Something in the picture above seems ominous. Or perhaps omenous. But what does it mean? Wikipedia tells us:
The Romans, unlike the Greeks, considered that signs from the left were usually favorable and positive, while signs from the right were seen as adverse and negative. However, under Greek influence this procedure began to change and eventually lost its universal weight, meaning that each omen case was to be examined separately.
I was driving somewhere the other day and my iPod was playing randomized tunes. Patsy Cline’s “Back in Baby’s Arms” had just finished and was followed by John Pizzarelli singing “Be My Baby Tonight”. That started me thinking about the use of “Baby” as a term of endearment. It’s probably the most common way of addressing one’s significant other in popular music. More popular, I suspect, in songs than in real life.
In the 47 years Robin and I have been together, I’ve never called her an infant. But, as one who can’t let random musings pass unconsidered, I wonder: How and when did infantilizing one’s partner become desirable? Why would that be considered romantic? Is calling someone a baby ever the basis of an equitable adult relationship?
And isn’t it sort of creepy when you think about it?
I’ve been bothered lately by the appearance of a new facial expression, at least it’s new to me. I don’t recall ever seeing it on a human face until the last few years and never on a normal person in real life. In this expression, the lips are pressed tightly together and the mouth is bent down sharply at the corners. But I wouldn’t call it a frown– there’s no participation in the expression by the eyes or the eyebrows or any other part of the physiognomy.
You will have guessed by now that I’m describing Senator Mitch McConnell and he is certainly the primary practitioner of that facial gesture, although I’ve also seen it on various other politicians who have been caught embarrassing themselves. I’ve tried to make the expression myself and it isn’t that easy to maintain. It seems to be Senator McConnell’s default expression, so maybe we don’t need a specific name for that look when it happens on his face, but when it is adopted by other public figures, how should we describe it to someone? I suppose we could say, “He (or She) McConnelled”, but that’s too much McConnell for me.
Still, without an apt descriptive word for it, our ability to communicate is hobbled. I don’t think that expression is going away anytime soon.
As always, the folks at the post office always see me coming. There were Star Trek stamps this week and when I got a little too excited about it, the clerk said “oh wait, we just got a new stamp today that you’ll like.” Eclipse stamps! How could I resist?
One of my tasks as a therapist is to help clients identify and manage the unhelpful, irrational, automatic thoughts that can lead to anxiety and depression. Some of these thoughts are easy to identify. Others play in our heads without our being really aware they are there. Even so, those thoughts are powerful and can lead to a lot of misery.
I am often beset with such thoughts myself, and they cause me lots of anxiety. I know exactly where they come from, too. My mother. I picked up from her what I call “We are all going to die in the ditch” thoughts that nag at me with the worry that bad things are just around the corner, and you can never relax or trust that things won’t get worse.
My mom was justified in developing this mentality. Her life was a series of hopes that turned into disasters–she meets the young man will marry, and then the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor and he goes away and she doesn’t see him again until 1945. Once he is back and they finally get on their feet financially, their apartment is destroyed by a fire. They start a family, and her appendix ruptures at seven months gestation and she loses the child and is in the hospital for months. She gets healthy again and develops MS. After that, things went quite well for her and there were no more disasters, but the salience of those disasters stayed with her and left her assuming the worst and waiting for the next disaster to happen. Her thoughts just oozed into my brain and it is quite a trick to combat them
I listen to the Broadway station on our car radio, and I heard two songs recently that made me realize that there are sources all around us for unhealthy and self-defeating thoughts. I am using YouTube clips so as to avoid any rannygazoo with copyrights. Listen to the lyrics and ponder the unhealthy messages.
Whose voices are in your head? Whose voice would be more helpful?
I discovered on Acorn TV a series called The Yorkshire Vet, about a veterinary practice called Skeldale House that was once James Herriot’s practice. As a reader of the books and an owner of the TV series, it was a delight to find. In his last years my father thoroughly enjoyed the shows on PBS. It reminded him of his pre-World War II life in central Minnesota. The Yorkshire Vet is a documentary, not fiction, and quite well done, I thought. Herriot’s books are very much fiction.
As I often do for TV shows and books, I searched Goggle maps. Darrowby, Herriot’s fictional town, is really Thirsk, which is where the practice is today. I found The World of James Herriot, the original Skeldale House, as a museum outside of which is a full statue of Alf Wight (James Herriot’s real name). Then Google Maps gave me a shock.
A mere handful of blocks from The World of James Herriot is a Tesco, Great Britain’s huge grocery store chain (groceries plus). Not what you expect to see in sleepy little Darrowby. The TV series was filmed in another village because in fact Thirsk was not then an isolated little village. It then and now abuts three or four other towns. But still. Google maps shows me it is now the centre (may as well spell it British) of quite the population area.
For the last few days I’ve been listening to the 50s station on Sirius radio in the car. It keeps me safely cocooned from unprepared-for onslaughts of anything related to Trumpelstiltskin.
Today I realized that I’ve mis-heard the lyrics to Love Potion #9 all these years. I always thought he “took his troubles down to Madame RUE, you know, that gypsy with the GOLD TATTOO.” WRONG! He went to Madame RUTH, the gypsy with the GOLD CAPPED TOOTH! Clear as can be.
Is satellite radio that much better? Is my hearing improving in my old age? Have I achieved a zen-like state where the clutter of the everyday is swept away and only crystal clarity exists? Am I the only one whose been singing along wrong for decades?
This makes me question every song I’ve ever heard; who knows what other misconceptions I’m living under?
an artists pallet tells you quite a bit about his personality
the color choices and mixes and the way they are mixed on the pallet. the brush strokes on the pallet are as distinctive as they are on the canvas.
you can tell people by their shoes their hairdo their choices re telling . furniture, clothing choices, car, watch, you used to be able to tell a lot about a person by their hat, now its their baseball cap the writing on their shirt the shine or lack of it on their shoes. it is interesting how we all have our own way. i had a friend in the massage and body work business who knew patients by the way they moved. everyone moves differently and distinctly the way you like your eggs, your speech pattern. pick one. which one. how is it the same, how is it distinctive. how is it the same as everyone elses. is it different in minnesota than it is in austrailia or germany or north dakota?
Today is the birthday of TV actor Lloyd Bridges in 1913. Bridges did a lot of different things in his 85 years on Earth, including a stint in the Coast Guard. But he was a favorite in my family for his role as expert frogman Mike Nelson on the 1960’s TV show Sea Hunt.
Because so much of the show was shot underwater, Bridges did voice-overs to describe large parts of the action. Of course there was lots of silent struggling with various people, sea creatures and obstacles (both natural and man-made). I became convinced if I ever went scuba diving, I was going to get trapped inside a shipwreck. Which is why I’ve never gone scuba diving.
To this day, nothing makes me hold my breath like watching actors who are pretending they can’t breathe.
Many of the episodes are available for viewing on You Tube.
Sea Hunt set the high water mark for our family viewing time. Even after its cancellation, every dramatic adventure series that came along was given a shorthand title that referenced this seminal classic, with which they were almost always unfavorably compared.
Star Trek was “Space Hunt.” Bonanza was “Horse Hunt”. The Avengers became “Spy Hunt.” The Fugitive, naturally, was “Guy Hunt.”
Lloyd Bridges and Jacques Cousteau convinced me at a young age that it is smart to take care of the world’s oceans – something I have attempted to do mostly be staying out of them.
What’s a favorite family entertainment from your childhood?
Trail Baboon 