Showing posts with label birthday greetings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday greetings. Show all posts

Sunday, July 27, 2008

A "poet" and his influence

When I was small (it so happens that I was, once), my parents would read to me from a number of different sources, from the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to Moby-Dick to the Old Testament. I confess, though, to a weakness for doggerel, especially the less-than-syrupy sort. My passion came early, before I was able to understand Robert Service or Edgar Guest or James Whitcombe Riley.

It so happens that my favorite book was The Barnes Book of Nursery Verse, largely due to one particular poem. Those who know me, know already that I have been able to recite this particular poet and his one particular bit of verse. Those who don't know me so well will, I suspect, be able to figure out why...

Rebecca, Who slammed Doors for Fun and Perished Miserably

A Trick that everyone abhors
In Little Girls is slamming Doors
A Wealthy Banker’s
Little Daughter
Who lived in Palace Green, Bayswater
(By name Rebecca Offendort),
Was given to the Furious Sport.

She would deliberately go
And Slam the door like Billy-Ho!
To make her Uncle Jacob start.
She was not really bad at heart,
But only rather rude and wild:
She was an aggravating child. . . .

It happened that a Marble Bust
Of Abraham was standing just
Above the Door the little Lamb
Had carefully prepared to Slam,
And Down it came! It knocked her flat!

It laid her out! She looked
like that.
* * * *
Her funeral Sermon (which was long
And followed by a Sacred Song)
Mentioned her Virtues, it is true,
But dwelt upon her Vices too,
And showed the Dreadful End of One
Who goes and slams the door for Fun.




The verse was written by Hilaire Belloc. Today is the 138th anniversary of his birth. I slam the door once more, in honor of the occasion (having first confirmed that there is no statue standing just above).

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Happy Birthday, MacGyver! and thanks for something special

Well, really, tomorrow is Richard Dean Anderson's birthday. I have no idea what date the fictional character, MacGyver, has as his natal day, and I don't really care so much. In fact, I hadn't committed Anderson's personal data to memory, either. I'm not some freaky obsessed fan. I was just setting up the next Fortune Teller post and came across his name. I've enjoyed a couple of his tv series over the years, and all, but what this is really all about is friendships not forgotten.

More than twenty years ago, my folks and I moved to Virginia, settling eventually near Williamsburg as Mom and I found work in the historic area, in costume. Two doors down from my parents' townhouse was a crazy lady. It was destiny. Two households Chock Full O' Nuts, as it were, chatting across a lawn about unusual nonsense.

The crazy lady and I had much more in common than simple insanity and became fast friends. She was always welcome at my house and that of my parents, and her family welcomed me at passover. I served as her proxy in the classroom for a year or two as she was undergoing treatments for a painful disability (substitute teacher on a very regular basis). We were fans of the same sorts of music, enjoyed the same types of art and literature, and were especially fond of the then-new series, MacGyver (although she felt more attracted to its star than I did -- at that point, I just liked the stories and the inventive nature of the show and its main character). Eventually, we made it a point to get together to watch the show, and best of all, to make fun of it when one particular director spent too much camera time on Richard Dean Anderson's posterior in those 1980s tight jeans... we were not grownups. We were disappointed when Anderson started moving into the baggy pants phase.

I haven't seen or heard from my friend since the early 1990s. Nevertheless, she had a rather deep impact on me. I discovered I enjoy working with children with all levels of ability, I enjoy laughing aloud at television series even when they're not intentionally funny (especially when they're not intentionally funny!), and for twenty years I've had the policy that I go nowhere without my Swiss Army knife, Mackie Messer.... There is more, but this blog doesn't hold syrup.

But, aside from all the other serious and silly things we did together, there is one which refuses to die a natural death. This month I've been pet-sitting, again, for one of my best friends from childhood, and a picture keeps burbling up from the deep, from a little book we once put together, 50 Ways to Use Your Duct Tape. The image, from a duct-tape bound "Little-Golden-Book" sized work, was rather like this:


I still have the book and the duct tape. I'd trade it all, any day, for word from an old friend, though.

