Glenn Franklin VanBlaricum

Lt. Glenn F. VanBlaricum

May 18, 1920 to March 13, 2015

Glenn Franklin VanBlaricum of Goleta, California, died of pneumonia at Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital on March 13, 2015. He was 94 years old.

Glenn was born on May 18, 1920, on a small farm in Decker Township south of Noble, Illinois, to Mary Jane (Mollie) Long VanBlaricum and James VanBlaricum. He was the youngest of their eight children.

Senior Day - Noble High School 1938
- Glenn is the nonconformist to the left -

Glenn graduated from Noble High School on May 25, 1938. In the fall of 1938 he started college at Eastern Illinois State Teachers College (now Eastern Illinois University) in Charleston, IL. He majored in physics with a minor in math and chemistry. However, after the first year he saw that he would not have enough money to finish college, so he borrowed fifty dollars to take teaching classes at Eastern in the summer and passed the Illinois Teachers Credential exam in August, 1939.

In the school year 1939-1940, he taught 1st and 2nd grade at Thomas School south of Clay City, IL, and in 1940-1941 he taught grades 1, 3, 5, and 7 at Gray School south of Noble, IL.

Mary Ellen and Glenn F. VanBlaricum
shortly after their wedding.

In July 1941, he volunteered for the U.S. Army Air Corps and trained as a fighter pilot, receiving his wings and commission as a 2nd lieutenant on July 3, 1942. While on leave, on July 16, 1942, he and Mary Ellen Shearer of Olney, IL, eloped to St. Charles, Missouri, where they were married. 

Lt. VanBlaricum flew a Bell P-39 Airacobra fighter plane in Tunisia during the North African campaign early in World War II. Of the twenty-six men in his squadron, he said that only three came home. He was in the famous Battle of Kasserine pass and then flew bomber escort during the invasion of Sicily. After returning to the States in 1943 he served as a base operations officer in Florida later in the war. He earned an Air Medal with one Oak Leaf Cluster among other decoration. He was honorably discharged as a First Lieutenant in 1945 but stayed in the Air Force Reserve until 1956.

Glenn on the wing of his P-39
in December 1942 in North Africa

Glenn VanBlaricum
 - School Principal -

Glenn taught at Noble Grade School, Noble, IL, from 1945 to 1948 and at Newton Consolidated School, Newton, IL, from 1948 to 1951. He then received a Bachelor of Science in Education from Eastern in May of 1952 where he majored in elementary education using the GI Bill. He later completed a Master of Science in Education in August of 1955 with a major in school administration, also from Eastern. He served as principal of elementary schools in Toledo, IL, from 1952 to 1954 and Momence, IL, from 1954 to 1961. In 1961 he and his family moved to Princeton, IL. At that time, he took a hiatus from teaching to work for the textbook publisher D.C. Heath and Company. In 1967 he became superintendent and high school principal in Wyanet, IL, retiring in 1979.

Front: Wanda, Grandpa James, Grandma Mollie, Effie
Back: Glenn, Elbert, Verle, Jim, Ed, Bill

The longest-lived of his generation of the VanBlaricum family, he was predeceased by his parents; his sisters Effie Mae VanBlaricum Schnell and Wanda Nadine VanBlaricum Patterson; his brothers William, Edgar Lowell, James Otho, Verle Everett, and Elbert Clendus VanBlaricum; and an infant son Thomas Lynn VanBlaricum.

Glenn is survived by his wife of 72 years, Mary Ellen (Shearer) VanBlaricum, of Goleta, CA, and his two sons and their families: Glenn Franklin VanBlaricum Jr. and his wife Claire Bernadette VanBlaricum and Michael Lee VanBlaricum and his wife Pamela Calvetti VanBlaricum, all of Santa Barbara, CA. 

VanBlaricum ca 1986
LtoR: Mary Ellen, Mike, Susie, Pam, Jim, Claire, Glenn, Jr., Glenn, Annie

He was the proud grandfather of three grandchildren: James Robert VanBlaricum of Los Angeles, CA; Ann Calvetti VanBlaricum Harrer and her husband Nicholas James Harrer of Pasadena, CA; and Susan Michelle VanBlaricum of Cambridge, MA. 

