Susan's Scribblings the Blog

A writer from the Philadelphia area shares the week online.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog
  • Who the Heck is Kayewer?
  • Monthly Archives: October 2018

    • It’s Outta Control

      Posted at 1:32 am by kayewer, on October 28, 2018

      We control nothing. Those are three words I say a lot lately, and it’s really true. For all our efforts to reign in our environment and ourselves, none of it can truly be tethered to a singular idea or truth.

      Let’s take something simple such as a river: the saying is that you never step in the same spot twice, because the water is constantly moving. So what about the rocks, you say? They are moving as the earth is moving (the ground under us, that is to say). We don’t see it, but it’s happening. You can capture a bit of the river in a jar, but even those contents are not inert, so it is not controlled but merely contained. If the jar is shaken or broken, you would see how uncontrolled it is.

      So what does this have to do with anything? Well, this past week somebody mailed pipe bombs around the country, apparently with the idea that if certain public figures who thought counter to their own ideas were killed, their personal agenda would be strengthened because fewer people would be arguing against what they believed. The problem is that killing somebody does not control them; they can no longer be convinced to think as you think, and therefore you have controlled nothing. Also you have lost. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if gang violence could be ended with this type of philosophy?

      Natural events such as fires are often demonstrated to the public during Fire Prevention Week, using what is called a “controlled fire.” It really isn’t. Fire is random and chaotic, so you can only produce it and then–hopefully–put it out again. That is not control. It’s luck.

      For years we have raised generations of people who have been injured physically and mentally by abuse, and recently church officials have been called out for inappropriate behavior with children. The problem is that we turn away from the truth for years, and suddenly decide to become indignant about it after the damage is done. What we might have done is try to anticipate human behavior and look into ways to prevent improper actions from becoming real problems. The horror needs to be stopped before it happens.

      So how do we control human behavior? Maybe we don’t. Sexual abuse and bullying have been around for ages, just as LBGTQ behavior has. Just because we haven’t dealt with it, doesn’t mean it has not been there. So now we have people who try to control others by saying they have no right to be who they are. Going back to how we started: we control nothing. Nobody can tell a gay person not to be gay, and no bully should be able to tell somebody they are of less worth just because of prejudice, fear or ignorance. Unfortunately this may also mean we cannot control deviant behavior. But we might redirect it into something less harmful.

      We are so busy calling out people for saying things and asking questions and acting on impulse, but when we respond with a “villagers with torches” attitude we will get nowhere.  We have to understand, address and act, or we will find ourselves, collectively, as humans out of control. We need to start thinking about the long-term effects of what we do and how we behave.

      You may not be able to control the sheep in the meadow, but if you try, you can contain them and still give them the freedom to be sheep. We’re complaining too much and not looking at alternatives enough.

      We also need to redirect ourselves into productive behaviors. We often call it self control, but really it’s just common sense. Stop and remember that we control nothing, but we do understand ourselves and can make better choices. And nobody gets hurt.

       

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    • Bacon Bakin’

      Posted at 1:31 am by kayewer, on October 21, 2018

      When we were served breakfast buffet style at a department meeting, the first thing to go was the bacon. We had pancakes, biscuits, sausage, scrambled eggs and fruit to feed a battalion, and orange juice and coffee in quantities that would keep them so jacked up on caffeine they wouldn’t care about scurvy. They dove into the bacon like crowds at a Black Friday bargain table.

      I got no bacon and settled for sausage.

      Our obsession with bacon goes back centuries to when the first haphazard lowly laborer accidentally let a pig die in a burning hut, only to find out later, when touching the smoldering corpse, that hot pork tasted pretty darned good after the burn kicked in and they unknowingly licked their fingers. So cured pig became a household staple, and bacon the holy grail of breakfast food.

      Of course, bacon is not good for you. It’s on a naughty list up there with smoking, drinking alcohol in excess and watching too many prescription medication commercials, because of its fat and sodium content. It does count as meat, so physical laborers want it for energy. The rest of us just enjoy the experience for its own sake.

      Turkey bacon is a good substitute, and I’ve sworn by it for a few years. I also advocate broiling or baking bacon. Heck, it has “bake” in the name, so why not? And Rachael Ray also does it; she even touts her own broiling pan just like my mother always used. Years ago, my mother prepared bacon with breakfast for a slumber party, and one guest swore she ironed the bacon. If you broil it, it will stay flat. In the army, bacon was cooked in a lump, and one never could be sure if all the pieces in a section would be thoroughly done or not. Often the outside was cremated and the inside raw.

      Bacon works well in a sandwich, particularly with lettuce, tomato and just a bit of spread, but most people seem to want it at breakfast. They’ll forget their manners for it, and leave a buffet table barren of even a corner off a slice. It I didn’t know better, I’d swear they had no bacon, but I smelled it on the air. Gone in moments. Fortunately tomorrow is Sunday and I have my own bacon, flat as a board and just as tasty. I can smell it now.

