Journal of an Urbane Gorilla

It's not easy being green*

You know I’m real comfortable being me. I know that I’m not perfect, but I’m a pretty cool sort of guy. Also, at this particular moment, I’m very glad that I’m not Grams.

Most of the time Grams is a very organised person. When we are preparing for a trip she gives me all of the tickets and confirmations for our trip to put in the travel binder. As I said yesterday, the travel binder is essential to every trip and I’m in charge of the travel binder.

I also mentioned yesterday that we had received our Italian Rail Passes. Grams would usually put these with the airline tickets and hotel confirmations and then hand them all off to me. But today, as we were heading out for our afternoon bicycle ride, Grams looked at the kitchen counter and said, “Where’re the passes?” Glances were exchanged and shoulders were shrugged. A mad search through the house ensued. Grams was in tears.

I’ll spare you all the details and cut to the chase: as far as she could reconstruct, yesterday afternoon Grams had put the tickets back in the envelope for safe-keeping. Later, she had seen the envelope on the kitchen counter and, forgetting that she had put the passes back in, tossed it in the recycling pile. The recycling truck came by this morning.

Flash forward to this afternoon: Realising what had happened, Grams suddenly jumped on her bike. I was sitting in the basket of her bike. She took off like a banshee. I looked up at her face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she had a very determined look in her eyes. I leaned around her shoulder and yelled to Big Guy, “She’s headed for the recycling centre!”

I very carefully stood up and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Whoa! Cowgirl! They’re gone, okay? We’ll be okay.” By then Big Guy had caught up with us. He grabbed her by the back of her jeans. Her legs were flailing about. The bike was teetering. She kept sobbing, "I can find them, if I can just get to the recycling centre!" I took her face in my hands, "Everyone in the county has stuff there! Fuhgetaboutit!" After much reassurance and hankie borrowing, we all rode back to the house. Grams went to get on the phone with the people where she bought the ticket. “At least I bought the insurance,” she sniffled as she dialled the phone. Yeah, the insurance was for lost or theft . . . in Europe.

In the end, Grams found out that if she had paid attention to the guide at the website in the first place, she would have realised that she didn’t need to buy the passes. All of our train journeys in Europe are going to cost us in total about €76 ($90, ₤52) each, which is less than half of the cost of the rail passes. He also advised against buying the insurance when purchasing the rail pass. The process for recovery is far too cumbersome for it to be practical.

We have all agreed to get past this episode, but it will make for good family lore. She gives me evil look when I walk past her humming, “it’s not easy being green.” I was thinking of another variation “oh where, oh where, did my rail pass go, oh where, oh where, can it be?” But Big Guy said to me, “Actually, she looks so miserably unhappy; I think that we should give her a break.”

It is the first time she’s lost anything for a trip. So, I guess I should cut her some slack. Lesson learned: pay attention to the details (e.g. what does the insurance cover?), figure out if you really need it (e.g. look at the point-to-point cost and add it all up), and put them item in a safe place immediately (e.g. don't leave them on the counter).

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)


UPDATE: I'm trying this little embed. It's just a test, so no rude comments. Hey, I never video'd anything before and Grams was helping. Need I say more?





*It's not that easy being green;
Having to spend each day the colour of the leaves.
When I think it could be nicer being red, or yellow or gold...
or something much more colourful like that.

It's not easy being green.
It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things.
And people tend to pass you over 'cause you're
not standing out like flashy sparkles in the water
or stars in the sky.

But green's the colour of Spring.
And green can be cool and friendly-like.
And green can be big like an ocean, or important like a mountain,
or tall like a tree.

When green is all there is to be
It could make you wonder why, but why wonder why?
Wonder, I am green and it'll do fine, it's beautiful!
And I think it's what I want to be.

-lyrics by Joe Rapposo
Thanks Kermit.

It's a long lost cause I can never win. For the civilized world accepts as unforgivable sin, any talking out loud with any librarian*

We went to pick up Grams at the library today and I went inside to get her. All I said was, “Wassup?” and I got the finger to the mouth, “shhhhhh!” You know she doesn’t even work where you have to be quiet. She works in the “bowels” of the library – well, that’s what she calls it. Furthermore, she’s not even a real librarian. She catalogues books so that you and I can find them. That’s why she can put her ear buds on and listen to the BBC. Which is why I had to say, “Wassup?” rather loud. Sheesh!

We went to see the accountant. The firm we deal with assigned a new accountant to us. Her name is Eileen and I think that she likes me. Big Guy told her all about our adventures and my book. She was very impressed by my ledger. Grams had to go and tell her that I didn’t actually assemble it. Hey, I did save all the receipts, even the ones that Grams refused to use. I don’t understand why my Reyn Spooner shirts aren’t deductible. I do have an image to maintain after all.