His great-grandchildren are Ellen Calvetti Harrer and Calvin Van Harrer of Pasadena. He is also survived by many nieces and nephews.

Glenn was a 32^nd-degree Mason, a member of the Olney Masonic Lodge No. 140, and a member of the American Legion Post No. 30 of Olney, IL. He was also very active in the Boy Scouts of America for many years (both sons are Eagle Scouts) and he was a member of the Order of the Arrow.

Glenn's ashes will be interred in Green Hill Cemetery south of Noble, Illinois. The grave is about 2,500 feet from the location where he was born.

Glenn as toddler

Glenn and Tuba
Noble HS Band
1937-38

Glenn - Gray School 1941

Glenn and Glenn, Jr. 1944 with a 1941 Chevy Coupe

Glenn, Mary Ellen and Mike, 1951

Mary Ellen and Glenn on 65th Wedding Anniversary

Glenn's 90th Birthday - Mike, Mary Ellen, Glenn, Jr., Glenn

Glenn - Contemplating his existence 

Auld, Lang, Syne

I write this preface to an old (or ‘auld’) piece which I wrote some 16 years ago as Excursus #19 of The Toad’s Words. Being lazy and a bit maudlin today I decided on this New Year’s Eve to post it to my Blog. The original is still on my website.

www.doggedresearch.com/toadswords/

Enjoy, sing along, and have a wonderful 2015.

And…for those of you who are wondering, I have put the resolution to “Post more stuff on my Blog” as the first entry on my 2015 list.

The Toad’s Words – Excursus #19 

 - Originally written on 31 December 1998 -

Since today is New Year's Eve, I began wondering what Guy Lombardo was really saying when he sang "Auld Lang Syne." I then realized I didn't know what 'auld', 'lang', or 'syne' meant so I was off on a search. Those of you better educated than I, and those from Scotland are probably thinking, "What, surely he jests." But no, I had never really thought about the words before.

Clearly the three words together were made famous because of Robert Burns (more about that later), but now let's see what the individual words mean and from whence they hail.

Auld, adjective

Pronounced awld

Old.

Since Robert Burns first wrote down "Auld Lang Syne" in 1788, I thought it would be interesting to look in Samuel Johnson's dictionary of 1755. All that Johnson says is: "Auld - A word now obsolete; but still used in the Scotch dialect." Maybe my Scottish friends out there will tell me if it is still used and how it is pronounced. Apparently the word derives from the Old English ald and became 'old' in the Midlands in the 13^th century. Another reference says that it is still used in Northern England. It is interesting (at least to me) that Edinburgh, Scotland, has the sobriquet "Auld Reekie" which literally means "Old Smokey."

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?"

__________________________

Lang, adjective, adverb, noun

Pronounced lang

Long

Johnson doesn't even bother with ‘lang’. I guess he didn't want to mess with foreign words.

Apparently, 'lang' means 'long' in Scottish.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days o' auld lang syne."

__________________________

Syne, adverb

Pronounced sign

Since, later, ago, before now.

Hence 'lang syne' means 'long since' or 'long ago.' ‘Syne’ is a contracted form of the Middle English word sithen, which means 'since.'

"We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne."

__________________________

So there you have it - 'Auld Lang Syne' means 'Old Long Since.'

So what does that mean? This is clearly a case where the words work as a phrase to mean something other than the absolute literal sense. My sources have it that 'Auld Lang Syne' means 'old times,'  'long ago in one's life,' or 'the good old days.'

Now getting back to Robert Burns, it is generally assumed that Burns wrote this song himself. However, Burns apparently sent a copy of the original song to the British Museum with the following note:

"The following song, an old song, of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript until I took it down from an old man's singing…"

Undoubtedly, the old man was Guy Lombardo.

In a letter to a Mrs. Dunlop, dated 7 December 1788, Burns wrote:

"Apropos, is not the Scots phrase, 'Auld lang syne', exceedingly expressive. There is an old song & tune which has often thrilled thro' my soul. Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired Poet who composed this glorious Fragment! There is more of the fire of native genius in it, than in half a dozen of modern English Bacchanalians."

