Scout Moves

There was a discussion in our house the other day about whether or not everyone is capable of being great at something. Daughter No. 2 was reading an article that suggested if your ring finger is longer than your index finger, then you are inclined to be good at math. If your index finger is longer, then you are inclined to be better at language studies. The question followed, what happens if you are good at both things? How do you find out what you are great at? I suggested maybe not everyone is great at one thing. Maybe most of us can be just good at the things we do, and that can be enough. I am good at quite a few things--I'm a pretty good cook when I set my mind to it. I am a pretty good writer, again when I set my mind to it. I am a pretty good musician and a pretty good graphic designer. I can knit a sweater, and dogs and small children love me. I'm not kidding--both are drawn to me for some reason. I am good at all of these things because I have worked at them. I collec

My summer band performed two concerts this past weekend--actually we performed the same concert twice--once on Saturday at a street festival meant to commemorate my town's early connection to a canal that ran through Ohio in the 1800s and then again on Monday at a lovely park. We didn't do too badly. Our conductor, Fred, pops veins when someone plays during a rest--you don't want to be that person--and it happened once or twice. One of the trombones misplayed, and the look of death he earned was chilling. It wasn't as chilling as the tick that crawled all over my page two of Light Cavalry, though. It ended up smashed to bits beneath my chair, the bastard. We also played Joplin's The Entertainer, Harlem Nocturne, In Storm and Sunshine, the allegro vivace from Dance of the Hours, Gershwin's They Can't Take That Away from Me with a vocal soloist, a John Williams medley with some lovely horn parts, a Sousa march, God of Our Fathers, and a Ray Charles medley.

In my town, we recognize Memorial Day by gathering at a cemetery. Members of the VFW present the colors, the high school band plays the national anthem, and people stand among the grave markers. As is tradition, an eighth-grade girl recites a poem, and an eighth-grade boy reads the Gettysburg Address. There is a twenty-one-gun salute, presentation of wreaths at the Civil War Memorial placed by a WW2 veteran and a Korean War veteran, and a speech. This year, the speech was given by a navy man who served during the Vietnam War. He wondered what history books would say about the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and wondered if they would be given more than a chapter or two. He hoped that at least the soldiers who sacrificed would be remembered well. He finished with this quote by Rupert Hughes, 1919: "The true lovers of humanity are those who put on the uniform with regret, fight like all hell when wearing it, take it off with rejoicing, but hang it where it can be got at if necessary,an

Tomorrow is John Wayne's 100th birthday, and to honor him, I'd like to talk about my favorite John Wayne movie--The Cowboys (1972). John Wayne plays Wil Anderson who, with his wife played by Colleen Dewhurst, owns a cattle ranch. It's cattle drive time, but his crew leaves for the lure of the gold rush, and the only one to help is the cook. Anderson pays a visit to the local school house and hires on all the boys who are taller than the line on the chalkboard. Their parents allow them to go, believing the adventure will turn them all into men. The only boy Anderson rejects is a hot blooded young man who shows up to show off his horse-riding skills. Cimarron is played by A Martinez, and my gosh was he cute. And my gosh didn't I have a crush on young Martinez when I was a girl of ten. Along the trail, the boys, the cook, and Anderson are followed by a band of cattle rustlers lead by the nasty Bruce Dern. Dern is good at being bad, and in The Cowboys, he is very bad. Rosco

I work with a creative person who has loaned me a creative book-- Caffeine for the Creative Mind by Stefan Mumaw and Wendy Lee Oldfield. This book is filled with exercises to encourage creative thinking. It suggests things as odd as designing a protective helmet for a lady having tea or drawing a house using only dissected circles to simpler tasks like writing a haiku about your boss or coming up with the perfect vanity license plate for a nun. One of the assignments related to smell explains that the average human being can recognize 10,000 different odors and can recall them with a 65% accuracy rate after an entire year, far more accurate than our ability to remember sights. The task is to list twenty things that smell great when they are cooking, based on memory. Here is my list: 1. Fried chicken 2. Fried okra 3. Corn bread 4. Strawberry jam 5. Onions 6. Roast turkey 7. Sage stuffing 8. Apple butter 9. Roast duck 10. Steak on the grill 11. Ribs on the grill 12. Sauteed shrimp 13. C