Our Italian Rail Passes arrived. They came with all kinds of goodies, including a DVD. This is about the time when I start to get very excited about our next trip. It’s also the time when I really have to get cracking on putting the travel binder together.

The travel binder contains all our pertinent information: tickets, hotel confirmations, etc. Plus, I put in all the things that I’ve found that look interesting in the places where we’re travelling. So, this time I’ve got to find and print out hot spots in Vienna, Florence (Firenze), Lucca, Pisa, and Siena. Also, Emlyn and Marian are leaving us early and going to Venice, so I’ll have to print out some stuff for them. I, of course, am not going to Venice. We all remember how Venice and I don’t get on.

To add a little interest to the mix this time, Grams has an appointment with a real estate person in Florence. Big Guy and I are keeping our opinions to ourselves on this particular enterprise. We’ll see.

Oh, the picture is of the Nancy Pearl Librarian Action Figure with her diorama. Grams keeps it on her desk.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き
(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

*What can I do, my dear, to catch your ear
I love you madly, madly Madam Librarian...Marian
Heaven help us if the library caught on fire
And the Volunteer Hose Brigade men
Had to whisper the news to Marian...Madam Librarian!
What can I say, my dear, to make it clear
I need you badly, badly, Madam Librarian...Marian
If I stumbled and I busted my what-you-may-call-it
I could lie on your floor
'Till my body had turned to carrion....Madam Librarian.
Now in the moonlight, a man could sing it
In the moonlight
And a fellow would know that his darling
Had heard every word of his song
With the moonlight helping along.
But when I try in here to tell you, dear
I love you madly, madly, Madam Librarian...Marian
It's a long lost cause I can never win
For the civilized world accepts as unforgivable sin
Any talking out loud with any librarian
Such as Marian.....Madam Librarian.

They used to tell me I was building a dream*

Grams has taught me how to appreciate WPA murals. I had never really noticed them before – I mean they’re everywhere, but who really looks at them? Well, she loves them. Not because they’re great art, because they aren’t. She loves them because they express the true feelings of people in the midst of a great crisis: the Great Depression. She calls them, “folk art,” and she says that they still exist amazes her.

This particular mural is at the Coit Tower in San Francisco. I suppose that you could call it subversive, but it was expressing honest feelings of hungry people at the time. Needless to say, not everyone in the WPA arts program was an artist. My favourite is the mural at the old Terminal Annex Post Office in Los Angeles. It’s tells the history of California from pre-historic times, through the conquistadors, to the American conquest. Grams showed it to me and said, “What do you notice?” I looked for a long time, walking down the hall. Then, it hit me: everyone looked alike. Natives, conquistadors, men and women; they all looked alike. “What’s the deal? They all look like they were separated at birth” I said.

“Actually, they all look like the man who was the supervisor of the project,” she smiled. I looked back at the mural, “So, they were buttering up the boss?” I asked. “Or blowing smoke,” she laughed. Grams’ favourite mural can’t be seen anymore. It was in the dining room of the Natural History Museum in L.A. It purported to tell the history of eating. It went from cavemen at one end of the room and wended its way around the room through Henry VIII and the introduction of flatware, up to modern day. She used to go to that dining room just to see the mural and then, one day; it was gone; covered up with panels. Her second favourite was the mural that was in her high school auditorium. That mural told the story of the history of the theatre; starting with the Greeks and all the way up to motion pictures.

Being in one of the alphabet government projects in America during the Great Depression saved many people from starving. Whether it was the WPA or the CCC, building Boulder Dam or the TVA dams; people were finally free from the fear of starving and were being treated with dignity. We take a lot of what came out of that time for granted. Many folks assume that there was always Social Security and laws to protect labour. We can’t imagine what it was like back then. Grams took me to an exhibit about “The Grapes of Wrath,” and then she showed me the movie. “It was all true, Gweeds,” she said and patted me on the head.

I’ve made a slide show of the Coit Tower mural for you. If Bubbleshare is down, they'll come back on line. The next time you see a WPA mural, let me know, okay?

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A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

*"Brother, Can You Spare a Dime,"
They used to tell me I was building a dream, and so I followed the mob,
When there was earth to plow, or guns to bear, I was always there right on the job.
They used to tell me I was building a dream, with peace and glory ahead,
Why should I be standing in line, just waiting for bread?

Once I built a railroad, I made it run, made it race against time.
Once I built a railroad; now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once I built a tower, up to the sun, brick, and rivet, and lime;
Once I built a tower, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,
And I was the kid with the drum!

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.
Why don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,
And I was the kid with the drum!

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.
Say, don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?

