Rocks Have Feelings Too

As is the case today, the 60s and 70s were times fraught with social upheaval and great personal anxiety: civil rights, Vietnam, the counter culture, Watergate, gas shortages, high interest rates, the seeds of world terrorism. In response to this, during the mid-seventies, budding entrepreneurs came out with the mood ring and the pet rock.  The mood ring would change colors based on how you were feeling: from green/blessed calm to black/supper stressed. A certain leafy substance was suggested if you wanted to keep your ring in the green zone.  Pet rocks were for the busy urbanite who didn’t have time to clean up dog poop but still wanted a warm relationship with a non-sentient object.

          I named my pet rock Ralph. We were an item for a couple of months. Where I went, Ralph went. True buddies. I eventually released Ralph to a rock pile in back of my apartment complex, so he could be with his own kind. It was an emotional farewell.  This incident makes me think of all the ways we impute enduring value to certain inanimate objects that enter our lives.

          There is that item of clothing that we just can’t let go of. A t-shirt that is mostly threadbare that we got at a rock concert years ago. A team ball cap with busted brim and faded colors that we still wear on special occasions. A treasured prom or wedding dress. The old sneakers that are unwearable, but memories keep them secreted in the back of the closet. Our existence tied up in bits of fabric.

          I have close to three hundred LPs in a storage unit. Why not dump them? Because they framed my life from the mid 50’s until the early eighties. Someday I may still want to cradle my worn copy of  Elvis’s Golden Records or caress the English pressing of the Beatles’ Hard Days Night. Gaze lovingly upon that seminal album Sports by Huey Lewis and the News. I may even buy a turntable. CDs occupy the same emotional space. My very first CD, Roundup, a collection of Western movie themes, still speaks to me from a prominent bookshelf. How can I have a relationship with an MP3 song downloaded on Amazon?  We need a tactile friendship. Heck, I can’t even get rid of an old video tape I recorded that shows the incredible restoration of the Sistine Chapel.

          For many of us, male or female, four wheel transportation is a ticket to our hearts.  The car, truck or SUV that is just the right color, style and/or engine size. We accessorize the inside with rear view mirror doodads and color coordinated dash mats. We put decals on the rear window and add bumper stickers. Order a vanity license plate. This is who I am.  While some of us recycle vehicles every couple of years, many of us hold on to our cherished transportation for years on end. It becomes part of the family. I named our long series of white mini vans Moby I, Moby II and Moby III for Moby Dick, the great white whale. Trading in an old reliable one for the next shiny version was always gut wrenching.

          Our homes clearly have a defining place in our life stories. We associate phases of living with the houses and apartments we have known.  Such as that old ramshackle starter home that protected us so many years ago. The one where the plumbing frequently backed up and the roof always leaked. Or the wonderfully built house that had views to kill for. But as Thomas Wolfe said, “You can never go home again.” In other words, you can never re-capture the experiences of the moment at those unique residences. In Florida, the previous family homesteads of my grandparents and parents were both bulldozed years ago. Not even a physical footprint left of those halcyon days of being in the family embrace. Still, the memories from those houses linger on.

          So, cherish the clothing, music, vehicles and houses that we collect along the way.   All the stuff that maps our lives.  Now, if I can just remember where I put that little plush skunk I had as a kid, the one that survived a hotel laundry back in 1956.

Cola Wars

I had just seen a retro ad for Coca-Cola, and it took me back to the cola wars of the 80s. Coke vs. Pepsi. It was an earlier era, before personal computers, cell phones, wide spread cable TV or streaming services. There were fewer cultural distractions, so people could get really excited about what brand of soda they preferred/would die for.  I was an inveterate Coke drinker and sneered at Pepsi with its sickly sweet taste. Part of my preference may have been influenced by the fact that my grandmother was from Atlanta, home of Coca-Cola, and she wasn’t supposed to drink it in the early 1900s because it contained “dope” i.e. cocaine. However the actual use of  measurable cocaine in Coca-Cola was ended in 1903, though rumors of it as an ingredient continued for many years.

Pepsi, a perpetual number two, decided to make a serious run at Coke. In 1975 Pepsi introduced “The Pepsi Challenge,” a blind taste test between Coke and Pepsi. More people preferred Pepsi because of the appeal of that initial sweet taste. By the early 80s the cola wars were fully engaged. The Pepsi Challenge had significantly cut into Coke’s market share. Coke’s diet cola, Tab, was marketed specifically to women. I can attest that the after taste was horrible, but I drank it sometimes because by 1981 my system couldn’t tolerate the sugar shock of regular Coca Cola. I was initially high and then depressed. A compressed version of manic/depression.