For you die-hards out there, here is the complete song. I have found at least ten different variations on the text. Having not seen the original publication, I used my best judgement. Also, interestingly, the order of the verses does not seem to be standardized. The song describes a scene of farewell as fishermen or sailors set sail. So why do we use it as a traditional New Year's Eve song? I have no clue!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days o' auld lang syne.

(Chorus)

For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne;
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, and surely I'll be mine;
And we'll tak'a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

(Chorus)

We twa ha'e run about the braes, and pou'd the gowans fine;
But we've wander'd mony a weary fit, sin' auld lang syne.

(Chorus)

We twa ha’e paidl'd i' the burn, from mornin' sun till dine;
But seas between us braid ha'e roar'd sin' auld lang syne.

(Chorus)

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, and gie's a hand o’ thine;
And we'll tak’a right guid-willie waught, for auld lang syne.

 Glossary:

Be your pint-stowp = pay for your own drink

braes = hillsides

braid = broad

burn = small stream

dine = dinner-time

fiere = companion

fit  = foot

gie's = give me

gowans  = daisies

guid-willie waught = friendly draught (good-will drink)

ha'e = have

mony = many

paidl'd = waded

pou'd = pulled

sin' = since

twa = two

-------

Happy New Year!

Mistletoe on Christmas Eve

I was going to write an essay (some would call it a blog) about the mistletoe that is in all of the barren sycamore trees around my neighborhood today. You know, a scientific analysis, a history, the lore … but, it is Christmas Eve and that would be a bit like analyzing Saint Nick or Rudolph on Christmas Eve.

Instead, let me show you a few pictures of the massive amounts of mistletoe surrounding our house. This does seem like a very good day to walk under the trees with my wife.

  

True, Santa Barbara has no snow,

But we have lots of mistletoe.

Walking the woods is a lot of fun,

With your love, its halcyon.

Merry Christmas to All!

The Stench That Went Bump in the Night

Yesterday after teatime, or at least shortly after the time we would have had tea if we had had tea, my wife, Pam, and I walked into our backyard to check our garden. As we opened the garden door, we were struck by a fetor. It was a stench not unlike that of the Mexican scarecrow. I am not sure if that is the proper name for a dead crow hanging from a pole by its feet in a field but that is what I have been told. Anyway, it smelled like some critter had died in our yard and did not have the common decency to bury itself. 

After picking a few tomatoes, Pam noted that the smell was gone. It wasn't that we had gotten used to it – this was a smell that no person would get used to – it was just plain gone.

Later that evening, while we were watching reruns of Masterpiece Mystery, Pam and I heard a big thump (or would that be a bump) at our front door. After making sure our cat was still at our feet and not doing his hormone driven rampage which includes bouncing off the walls, we both went to the door and slowly opened it. I carefully let Pam take the lead but nothing was there and no one was nearby.

Then, about eleven-thirty, I decided that I needed a proper soaking in our hot tub. It was a moonless evening with the sky looking a bit van Gogh-ish due to its bright blueness and the stars blurred by my astigmatism. I was into a deep relaxation, which some would call meditation but I don’t meditate so I guess I was in a state of rumination when I heard a rustling under our Mediterranean fan palm. Stirrings in our flora at night are a somewhat common occurrence with the rats, the raccoons, the opossums, the skunks, and the occasional stray cat. But shortly after hearing the first crepitation the same stench from the afternoon ruined my rumination.

This noisome mephitis startled me. I remembered hearing various wackos talk about smelling apparitions. Some say they smell roses; some say they smell wet dogs; others say they smell rotting flesh. Well, I smelled rotting flesh and I decided that, unlike the nice clean smell of our occasional startled skunk, this was not a smell I was going to enjoy while sitting buck naked in hot water in the dark.

