Childhood Memories Of Winter

(Childhood winter time memories stay with us wherever we go. May these recollections take you back and bring you home.)

"Remembering Winter"
(North Dakota Horizons, 2007)

Silhouetted sentries stare,
Standing leafless, stark and bare.

Snowflakes, on their wingless flights,
Swirl in winter wind that bites….

Silv'ry, golden strings of lights,
Star-filled skies on nippy nights.

Snowsuits, mittens, itchy tights,
Sledding, skating, snowball fights;

Steaming cocoa-whispered sips,
Smiles on children's rosy lips.

Sticky, frosted finger tips;
Scrumptious s'mores and chocolate chips;

Scents of winter in the air,
Sounds of children everywhere;

Stockings filled with special treats,
Stories Grandpa still repeats.

Simply said, though far you roam,
Special memories bring you home.

Done Any House Cleaning Lately?

Quick! What's the first feeling you get when someone mentions "cleaning", as in "we're cleaning this weekend" or "we can't put off the cleaning any longer"? Let's face it. It's a combination of dread, resignation and resistance. I like to call it "dre-sig-nis-tance".

When a wave of dresignistance comes on, suddenly climbing Mount Everest and cliff diving in Acapulco seem like things you ought to be doing instead. Now, if you could only find those travel brochures you picked up last year---as if you thought you'd ever actually do those things in the first place.

I'm not sure what makes cleaning such a chore. Maybe it's because it's almost the worst kind of chore. First of all, depending on how brutal you decide to be, you have to retouch everything at least for the second time---if not third, fourth or fifth---even the stuff you should never have touched to begin with.

Then there's the dust, most of it laying there waiting to explode with the slightest breath, like one of those dandelion seed tufts. How do those little dust bunnies form, anyway? There they are, just lurking in corners and under furniture, waiting to pounce---or escape ahead of your approaching rag or mop.

The worst part may be the mental battle between the left and right sides of the brain, first trying to remember what made some particular thing so darned interesting at the time, then reevaluating whether to delay its immediate demise---a-g-a-i-n.

Cleaning has no gender boundaries either---there's no preponderant male/female claims to chronic collector status. Doesn't everyone have stacks of cherished magazines and catalogs, from Playboy to Pottery Barn, from "O" to "Q", from Real Simple to REI? All of them are so hope-filled and glossy.

Sure, we'll get back to that compelling relationship article eventually or try that recipe for goat cheese-vegetarian lasagna with avocado and a hint of mint. Toss them out? How could we? To paraphrase the classic from Seals and Croft, "these may never come this way again." Hope springs eternal....

But wait. Maybe the act of the cleansing purge (we're talking housework here) has gotten a bad rap all these years. When you get right down to it, cleaning is really just a mini-archeological excavation, with surprises under every layer.

Now I know why retail stores rotate their product lines so often. It's really just a business exercise in cleaning. Much as a fresh, clean store draws the eye and corrals customers, so too will your home, divested of its dust and clutter, be inviting to all those visitors you've been meaning to have over---you know, someone besides your best friend who loves you even with all your warts.

Just think of the fun in the discovery, nay even the reward, that awaits you. Have you browsed through the rows of packages and cans in your pantry which are months or even years beyond their "best if used by" date. What about the caches of expired coupons in that little basket by the phone; the knic-knacs and chotchkys---priceless dust catchers lined up in formation on shelves and hutchtops; and the pages of three-hole punched portfolio reports added monthly and quarterly to the "file later" pile?

Ah, but the true irony lies in the well-intentioned buckets and bags of partially and never used cleaning supplies shoved into the dark recesses of "the under-sink"?

So, what's to be done with the dust and clutter of times past. Can we ever part with our accumulated stash of good stuff which seems to have taken up permanent residence? Isn't it time to toss off the tantalizing tyrany of "too much"? To soundly trounce the trash evolved from treasure? To finally unburden the body and soul?

Come on. You can do it. Compulsion is under rated. Just think of it as turning your cleaning quirks into fashion statements. That damp rag tucked under a rubber band at your wrist will eradicate errant smudges in a flash. White gloves with a spritz of dust spray? Perfect for swiping away new traces of pre-dust on the bannister? And what could be bolder than strapping on a tool belt filled with cleaning supplies?

But the ultimate? A stylish row of easy-reach hooks by the front door is ideal for hanging dustmops, brooms and the afore-mentioned tool belt---all at the ready so you can start cleaning as soon as you walk in the door and keep at it until you leave. Throw caution to the wind. No mercy! This is war! Be the first cleaning fashionista on your block. Are you with me?

Wait. Where's the TV remote? Isn't there a game on now? Dirty Jobs? Animal Planet? Jeopardy? Anything?

Some Things Just Get On My Last Nerve

I may get some critical mail about this. Or maybe not. I feel compelled to write about something I just don't understand. I'm not sure I would lump the basis of my complaint under the general category of corporate greed. But it rubs me the same way.

Here's my issue: The less than altruistic intentions of companies which loudly proclaim support (read create an ad campaign) for a socially compelling movement only to withhold that support unless the consumer public first jumps through unnecessary hoops.

In plain English, a yogurt brand got on my last nerve years ago by creating a campaign in support of breast cancer research. Now before you start clattering away on your keyboards out there, I am not saying I don't support breast cancer research because I do and I have for years. My beef is when a company says for every "this" or "that" you do, we will donate "X" amount to cancer research.

