My skills...

…do not include web design.

I first learned this sad fact when I took on the chore of designing a family website to which we could post pics and share stories of our adventures during our 2001 trip around the perimeter of the mainland US. We called it the Ball of Twine Tour and it was epic! Somewhat less epic was my attempt at building the website using an application that I was assured any idiot could master.

Apparently, I didn’t qualify as any idiot.

After two months of trying, I gave up and asked Daughter One and her friend – both then twelve years of age – to take a whack at it. They required all of about two hours to complete the task.

Now, I’m engaged in building the website that will supplant this blog and as the good people at the hosting site assure me, do o-o-o-oh, so much more. I’ll be able to post blog entries, share my short fiction, make announcements, stream videos, link to other writers’ sites, the list of functionality I’ll be able to apply goes on and on.

The thing is, now that I’ve paid for the first year and set up my username and such, I have to be able to figure out how to log in and, you know, actually use the functions I’m paying for.

Anyone know a web savvy twelve year old?

Man caves

Can we talk?

I want to start with a question (okay, another question). What the (insert expletive) is a man cave?

Sure, I know it’s a room or outbuilding set aside and fitted out for the sole use of the ‘man of the house.’ There are actually web sites devoted entirely to helping, er, men design their caves. And there has arisen a whole sort of orthodoxy about what goes into a man cave. So, I guess my real question is, why?

There are as many styles of man cave as there are man cave owners but looking at photos of them on the web or perusing the guidance to be found under the guise of ‘104 of the best man cave ideas,’ a definite thematic direction begins to emerge.

The decorating style seems to revolve around sporting events and the consumption of alcoholic beverages. Dark woods and subdued lighting set the tone, while neon and task lighting call attention to the owner’s favorite – you guessed it – beverage or sporting team logo. The more fantastic examples include revolving banks of seating to allow viewing on multiple media screens, or full bars replete with draft brews and back mirrors. Several I’ve come across included single lane bowling alleys.

Cigar smoking seems to be emblematic of man cave culture. As do billiards and car racing themes. Large companies are also well represented, companies like Harley-Davidson, Budweiser and Porsche. Dead animals grace many of the walls, serving as proof of the man in question’s prowess with weapons and passion for violence.

I don’t get the whole idea of man caves but then, I’m not really a man according to generally accepted theories of man caveliness. I don’t watch sports or smoke seegars. I have to admit I don’t really care all that much for many of the leisure pursuits that our society seems to consider manly.

Which is not to say I don’t have my own retreat within our house. Mary and I each have a room we consider our office. Mine is used for my writing and includes my reference books and some favorite other books, the shelves holding some of my favorite keepsakes, that sort of thing. I suppose it’s my cave. If caves have windows to the back yard.

I have nothing against man caves, per se. I guess the thing I don’t get about man caves is that they seem intended to provide a place for a man to escape but from what? His wife? Children? Pets?

I go to my work room to, you know, work. When I want to relax and enjoy life, I want Mary in the room. Even if we don't speak a word, having her in the same room is part of being married, isn't it? A really good part, yes? 

I enjoy just being around Mary. And Mary does not like cigars. 

Gathering tables

Mary and I have begun thinking about retirement. Not that it’s going to happen this year or next but we tend to be planners. Okay, make that dreamers, for those who know us well and have smirks on your faces.

We watch a lot of home shows, particularly those that involve fixing up older properties. We have always been DIY types and as we get older it’s more fun to watch someone else do the heavy lifting.

One of the trends I’ve noticed over the last several years is the practice of ‘antiquing.’ And while that term used to refer to going forth in search of furniture that was actually antique, more and more these days it refers to the practice of taking sandpaper and screwdrivers to perfectly good wooden furniture and cabinetry, roughing edges and creating dings and gouges in the attempt to make the piece appear old and well used.