It's going to be a long summer, and why is that? It's because my cat Tiger longs to be outside. He's an inside cat. He has no claws in his front paws. He's accustomed to sleeping on big, comfy beds. He knows nothing of cars driven by eager teenagers who throw their cars over the hills with no regard for what little critter might be crossing the street. If Tiger were to be squished by a car, it would take weeks or even months for us to recover from the loss. And it would take weeks or even months for us to overcome the guilt we would feel from letting him roam without proper training. During the summer, when we go in and out through the doors that lead to the patio, Tiger waits for these doors to open so he can dart out and explore the outside. He nibbles on the ornamental grass in the mulch beds, walks the length of the retaining wall, and plots his escape beneath the gates and into the big world beyond. We let him experience the patio with supervision, but sometimes we

I have recently started cataloging my sad little library using Library Thing. You can see five of them randomly featured in my sidebar. Most of these books are just books--paperbacks that I picked up to amuse myself on trips or during the summer by the pool. Occasionally, I have read books that have been recommended, and I have some classic books I adore in cheap paperback form--but like I said, just books. When I was in high school, I started collecting old books at second-hand stores. I snatched up whatever I could find even if I had no intention of reading them. I couldn't stand seeing these dusty old things rotting on a shelf in some back room. I would rescue them, I thought. I recognize that throughout history, books have been more powerful than atom bombs in altering civilization. The Bible, for example has been pretty powerful, as has the Koran. Common Sense by Thomas Paine was instrumental in uniting Colonists against the British. On the Origin of Species, the Communist Ma

Saturday evening, my orchestra performed the final concert of the season. I may have said that a couple of weeks ago, but this time I really mean it. We performed a special program featuring the story telling of Vane Scott, a local guy who has written a monologue about the history of the American flag. Our orchestra conductor wrote the music that goes behind the story, and we performed it for a live video recording that will be sold once it's polished and edited a bit. I felt like it was kind of a now-or-never performance/recording because Mr. Scott is quite aged. He has this voice, deep and smooth, that put me in mind of every educational film I ever saw in grade school--the History of Mesopotamia or How A Bill Becomes A Law or The Splitting of the Atom. The only difference here is that Mr. Scott's head piece was put together with duct tape--I'm not kidding. While I tend to mock this presentation, it really is very well done. There is a bit of old-man humor in the story te

...to Jimmy Stewart. If I had to name a favorite actor, it would be James Stewart. As I read through his list of films to list them in this post, I kept saying, "Oh, I love that one...Oh, I love that one, too. Oh...." I'll start with The Philadelphia Story. There are big names in this film, but Stewart tops them all. Then there's It's A Wonderful Life, Harvey, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Shop Around the Corner, Vertigo, Rear Window, Shenandoah, The Man Who Knew Too Much, The Glenn Miller Story, and there are more... He began his adult life in pursuit of a career as an architect. With all due respect to our architect friend (you know who you are), I am grateful that Jimmy Stewart changed course and headed for the theater instead. Back in August, I posted an excerpt from Harvey (while I realize Stewart didn't write this brilliant monologue, he delivered it so perfectly it deserves repeating): Harvey and I sit in the bars...and have a drink or two, play the

I hate spiders. That's nothing new. I mention that at every opportunity. When I smash them, which I also do at every opportunity, I usually mumble "bastard spider" as I wield the shoe or the rolled up magazine. I said that just this morning as I walked through the door way of my family room, and a strand of web caught me right on the nose. I never actually saw the crap thing that made it, but I said "bastard spider" just the same. I mumble something similar when I beat at the occasional wasp that flies through my living room--bastard wasp. My kids have come to expect it. The other day when I was griping about the bird that had left a present on my new car, my daughter said, "so, what are you going to call it?" I wasn't sure what she was talking about until I realized I had forgotten "the word"--bastard bird. We were both satisfied after I said it. It's a term used to describe a defective book that has come from the printers and has be

I have met someone new. His name is Jim Burris, but he enjoys being called Burris of the Universe. BOTU, as his signature reads, is a Vietnam veteran, a cook at a local bar, a pony-tail wearing philosopher of sorts, and a poet. Mainly he's a poet. He writes what comes to mind, avoiding politics but speaking up as he is inspired. BOTU's limitation, if you can call it that, is a lack of audience and occasionally lack of incentive. So, I have offered my blog as temporary incentive until he gets his own site. Once a week I will post a new Burris of the Universe poem, fresh from the source and unedited. My wholesome little spot on the blogosphere seems to be known for its light approach to the world--some of you even think you need to wipe your feet or remove your hat when you stop by. I never want anyone to feel that way when they visit, but that seems to be the feel Just Sayin' projects. With that in mind, don't be shocked if my new Poet in Residence doesn't quite fit

