Some people remind me of wagon wheels.  They do.  They seem to have this incredibly strong core…. an inner circle.  And from that very sturdy center… branches a number of spokes… or arms… that reach out and connect to an outer circumference.  As that wheel turns, the outer rim comes in contact with a very wide area.  Every time it moves, it touches a something different.  Some people are like that, I think.

I learned today of woman… SarahBreedoveGlass who was born …. on this date…. in 1867.  Her parents,   Owen and Minerva Breedlove were recently freed slaves.  Yes.  The Civil War had just ended when Sarah was born.   She was one of six children.  She had a sister…. Louvenia and four brothers… Alexander, James, Solomon, and Owen, Jr.
Her parents and elder siblings were slaves on Madison Parish plantation…. which was in Louisiana.   All of this was owned by a white man named Robert W. Burney .
When Sarah was about five years old… her mother died from cholera.  Her father died shortly there after.  So… the impoverished, illiterate little girl moved to Vicksburg in 1878 to obtain work.  She moved in with her sister, and brother-in-law.  As it turns out… her brother-in-law was very abusive.  So Sarah married at age 14…. a man named Moses McWilliams to escape the abuse.  They had a daughter, Lelia …. and when  Lelia was only two years old, McWilliams died.

So…. this is just the very first segment of Sarah Breedlove Walker’s life.  I would venture to say that by the time she was 16 years of age…..  Sarah had been through an ordeal or two.

Yet… Sarah Breedlove Walker went on to build the largest black-owned business in America.  She made a fortune… in fact…. she was the first African-American woman millionaire.  In addition to all of this, she touched thousands with her philanthropy.
Of all things….Breedlove found her future in beauty products. She learned valuable lessons at the elbow of a black role model, Annie Turnbo Malone, who sold her shampoos and hair-pressing irons to crowds in St. Louis for the 1904 World’s Fair.  She had also become inspired by a book she read about the potential successes of Black Americans.  It was written by one… Booker T. Washington.

There are a blue million other great stories about her life… and how she made her way.  Not only did she seem to figure out how to make her own mark on life, she managed to touch others with her generosity, hard work, and character.    She used the successes of her business as a means to  contribute to African American orphanages, old-age homes, schools, colleges, and a new civil rights organization, the NAACP. Walker became one of the best-known women in America.

Yep… like a wagon wheel I think.

“A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.” – Jackie Robinsman

Oh me oh me oh my.

My brain gets the spin wobbles, and it starts to wonder all over again.

Tonight, the things that crossed my noggin.

I wonder who made the color green equivalent to GO. Red got saddled with the definitive…. STOP. And, yellow brings the caution… depending on the driver.  In some cases, when people see yellow… they throw caution to the wind… slam the gas pedal to the floor… and fly through the intersection.  Which makes yellow a bit ambiguous.  I think.

While we are on THAT subject… since Green means GO… could that be why dogs pee when they see grass?  But, what about red fire hydrants?  They will just pee all over the basic red fire hydrant.

Okay… here is another.

You know how hair starts growing on our bodies when we hit puberty, yes?  In places it never grew before.  So, let us focus for a moment on armpit hair.  I wonder… I wonder… why we don’t have “behind-the-knee” hair… like in our armpits?

Speaking of Teens.  The English number system is whacked out when you get to the “teens” if you ask me.  For instance, why isn’t 11 pronounced onety one.  And so on…. 12… onety two?

One more, and then I will quit it.

On today’s date, in 1879…. Thomas Alva Edison privately demonstrated his incandescent light.  He did this at Menlo Park,  in New Jersey.  I wonder who all was there.  I wonder if they all said…. Ooooooooo.  Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

Mostly,  I wonder how many scientists it takes to screw in a light bulb?  Not really… that’s easy.

Two.  One to hold the lightbulb, the other to turn the universe.

So, as we step toward tomorrow, with the Mayan Calendar lurking on horizon…. maybe it isn’t about the end of the world as we know it.  Maybe it is more about a new beginning.