I was very happy when Diet Coke was introduced in 1982. The ad campaign showed brawny constructions workers and professional male athletes swigging Diet Coke as if they were imbibing a fine whiskey. This was no drink for wusses. They sold a ton of Diet Coke world wide, and I could tolerate a bearable aftertaste without holding a pink can. (Now I can’t live without that diet aftertaste). Regular Coca Cola and Diet Coke were again slamming Pepsi in market share, so of course the Coke people decided to commit product suicide.

In early 1985 the folks at Coke had a big roll-out for a new version, New Coke.  They didn’t have enough sense to also keep the old Coke formula. New Coke mirrored the sweeter taste of Pepsi, and supposedly was taste tested with thousands of approving subjects. However, they didn’t bother to tell the rest of the Coke world what they were doing. Pandemonium resulted. “Where is our old Coke? How could you do this to us?  If we wanted the Pepsi taste we would buy Pepsi.” Pepsi seized the moment and put out ads saying they, Pepsi, had won the cola wars because Coke had now adopted their taste. So you should just buy Pepsi, the real thing, stealing Coke’s own promo line.

After being battered by petitions and hate mail, Coke relented, and after a few months brought back old Coke as Coca-Cola Classic. They kept New Coke for a few years, but it never outsold old Coke. The irony is that because of the brouhaha, old Coke’s sales skyrocketed when it was brought back, because fans wanted to show their appreciation for the return of this hallowed drink. Then Pepsi decided to shoot themselves in the foot by introducing Crystal Pepsi.

In 1992 Pepsi thought a clear version of its flagship drink would be a big seller. Same Pepsi (minus caffeine) just clear instead of the normal cola color. Well, Crystal Pepsi was dead and gone within a year. People couldn’t reconcile Pepsi taste with a clear product. Did not compute. It was like when my college roommates didn’t appreciate my cooking, so I made the mashed potatoes blue. Same potatoes, different color. They didn’t touch them.

The Coke/Pepsi cola wars continue with different variations of the core product, but both companies have so diversified in product offerings that Coke and Pepsi aren’t the whole portfolio. The Coca-Cola Company also owns Sprite, Fanta, Minute Maid, Nestea, Powerade, Vitamin Water, and energy drinks such as Monster Beverages. Pepsico owns both beverage and snack brands such as Mountain Dew, Lay's, Gatorade, Tropicana, 7 Up, Doritos, Brisk, Quaker Foods, and Cheetos.

There is still fierce product loyalty for Coke and Pepsi drinkers. Some will even avoid restaurants, fast food joints and convenience store soda fountains where their chosen brand is not available. As I have grown older and wiser, I just avoid the discussion altogether. I drink Dr. Pepper.

Memorial Day 2020

174,000 service personnel. Barely the nineteenth largest army in the world. An army smaller than that of Portugal.  This was an unprepared American military on the eve of World War II.  However, after Pearl Harbor and its “day of infamy,” Americans answered the call, and by the end of the war eleven million had served in uniform.

          Memorial Day’s first official observation was May 5, 1868 following the Civil War. This Memorial Day we remember those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in a war that claimed over 400,000 American deaths. It is appropriate to do so on the 75th anniversary of the end of WW II. Victory in Europe day, May 8th; victory over Japan on August 15th.

          Resounding through the halls of history are the names of battles that defined the American resolve to preserve our democracy and its fragile freedoms from the onslaught of tyrannical regimes. In North Africa: Tunisia, El Guettar, In Italy: Salerno, San Pietro, Monte Cassino. In Western Europe: D Day, St. Lo., the Battle of the Bulge. In the Pacific theater: Guadalcanal, Midway, Iwo Jima, Bougainville, Okinawa.

          My father, Robert G. Matte, was badly wounded in the Battle of the Bulge; my father-in-law, Robert F. Lindsay, suffered serious wounds on Okinawa. Both eventually recovered and resumed military careers. Lest we forget the level of sacrifice, more than four hundred military women lost their lives during the war.

          The average age of soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen during WW II was twenty-six. They came from every ethnic and societal class. The American melting pot gone to war. In many combat units the age was between eighteen and twenty. Fresh recruits thrown into the hell of battle. Young men who grew up fast in a war they didn’t seek but one they couldn’t avoid. They did their duty, to fight for each other, for their country and for those back home.

          Those on the home front made significant personal sacrifices to contribute to the war effort. Five million women worked in defense plants and factories and collectively became known as Rosie the Riveter. Millions of men supported the war working in industry and agriculture.  No one went untouched by a conflict that threatened to consume the world.

          There were great celebrations on VE day and VJ day in hopes that the major sacrifices made would lead to lasting peace in the world. Unfortunately, we know this not to be the case.  Again and again Americans have still been called to arms to support the many freedoms we so deeply cherish, even at a steep personal cost. A remembrance of this cost is a gold star emblem, exhibited in the window of a home, indicating that a loved one has made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of this country.

