 minutes he would share his story with you, and anyone willing to listen. At the end your question would be answered and you imagination would be filled. Some stories were made up just to display the point he was trying to make, but most of the time they were true stories about him, doing something he shouldn’t have, and was sharing it with you in hopes that he could teach you, through his story, the lesson he learned, so that you could hopefully avoid learning the same thing he did in the same way he had.
So on this Father’s Day I raise a glass and toast… To the father’s in my life who have always offered their support and love, who have give advice when it was asked and offered when it wasn’t, but was needed anyway. Thanks for being there through the tough times and laughing with me in good. And to my dear old dad, thank you for passing on your gift as a storyteller, which actually reminds me of a story…
I love you, I thank you, and I honestly wouldn’t be here without you! Cheers!
How was your Father’s Day?
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: Father’s Day, flooded basement, yard faucet, dusty bookshelves, teacher, and storyteller.
![My June with June]()
by Richard Timothy | Jun 18, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, Life Characters, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Over the years, mostly the years that filled the first part of my 20s, I spent a fair amount of time in Jackson Wyoming, usually working a summer job, or two, and only once, three. One thing about Jackson is that it is the same Jackson that is internationally visited, loved, referred to and known as Jackson Hole. What is the difference? Jackson is a town and Jackson Hole is an area that encompasses Jackson and about three or four other little towns in the area. When living there, this was usually how we’d tell the difference between a tourist and a local. Tourists always seemed refer to all things Jackson as Jackson Hole.
Of course this did have its opportunities as well. When chatty tourists would ask me where I was from, I would always tell them I was from Navel Wyoming, explaining that it was about thirty miles north of Jackson Hole. Sometimes they’d get it and laugh, and other times I’d get a funny look and they would walk away. There were six different occasions that the joke flew completely over their heads and they just kept asking me about it. Saying things like, “I sure bet it beautiful up there.” Once, I did get an old couple from the mid-west asking me, “Sounds lovely. Does it get a lot of visitors?” That time, I was the one cutting the conversation a little short.
Spending a few summers working in Jackson did enable me to meet some rather eccentric characters. Then there were others that made the word eccentric look like the type of word you’d expect to hear from those creepy kid show monsters that have televisions in their stomachs and a sun made out of a baby. June was one of those people.
June was the executive chef for a resort I got a summer job at after. I managed to get the job of the Assistant Pastry Chef for the summer with no baking experience whatsoever. How was I able to land such a job? Two reasons… make that three reasons. First, I was one of the few people that she interviewed that said I’d be willing to show up at work by 5am to start up the kitchen, meaning turn on all the lights and get all the burners started for the morning line cooks, and then get baking some pastries for the breakfast menu, or conference breakout sessions, or Sunday brunch. Second, my brother worked there and was the head line cook for the morning and lunch. And third, my brother was one of her favorite employees, which pretty much sealed the deal.
An executive chef is the heartbeat of a kitchen. They compile the recipes. They hire everyone that is going to be working under them. They order all the food. They spend hours doing all of the mundane paperwork required to make a kitchen function properly. Becoming an executive chef is one of those “hey, what happened?!” professions. You spend years going to culinary school, and interning under brilliant chefs, who are quite possibly clinically insane. Then, when you finally get the opportunity to be put in charge of your own kitchen, you predominantly stop cooking and become a paper pusher. It seems to go against the whole motivation for becoming a chef in the first place. Perhaps this is why all chefs are a little crazy.
June… June was… you know when someone says something a little off and you tilt your head to the side as they are talking, as a non-verbal attempt to tell the other person that their current conversation is walking the tight rope of normality. June keeps you tilting you head until the next thing you know you are doing a head stand and she is looking at you with her head half tilted attempting to non-verbally tell you something.
June was British, is British (I don’t think that ever goes away). This meant that when she would yell at you, because if there is one thing that executive chefs can do its yell proficiently, you’d always fight the urge to not smile because of that endearing accent. If you did smile, she would take personal offense to this and her yelling would then become a bit more personal. Things like, “You are a solid example of why cousins should not marry.”
June had gone to culinary school in France, which helped land her a job in the US, in Jackson Wyoming at a ski resort. Now if I stopped there, that is by no means odd or eccentric in any way. Now let’s add that she lived in a tipi… in Wyoming… about forty miles from work… with sled dogs… lots of sled dog… 20 to 30 of them… which she would breed during the summer… and train for and actually race with during the winter months. The first summer I started working for her she was elated because after 8 years she had finally gotten running water installed in her tipi, which make making her morning tea that much easier.