If we all give it a nudge… all of us… perhaps we can turn the universe a little bit.  Each one of us.  In our own way… in a good direction.

“The measure of intelligence is the ability to change.”  – Albert Einstein

“Those who cannot change their minds, cannot change anything.”  – George Bernard Shaw

Well, it would appear that I have been away for a little while.  Ah, but appearances aren’t everything, now are they?  I have not been gone at all.  Just displaced.

Okay, maybe not displaced, but diverted.  Yes, diverted I think it is.  In a good way.  Yet tonight, I feel like telling a story.

Once upon a time….

Well, holy crap, right there… already.  “Once Upon A Time????”  What the heck kind of introduction is that?  I never start stories with once upon a time.  Let me have a do over.

There was a cow.  Named Melvin.  He lived in a field, with all the other cows.  Melvin was a beef cow.  Yeah. Not good for Mel, in the end.  But all in all, he had a pretty decent life.  He lived on a good farm… lots of room to roam, and graze.  On Saturday nights, he and the other cows would get together in the north pasture and break dance, drink fruit punch, and eat sugar cookies.  Happy Cows.

On a Tuesday……. I think it was…  Melvin was out grazing with his buddy Bug-Eye Louie.  He was about to bite of a clump of grass, when all of a sudden he heard a little voice.  “Hey!  Watch it! Will ya’ bud?”

Melvin mooed with surprise?  Now, what in the world was this?  He looked down, and there before him, was a little band of Skidgenmites.  For those of you who don’t know, Skidgenmites… prounounced Skidgenmites…..  are little teeny beings… about one-and-three-quarters inches high.  They resemble Smurfs… without the white hats.   Skidgenmites actually don’t have the white little disco pants that Smurfs wear either.  And they aren’t blue in color.  They are a light purple.  Okay, come to think of it…. they don’t look like Smurfs at all.

Anyway.  The King  of the Skidgenmites called out to Melvin… “Good sir.  Don’t you fear the dreaded Troll Highmakkin?”

Melvin replied, “Nope.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes.  That old Troll… we call that ugly Troll “High” for short…  … ..High will gobble you up in a minute.”

Melvin again answered…”I have never noticed a troll in these parts before.”

“Well, beware!” King of the Skidgenmites yelled.

The next day, Melvin was out grazing again.  On a Wednesday. He was about to chomp a clod of grass…. when out jumped a little ugly-to-the-bone Troll.  The Troll was about eight inches high.  Comparatively small to a cow.  But much, much larger to a Skidgenmite.

Melvin stood quietly. Then.  The reality began to unfold.  He could faintly hear…… a little voice.  He leaned down… closer to the Troll… and listened.  The noise seemed to be coming from High’s belly.

All at once, it became painfully clear to Melvin what had happened.  The Troll had, in fact,  gobbled down the Skidgenmites.     All of them.  He heard the voice once again….  little Skidgenmites calling out…..

“High Ate Us.  High Ate Us.”

Hiatus.

And there you have it.

“A hidden connection is stronger than an obvious one.” – Heraclitus of Ephesus

“I used to be a sock… and now…. I am a very clever  monkey.”
– Barnaby Crockett

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
– Seneca

The things you overhear.  I’ll tell you.

At a recent party, I heard a couple of people…. talking about the “scary” nature of movies today.  The ones that are paranormal, or futuristic, or just plain scary.

They were saying that kids today are exposed to all of these chilling and frightening media outlets.  Movies.  Games. TV.  And this was to blame for the degradation of society.

Maybe.  But personally… I think we started down the slippery slope with Barney, the Purple Dinosaur.

Anyways…… I started thinking about the things I was “exposed to” as a child.  And the first thing that sprang to mind was my early problems with insomnia.  I think it was a direct result of what I had to stare at in my bedroom every single night when I was a kid.

There was this terribly sinister and alarming clown figure.  And then this… very creepy doll.

Sometimes, my Mom would put the doll, or the clown… in my bed at night.