I bought a book about grilled cheese. That's right--I said "grilled cheese." I have a panini press in my kitchen, and I am always looking for interesting ways to use it. When I was a kid, what I knew about grilled cheese was two slices of smushy Wonder Bread surrounding a rubbery slice of American process cheese, pan-fried in heaps of butter, and served with Campbell's cream of tomato soup. While those are fond memories, I would prefer something more grown up. In my new book, I have learned something about the history of grilled cheese. It became popular in the States during the 1930s when it was known as "cheese dream." I also learned the British call them toasted cheese, and they are broiled instead of cooked stove-top. They should know, I suppose, since they have been eating them a lot longer than we have. In the 1700s, a book entitled The Experienced English Housewife gives instructions for "toasting a light wigg" and covering it with melted

I keep forgetting there even is a Monday Melee because I find I usually have other things to say. But today, I've got nothing. 1: The Misanthropic. (Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate). I usually complain about the strength of the word "hate," so I'll say I dislike arrogant drivers--the ones who ride your bumper when you're going 15 miles over the speed limit in the passing lane. Back off! 2: The Meretricious: (Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus). I usually complain about this question, too, because I hesitate to accuse someone else of being a fraud. How do I know if they're a fraud or not? So, I'll point to someTHING that I think is fraudulent--clothing sizes. Why can't there be a standard for women's clothing sizes? SML doesn't seem to mean much anymore, and it's any body's guess. I would like to be able to walk into a store, read the stupid tag, and know immediately if the damn shirt

Last night, I survived my first summer band rehearsal of the season (it's The Greco Band, should you care to explore the link in the sidebar). This band is a hodge-podge mix of people from the community, at least 70 of them at varying levels of musical ability. The key players sit first chair, but from second chair down, it's any body's guess. I sit second, but sometimes I think I should sit last given my apparent inability to count swing rhythms. I have read Peahen's descriptions of her community band--they have a CD, they wear snappy jackets, they play well--we are none of those things. We are a big bunch of sweaty, noisy, obnoxious musicians. We are the ones you hope don't embarrass you at family gatherings. We are the ones you cross the street to avoid having to greet. We are the ones you seat at the back table so the mess we make doesn't disturb your other guests. And after we leave, you have to employ a team of industrial workers to clean up the crumbs an

I sponsor a Muslim child through World Vision named Mayecor . My measly $27 a month helps to pay for his general well being--health care, food, clothing, and education. He lives with his family in Senegal, plays soccer, and tends the cows. Last fall, I wrote a letter to Mayecor, and since he had asked what my favorite season is (question he has asked again), I sent him a big yellow leaf from my front yard to show that I like autumn. Here is Mayecor's response which he wrote in French and had translated by a volunteer. I particularly like the phrase "I wish you the best of spirit and mind." Dear Robyn, First of all it is a real pleasure and a joy now for me to write you, but just to thank you for the nice card, the leaves, and so the intersand letter. I am very happy when I received all them. I send you my most warmest and sincere greetings. you have somb (sent?) to me. It is for me a truely touched my heart. Me and my family are go well and pray for you each day that God

A couple of days ago, Daughter No. 2 coerced me into taking her to Softies. Every small town has one--you know, the little huts that sell soft-serve ice cream through a slatted-window. You stand outside and give your order to a high school girl wearing a visor. She shuts the window, makes the dipped cone or strawberry sundae or whatever you crave, and then she opens the window, pops her gum, hands you the treat, takes your money, and calls "Next!" In my town, the Softies opens sometime in late April and closes sometime around Labor Day. In the winter, a tree farmer used to sell Christmas trees in the parking lot until he lost his gentleman's agreement with the shop owner. Normally I would just provide transportation and skip the fat, but on this trip with my daughter, I opted for a lemon freeze. It's like a Slurpee for those familiar with 7/11. It's also like a Mister Misty for those familiar with Dairy Queen. When I was a kid, my town in Indiana had a Dairy Quee

I have been putting off writing this post because I am not sure what to say, although I feel I need to say something. A 16-year-old boy died here on Friday while driving to school. It happened just around the bend from my house on a very curvy, narrow road that we all take to get from here to there. It was built to follow a creek years ago when this part of town was nothing but forest and farms, and for years and years it was a country road with little traffic. Now that we have a big subdivision up in the hills, the old road is well-travelled. It can be fun to take it kind of fast--in fact, my sister-in-law once told my niece when she was planning a visit, "Don't drive like your aunt Robyn." But there is one curve, a sharp one, where the bank on the left angles down toward the creek with no guard rails, that must be taken slowly. It's clearly marked with two yellow signs. The boy who died was on his way to school, and when he approached that curve at full speed, he l