The warmish weather in western Wyoming lasts about three months tops, June, July, and August, and there is always a chance that you could have a random snow storm pass by during any of those three months to remind them that the 7 to 8 months of cold and snow are right around the corner. I don’t care who you are, well unless you are one of those igloo living Eskimos, living in a tipi year around in Wyoming doesn’t just cross the line from basic normality into the region of eccentric behavior, it sticks you in one of those giant slingshots that Wile E. Coyote purchases from ACME, and very rigorously shoots you past the eccentric realm and slams you right into the cliffs of insanity. Now surround that tipi with 20 to 30 separate dog kennels, each one housing an Alaskan sled dog, and you begin to understand the sheer baffling appreciation and unexpected splendor that comes with knowing June.
She did eventually leave the resort and started her own catering business. One June, probably four or five years after I had first worked for June, I got a call from my brother Dave, who still lived in Jackson and was in contact with June. He said that she was catering a big wedding and could use some help getting everything ready. It would be about three days of solid work and she’d pay me $13 an hour. It was $5 more an hour than I was making at my current summer job in Utah, and I did have some vacation time coming to me, so I told him to let her know I’d be there to help out when the work started two weeks later.
June’s catering business was run out of the kitchen on her property. I was concerned that this meant I’d be cooking in a tipi, which breaks heath codes of all shapes and sizes. When I got to June’s place, which was my first time actually seeing it in person, the layout had this special ambiance about it that for the first two or three takes left your mind feeling a little like an Etch A Sketch. You’d look at the setup and then close your eyes and shake your head vigorously from side to side until the image went away. Then you’d open your eyes and start all over again.
In the foreground of the scene were two well sized sheds that June had built herself. There was about 30 yards of tire trodden and gravel covered ground and between the two sheds. Then between the two sheds and about 10 yards back were 20+ kennels scatter around, each one with a sled dog. Then, in the middle of it all, was a giant tipi, about 25 feet in the air with a little smoke coming out of the top from an old pot belly stove she had installed the first summer she had moved into it.
The sheds were our work spaces. One was filled with coolers for food storage and the other was filled with pots, pans, ovens, and burners. It was fully furnished for all your catering needs. Over the next three days I worked with June getting all the food ready for the upcoming wedding. Things went quite smoothing too, but there were a few truly unforgettable moments that did give me reason to for a little while.
The first was admiration and awe at the absolute knowledge June had for each of her dogs. It was on the second day that a hot air balloon decided to grace our sky with its presence. This was not a terribly common occurrence and the dogs were a bit put off by the sudden appearance of a bright shiny round thing that for all intensive purposes belonged on the ground so they could play with it. They kept barking at it trying to explain that very logic to the balloon. The moment after each bark, June knew exactly which dog had barked and would call out to them by name to get them to calm down. It was amazing. I’ve met some parents with only two kids that are unable to perform that function. June had 20+ dogs and knew every single one of their barks.
The second unforgettable thing was June’s cat. A cat, I feel, that could give Greebo (Nanny Ogg’s tomcat of Discworld fame) a run for his money. The cat had reign over all the kennels and the dogs knew that the cat was to be left alone. There was one moment when the dogs were all out having a bit of a recess were they could run around and play a little and the cat just sat there in the middle of them all, watching them with the disinterest of a sober college student staring at a lava lamp. As the cat left the recess area, not a single dog attempted to get in its way.
I think one of my favorite moments would have to be when I was outside cooking about 30 pounds of potatoes for some potato salad that we would be making for the wedding luncheon. There I was standing outside between two big pots filled with water, both under an open flame looking at the Tetons in the distance, talk about a kitchen with a view. I’m not sure why, but it made me smile to know that I was cooking up food for a high end Jackson Wyoming wedding in the same manner I did when I was a boy scout some 10 to 15 years earlier, out camping in the woods.
I’m not sure what ever happened to June. I don’t know if she still lives in the tipi, or if she is still raising and racing sled dogs. Regardless of where she has gone, or what she is doing now, I am grateful for the privilege I had of meeting, working with, and knowing my friend June.
If you have any crazy chef stories, please do share.
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: Jackson Wyoming, pastry chef, tipi, Etch A Sketch, cat surrounded by dogs, and tipi by Tetons.