- lyrics by Yip Harburg, music by Gorney Harburg (1931)

There's one for you, nineteen for me*

After much procrastination and loud moaning, Grams has finally gotten my tax ledger together. And it’s about time, if you ask me. We meet with the accountant on Wednesday. Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Gweeds, why don’t you do your sums yourself?” Well, I did one year and showed up with a paper bag of receipts. Grams has done my ledger ever since. The problem is that she puts it off until the last possible moment (even though she promised me she’d have them done weeks ago). Oh well, at least they’re done at last. Now we can play.

Grams is funny about taxes. She and Big Guy are the only people I know who don’t mind paying taxes. “Though I would like to get better value for money,” she sighs. What would that be? “Universal health care, universal child care, a living wage for everyone for a start.” Ah, the social safety net thing. Well, they do smile when they write their check to the IRS, I’ll give them that.

I’ve put together another slide show for you – and Grams narrated it. Hope you enjoy it.

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A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

*Let me tell you how it will be;
There's one for you, nineteen for me.
'Cause I’m the taxman,
Yeah, I’m the taxman.

Should five per cent appear too small,
Be thankful I don't take it all.
'Cause I’m the taxman,
Yeah, I’m the taxman.

(if you drive a car, car;) - I’ll tax the street;
(if you try to sit, sit;) - I’ll tax your seat;
(if you get too cold, cold;) - I’ll tax the heat;
(if you take a walk, walk;) - I'll tax your feet.

Taxman!

'Cause I’m the taxman,
Yeah, I’m the taxman.

Don't ask me what I want it for, (ah-ah, Mr. Wilson)
If you don't want to pay some more. (ah-ah, Mr. Heath)
'Cause I’m the taxman,
Yeah, I’m the taxman.

Now my advice for those who die, (taxman)
Declare the pennies on your eyes. (taxman)
'Cause I’m the taxman,
Yeah, I’m the taxman.

And you're working for no one but me.

Taxman!

I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.*

Well, there’s a little over a month before we leave for Vienna and I’ve found a new tool for sharing my adventures with you. I can do audio slideshows. I tried one out yesterday and it worked great. The only problem I have is that my voice is so deep that it’s hard to understand me. So, I’m letting Grams do the narration. Now, I’m waiting for videos that will be cool!

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A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

*Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

CHORUS:
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.

CHORUS:
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.

Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

-lyrics by Steve Goodman

I've got the sun in my heart and my heart's in the sun*

Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day. I was late off the mark, but I’m here to say that love is real. I wish that it were ‘all you need,’ but it does take a whole lot more. But, let’s dedicate ourselves to trying to love more and not just today, but everyday.

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A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

*I never knew that a day like today lay before us
I've got the sun in my heart and my heart's in the sun
The skies are as bright as your eyes the horizon is open
Love is the ceiling feeling are reeling free as the air

Forever on and forever
Forever on side by side
Whoever knew that we too could be free as we fancied
Fancy is free but are we who are bound to each other by love
To each other by love

Whoever knew that we too could be free as we fancied
Fancy is free but we are who are bound to each other by love
To each other by love
To each other by love
To each other by love

Make the world go away

This morning I lifted my wee head off the pillow and heard the waves crashing on the shore. When I stumbled downstairs and told Grams and Big Guy, they nodded and went on reading the Sunday papers. I poured myself ½ cocoa, ½ coffee in a cup and settled into the Sunday funnies.

We get 3 newspapers. Big Guy reads the paper from the big city down south, Grams reads the paper from the big city back east, and I read the local Santa Tourista paper (affectionately know as the Snooze Press).

As I checked out Doonesbury, Non Sequitur, Opus and all my other faves (I do miss Calvin and Hobbes), I could still hear the waves. I elbowed Grams. She sighed, “All right, we’ll ride to the bluffs. But, if I fall again . . .” “Oooh, ooooh, can we go by the slough?” I pleaded. “Oh Gweeds, that awful hill!” “You can do it!” I smiled.

So, after breakfast and the grocery shopping, off we went. This time I brought my camera. We rode past the golf course and a Grey Heron that posed for me. We rode past the pair of ducks that appeared to be baby-sitting hundred of ducklings. We rode past some young boys doing stunts on the side of the road on their dirt bikes. We went up that long hill with me saying to Grams, “you can do it, you can do it!” She did do it, finally. Then we got to the bluffs.

The waves weren’t huge, they were rather ordinary. We looked at one another, gobsmacked. They weren’t even good for body surfing. “It must’ve been the wind. It made it sound louder bigger than it is,” I said. The sky was beautiful though. I took a few pictures.

On the way back, Grams likes to speed down that steep foreboding hill. I think that it’s her way of thumbing her nose at the hill for making her sweat on the way up. I cover my eyes and plead with her to tell me when it’s over. Anyway, she screeched to a stop at the bottom and, heart still pounding, I took these photos of the slough. It’s so peaceful out there. Even though we passed walkers, runners and other bike riders, it was quiet and calm. The troubles of the world went away for a short time.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

Put a cork in it

I was waiting for Grams yesterday. She works half a day at the library and Big Guy and I come to collect her every day in time for lunch. I was standing outside the library and thinking about the world gone mad.

