Tuesday morning I went to the gym at about 7:00am. I was still a little groggy, waiting for the coffee to kick in, as I wandered toward the door of the community center when I heard hissing. To the right next to a bush was a Mama Duck protecting at least 10 little fluff ball chicks. And that Mama was MAD. Clearly I had committed a duck faux pas by thoughtlessly walking too close.
One of the most fascinating things about living in the Twin Cities is the population’s attitude towards these broods of ducks and geese each Spring breeding season. Normally fast moving traffic on the interstate will slow to a crawl, then a full stop, to allow a misdirected Mama and her babies to clear the road. These are drivers who sometimes seem willing to run their own slow Mama off the road.
In the mid-1990’s when I worked at a local Chemical Dependency Treatment Center for teenagers and young adults there was a Mama duck who returned to an interior outdoor courtyard of the facility every single Spring to build a nest and raise her family. The facility custodian would haul out the kiddie pool each spring, install it in the courtyard filled with water then place a plywood ramp up to the pool so the ducklings could learn to swim. These ducklings learned to walk up the ramp then jump into the pool for swimming lessons. Our teenage addicts stood for hours watching this through the window. Soon they would have to learn to swim in life stone sober.
When ducks could swim and walk the facility Executive Director would announce the date of The Duck Walk a week in advance. Each treatment group held Duck Walk Orientation so the kids would know what to do! During the duck walk every juvenile delinquent in the place was responsible for holding his or her piece of large cardboard in just the right place so the Mama and Family could be escorted through the building without escaping, then out the door. These juvenile delinquents and addicts found this event thrilling, often mentioning it as a highlight of the rehab program.
Last year on my way to work a goose family was confused and stuck in the middle of a four way stop. Traffic was carefully edging by them, slowing, stopping. When my turn came at the green light the family was positioned in a place where I would hit them if I proceeded. No one was moving while the panicked Mama tried to get the goslings off the road. But one crazy driver behind me wanted to MOVE NOW and laid on her horn. Not one other car moved to allow that driver through. Did she really want to run down the geese? Apparently so.
However, that lady is the exception. If you want to see living beings treated with compassion, gentleness, great care and loving kindness come to the Twin Cities during the Spring when Fowl run our roads and nest in our yards.
My house is around the corner from a library. The same library I went to when I was a kid; the library where I got my first library card. My first card was heavy, blue-grey paper and had the old “bars” logo for the Minneapolis Library on it. It also had my six-year-old handwriting on it spelling out my full name, hyphenated first name and all. I can remember bringing that precious piece of paper into the library where I would hand it and a stack of books to the librarian where she would press a button on a machine that, with a clunk and a buzz, took a picture of the book and my card, allowing me to take the books home. The red-headed librarian that was there when I was a kid still works there. The kids’ books are still to the left as you come in, and the “grown-up” books to the right. I sometimes wander into the stacks of children’s non-fiction and sniff the loamy aroma of dust-jacketed books and the air of my youth (don’t tell the red headed librarian, she might tell my mom).
I have loved books and reading as long as I can remember, and have no clear memories of not being able read. I remember my father reading chapter books to me at night and I remember reading Dr. Seuss to myself. I remember yelling downstairs when it was time for “lights out” that I was in the middle of a chapter and couldn’t I finish it, then getting five more minutes to read and reading fast enough to go into another chapter so I could repeat the process until my mother’s patience for the game wore out.
Over the past couple of years I have been watching through different eyes the process that leads to independent reading. It is a profound thing to watch, especially when you have forgotten how it was that you learned. First there is learning letter shapes and sounds and putting those together so you recognize the sound for each shape. Next comes putting those shapes and sounds in combinations that make new sounds. Eventually you get to sentences and books. It is amazing all the abstract things we learn that all come together to allow us to recognize a bunch of straight and curvy lines as words we understand.
Earlier this spring Daughter got her own library card, with her own full name spelled out in six-year-old handwriting. She was thrilled. It has its own purple card case and she loves that she can scan it under the bar code reader, scan her books, and tap the screen to get her receipt on her own (technology has advanced a bit since I got my first card). Because we are just around the corner there is a weekly request, easily fulfilled, to go and read at the library. I think Daughter loves the smell of all the books, and the thrill of understanding them, as much as I do. And what better motivation to keep reading than your own shiny library card and the ability to use it to discover new worlds?
What were your favorite books when you were a kid?
Whenever I sit down to eat, I am careful to arrange the plate properly according to the standards I learned when I was young.