![My June with June]()
by Richard Timothy | May 31, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, Holiday Banter, I Do Suggest, I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
I did have a Smirk that I was going to post today, which I’ve been working on the past few days, but, clearly, I opted out of posting it due mainly to the fact that today is a holiday, Memorial Day to be precise. At its origin, Memorial Day was refereed as Decoration Day, where people would decorate the graves of Union soldiers that died during the American Civil War. The decorations were a way of paying respect and giving thanks to the soldiers who died while in service of the military.
Even as early as 1882 the name Memorial Day was used in relation to this holiday, but it was not until 1971 that it officially changed. The day was changed to always be observed on the last Monday of May in order to ensure a three day weekend. It also marks the beginning of summer.
I get that Memorial Day is for remembering our fallen military, but for me ever since I was little, the holiday as evolved into something more. To me, Memorial Day is a Dia de los Muertos, Day of the Dead. It’s not just a day for fallen soldiers, it’s a day for remembering all that have passed on. Since my mom’s grandparents were alive while I was growing up in Wyoming, there was never a need to go the their graves for memorial day, but once a year the family we would travel to Idaho and visit the little head stones of my dad’s parents. Then, as we would weed, edge, and deleaf their graves, and scrub clean their headstones, my dad would tell us stories about Grandma and Grandpa Timothy.
When my dad’s voice would start to crack and the silence between each sentence grew longer that is when the stories would come to a close, and we would go to the car and get out the food for our Memorial Day picnic. Usually it was sandwiches and Kool-Aid, and sometimes it was sandwiches and Kool-Aid and 7 Up mixed together for the magical combination of twice the sugar with only half the bubbles. Still, it was a treat that we never took for granted.
After lunch was over, we would usually head back home which consisted of me sitting in the middle of back seat with my feet on the hump and my knees to my chest. I would dare say that this was my least favorite traveling position, but as it turned out, it was rather fortuitous. I was a head duck away from a sitting fetal position, which was always helpful when sitting between my two older brothers who, on more than one occasion, would feel compelled to fight out what was between them… namely me. I love them both to pieces now, but as the little brother growing up, my old brothers were bastards… of course I mean no disrespect towards my mom. I’m just saying… we didn’t always get along when we were little.
Memorial Day is one of those red wine holidays. The older I get the more I appreciate and savor the holiday. I am grateful to the service men that did what they felt they needed to for this country, and I’m grateful for those that I have known who have expired. My grandparents on both sides of the family are now gone, but it was their lessons they transferred onto my parents that helped them become the parents they are for me. Today is a holiday to celebrate the memories we have of those who are gone and it should be a celebration. Their life has affected our life and for that, I am thankful.
Even though today is the US day of observance there are similar holidays celebrated for this same purpose. There is:
And I’m sure the list just keeps going from there. There is a certain homage that is tied to people who have served and died for their country. I do think, though, that one can serve their country without military service. I look at people working at a soup kitchen to assist those in need, or people offering their time to serve people in hospitals, or donating blood, or any type of service that helps others. To me, that is serving your country.
And to add just a one more thing to my little soapbox moment here, please try to leave the politics at home on days like today. Let’s try being gracious to those that are gone. So lift a glass, pint, mug, bottle, cask, keg… whatever really, but lift your drink and offer a thanks. I don’t see the point in getting angry on a day like today, it doesn’t do you any good and it doesn’t do those that are gone any good. I do admit I have no experience with losing a loved one due to war. I’m sure it’s different for you.
I think most service men die because those in charge made poor decisions or were too proud to have conversations with other people in charge that could save lives. Then again, there is also the occasional crazy bastard that just wants to kill epic amounts of innocent people. In which case I do think people like that could benefit from either a lobotomy or a circumcision that starts at the base of the neck. I guess the point is, that on your day of remembrance, you choose to remember the loved ones who is gone, and not what took them away.
I’m actually off to my brother’s for a BBQ this afternoon. When I get there, I’m going to have both my parents tell us a story about their parents. Even though we didn’t visit any graves this year, at least we can share and celebrate the memories we have of them. So to all those who have gone to whatever beyond you think might exist or not exist, to those who believed in and gave something to this world and their country , and to my grandparents, my Aunt Carol and Uncle Dee, and to my friend Alison. And finally to days like today, which remind us to remember. Cheers!