My orchestra performed its season finale Saturday evening featuring songs of American Cities. Do any songs of American cities come to mind, right off the top of your head? Frank Sinatra's rendition of Chicago comes to mind for me, but we didn't play that one. Harry Connick Jr. does a smooth version of Down In New Orleans, but we didn't do that one either. Kansas City here I come, right back where I started from...nope, not that one either. We did selections from West Side Story, though, and St. Louis Blues, a Dixieland thing, New York New York, and the schmaltziest arrangement of I Left My Heart in San Francisco ever written. Robert Russell Bennett was the arranger, and he ought to be ashamed. If we had had a bubble machine, it could not have been worse. The only saving grace for that thing was our guest jazz pianist from Cleveland, Jackie Warren . Now that I have trashed the second half of the concert, let me praise the first half. The orchestra performed Bernstein's

For starters, it's Sigmund Freud's birthday (1856). You can find the Little Thinker Freud dall here --they also have a musical version and a Tickle Me version. It's also the birthday of Orson Welles, Robert Peary, Tony Blair, Willie Mays, Rudolph Valentino, and George Clooney. For all of their accomplishments, these people do not have Little Thinker dolls.

Daughter No. 2 plays trumpet in the high school band, which is why we went to Florida. Last night, the symphonic band performed their spring concert in an auditorium that felt like 75 degrees Fahrenheit going in but 175 degrees Fahrenheit going out. If only a benefactor would step in and air-condition the place. We'll be lucky to even pass the levy next week that will fund basic educational needs and sports, though, so a comfortable auditorium for the arts isn't likely (I digress). It was one of the best concerts I have heard them perform. They opened with Valdres--a nice little country march, followed by a couple of pieces by Richard Saucedo who is a band director/composer who seems to specialize in pretty band music instead of loud obnoxious band music. As the director said last night, there just isn't enough pretty music being played these days. They also performed a piece based on Pearl Harbor (the event, not the movie), and they finished with a medley of movie tunes fr

Daughter No. 1 has been rowing a boat. She's on the crew team at Ohio State, and they compete just about every weekend. This past weekend, they traveled to Indianapolis and competed against several teams, mainly Purdue. I like to claim Purdue as my alma mater, but I only attended a branch, and I only attended for a year and a half. I guess that doesn't count then. Here is the progression of events: My baby. To the dock. On the dock. Winning. As Daughter says, "on the left, obviously, is our boat and on the right is purdue. note the large gap in between, about three boatlengths of open water! celebration ensues." Yea! for Daughter No. 1

Warm weather is here, and it's almost time to say good bye to my socks until fall. If I wear shoes at all in warm weather, I wear sandals, and by the grace of God I am not one to wear socks with my sandals. I like socks. I hunt out the sock department in stores and gather up the best pair from the racks, like picking the best apples from the tree. Some people don't give them much thought and settle for buying them by the bag--6 black pair for $10, for example. Or for those who give even less thought to socks, 6 white pair for $10. Those people don't care about fit and feel and style or even durability. They just know they need socks. These are probably the same people who don't care about paper towels and are content with the cheapest roll they can find at the Aldis. For those of us who actually put thought into our socks, we each have different priorities and look for different qualities. Here is what I look for: Casual socks: I don't mind patterns as long as the

Maria and Dive have both asked and answered this question, so I'll give it a shot. I was doing an online search last summer about something--music or something like that--when I discovered a blog by a guy who teaches in a public school and sings on the side. The idea was intriguing, but I wasn't convinced it was something I wanted to do myself. I read his site on and off for a while and then decided to give it a shot. My friends have always said I am good at telling stories, so what the heck. I launched my humble site and went for a few weeks with hardly a reader. It was discouraging, kind of, although I didn't have high expectations to begin with. I liked the idea of putting all of my rambling, disjointed thoughts and stories and reminiscing drivel in one spot, so I kept writing and writing and writing. I heard a bit on Prairie Home Companion not long ago describing My Space as a place for kids to make shrines to themselves, and I thought adults with their blogs are no dif

I'm not talking about listening to people talk about cars, I'm talking about orchestra rehearsal. I had a rehearsal last night for our upcoming concert featuring American cities--New York, New York; Gary, Indiana (from the Music Man, written before Gary turned to trash ); St. Louis Blues; I Left My Heart in San Francisco; and Bernstein's Three Dances from On the Town. I sat down and greeted all my fellow horn players and was excited to play Rhapsody. It's a feature, so I knew we'd rehearse it first. I was right. Twenty five minutes later, we moved on the Bernstein dances, but since there is no third horn part for that stuff, I sat quietly, kind of, and waited for the next piece. I watched the sunset through the doors of the band room. I chatted quietly with the fourth horn player who was without a part, too. I doubled up on the 2 nd part when she was running through something easy to sight-read. I jotted down the inspirational quotes that were plastered all over th