I start with a layer of bread, cereal, rice and pasta, then I put two half-layers on top of that – one that’s primarily vegetables and the other, mostly fruit. Over all that I spread meat, poultry, fish, dry beans, eggs and nuts, pour on a few servings of milk, yogurt and cheese, and then I dot the tippy top with fats, oils and sweets.
According to the drawing I go by, all this food is supposed to stack into a tidy, healthy pyramid, but no matter how carefully I assemble it the whole thing always collapses when I add the dairy. Still, I persist because this is how my government tells me to eat. I have even scolded others at my table when they dare to arrange their plates according to their own whims. I’m sorry to have to correct people, but rules are RULES!
As you might imagine, the combination of my constant hectoring plus the predictable mess that happens every time my pyramid implodes has made me quite unpopular and I often eat alone. I sometimes feel sad about this but I’ve been able to comfort myself with feelings of smug satisfaction that I am the only one eating properly.
Now I see the government has abandoned the pyramid guidelines and has given us orders to assemble something that looks more like a plate, with only one layer of food!
I feel betrayed and humiliated!
Dr. Babooner, what use is it to be obedient and respectful of authority when that authority can suddenly change the schematic and abandon its old lessons? I am seriously considering arranging my next meal not as a pyramid or a lopsided circle, but as a trapezoidal collision of potato chips, salsa and Twinkies.
Clearly there are no rules anymore.
Sincerely,
Peeved About The Pyramid
I told PATP that a fierce obedience to authority is a charming quality to have when you are 7 years old, but it soon becomes unattractive in adults. However, constantly questioning authority can also be wearisome, because life is beautiful and sometimes you can only see the sights when you are willing to let someone else drive for a while. I suggested that “Moderation in all things” is a good rule to live by, if one must live by rules. Since PATP seems to respond to graphic representations, I tried to draw that up as a diagram, but moderation is a hard concept to capture visually. It winds up looking bland and formless, like Silly Putty.
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
Today is the anniversary of the first publication of the poem “Casey at the Bat“, by Ernest L. Thayer. It appeared in the San Francisco Examiner on June 3rd, 1888.
How quaint to think that there was once a time when a single poem could be widely known and symbolic of a national pastime. I love popular poems mainly for the opportunity they present for parody, and Casey at the Bat is a favorite.
The perfect poetic parody storm happened (for me) in 2002 when the great slugger Ted Williams died, and his family battled over the remains. One faction wanted Williams cremated, the other wanted him frozen at a cryonics lab in Arizona for possible re-animation sometime in the future. Of course.
The refrigerators won, and in the process I got a chance to imagine how it would all turn out on some distant sunny afternoon.
“What is science fiction, anyway, but something that might happen in the future?”
Dr. Jerry B. Lemler, chief executive, ALCOR Life Extension Foundation
(NY Times, Wednesday, July 10, 2002)
With apologies to Ernest L. Thayer –
The outlook, it was dismal for the Joyville nine that day:
The year was 2502, One inning left to play.
The fan base had eroded so, this game would be the last.
The one time national pastime’s time, alas, had finally passed.
A somber group of gravediggers were warming up their arms.
They prepared to bury baseball, the big teams and the farms.
A-Grieving in the bleachers the remaining faithful sat.
“If only we could liberate Ted Williams from his vat!”
For baseball’s mighty slugger had been frozen when he died.
They froze his sacred arms and wrists, they froze his rugged hide.
They froze him in the hope that he might someday un-retire.
But no one thought the sport itself would sicken, then expire.
And then from many thousand throats there rose as one, a breath.
A gasp of shock, surprise and glee, of victory o’er death.
For in the batter’s circle, for the multitudes to greet
In suspended animation, there hung Williams by his feet.
There was frost upon his biceps as they opened up his case.
Liquid Nitrogen was dripping from the creases on his face.
How the faithful cheered their legend as the slugger was unpacked
How he tipped his hat to greet them! How his knees and elbows cracked!
Now he stood there stiffly-legged as the light began to die
The pitcher hurled a bullet. Williams watched as it went by.
The catcher muttered softly “You took that one like a chump.”
“I’m adjusting to the temperature,” he said. “Strike!” said the ump.
The tumult from the bleachers was amazing to behold.
Not a fan among them noticed that the bat was green with mold.
Now his eyes returned an icy glare, he curled his frozen lip.
Now his red socks were de-icing. Now his cap began to drip.
Then came another missive from that demon on the mound.
Showing every indication it would splutter to the ground.