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    • Hell’s Kvetchin’

      Posted at 12:34 am by kayewer, on October 15, 2018

      My New York day trip from Hell yesterday started out rather well, but that all ended about twenty minutes before we were scheduled to board a bus to take us into the city via the NJ Turnpike. It seems Greyhound didn’t have a driver, and they had to refund our fares. Imagine this: a public transit company with a history going back to 1914, has entered the lackadaisical work ethic of 2018, in which not one of their drivers could step up and take a bus filled with people where they needed to go. Two hour delay, they said. My show was in three.

      So there I was, with a slip of paper verifying my refund, but with a paid for show in the City that Never Sleeps waiting for me and. . .wait a second, I’m a grown woman with a car and decades of driving experience! The heck with the bus, I thought (in the R-rated version) as I settled in my seat, swerved into the toll lane for the turnpike and drove my little self to New York.

      The drive itself was simple, and everybody on the road that morning behaved themselves. I paid my tolls, took the Lincoln Tunnel and emerged into the insanity of city traffic, where I had to find a place to park my two-month-old new car. Of course, entering the city I was driving in the wrong direction for going home, but I figured that problem I could resolve later. A decent looking garage adjacent to a hotel sounded like a good idea, and a happy attendant took my key and got me on my way. I made a point of memorizing what intersection I was on, because only the diligent and determined person takes the hours of time it must require to figure out addresses in that place. So how do I remember  it: the avenue and street, or street and avenue? I remembered the song about somebody’s Home Sweet Home at “toid and toidy-toid,” and I wished I had stayed there and not thought of a song which I first heard sung in the movie The Exorcist. I didn’t know if they meant toid avenue or toid street foist. . .I mean first.

      My ego was somewhat boosted by my accomplishment so far, in that I navigated a drive I had never taken, without a GPS, and I walked to the show (which I enjoyed), and even grabbed lunch. As I sat on a park bench and nibbled on my yogurt and granola, two ladies slowed their stroll long enough to ask me if I wasn’t feeling colder eating what they thought was ice cream, realized their mistake and moved on.

      The show was fine, but I decided not to linger, since my new baby was crammed into a hole somewhere in the depths of parking garage perdition and the meter was running. I found the spot easily and prepared to dole out a twenty dollar bill. . .the fellow behind apocalypse proof glass pointed casually to a sign listing the charges for parking. I knew I had missed the Early Bird Special, but I practically had a coronary when I saw that I owed $48 for anything over two and under ten hours of parking. There went my bus refund, plus the turnpike and tunnel fees.

      At least my parking attendant showed me how to get turned around and back to the tunnel. That drive took nearly 20 minutes and played out like a video game. I had to turn left and cross three lanes of traffic while avoiding jaywalkers and speedy taxicabs, then make two right turns while pedestrians exercised their right of way.

      So I wound up spending about $40 more than if I had taken the bus.

      I got home much earlier than expected, since I wasn’t waiting for the next scheduled bus departure, and home never felt better. That was until, before falling into bed, a water pipe in the street broke, rendering the block with no water pressure overnight.

      Excuse me for not seeming like I had a good time.

       

       

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    • Beta Believe It

      Posted at 2:40 am by kayewer, on October 7, 2018

      We have two beta fish in the office. Mine died Thursday. He seemed fine in the morning when I fed him, though a bit disinterested. By afternoon he was vertical, rather than belly up, but still as dead as disco. So I had another brief ceremony, ending with the traditional sendoff into the oblivion of sewer pipes (in other words, I flushed him), the cleaning out of the tank, and the scheduling of another quest to find a replacement.

      On my lunch hour the next day, I headed to the pet store and, after enduring a traffic jam due to a nasty accident at the intersection, along with a crowded parking lot filled with lost souls packed one to a vehicle, I found a new companion. His bright eyes latched onto mine and he wouldn’t let me out of his sight until I took him away from the terrors and boredom of spending days in an over-sized clear plastic cup suspended inside a display next to dozen others of his species.

      He now has a grand new expansive home, cleaned and sanitized for his protection (and mine), and he’ll have lots of attention over the weekend while I’m gone. He may even get to visit his comrade in the other cubicle, who looks a bit like him.

      Yes, it was a rather quiet week in the office, since I only had news of a beta dying. A co-worker lost a horse and a cat back at her home in the same day, so I guess I’m lucky. Fish can make good companion animals, and a helpful part of the workplace, encouraging looking away from the computer screen (recommended every 20 minutes). They make you smile.

      I may not have to write about this beta for a while, since their average lifespan is about 1-3 years. If he learns any neat tricks, look for him on YouTube.

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