Said another way, not until a consumer does the certain thing (e.g., jump through "hoops") will the company make a donation. And when the "hoops" include unnecessary sanitary missteps and require the additional cost of postage, to me that's just slippery business---a way to get out of making the donation in the first place. Personally, I stopped buying the product and switched to another brand as my own private protest.

Why can't a company accept the transaction at the point of sale as evidence of a customer's support for the targeted social agenda? After all, I'm certain someone in the company has the job of tracking sales volume down to the last yogurt cup. So, why all the roadblocks?

I could be wrong here. But, at the risk of sounding totally naive, does it appear the business side tends to trump good intentions? If an ad is crafted to cast the company as being socially responsible, then why shouldn't the company simply honor their implied commitment to support the good cause from the outset and make a donation based simply on sales volume alone?

If there is a concern about business liability (that is, the unknown and potentially high cost of the donation), couldn't the company simply state their donation limit up front? How about "We will support the cause up to a maximum of "X" thousands or millions of dollars"? Or "Because our company is proud to support the cause, we have made a donation of "X" dollars on behalf of our loyal customers". Both seem like reasonable approaches to the same end.

So, why do I feel compelled to comment now? Well, another company (one competing for market share in the same niche) has designed their own variation of the "lick and mail" campaign. It's a bit more polished and uses the Internet and purchase codes to squeeze out customer "buy in" (pardon the pun). But the approach is essentially the same---jump through these "hoops" or we won't make a donation.

Sure they steered clear of the licking and the mailing. But what does entering a code on a message form do? Potentially, it gives the company a trace back to the computer or smart phone of every customer who sends a purchase code to the company via its website. Forgive my suspicious streak. Maybe companies don't do that sort of thing.

Bottom line is, wouldn't it be easier and much more effective for a company to step up and do the right thing all by themselves? Just wondering.

In Honor Of Halloween

"In The Bone Zone"
by Bill Kirk

Bones! Bones! We all got bones.
They are hard as rocks and stones.

You can feel 'em, thick or thin-
Under muscles, under skin.

In your elbow, wrist and toes,
Even right on top your nose.

Count your ribs. Can you make ten?
Laugh and you must start again.

Feel your fingers, each bone shows.
Easy! They are all in rows.

Hip bones, spine and either knee;
You can find them-one, two, three.

Come on now. Let's have some fun.
Searching for your skeleton.

All Hail To The Seizers!

All Hail To The Seizers!
By Bill Kirk

Admit it. Don’t you just sit and wonder sometimes?
I mean, just to marvel at all the stuff
That’s bouncing around inside your head?
Try it if you haven’t. Who knows?
You may find it strangely satisfying to ponder
Just how many little rabbit trails
There surely must be inside the old cranium.
And talk about entertaining—that, too.

The number alone of all the thoughts
Zipping through one’s brain
Has got to be virtually uncountable,
Even if we had a stop-action camera
To freeze the brain in mid-think.
Yep. A think-o-meter is what we need, all right.

Of course, some of the thoughts are mere idle flashes,
Almost as if tiny brain segments
Are constantly dropping in and out of consciousness.
Other thoughts seem more productive,
Forming those proverbial “trains of thought”
About a certain something.
But, alas! Even a “train of thought”
May cover way too much real estate
To capture and categorize.

Why, just this afternoon,
I tracked on such disconnected things as
Bits and pieces of garage inventory—some lost, some found;
A favorite grade school teacher
Who regularly pulled unruly kids’ ears to keep them in line;
And whether a tent I soon plan to use has a hole in it.
Then it was onto where the best deal
On a bed frame and mattress might be.

Oh, and what about those boxes—unopened since 1985,
There in the upstairs bedroom closet?
Could that be where those errant bossun heads are?
Hundreds and thousands of questions,
Affirmations and reminders,
Stack up continually and almost instantaneously,
Like so many mental “sticky notes to self”.

Sure, we try our best to catalog
The endless stream of rambling ruminations—
At times in the very moment,
Or more likely in retrospect.
An image of trough upon metal trough
Filled to the brim with key punch cards comes to mind.
Doesn’t it make you wonder whether there might be
A giant queue awaiting cranial processing time?
Ah, yet another idle thought goes to the back of the line—
No cuts allowed. Or are they?

Of course, all attempts to give order to such chaos
Must inevitably be futile, right?
After all, are any of those so-called idle thoughts
Ever really idle at all?

Always in motion and, therefore, just beyond our control,
Billions of thoughtful snippets
Layer themselves one upon another,
Seeming to simmer silently until sufficient heat
Brings them to the surface.
That’s when the action gets interesting
As they bounce around like pin balls
Off the unending undulations of our collective cerebellae.
How could any of us be expected to keep track of it all?

Perhaps the answer to that question
Defines us as much more than
Mere copers and survivors.
Instead, are we not called to exercise
The full measure of our human capacity?
Indeed, are we not to be seizers of the day,
Destined to flourish, thrive and forge ahead
From one stimulating challenge to the next?

But is it the relishers of freefall—
The stimulation seekers—
Who hold human progress in their hands?
Or will those with the power to calmly disregard
The crush of competitive zeal,
Quietly lead humankind to the earthly promised land?

No matter. Either way, all those who grab the moment
And work toward the greater good deserve a cheer—

ALL HAIL TO THE SEIZERS!