I don’t know what all of this means. But somehow… I think … this may explain an awful lot.  An awful, awful lot.

“The simplest explanation is that it doesn’t make sense.” – William Buechner

Everybody loves the part of the birthday party when the cake comes out.  Oh, that icing-slathered-sugary-creation is laden with glowing candles… while teams of people sing well-wishes in a swirl of melodic mishaps.

But who the heck ever decided we do it this way?

I mean… how come this tradition didn’t end up being the “Group Birthday Head Stand”… or the  “Birthday Bell Ringing Ceremony”…. or perhaps… if you want it food related… “The Birthday Brussel Sprout Melee” ?

Well.  Leave it to the Greeks and the Germans to shape our ways…. AGAIN.

It turns out…. the history of cakes and candles began in Ancient Greece.   You see, those old Greeks baked up some neato round cakes to honor Artemis, the goddess of the moon.

They often decorated those little spherical delights with either one lit candle or many…..to represent the glow of the moon. Now, this was a pretty nifty ceremony.  But the cerebral motives fell to the ever-powerful-tummy.  Overtime, people began to make cakes and eat them for their yummy-in-the-tummy taste….. and not so much to honor Artemis… beautiful goddess of the Moon.

Yet… the very first BIRTHDAY cake was believed to have been made in Germany…. during the middle ages. Yep.  During those Dark Middle Ages… the Germans used the cake to celebrate the birthdays of young children.  They named this celebration the Kinderfest.

That old birthday cake didn’t stop there.  During the 17th century things got much more elaborate…. with the introduction  of icing, layers, and decorations. And the rest… as they say… is history.

These days… the birthday cake may come out looking like Spiderman, or the Incredible Hulk.  It could be flat like a brick, or layered like fountain.  Fancy or plain.  But the appearance makes no difference.

The intention remains the same.

A celebration of life.

Today, I went to a birthday party.  And it was… a very grand party indeed.  The birthday of a person who shines… not like the moon… but more like the sun.  Her goodness warms those around her.  And tonight, as the cake was cut… I knew those Greeks got it right.  Yes.  A wonderful way to celebrate life.

And……let’s face it.   The Birthday Brussel Spout just wouldn’t have done the job.

“Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does.” – William James

Tonight I attended a retirement party.

It was a very nice party, indeed.  There were many people there, of all walks of life.

Being amid other people… often leads to one thing ….and that is communication.

Talky. Talky.

Tonight, it seems I engaged in quite a bit of idle chat.

Or was it idol chat?

Well.  Let’s seeeeeee….  we talked about some of our favorite TV stars and celebrities…. sports superstars….  and totems…. golden calves… pagan gods…

…. that’s pretty idol chat.

I also prattled about how  my car gets stuck between second and third gear… and the fact that certain people like to waste time… also the behaviors of the unemployed…

…. that’s more idle chat.

I’ll tell you.  Being socially jejune is hard work.

“It’s not the same to talk of bulls as to be in the bullring” – Spanish Proverb

There is a pretty good story about this guy, named Claude.  It starts out with him attending Temple College.  Through that experience… young Claude attempts to broaden his mind and his own world perception.  But, oh-oh.  He is hit with a monkey wrench in the scheme of things.

It was his Dad.  Yepppers.  Old Claude’s father decides to expand the family farm.  So, now….. Claude is obligated to leave university and operate the old Eee-I-Eee-I-Ooooh.

Things go from bad to worse. Once pinned to the farm, Claude marries Enid Royce…. but the whole marriage deal is a bust.  Enid… is more interested in political activism and such. So… Enid tanks on the whole deal and takes a slow boat to China.

But the story doesn’t end there.   Claude moves back to his family’s farm.  Ho freaking hum.

As World War I begins in Europe….the family is entirely fixated on the excitement… and the fighting abroad.  So….. low and behold…. when the United States decides to enter the war, Claude enlists in the US Army.

Now Claude thinks he has found a purpose in life. He thinks he has risen far beyond the drudgery of farming and marriage.  Claude thinks his new quest is ALL that…. and then some.