How was your Memorial Day?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: Memorial Day, family picnic, and grandpa telling stories.
by Richard Timothy | May 25, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, I Do Suggest, I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement, Reviewed and Recommended
I remembered my towel today, and I didn’t panic once. Plus, I do believe I understand the psyche of Linus much better now as well. I did notice that there were a number of people at work today that gave me a noticeable glance of confused inquiry when I walked into the office with a towel draped over my satchel. The nice thing about towel accompaniment is that when you enter a situation where people are in the midst of panic you know you are going to be just fine, and you know why? Because you remembered your towel.
I figure this is the reason why these people only hurriedly glance in my direction as opposed to deliberate staring, or conversing with me as to why I had a towel. I would dare venture to say that the only people smiling at me were people who had also come to work today with a towel, but I was the only towel wielding one in the place. So venturing to say that would do no good. I did explain to a few friends in upper management my towel toting ensemble was a result of it being Towel Day, but this really didn’t help the confusion. So I gave them the history of this panic free day of remembrance.
Towel day first started in 2001, just two weeks after the sudden and premature death of author Douglas Adams. And since its incarnation, on every 25th of May for the past nine years, fans of Douglas display their love and appreciation of both the author and his works by toweling around for the day with a towel.
For those of you not familiar with the work of Douglas and therefore are a bit lost in regards to the towel homage being giving, here is my public service for the day. Here is the origin of the greatness of the towel, found in Chapter 3 of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
“A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapors; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (such a mind-bogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.
More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have “lost”. What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.”
— Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
Douglas captured my creative appreciation when I first introduced to him by my brother Dave, who gave me a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy for my 16th birthday. It was groovy enough that upon turning 16, I was legal to drive a car without supervisor, but to top it off I had a guide book, which even though it never helped me get a date, at least it reassured me that I would never be as depressed and Marvin, and encouraged me to always know where my towel was.
At 16 “The Guide” was a novelty and a source of a good laugh, but I never really let myself marinade in its Douglasian wit. It was a good read and a recommendation that I would give to others, but I never sought for more. My true appreciation for Douglas didn’t develop until he was, well, post Douglas and I read The Salmon of Doubt for the first time. There was something about the person Douglas that others wrote about that captured my true appreciation for the writer Douglas. The short articles that filled the first half of Salmon of The Doubt kept me laughing out at his wit, wordplay, and perspective on life that makes the loss of Douglas that much more reminiscent of Vogon poetry.
Since it is Towel Day and I am going to share a few of my Douglas related tokens I received this year, both from one of my new Facebook friends John Palfrey. The first is a nugget of Douglas trivia. Apparently, according to the book Pigs Might Fly by Mark Blake, The Inside Story of Pink Floyd, David Gilmour and Douglas Adams were best mates… I had no idea. So to those of you that didn’t know, you’re welcome (thanks John), and if you happen to be one of those that did know, you have all earned yourself the brown Arts & Literature Trivial Pursuit triangle. Well done and roll again.
The other thank you to John is for sending me the photo he took of Douglas’ headstone a few years back. Yes, that is a toy dolphin setting on top of it. There are some sayings that seem to find their perfect place in time and space. Creating a type of literary immortality where, as long as there are people who read, these phrases will live on. Some have been tried by time and translation, and are here for the long count. Phrases like, “And it came to pass”, “To be or not to be”, and “When in Rome.”
Then there are some sayings that are so poignant that even in their own time they catch a people’s minds and hearts and will not go gently into that good night. These phrases include “I have a dream”, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself”, and, of course, “So long and thanks for all the fish.” There are words that tie humanity together. Phrases that inspire in us, give us joy, strengthen our resolve, fill us with passion, bring us together in unity, and fill us with laughter. Douglas always had a gift at the latter of those.
Apart from all the unsure and panic stricken glances that today held, I did have, what I believe alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity, which was this… regardless how you feel about Douglas or his canon of Hitchhiking tales, there is one irrevocable truth that encompasses today… As long as we live in a world where there are towels, we will have a world that remembers Douglas Adams.
Did any of you remember your towel today?
Image Source: John Palfrey and Google Images, key words: Towel Day, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and The Salmon of Doubt.
I have to admit though, that having found out what the organization does helps me enjoy the commercial that much more. I think I appreciate it so much because it’s the subtle, simple acts of kindness that can transform a situation from horrible to passable, dreadful to encouraging, or simply bad to good, or even good to the best day ever. Random acts of kindness, they make the world a better place. Making friends instead of controlling minions seems to be a growing part of our evolutionary approach to others; at least I hope it is. Maybe there will always be bullies, but helping the next generations create a dialogue and experience that reduces that number every year, that’s just pretty damn cool.