In Washington, D.C, there are many monuments. Near the Washington and Lincoln memorials is a newer memorial dedicated to those who fought in WW II, remembered as “The Greatest Generation.” These words inscribed at the entrance of the memorial speak to them eternally.

HERE IN THE PRESENCE OF WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN,
ONE THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY FATHER AND THE OTHER THE
NINETEENTH CENTURY PRESERVER OF OUR NATION, WE HONOR
THOSE TWENTIETH CENTURY AMERICANS WHO TOOK UP THE STRUGGLE
DURING THE SECOND WORLD WAR AND MADE THE SACRIFICES TO
PERPETUATE THE GIFT OUR FOREFATHERS ENTRUSTED TO US:
A NATION CONCEIVED IN LIBERTY AND JUSTICE.

Coronavirus Two Step

I will start by saying that covid 19 is nothing to sneeze at (please direct that at your elbow).  I do understand the seriousness and how it affects lives from health concerns to unemployment.  However, from a strictly personal perspective, I have some not so serious observations.

          If you are wearing a mask is there a fashion protocol?  Should you match your ensemble based on whether the mask is white, blue or one of those colored neckerchiefs that cowboys wear out on the range.  I am fortunate enough to sport an ND 95 mask which I accessorize with an olive green military style field jacket.

          The six foot rule is great if you actually have a concept of what six feet is. I was at Lowe’s the other day looking at plants. A woman about ten feet away, who was wearing rubber gloves and a large mask, screamed at me, “Six feet! Six feet!” My reply, “Lady, if you keep on like that, you will soon be six feet under.”  Most stores now have tape on the floor marking six feet increments.  This gives personal space a new meaning. Cashiers often have Plexiglas shields hanging in front of them. Wished I’d bought stock in Plexiglas, those folks are making a killing (bad choice of words).

          We all have new grocery store experiences.  If you go early enough in the day you may get a six pack of toilet paper that you can add to the other twenty packs now in your garage.  The only canned fruit available is a pineapple/kiwi mix. Great if you’ve lived in Hawaii your whole life. The meat cases are pretty much emptied unless you want chicken thighs and chuck steak so tough that you have to beat it with a hammer to get it tender enough to swallow.  Finally, if you make it to the store late, the only milk left is organic goat milk that’s not pasteurized for your safety.

With most of us being stuck at home, creativity is required to fend off that big blue boredom monster. There is an unmitigated flood of TV shows to stream but that can bring about viewing paralysis. Should I spend six hours watching a series on the history of buttons or go with two seasons of Zombie Apocalypse? Wait. We’re in an actual apocalypse. I do avoid most news shows. Why stress out to the daily totals of new cases of covid 19 when I can lose myself in a book about raising and showing unicorns? If you have kids at home, that’s a whole different kind of boredom. You’ve told little Johnny that he can only play video games ten hours a day instead of fifteen, and the homework that has been sent home, via video, is the new math, and you are clueless at how to help him with it. Your daughter has to write a paper on the history of the steam engine while you have steam coming out of your ears because the toilet is plugged up with your three year olds favorite security blanket.

Since we are supposed to stay out of most public places, if possible, one solution is to take trips to nowhere. Get in the car/suv/truck/van and drive aimlessly for twenty minutes. At least you are out of the house, and you can blast out that music you love without disturbing your significant others. Even sing along, which is a scary thought. Well, that’s how one person sees it. I think now, I’ll just troll Amazon and see if I can find a grossly overpriced packet of disinfectant wipes that will be shipped in June.

Ties

My tie collection is approaching eighty.  Some people collect baseball cards, coffee mugs or anything associated with unicorns.  Why am I seemingly obsessed with a piece of cloth designed to constrict the air flow to your lungs?  Let's start with a little history.

          A fascination with neckwear raged through France in the 1660s. It seems that Louis IV had hired a bunch of Croatian mercenaries to fight in the 30 years war. These dudes wore a piece of cloth around their necks to compliment their uniforms. Louis dug the look, and soon, if you were anybody in the orbit of Louis "The Sun King," you were sporting a colorful "cravat."  This little ditty kept the silk merchants very busy. Over the next two hundred years, various styles of silk cravats were a big winner for most of the European middle and upper classes. Just watch a couple of Jane Austin's adaptations on Masterpiece Theater, such as Pride and Prejudice, and you'll get the drift.

          We had to wait until the Roaring 20s for the modern necktie to take off.  Some New York clothier named Jessie Langsdorf put together a tie which "bounced back" to its original shape after each use. Simple concept, big improvement. Ties were de rigueur for business attire. Even the seven mugs who were killed in the St. Valentine's massacre were wearing ties. Got to represent the mob with class.