Duct tape went a lot of places, in the 1980s. Friendship went a lot more.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Happy 217th to the USCG



Today marks the 217th birthday of the United States Coast Guard. I raise my roll of Life Savers to them all -- even my retired coastie brugly other.

Both my brother and his wife served in the Coast Guard. In fact, they met in boot camp. They both served as radiomen (I think they may have changed the title to communications officer, since the 1980s, but don't quote me on it. I only know what I hear, and I'm a little deaf ... or, is it daft?), and eventually were both stationed in Alaska, where they became serious enough to marry, and where my brugly other's little bathtub, the cutter Woodrush, received the emergency signal from the cruise ship Prinsendam.

My brugly other told us all, once, that the Woodrush was so old and so pitifully underpowered that, although it was the first ship to receive the distress call, it was the last to arrive at the scene. Nonetheless, it was actively involved in rescuing its share of the hundreds of passengers stranded on a burning cruise liner.

My sister-in-law, too, was involved in her share of heroics, but after they had been transferred out of Alaska to about the farthest point away.

Only a couple of weeks after her first son was born, she sent her family north to stay with relatives (my mom and dad) while she stayed stationed in Key West to bear the brunt of hurricane Andrew, to keep comm lines open and to pitch in anywhere else they needed her.

I know from experience that Coasties are among the finest people this country has to offer, and I will be proud of my family's ties to them always.

Happy Birthday, ye shallow-water heroes!

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Happy Birthday, Bat!


I am led to believe today is the Nasty Old Bat's birthday. She was NOT born in the year on the postcard above. However, I'm told that having had me in her life has aged her rather dramatically...

I'm assuming that the crowd she's running with this week will not be letting her sit still to check blogs or e-mail, so, if you see her today, wish her a happy birthday.

Bat, whatever you're looking at this afternoon, I hope it's the most wondrous thing you've seen in your life. Second to my sunny, smiling face, of course.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Postcard: For my male progenetior

Postcard:  In Canoe -- On Wood

While he and the Bat have been out romping in the woods together, Pop put another mile on his canoe's odometer. I think that puts him at three-quarters of a century. I keep hearing from everybody how young my parents look -- Pop hasn't figured out how to slouch, yet, and the waistbands to his pants have not started the old-geezer upward creep, so people are always surprised to discover that he has a whiny old cat lady for a daughter.

If you stumble across my parents out there in the woods of southeastern Kentucky (and you don't have to avert your eyes) wish Pop a happy birthday, and tell him I told you to remind him to act his age. Heh heh heh.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Happy birthday, Pat!

I'm taking time out from my usual Tuesday headache stuff to let wish my best friend Pat the very happiest of birthdays. She's celebrating her 25th, again, I think.

If you have one, raise your glass to her. She's not only my best friend, but the best teacher I ever had (and I was blessed to have had some darned good ones!).

Postcard: Birthday Pansies - Embossed

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Birthday postcard: many happy returns, ex sailorette!

Postcard: Birthday Greetings
Today is ex sailorette's mumblety-gurgleth birthday.

To you, ex s: may this be a day without pain and with much joy, and may there be many more of the same!

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Many happy returns of the day, Mister Franklin!

Today marks the 301st anniversary of the birth of one of my favorite American figures: Benjamin Franklin.

Why do I like him so much? Because he was unique. In an age of exceptional men with exceptional minds, he worked his way to the top. He remained an honest and honorable man, capable of the most subtle and ingenious thought while still being unafraid of actual hard work and joyous living, appreciating the friendships he kept, aiding those less fortunate to find their way to independence, and in so many other ways becoming a role model for generations to come. And yet, it seems his way of working, thinking, and living have gone out of style.

He was, after all, a hard act to follow.

Or, perhaps, the over-schooled and the socially elite of America have always styled themselves after the vain and self-serving Thomas Jefferson, instead.

Last night, as I was settling in for the night with the beasties, I channel-surfed through the tail end of "Boston Legal", in which William Shatner and his creepy clone James Spader sat sipping some golden beverage, smoking cigars, and discussing the day's events.