People around the world are being whipped up into frenzy over some pretty reprehensible religious/political cartoons that mock the prophet Mohammad. Meanwhile, in the parts of the world that are not Muslim, people can’t understand why Muslims don’t understand that right to free speech means the obligation to defend that which we abhor. Whether or not it was Voltaire who said, “I disapprove of what you say, but will defend to the death your right to say it,” it had enough resonance to inspire ordinary Americans to insist that the framers add amendment #1 of the Bill of Rights to the newly ratified Constitution.

Most of the irate Muslims live in countries where the press is controlled by the state. So, it’s natural that they would think that if a newspaper prints an offensive cartoon then it must be the policy of the state. People in the U.S. and western Europe are so habituated to their right to say what they want that they can’t understand the current Islamic fury.

Tolerance is such a tricky thing. I asked Grams once if you have to forgive people. “Oh yes, you have to forgive, but you sure as hell don’t have to forget. No one ever said that you have to lie down in the road for someone to steamroll over you. Got that?” Oh, I got it. But, the next step is co-existence. To co-exist you must have tolerance.

There just doesn’t seem to be a lot of tolerance these days. Seems like everyone needs to be right, needs to have the last word, needs to get even. What happened to just letting the other person have the last word and then just walking away? It’s called turning the other cheek – not lying down in the road, just turning the other cheek.

So, there I was waiting for Grams and I noticed this tree for the first time. It’s always been there, but I had never noticed it before. It’s a cork tree. It’s so cool. I’ve never looked at a cork tree close up before. Then, I thought about corks. Then, I thought about all of the turmoil in the world. Then, I thought, “Oh put a cork in it can’t you?”

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,






Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

Oh the days of the Kerry dancing*

Well, Grams has had this contusion thingie on her leg for so long, I’ve given up on it going away. So, since it looks like a permanent attachment, I’ve given it a name: Shin Feign. As you can see Shin is slightly bigger than Kneesie. I’ve asked Shin nicely to go away and it promises to; but then it stays.

Grams looked at this picture and said, “You can’t use that! It looks as if I have elephantiasis!” It is what it is. That thing is uuuuugly. “Look away! I’m hideous!” she said. Can’t deny it, she’s right.

Fortunately, it’s not interfering with her ability to walk or ride her bike. Unfortunately, she’s making me hold the ice pack on it when she’s sitting down. What I don’t do for the woman!

Well, she’d better get well by the time we leave for Vienna, or I’m all for leaving her home. “Oh sure, take me out behind the barn and shoot me!” she cried. Hmmmmmm.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,




Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)




* Oh, the days of the Kerry dancing
Oh, the ring of the piper's tune
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness
Gone, alas, like our youth, too soon!
When the boys began to gather
In the glen of a summer's night
And the Kerry piper's tuning
Made us long with wild delight!
Oh, to think of it
Oh, to dream of it
Fills my heart with tears!

I won't let you leave my love behind *

Last week I was scanning some old photos for Grams. She has a grand project of scanning all of her negatives onto my new hard drive. Now I can see why she got me such a nice big hard drive. Anyway, I ran across a couple of rolls of negatives that were pictures of drawings.

These drawings were done by Grams’ late friend, Richard Hopper. Richard was a sketch artist and costume designer. Richard had done the drawings for a get well card for another designer. The one here was of Grams. “Oh how he made me laugh,” she said. “Nobody could make me laugh like Richard.” He was “Uncle Dickie” to her children. Everyone loved Richard. He had a wonderful imagination. Grams was especially fond of his “butler,” Breakwind.

So, looking at the pictures made her laugh, then she turned away looking as if she were someplace I couldn't go. Finally, she told me what she was thinking. She lost Richard a few years back to that awful plague AIDS. He was in a coma the last time she saw him. No more jokes. No more laughs. No more good times. And then it was over.

“He was finally out of pain, but I still miss him. The good die young,” then she laughed, “I’m living proof of that!” I would’ve hugged her, but I was holding the ice pack on her shin. Yes, it’s still swollen. She’d better get better before Vienna.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

*Everybody's Talking At Me

I don't hear a word they're saying,
Only the echoes of my mind.
People stopping staring,
I can't see their faces,
Only the shadows of their eyes.
I'm going where the sun keeps shining
Through the pouring rain,
Going where the weather suits my clothes,
Backing off of the North East wind,
Sailing on summer breeze
And skipping over the ocean like a stone.
Everybody's talking at me.
Can't hear a word they're saying,
Only the echoes of my mind.
I won't let you leave my love behind.

- Harry Nilsson