But then it rose, Phoenix-like, ’til level with his belt.
“Strike two!” The umpire said, as Williams felt his shoulders melt.
In the catered suites around the park the corporate sponsors groaned.
In the press box doing play-by-play, the glib announcers moaned.
In the stands, prevailing wisdom was, the greatest one had choked.
At the plate, the catcher noticed that the batter’s box was soaked.
For the frost upon the slugger’s brow had turned into slush.
His uniform was sodden and his mitt was leather mush.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now it’s on its way.
And now the air’s alive with a ferocious swing and spray.
Oh somewhere there’s a field of dreams with bleachers by the surf.
And somewhere bands are playing on some soggy outfield turf.
Although mostly it is dusty by the plate where umpires shout,
There’s a pool of mud in Joyville, for Ted Williams has thawed out.
Your frozen remains have just been brought back to life in a word quite different from the one you left. Comments?
It’s Johnny Weissmuller’s birthday today, way back in 1904. He was an Olympic champion in swimming with five gold medals, and a record contender in matrimony as well, marrying five times. Some things just come to certain people in handfuls.
And he played Tarzan, the original male bimbo.
I love these quotes in the New York Times obituary from 1984. In the first one he’s marveling at his good fortune to land the perfect job for a good looking, phenomenal swimmer who wasn’t very chatty to begin with.
‘It was like stealing,” he said. ”There was swimming in it, and I didn’t have much to say. How can a guy climb trees, say ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane,’ and make a million?”
And this, regarding his dance with fame:
”The public forgives my acting because they know I was an athlete,” he said on another occasion. ”They know I wasn’t make-believe.”
I’m guessing Weissmuller would be a reality TV star today. He was well built, amorous and carefree. And he got along OK with animals, which will always make you popular with the American public. In fact, people would approach him in public and request that he perform his character’s victory cry – the Tarzan Yell. Imagine being out to dinner and having to deal with an endless string of strangers asking to hear this:
Really, it’s no wonder he was divorced by four of his wives.
Tarzan was raised by apes. If you could choose to join a family of animals ….? (Please, NOT baboons!)
This is the season for commencement addresses, and lucky indeed are the schools that can draw a high profile speaker who is also inventive and succinct.
And then there are the others – places where exhausted and anxious graduates have to endure lengthy speeches from self-important outliers who thrive in the place where science, business and insanity meet.
Text of the Commencement Address by Dr. Larry Kyle, founder of the supermarket Genway, to the graduating class at the Designing Nature Academy (DNA), a Genetic Engineering School.
Hello Graduates,
Looking at all of you waiting to get your B.S.’s from DNA, it makes me think of my most favorite letter of all – I!
When I was in your position, I thought I would get a job in a big scientific laboratory, posing impossible questions and squinting at test tubes all day. I imagined that I would draw a huge paycheck for this work because my mind is nimble and original and I like to think up things that no one has ever thought before.
Little did I know how weak the demand is for unusual thoughts. Unusual thoughts are suspicious and are treated with disdain by the world at large. What the world wants are USUAL thoughts that are guaranteed to make money, but that no one else has ever thought of.
Some of you will manage to convince your clueless employers that you can come up with this kind of magical idea. I hope you’ll be gone with the money before they realize they’ve been hoodwinked.
A very select few will follow my path.
I have found that to do the truly weird, genuinely “out there” work that the world needs but can’t ask for, you must go on a personal crusade with three “I”’s to guide you.
Independence. Ingenuity. And Insanity.
I am that three “I”’d monster! That’s what allowed me to create some of Genway’s most famous genetically engineered produce, like Bumble Grapes, Screaming Pumpkins and Crayfish Kohlrabi!
When people heard about the kind of work I wanted to do, many of them said things like “No”, and “Stop” and “Great scott, your irresponsible ideas will end up destroying life as we know it!”
This was hard to hear, especially since I discovered early on that I am motivated by the approval of others. Yes! And yet true pioneers are seldom lauded by anyone at the beginning. Or ever. That’s why I took steps to ensure that my supply of approval would never run out.
I hired a yes man, and you should too!
The people who are the CEO’S of major corporations are smart, but they’re no smarter than you. The difference? They have yes men (and some yes women) who bolster their confidence and give them the energy to proceed with their crazy ideas. Confidence is what got them where they are, and confidence will keep them there. It all starts with the word YES.
Now, I realize that many of you don’t have the resources to hire a yes man to personally approve all your impulsive whims, and you might have to start being someone else’s yes man. But eventually, the goal should be to surround your self with feckless enablers!