Normally, when exiting from our hot tub, I slowly extract myself and close the lid while rubbing my wet body against the nearby rosemary and lavender plants for a bit of aroma therapy. I then put on my robe and stare at the stars or the moon while drip drying on the patio. Last night I slammed the lid closed, jumped over the lavender, ran toward the house while struggling into my robe, and quickly entered the house locking the door behind me.

Maybe because it is October and everywhere I go – bookstore, grocery store, tea shop – I see ghouls and witches; maybe because I am reading the biography of Edgar Allen Poe which includes much of his dark verse; or maybe my imagination is on overdrive, but I have to wonder what  the true source of that smell was - ghosts, zombies, vampires?

Tonight when I go for my starlit ablution I will take a flashlight, a machete, and maybe a mirror and some garlic.

A Toad Moment – skivvies

A couple of weeks back, I was standing in a friend’s kitchen watching her cook chicken when the subject of strange words came up. I commented that I had recently used the word ‘skivvies’ with a thirty-something friend and that friend had no idea what I was talking about. My chicken-cooking friend then commented that a word with double v’s was interesting and wondered what the origin was. Well, that sounded like a challenge for the Toad so I have launched into the fray to see what I could find out.

skivvies, noun

Pronounced - skiv (as in give ) vees (as in bees)

Skivvies (at least the ones we are talking about here) are men’s underwear. I generally think of them as just the undershorts but the unabridged Oxford English Dictionary (OED) seems to define skivvy as an undershirt. I always thought it to be a Navy term but I cannot prove that via any of my books or the all-knowing internet. My Thorndike Barnhart World Book Dictionary says that it is U.S. nautical slang and the OED says it is North American slang of nautical origin but neither give references or examples so there is no Q.E.D. via the OED.

Now the question is whether it is plural or not; at least one dictionary says it is. I sometimes run out to the kitchen in my skivvies and I can tell you that I only have one pair of underwear on. However, I can understand the confusion because sometimes, when I am less vernacular, I run out to the kitchen in my undershorts. And I only have one pair of those on also. So, at some future time, maybe the Toad will take a moment and tell us why men’s underwear sounds plural but is singular. But I digress.

If the OED is right, then a ‘skivvy’ (or ‘skivvie’ as my Oxford Dictionary of Modern Slang says is an alternate spelling) is an undershirt and ‘skivvies’ are underwear, which I assume consist of underpants and undershirt.  So what then, are the lower half of skivvies or underpants called according to Oxford? I looked it up – short knickers. Well, since this is American slang, and I don’t know any men who wear knickers, I am going out on a limb and officially also define ‘skivvies’ as underpants.

Note, also, that I am carefully spelling skivvies with a lower case ‘s.’ That is because some dictionaries, such as The Third Edition American Heritage Dictionary, says Skivvies is a trademark used for underwear. Certainly there is a Skivvies site which sells men’s underwear but the first U.S. trademark for Skivvies was in 1954 which is decades after the term was commonly used.

If you Google search ‘skivvies’ you immediately get a response that reads:

“Skivvies, 3rd person, singular present, plural of skiv·vy (Noun)”

While this is true, I believe that it is referring to a different slang term altogether (confused yet?). It turns out that in British colloquial slang ‘skivvy’ is a derogatory term for a female domestic servant such as a scullery maid. Hence, if you have more than one skivvy in your kitchen then you have skivvies.

I think all of this needs a summary. When men are in their undershorts they are in their skivvies. Also, when men are in their undershorts and undershirts (not sure if wife beaters qualify) and they have a nautical background they, too, are in their skivvies. If one wants to be proper, then when in just an undershirt, one is in his skivvy. I suppose that means that if there are two men, each in a skivvy, then the two are in their skivvies. If the man is in England and is in his skivvy, well, that is a different story.

I guess, in classic Toad tradition, we now need to show usage via a sentence:

“Sylvester slipped down to the scullery in his skivvies late at night to skive some ham for a snack when, to his surprise, the skivvy was there scrubbing the floor.”