Which, of course it is not and the fakery is easily discernable to anyone who actually knows anything about woodworking or who simply appreciates old wood furnishings. I admit to being perplexed at this whole idea of ruining perfectly good finishes in an attempt to make the new appear old.

Anyway, all of the above is background to what I really wanted to share.

A book I was reading made reference to a gathering table and it reminded me of a piece I’d seen being built for the client on one of the shows we watch. True to form, the TV woodworker made this gorgeous table of reclaimed (old with gorgeous, widely figured grain) wood, really fine work. And then, at the behest of the designer – the TV host – he applied his tools of destruction to make it appear old and worn.

I just don’t get it and this gathering table is a perfect example of the reasons for my disquiet.

You can google ‘gathering table’ if you like but the first several pages of offerings will simply add to your confusion. You might be led to believe the term embraces a multitude of styles, materials, periods and price points. The offerings you’ll see are either high or low, round or rectangle or square, fancy or plain, ready-made or some-assembly-required. And of course, there’s the question of finish. Fine or fake, smooth or ‘antiqued,’ paint or stain or even (Gawd, I can hardly even type this one without cringing) anodized aluminum.

There are those who will themselves cringe at what I’m about to say – those who believe words carry the evolving meaning of the moment and that I should just get over myself. In the hope that you’ll forgive me, I admit to believing that words and phrases have inherent meaning and even though they change over time through usage they still retain the core elements of that meaning.

A gathering table is what it sounds like. It is a piece of furniture with a flat top around which people gather to do work together. Work such as assembling a communal dinner or sorting things. Or the more usual meaning, that of a table used for gathering signatures in books. They can indeed be quite different in size and shape, material and finish. So for example, a turn of the century (1800s-1900s, that is) farmhouse gathering table would be large and sturdy and working height (counter height rather than desk height in modern terms). A gathering table that served people signing guest books and dropping off gifts for a wedding reception might be lower, smaller, and more finely crafted. Still, they are gathering tables, tables for gathering.

The pieces that I imagine when I use the term may indeed show their age but if so, it’s from long use rather than artificial scoring. The bumps should be from heavy items set down awkwardly, not by application of screwdriver or peen. And the missing finish should convey the story of thousands of touches. Human touches, not sandpaper. I know, I’m an old Fudd and you can almost hear the ‘Harrumph’ following that last sentence. And after all, who anointed me the king of gathering tables?

I suppose I’m on this rant in part because of the penchant these days among politicos and others for egregiously misusing language. Where do we get terms like ‘alternative facts?” And no, this is not aimed at any person or group in particular.  

Emerging meanings and usages should add to the precision and beauty of language, not detract from it.

Antiques are old things, facts are demonstrably true things.

Words have meanings.

Harrumph!

Tall tales

Lots of things I could have been.

When I was a pre-teen and while the other kids on the block were playing baseball, I was dissecting preserved specimens. I guess at that point I might have become a mass murderer but my life has been about nothing if not twists and turns. I just had to know how guts worked and so I had a collection of dead things in formaldehyde on one of the shelves in my room. Thought I’d grow up to be a doctor but it turned out I didn’t have the right kind of studiousness for the formality of a medical education.

Wanted to be a singer at one point and actually thought it might work out but it turns out you have to have the fire in the gut and I was more interested in filling mine with tacos and chocolate. But I performed in a lot of shows and sang in small clubs with my high school buddy and later with my erstwhile girlfriend. She went on to actually make a moderately successful solo CD and sing with John Lee Hooker and I went on to the next thing.

I thought I might be a woodworker at some point, actually had a small business making items for children’s bedrooms. Taught myself how to make dovetailed joints and built a few sticks of furniture. But then being a dad and needing to actually make a living wage sort of put an end to that aspriation. As a job, not as a hobby. I kept on building things but never again as more than a hobby. You can see evidence of my woodworking in our mantelpiece, in our daughters’ ‘big girl beds,’ and a few other items around our house. It was a fun diversion but as it turned out, only a diversion.