Allow me to get you started. I want you to think of your weirdest, wildest, wackiest idea that does not involve nudity, gunfire, or invading someone else’s personal space.
Got it? OK.
I think it’s brilliant, and you should do it.
As soon as I leave campus.
Reputable-journalist-turned-attention-hog Bud Buck has been thinking about recent criticism of Internet search personalization, and it has activated his dander.
Of all the empty complaints that are being thrown around these days, the one that really annoys me is the one about Internet search personalization. People say that when Amazon, Netflix, Google and all those other web companies collect information about what you’re looking at and use it to edit the results you get, it creates an “echo chamber” where you’re only exposed to things you’ve already said you’re interested in. As a result, they say, you don’t get to hear about the other stuff that you really don’t give a fig about.
This is a problem? I say thank God!
Every day I have to fight off truckloads of information that bores me. It’s in my e-mail. It’s on TV. They yammer on about it endlessly over the radio and plaster it across the front page of the newspaper. If the technology exists that will insulate me from all the news I don’t want to look at and all the music I don’t want to hear, I’m for it.
Yes, I would like to have a constant diet of me-centric information. My hobbies, my favorite foods, my issues. Back when I was a media elite, I could foist my preferences on everybody else in the name of “good” programming. Now I’m just trying to hang on to them for the sake of my own satisfaction and entertainment.
Eli Pariser is stirring things up with his new book decrying “The Filter Bubble”, claiming that because of Internet Personalization, we don’t know what we’re missing. If it’s so effective, how come I’m not missing out on Eli Pariser? He’s everywhere!
Put more power on the baloney shields, Google! I just stumbled across his TED talk again!
I don’t blame you if you didn’t watch it. I try not to, but it’s always there! I love the part where he realizes Facebook has been “editing out” dispatches from his conservative “friends” because he hasn’t been clicking on their links. Pariser thinks this is an example of the corporation getting in the way of his open mind and making his world smaller. Oh yeah? Wait ’til his conservative “friends” find out he’s only been pretending to be interested in them! Click on their links if you’re so fascinated by their ideas!
Honestly, the if the Internet were a body of water it would be totally overrun with Asian Carp by now. There’s too much stuff thrashing around. We need less of everything, and if Google and Facebook can turn this big, sprawling world into something more like the corner table at my favorite cafe where me and my buddies can spend the morning talking about how right I am about absolutely everything, sign me up!
This is Bud Buck!
One proven strategy for getting attention is to attack people who are getting more attention than you are. But in this case, I think Bud is over reaching. I wrote to him and told him he should start by ranting about someone closer to home and work his way up from there, but he didn’t answer. I might be beneath his notice, or totally off his radar.
How open are you to new experiences and fresh ideas?
Having an extended weekend can open up a bit of time for busy people, especially if you don’t have to drag yourself up to a cabin or host some special event. Saturday’s post asked what arts and crafts project Babooners could do over and over.
Clearly, sitting around posting comments on blogs is only one leisure time activity that occupies our little community. I offered to post photos of any projects people found time to work on during this long weekend, and several crafty souls stepped forward, first in the Saturday comments, and then by e-mail to connelly.dale@gmail.com.
Lo and behold – Babooners at work (and play)!
Joanne
Joanne's bracelets and granola bars
You guys are all so talented and crafty. After reading the posts, I got motivated to try making a pop can tab bracelet, but I forgot how to do the weave. So I made a pan of homemade granola bars instead. I’ll find my instructions and give it another try though; maybe get a picture to send in of my recycled jewelry.
The one is made with just a black shoelace and the other uses a gold elastic cord used for wrapping packages. If you like that punk or goth look, they’re kind of cool looking. Using a nice velvet or satin ribbon, they could actually look somewhat nice I think. I’ve seen them on Etsy for $10 using colored tabs from energy drinks woven with a clear elastic cord.
Steve
An artsy project I can do forever, loving it all the time, is editing digital photos. It is restful and lovely and utterly satisfying to “fine tune” the look of a photo. Is the sky in that landscape too bright? Now it is not. Would that woman look a little more stunning if she had whiter teeth? Fixed that! Does that Labrador retriever need a little work on his face to make his eyes and mouth more expressive? Done! And that little girl on the carousel, is she really as bored as she looks? Well, I can go in and give her mouth the tiniest tweak to cause her to smile. And now everyone is happy.