The Green Flash

Ah, the Green Flash - the mystery, the wonder, the quest. After watching decades of sunsets, I finally saw a Green Flash. And, yes, I deem it worthy of capitalization because it is a marvel, like a god, that many pursue and only a few witness. I know the Green Flash is a simple optical refraction phenomenon, not an illusion, but I was still pretty stoked and doubly excited because I was looking through a camera lens and snapped a picture of this rara avis. Now I can prove to friends that this wonder was truly physical and not physiological, psychological, or a figment of a Mai Tai.

We have all heard sailors and old timers wax on about the beauty of the Green Flash; they say it is a brilliant emerald color not seen in any artist’s palette. I always assumed that the people who claimed to see it fell into one of several categories: those who habitually see pink elephants; those who have stared at the sun so long they have destroyed the retinal rods that transmit any color other than green; and those who lie about what they have seen in order to score deference, dates, or drinks.

From a scientist’s perspective, the Green Flash is a phenomenon due to the dispersion of atmospheric refraction. As the sun drops below the horizon, the shorter wavelength green light has a longer refractive delay and hence is the last to disappear - which is really a good thing if you like Green Flashes. Now the astute reader will be saying, “But blue is an even shorter wavelength than green so why don’t we get a blue flash?” The very short wavelength blue light of the setting sun is scattered away by air molecules and aerosol particles before it gets to your eye. That’s why the sky is blue.

From a nonscientific perspective, observing Green Flashes is a result of people relaxing and watching the sunset regularly enough that they get treated to a nonpareil vision - sort of the visual equivalent of stopping to smell the roses.

Jules Verne was so enamored by the Green Ray, as he called it, that he wrote the novel Le Rayon Verte, a story of people traveling to Scotland in quest of the Green Flash. At the end of his novel, they prevail. Verne’s description¹ of the event is:

Motionless, and with intense excitement, they watched the fiery globe  as it sank  nearer and nearer the horizon, and,  for  an   instant,  hung   suspended  over  the  abyss. Then, through the refraction of the rays, its disk seemed to change till it looked like an Etruscan vase, with bulging sides, standing on the   water. There was no longer any doubt as to the appearance of the phenomenon. Nothing could now interfere with this glorious sunset! Nothing could prevent its last ray from being seen! ... At last only a faint rim of gold skimmed the surface of the sea.

"The Green   Ray! the  Green Ray!" cried  in  one breath  the  brothers,  Dame  Bess and  Partridge,  whose eyes for one second had reveled in the incomparable tint of liquid jade.

Since Jules Verne wrote this so well in 1882, all I can add to it is the picture I took. Alas, I did not get a photo of the Etruscan vase - maybe next time.  

The Green Flash - Pacific Ocean off the coast of Baja California

Right before the flash - almost an Etruscan vase.

1 – Jules Verne, The Green Ray, 1882. Translated from the French Le Rayon Vert by Mary De Hautesville. Published by Sampson Low, Marston, Searle, & Rivington; London, 1883. Copy obtained via The Internet Archive. http://www.archive.org/details/greenraytrbymde00verngoog

A Toad Moment - Ennui

A couple of years ago I started writing a Toad’s Words Excursion with words from Cole Porter lyrics. My motivation was partially that I had just seen Midnight in Paris multiple times. But the full truth is that I have been fascinated by the word ennui and had been researching it (I have 44 pages of research notes). 

I started looking into ennui shortly after I had to spend eight hours flat of my back in the hospital recovering from a test. During that time I responded to an email from a friend who asked how I was doing and my response was “fighting vainly that old ennui” which, of course, is a line from Cole Porter’s I Get a Kick Out of You. Also, several years ago when our local high school performed Porter’s musical Anything Goes, I acted as a volunteer dramaturge and did a fair amount of research on Mr. Porter and his glorious words. I am in awe of anybody who can write lyrics that have the natural rhythm to them, like “At words poetic, I’m so pathetic…” Those words speak directly to me.

But my attempt at a complete Toad’s Words of Cole Porter got stalled by other events in my life, or perhaps, just ennui.

Never-the-less, I did finish writing Ennui so I present it as a Toad Moment.