I was always interested in accommodating the needs of folks living with disabilities. Don’t know if that came from my mother’s polio or my own early leg deformities or the deaf friend of my early school years. I was just always comfortable around people living with differences and after decades of working small manufacturing startups, I settled comfortably into my current role as an adviser to nonprofits that train and provide jobs for people living with challenges. Love my job and I seem to be decent at it.

Tried taking up this and that over the years. But through it all, I’ve loved making up stories. Yarns. Tall tales. Charming fabrications and outright lies. It seems that no matter what else was going on in my life I’ve never been able to get by without pencil and paper. (Or typewriter or word processor or laptop, as both technology and the tremors in my hands progressed.) Wrote my first full length novel in my mid-twenties. Enjoyed the process of writing, of making up stories. I became an accomplished fictionalizer, much to my chagrin at times when my tall tales were exposed, but that’s another story.

While I could share a number of reasons why I like to make up fictions, I’m not sure I could explain why I need to do so. But I do.

To me, the two most promising and intriguing and exciting words in the English language are ‘what if.’

So, I’m a writer. Not because I’m literary or brilliant or even sharp-witted.

I just like a good story.   And I’m not above making up my own. 

Sad words and phrases

I came across an item in the webisphere today with the morbid title: “10 of the Saddest Words (or Phrases) in the English Language.”

Their list included: back to school, goodbye, heartbroken, if only, might have been, lonely, love (in reference to the unrequited variety, one might assume), melancholy, terminal, and what party?

I’ll admit that some of these words and phrases do seem unalterably sad. Melancholy, for example. Not sure how one might put a positive spin on melancholy. The sheer Eeyoreness of the word condemns it to the realm of the other-than-mirthful.

Other terms from the list require context to frame their claim on misery. Back to school is not always and evermore a sad concept, is it? I said, is it? Might-have-been’s position depends on the nature of the ideas immediately preceding or following – the ‘this’ that might have been.

Anyway, there certainly are sad words and phrases in our lexicon. One of the saddest for me is ‘I wish I’d known.’ While I suppose there are less-sad contexts for it (If I’d known you were coming I’d have baked a cake), in my world this phrase is usually associated with missed chances to do better, be better, find better.

I wish I’d known then what I know now. Fairly mild.

I wish I’d known (s)he liked me. Less mild, heading for melancholy.

I wish I’d known in time to stop him/her.  Ew, let’s not go there.

Sometimes ‘I could have’ or ‘I should have’ are seen as sad. But for me, there’s no phrase quite as damming as ‘I wish I’d known.’ 

Ana Vidovic

Yes, I’ve been listening to music again. (What else do you do for background while you slog through re-writing a book?) And yes, once again I found myself listening to Ana Vidovic, who is hands down the best classical guitarist I can name. Her expression, her phrasing, her mastery of every aspect of her instrument produce a listening experience that is simply glorious.

If you wonder what I’m going on about, please Google her playing Asturias by Isaac Albeniz. The clarity – the cleanliness of each and every individual pick and strum – is truly remarkable.

We could stand to have more people like Ana Vidovic in our world.

I’ve been trying very hard to stifle the temptation to allow the distractions of writing short stories and blog posts while I am on deadline with the book and need to keep shoulder to stone. But really, this guitarist just forced me to pop in here and share.

I readily admit this is a selfish exercise. Between Trump and MS and ailing friends and dogs and looming retirement for which I’m not fully financially prepared, I’ve found a lot to worry about of late. Seems like the world has been turned upside down and I struggle to find examples of good news. I do find them close to home in both my daughters of whom I am justifiably and immeasurably proud. But I sometimes have trouble finding such uplifting examples in the wider world.

Ana Vidovic’s music is such an example.

Seriously, Google this music video. It’s seven minutes out of your life and it’ll make you feel good. 

Perhaps even encouraged. Promise.