Steve says "everything" about this photo has been managedThe original photo
UPDATE: Steve sent the original photo this morning and describes it in the comments, below. I’ll repeat (or is it PREpeat?) his description here for your edification:
I cropped, turned the light WAY up, intensified color, erased fences and powerlines and barnyard crap, smoothed out the texture and increased the sharpness. In other words, the original photo was pretty awful! Silk purse from a sow’s ear.
BiR's Sunflower themed Greeting Card Placemat
Barbara in Robbinsdale
My claim to fame is… (drum roll) … making placemats out of used greeting cards. This started last year when I saw a set of Christmas card placemats at my mom’s senior residence. Cut into 4″ circles, 12 of these are arranged around a large center card and some border, which becomes a contact paper sandwich – clear over the cards, backed with something pretty so it’s reversible. I branched out from Christmas cards, and now do “theme” placemats, like seasons, flowers, etc. It’s so tacky, and appeals to the recycler in me – I always hate to toss those beautiful cards. Save your prettiest ones for me, Babooners.
Handmade cards ... and scrap booking.
Sherrilee
This is easy… stamping, cards, scrapbooking. Give me rubber stamps, ink and cardstock and I’m set. (Of course, I’m more set if you add ribbon, die cuts, sparklies and paper punches.) In fact, last Sunday, when it rained all day, I made 38 cards! I bought my first stamps to placate my sister, who was having one of those home parties. They sat in a drawer for over a year until a friend also had a party. I went just to see what I could actually do w/ said stamps and got hooked that night. Except for reading, it’s my favorite sport – I find it incredibly relaxing to sit in my studio and stamp and cut and paste!
Linda in West St. Paul
My tendency is to be too scattered and unfocused to finish anything complicated, but I do like working on small craft projects. Sometimes jewelry-making, painting things, stenciling, woodworking on a small scale. I have done some quilting and embroidery, but not so much lately. I’d like to get back into that. I’d also like to try making mosaics. Maybe the photo challenge is what I need to get something done this weekend.
Linda's bird feeders
(Linda says about the above project: “A simple window bird feeder, made from stuff I had around the house. Scrap wood, leftover pieces of square dowel, an L-shaped piece of plexi that came from who knows where, four screws and two screw eyes. The sole purchase I had to make was the suction cup.”)
Jim in Clark’s Grove
Here is a picture my wife took of one of the gardens I have been working on this weekend. Actually, gardening is my main hobby which I guess is sort an arts and craft project. This flower bed is an example of the kind of somewhat out of control gardening that I do and that I would like to have more under control. The white flowers are Sweet Cicely which is way out of control and many of them will need to be thinned out. The ferns are also in need of thinning out and the purple flower is Jacobs Ladder which I hope has enough space due to some thinning I did this spring.
Anna
Oh, and thanks to you lot, I am freshly inspired to break out my fine new (pink) ukulele on a more regular basis when I get home. I have taught myself a few things – I like how quickly I can learn a new chord or two and get a tune working. I do find, though, that sometimes Rise Up Singing has a chord progression that don’t quite match up with the tune in my head.
Anna didn’t send a picture of herself with that pink ukulele, so I’ll offer this inspirational substitute. If nothing else, it gives new meaning to the term “playing covers”.
It's summertime! Break out the instruments!
UPDATE: Some accomplishments from Jacque, sent Monday morning.
Last night I finished my garden day by baking 2 strawberry-rhubarb pies ( our garden rhubarb ) which I will photograph for the Dale’s Show and Tell tomorrow. The pies are for a going away party tonight. Yesterday was a luscious gardening day, starting with enough time to go to Farmer’s Market. We then returned home to plant some purchases or cook and eat other items. We did both! Then it rained just enough so I did not need to water the new plantings much.
The 4 year old boy next door came over to “help” me plant while he talked and asked questions. A lot of questions. You forget about that over time. He was so cute and enthusiastic. Then right in front of my husband Stevie said, “Jacque, you are amazing.”
I said, “Thanks, Stevie. Lou, (husband) did you hear that? I’m amazing if you ever doubt it.”
UPDATE: Krista sent along these crafty examples:
I also get carried away with crafts like embroidery and/or bead embroidery. I took a North House Folk School class from Jo Wood and learned about how she paints with beads. I’ve done a couple of pieces that way and am ready to move on to something a little bigger. The embroidery is on a surplus French army backpack. I did the same design on a surplus French army coat too. The bracelet and earrings are my own design.