Ennui, noun

Pronounced  - on we (ahn wee)

Boredom is the simple definition. However, ‘ennui’ is more than simple boredom. ‘Ennui’ is apathy, mental dissatisfaction or weariness because of lack of interest in one’s life due to existing employment or surroundings or brought about by societal or personal stagnation.

Cole Porter used ennui in the opening stanza of his song, ‘I Get a Kick Out of You’:

My story is much too sad to be told.

But practically ev'rything leaves me totally cold.

The only exception I know is the case

When I'm out on a quiet spree

Fighting vainly the old ennui

And I suddenly turn and see

Your fabulous face.

But Porter was not the only lyricist / poet to use ennui. Alan Jay Lerner had Mordred sing it in ‘The Seven Deadly Virtues’  from Camelot:

"Those seven deadly virtues were made for other chaps,

Who love a life of failure and ennui…"

Those always upbeat poets Sylvia Plath and Lou Reed wrote poems titled Ennui. Langston Hughes wrote this:

Ennui

It's such a

Bore

Being always

Poor.

And, in The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde has the character Lord Wotton say to Dorian Gray:

"The only horrible thing in the world is ennui, Dorian. That is the one sin for which there is no forgiveness."

And it is said that Buddha said:

 “Ennui has made more gamblers than avarice, more drunkards than thirst, and perhaps as many suicides as despair.”

Ennui comes from the French word ennui which means boredom.

Baulelaire in his preface of Les Fleurs du mal, says:

“C'est l'Ennui! —l'œil chargé d'un pleur involontaire, Il rêve d'échafauds en fumant son houka.”

Or as we would say in English:

 “It's Ennui! — his eye brimming with spontaneous tear, He dreams of the gallows in the haze of his hookah”.

Now that we have made the connection between the French word ennui and the English word boredom, I guess I should mention that, according to the OED, the first recorded use of the word boredom was by Charles Dickens in 1852 in Bleak House. To me, that seems pretty recently but maybe before Charles Dickens started writing nobody was ever bored.

Ok, that is probably much more than you wanted to know about a single word but it fascinates me. Ian Fleming (yes, the author of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) liked the subject of boredom and lassitude of mind and used it a lot. He never used ennui but he did talk about its resulting accidie in at least five of his Bond novels – but that word and discussion will be covered in another Excursus – if acedia doesn't get me first.

A Noisy Thanks

So far this spring, in my ‘hood, I’ve seen:

Intrepid black crows cawing and mean,

Lazy red-tailed hawks soaring to maul,

Energetic woodpeckers dominating all,

Nascent black phoebes in their nest of three,

Tiny Anna’s hummingbirds swooping with glee;

Scrub jays behaving as if they’re king,

Pairs of mourning doves each pitying,

Robins, red-breasted, digging my grubs,

Ignoble house sparrows filling the shrubs,

Northern mockingbirds acting like barons,

Gopher-stalking great blue herons;

Rufus hummingbird being a missile,

A charm of gold finches eating our thistle,

California towhees gleaning the heather,

House finches in their varied red feathers,

Elusive bluebirds delivering peace,

Large band-tailed pigeons looking obese;

Citrine hooded orioles, exotic!

A pair of quail, almost quixotic,

Radiant and showy black-headed grosbeak,

Set of mallards away from their creek,

Oak titmice with their Mohawks frenetic,

Nuthatch, white breasted, looking ascetic.

I Like My Pork Rinds Plain

I needed a change of venue. My home office is piled high with Ian Fleming books, James Bond reference books, and other flotsam and jetsam of my collecting habits so I went to my real office which is piled high with the detritus of thirty-seven years of engineering research.

I tend to get groggy mid afternoon and, unless I am on one of my intermittent health kicks, I wander down to the break room to get caffeine and salt in order to raise my blood pressure so that I can cruise Facebook and check my blogs with a lot more gusto.