In this particular show, Shatner's character asked Spader's, "What would you change about this country?"

Spader's response included more or less, that he would clean out the government, and allow only the geniuses to run things, and that he would get rid of "all stores ending in '-Mart.'"

Shatner's character, when asked what he'd change, said, "Nothing."

I really liked Shatner's response. He followed it with, "of course not everything is perfect," and that a lot of what we do is bumbling along, but "I love this country." It was rather endearing to have a non-native speak that line.

It was also embarrassing to hear Spader, in his pompous tone, speak the same sorts of things I hear regularly from college professors and other members of the "upper echelon".

I'm from that white-collar world. I was raised and educated among ivory towers. I hate to admit it, sometimes. There are plenty of people with PhDs who can't dress themselves without help, who could get lost on an escalator, who lack the common sense to close their windows when it starts to rain in -- and yet, these are the folks labeled as "geniuses," because they studied some esoteric subject such as the role of the hive beetle in limiting the of growth of Winteroo hay. Yes, we probably need to know more about the hive beetle killing bees which pollinate crops which... well, that could go on all day. Nevertheless, just because a person knows hive beetles does not qualify him to legislate, say, oil drilling on Alaska's North Slope.

But, according to so many of today's largely leftist upper crust, only those who pass their tests should be allowed to speak for the people.

It seems to me, today's trend toward education and elitism is precisely the opposite of Franklin's view -- the perspective carried over from the Renaissance, that is, to know as deeply as possible as many things as possible, to open doors when they appear locked, to enjoy the gift of freedom and the gift of life itself, and to share those pleasures with as many people as possible.

Today's left-elitism chops independence and happiness off at the knees, even (or especially) for its adherents. It narrows one's life down, defining each person by pre-set roles based on sex, color and a few other limits, not forgiving variations.

They would do more of the same, by eliminating basic opportunities for others.

Wal-Mart and K-Mart are not symptoms of a disease. They are stores -- with low prices. They are a place to shop for necessities without paying through the nose. And they are among this country's largest employers of unskilled labor -- the starter job people. Many young people look to these employers as a way to get a little experience, before pursuing their intended careers. Many others actually find satisfying careers, doing what they enjoy, in the midst of the giant corporations running these stores.

Plus, in the process of providing paying jobs, and offering inexpensive clothing, food, and other items for Americans, they also serve to raise the standard of living for people in other countries, where work would otherwise be scarce to nonexistent. Little by little, the workers overseas in places like China are seeing not only their paychecks rise, but their voices are heard more readily in the government. In other words, the "end-in-'Mart'" stores are empowering the workers.

The Wal-mart crowd are not entirely stupid. The Masses, by mass-production, are making themselves the Masters.

They're allowing a new generation of printer's devils the free time and spare cash to advance themselves, to become successful statesmen, inventors, scientists, musicians... members of the new elite -- to the horror of the old guard.

I tend to believe Mister Franklin would approve.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Postcard of non-gratuitous nature: Happy Birthday, sis!

Once again it is my seester's birthday. I'm really fuzzy at math, but I think she's still a couple of years and a few months younger than I am... still: Postcard: Bird of Time
Okay, I know it's supposed to be a New Year's Day card, but, hey, each new year starts somewhere different for each of us, when you get right down to it...
and, I wish to point out that one complaint continues to plague us, from one generation to the next. This postcard was mailed in 1910, with the message
Postcard: Bird of Time [back of card]
"Dear Brother,

Thanks for the card. Have not had a letter from you for a long time.

Dick"

I don't think the last word was a comment, but... hey! No, no, it's the guy's actual name, I'm sure. On the other hand, I'm an idiot for not calling my seester, or writing, or sending her a real message via e-mail. I'll consider myself slapped.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Happy birthday, John. I mailed you a card, here

I was sure it would get to you on time.
Postcard: Picking California Poppies.

I spent all afternoon in the fields picking flowers for you, just for the occasion.

(Okay, so it's a couple of days late. Blame the postman -- er, postwoman. And, please accept my belated wishes for a happy birthday!)