          Over the ensuing years, ties went from fat to skinny, back to an average size of 3.25-3.5 inches. Fat ties in the thirties and forties were also shorter and very colorful. If you watch some of the old film noir detective movies, the ties stop at about the belly button. Talk about flapping in the breeze. The fifties and early sixties ushered in the skinny tie most favored by rockers such as the Beetles and Buddy Holly. Black was the preferred color.  Excitement in the music, not the neckwear.  By the mid sixties, the counter-culture pretty much killed the traditional tie for all but the business world. Even then, you could wear a Nehru jacket when pitching real estate investments. Today ties tend to be reserved for formal occasions but are still a staple for corporate office wear. Bold colors, varied fabrics and differing price points keep ties relevant to a select clientele. However, don't wear a neck tie in Iran where it is seen as  a decadent symbol of European oppression.  Blame the Croatians.

          How do you knot a tie?  When I first heard the term "necktie party" I imagined a bunch of guys sitting around yucking it up while tying various knots such as the four in hand, the half and full Windsor or the Shelby knot. I didn't realize the necktie party involved nefarious intentions and the branch of a tree.  I favor the fairly simple four in hand knot because I can do it without also twisting my fingers into knots.

          There are two subspecies that need mentioning: the bow tie and the clip-on.  The bow tie is most associated with scientists, engineers and those ensconced in nerd central. Bill Nye the science guy is a favored practitioner. There is a picture of me and my parents in 1962. My mother is wearing a pillbox Jackie Kennedy hat. My dad is wearing a skinny tie.  I am wearing a red sports coat and a bright blue clip-on bow tie. Kids of that era almost all wore bow ties for formal occasions. Today, older kids still wear regular ties that are clip-ons. My sons had quite a few of them. Why knot when you can clip. Law enforcement also favor clip-ons. That way the perp can't strangle the officer but instead gets a handful of cloth and metal.  However, as an adult, wear a clip-on in the professional business world and see how far that gets you.

          My journey with neckties got a slow start. The late sixties and most of the seventies, I was in my hippie mode (with time out for serving Uncle Sam). I wore jeans, white shirts, and vests. Nary a necktie to be seen. However, in the early eighties, I decided to get on with life and ended up a college writing teacher. Still wore jeans and vests (I had over twenty) but began incorporating colorful eclectic ties into my wardrobe a couple of teaching days each week. I may have been a sartorial anomaly, but it kept those students guessing as to what crazy combination the prof would wear next. After I got right with Jesus and started attending church, I often wore a tie to the service. Hey, I was in God's house, and wearing ties was a sign of respect.

          Now that I'm retired from teaching, I still find opportunities to wear some of those eighty ties. Will it be one celebrating the works of Van Gogh, Monet or Degas? Maybe a tie with birdhouses, tropical fish or hot air balloons?  I could do stain glass windows or the raising of the American flag at Yorktown. Maybe the one with all the Beetles' albums on it.  Can't wait for national tie day on October 18th. Gonna drape all those ties around my neck at once...

The Light

I have several solar powered hanging yard lights. One stopped working so I cleaned out the housing and replaced the rechargeable battery. No bueno. Messed with the wiring; tried another battery. Nothing. I set the “light” (oxymoron) on a bench in the yard. Would dispose of it later.  A few nights later I got out of bed to use the loo, and while the other yard lights had almost faded out, the no bueno one was lit up in all its glory. I'd given up on that light, and it had come back on with a vengeance.

          There is some kind of lesson here.  Something to do with there being light where none is expected.  When someone is suffering from a severe illness or a disease or deep depression, it can be difficult to see any possibility of light. Just blackness all around.  However, sometimes those moments occur, if only briefly, where light shines through. It could be a thought, a visit from a friend, relief from pain. A realization that even at dark moments, light can find its way in.

          We live in a world where despair and general negativity are often the order of the day. Media venerates the dysfunctional; that's what gets the most attention in the marketplace. Murders, natural disasters, political mayhem, celebrity breakups.  All grist for the mill.  The kids' lemonade stand shut down because they don't have a health department permit. Print it. Make it click bait.

          How, on a personal level, to counter this darkness? Is there a manual that tells how to be forever "dancing in the light." Well, there may be books with such promises on Amazon, but the pages might a well be blank. No bueno.  Nirvana can't be achieved in a ten step program.  However, a way out of total darkness and toward the light is possible.  It is recognizing that as humans, the cosmic "we," something bigger than ourselves must be depended on. How many happy atheists do you know?  A strong spiritual base, premised on knowing a loving God, can provide comforting light in dire situations that are confusing and even incomprehensible from our limited perspectives. While we can't eliminate the darkness, we need not be destroyed by it.  Slivers of light are available.

          That solar light in the backyard will eventually fade. New batteries may or not make it work.  However, there was that magic moment, when it gloriously started working again, when all things seemed possible.