Much to my surprise, the snack food fairies took away our old vending machine, which required buffalo nickels and Indian head pennies, and put in a modern, 1970 vintage, vending machine with a lot of newfangled features:

1) It is digital – you have to use your digits to push the proper letter and number code to get your junk food;

2) It has a really cool (by pre-Apollo Mission standards) quasi-robotic mechanism that drops your junk food as far as it can, insuring that your choice is delivered in tiny pieces – this works particularly well for Life Savers and Hershey Bars;

3) It charges 33% more than the old machine did – digital costs more;

4) And, it has a very large glass front so you can observe all the junk food choices at once and watch your snacks either fall to their demise or get stuck on the way down.

I was excited by all the new possibilities for my salt and fat addiction. I intently studied my opportunities.

Whatever happened to plain, ordinary snacks? There were three full rows of chips (crisps for my British friends). We have:

• Sour Cream and Onion Cracker Chips,
• Cheddar and Bacon Potato Skins,
• Chili Cheese Fritos,
• Nacho Cheese Doritos,
• Flaming Hot Crunchy Cheetos,
• Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles,
• Garden Salsa Sunchips, and
• Chili Flavored Pork Rinds, to name a few.

 Ok, ok, I admit, I am from the flatlands and cornfields of Illinois in the middle of hog country not far from Peoria. I learned to eat my food unflavored – some say bland. But good, well made, plain corn chips, potato chips, and pork rinds all have real honest flavor. I have not ruined my taste buds by eating artificially flavored chipotle nacho bacon sour cream onion cheddar flaming chili salsa chips. Nor do I intend to start at my advanced age. Adjectives describing chips should only be words like “plain,” “salted,” “natural,” or “fattening.”

Flavored pork rinds really upset me. Fried fat has no carbohydrates but it does have a lot of natural flavor. There is nothing any better than salty pork rinds and a cherry Coke to lift your mood on a dreary day or a long car drive.

The only simple salted snack in our new highfalutin machine was Dirty Sea Salt All Natural Potato Chips. I finally figured out that “Dirty” is a brand name.

So … out of frustration, I bought the Healthy Chocolate Covered Mini Donuts. 

An Omen?

Or two, or three? 

You bet!

I had an off day yesterday. No … I don’t mean because this is Spring Break and I was off work. I mean that I was mentally and physically off kilter. (What does 'kilter' really mean? I feel a Toad Moment coming on.) So this morning and on my morning constitutional I vowed that I would take my own advice, keep my senses open, and look for a moment. Because it was early and the sun was just burning through the morning fog, I decided to concentrate on watching for and listening to birds.

As I turned the corner by my brother’s house I stopped dead in my tracks – there were a pair of ducks, mallards to be precise, standing on the sidewalk in front of me. Now we don’t live in one of the neighborhoods where there are lakes, or ponds, or even a river. Oh, I think a few neighbors have swimming pools and there are a few hippie hot tubs around, but no open bodies of water. We have lived in this same neighborhood for almost 37 years and I have never seen a duck taking a walk down our sidewalk. So . . . seeing a pair of ducks did surprise me a bit. It also brought a big smile to my face.

You see, there are three animals that always cause me to stop, smile, and just plain mellow out  — ducks, toads, and beagles. Why? Well, that is another story. I will say that my nickname (thanks to a high school friend) is Duckman but that, too, is another story.

So…I stood and watched the ducks until they finally realized that they were in a cheap neighborhood that didn’t have a pond or a lake and they flew away. I walked another half block and when I turned the next corner, a dove walked out in front of me from under the neighbor’s rosemary plant. A great plant — I always swipe my hands through it when I am out for my walks. Now, I am not over the top about doves like I am about ducks but they are fun to watch and to listen to when they mourn.

So I am now feeling pretty good about seeing a few of nature’s creatures when I turn the corner again, and out of a neighbor’s lavender plant (yep, I run my hands through it, also) hop two little bunnies. Again, keep in mind that this is southern California and not central Illinois. In Illinois there always seem to be a dozen or more rabbits (notice I didn’t call them bunnies) eating my tulips. We don’t have bunnies in this simple tract neighborhood. The bunnies just sat there. Since this is Easter week, I started to really wonder.

So ... in my mind these were definitely omens and have already brought me pleasure. I cut my exercise short by thirty minutes in order to get home and write this all down. And … No! None of these were pookas. But they all provided a Moment!