There is a big old influenza epidemic and of course… all the continuing hardships of the battlefield. Yar.

But old Claude Wheeler feels like he has never, ever, mattered more.

And how does it all end?  Oh… you know.  Claude chases his vague notions of purpose and principle.  And all of this….  culminates in a ferocious front-line encounter with an overwhelming German onslaught.

And that is all I will tell you about that story.

You see…It isn’t my story.  A woman named Willa Cather made it up.  And then she wrote it down.  She wrote it down so good… that she went and won a Pulitzer Prize in Literature in 1922 for her work.

Willa was one heck of a woman.  A real free thinker… a bit of a pathfinder… and a very gifted writer.  Her life is filled with interesting  bits and pieces.  She never married.  No rugrats either.  She had several significant relationships with women throughout her life… including Edith Lewis.

Cather’s relationship with Edith Lewis began in the early 1900s.   People probably called them a couple of “spinsters” or something.

The two women lived together in a series of apartments in New York City……from 1908…. until the writer’s death in 1947. For a long time… the two of them lived at No. 5 Bank Street in Greenwich Village. They had to move…. when the apartment was scheduled for demolition during construction of the Seventh Avenue subway line.

Cather died of a brain hemorrhage.  And Edith Lewis handled the Estate.  There are many around today that question whether or not Cather was a lesbian.  I don’t know why it matters, really.  But there seems to be quite a dispute over the matter.

At any rate.  Strong, pioneering woman.  Smart. Talented.  Great writer.  Yes… she could spin a big web of a story.    I think she is one of those people I would like to  talk to… if the Time Machine ever gets up and running.

But back to the point of all of this.  Today is Willa’s birthday. December 7th, 1873.  And that’s all I know about that tonight.

“Put your talent into your work, but your genius into your life” – Oscar Wilde

The sheath of wheat bent gently in the cool afternoon breeze.

It turned toward the tree, and asked… ever so carefully…

“Are we doing this right?”

The tree leaned toward the wheat.  After a moment of great, and deliberate thought, the tree whispered…

“We are doing this exactly right.  We’re doing fine.”

“True religion is real living; living with all one’s soul, with all one’s goodness and righteousness.” – Albert Einstein

We all express ourselves, in some manner or another.  We convey our thoughts, our feelings, our beliefs, our emotions to others.  It is a part of life.  Yeppers…. a big part of being a member in a society.  Social.

Some humans do this through art.

Today, I went with some friends to Columbus. We took in the Art Exhibit at the Wexner.  It was an exhibit of Annie Leibovitz’s Photography.  She is mainly a portrait photographer, for those of you who are not familiar with her name.  She started out with Rolling Stone Magazine, and then Vanity Fair, mostly.

I have a great deal of respect for portrait photographers in general.  I stink at portraits.  Not good at all.

Leibovitz has a great sense for them… for capturing that “something” about each individual.  An intimacy about them.

But seeing an art exhibit always makes me think about how each one of us choose to express ourselves.  Photography is a pretty big venue for me.

A large facet of it… for me… is the “picture” I see in my mind’s eye.  I would like to be able to share that image with others.  To convey to those around me…”how” it is… that I am seeing something.

It is similar to those who perform an opera, a play, or a ballet.  Or someone who tells a story, or paints a painting.  Each one of us has an “interpretation” of a “piece of life” and we want to “relay” that experience.  Yes.  I think all of us have something we want to share with another.

That “something” may be an idea, or a feeling, or a message… or simply a mutual agreement on something entertaining.  But whatever it is… we are sharing a part of ourselves with others.

I think that is a wonderful, and daring thing to do.  Opening ourselves up to others.   Sharing our lives.  Living.  Engaging.  Giving.  Caring.  Growing.  Being a part of one another.

And that, I suppose… is a very good thing, indeed.

“Be around people who have something of value to share with you. Their impact will continue to have a significant effect on your life long they have departed.” – J. Rohn