And I, dear readers, have been working on transferring some family videos from VCR to DVD – an arts and crafts project that is more craft than art, with mixed technical results and a few moments of revelation. Who knew we all used to be so jumpy and grainy – looking? Of course that might be the fault of the rudimentary camera we used when the shots were first taken, the old VCR I’m using for playback, the analog-to-digital converter, or one of the connectors I’m using along the way. Once HD video becomes the norm, a new generation will marvel at the visual textures of the old days.
There has been some tooth gnashing over President Obama’s authorization of the signing of the Patriot Act extension with an autopen. This machine long ago took the place of the chief executive’s hand in dealing with routine correspondence, but apparently this is the first time a mechanical device has been used to turn a bill into a law.
A legal opinion written by lawyers with the Bush (2) administration was used to justify the move.
Even so, Obama will be criticized, but that’s not the greatest risk. The greatest risk, as anyone who has worked in a factory knows, is allowing a machine to get a metal and plastic toe in the door when it comes to doing an essential part of your job. History tells us where that leads – sometime in the future our President (whoever it may be) and the autopen are bound to have their John Henry Moment.
When John Henry got into the White House
Famous ‘cause he worked so hard,
He arrived with much renown, he had people all ‘round.
He was popular and held in high regard, Lord Lord.
Popular and held in high regard.
When John Henry reached the Oval Office
Surrounded by women and men
He said, “Now I’m feelin’ fine, I got papers here to sign”
They said, “All of that is done by auto pen” Lord Lord,
“We don’t need you with the auto pen.”
John Henry said to his people
“While it’s true my arms are sore,
I won’t let them wires and wheels fix my presidential seals,
Bring us bills and I will sign them all and more, Lord Lord.
Bills to sign and more and more and more.
So John Henry signed with his left hand
Autopen signed with the right
Though it didn’t have no arm or no presidential charm,
It signed every bill that he did through the night, Lord Lord
Both of them signed bills all through the night.
When they found them there in the morning,
It was dark and cold and damp.
Just a gizmo and a bloke, blood and oil and sweat and smoke.
One was broken and one died of writer’s cramp, Lord Lord.
What a way to go, from writer’s cramp.
The moral to this story
Is to do all you can do.
But there ain’t a man alive who can challenge and survive
when machines arrive to take the place of you, Lord Lord.
When machines arrive to sign then you are through!
The John Henry song sure comes in handy at a time like this. I love to re-write it – some of you may recall I’ve done it before. But why not take advantage of every opportunity while I can? Because it’s a repetitive activity, I’m sure someday there will be an app to do it for me.
What arts and crafts project could you do over and over and over without tiring of it?
I’m sorry to report that I have lost that happy feeling about this being the Friday before a three-day weekend. I blame Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty, who stuffed the following flyer in my mailbox:
Attention Civilians!
I strongly advise you to obey the following Safety Alert for the Memorial Day Weekend! We should all be in a heightened state of awareness.
I know the Department of Homeland Security has done away with its system of color coded warnings, but I’m not thinking of the terrorist threat here. I’m thinking of our personal self-threat level, which is always high, and on a three-day weekend it should be listed at Double Cherry Red.
We are our own worst enemies.
Do not, I repeat, DO NOT let your guard down just because you happen to be “on vacation”. As a CDR (Certified Day Ruiner) and PSS (Professional Safety Scold), I know that whenever people “relax”, “kick back”, “cut loose” or “let their hair down”, they are setting themselves up for a wide variety of self inflicted calamities.
We, who are in the business of worrying about the worst that could happen, consider three-day weekends to be the black holes of the yearly calendar. Our work increases in direct proportion to the speed in which your work melts away. And the three-day weekend that opens the summer season is the very worst of them all because it offers the widest differential between the fun people think they are going to have and the fun they are actually having. All winter long, minds race with dreams of outdoor recreation. When the season finally arrives, the urgent drive for summer fun takes over and outruns common sense.
For instance, just because you can picture yourself waterskiing from a barefoot standing start off the end of a dock because your brother in law has an extremely powerful new boat that’s he’s itching to try, that doesn’t mean you should run out and do it.
I can express it as an equation. Imagination + Anticipation + Water times “Look At Me!” = Emergency Room.
I heard a theoretical physicist say on TV the other night that time is just an illusion. That’s the way I feel about vacations. People who think they are on one are embracing an artificial reality that could lead them to step off a cliff, unawares.
Please, try to have a little less fun than you think you deserve this weekend.
Yours in Stability and Safety,
Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty
Trail Baboon 