Scary Witches, Recast (for Halloween 2024)

It was two years ago this month when I wrote, "You Think Witches are Scary?" I am recasting it this year as a temporary antidote because we seem to be inundated with so much fear in the face of disasters and we worry for one reason or a  cluster of reasons. Fear that is either rational or not  differs from person to person but, of course, it is the irrational ones that seem to carry more weight in anyone who cares to be fearful. Folks from either side of the political divide are scared out of their wits over what will happen after November 5th. But that's the thing. Why do people care so much to be fearful over an election? We know that on November 6th, after all is said and done, everything is going to be alright. Besides, whether we worry or be fearful, there is little we can do but cast our votes.

Instead let's try to be fearful if only temporarily over something else - the one that goes away as we finish the last chapter of a scary book or at the end of the credits of a horror movie. As FDR famously said, "There is nothing to fear but fear itself".

Of course, it is not right for anyone, including myself, to diminish what people fear. Let's set aside  worrying  about the price of candy to dole out on October 31 or if prices of food and all essentials are ever going to come down?   Or, do we have enough in reserve to weather the scourge of inflation; or, the scourge of the weather?   We pray for those affected by it. But they need more than our thoughts, so please donate what you can to help.

Forget the upcoming election, the prices of candy, international news and to be thankful that if you are reading this means you have electricity, far away from the ravages of the weather.

What about our personal safety at a time when we are confronted by the instability of our surroundings or that of those from far away lands that today seem to dominate the news. "Wars and rumors of war" intrude with regularity because we are told that the world is again witnessing what used to be the time before 1914 or what it was like before 1939. 

For the moment, let's just be scared only temporarily until you're done reading this.  Happy Halloween.

Here it comes.

Halloween as traditionally celebrated may not be totally global but without exception, in any country or culture, there are enough stories and widely held tales to make many a childhood nightmare part of growing up. 

The scary witch in black loose clothing, cape and pointy hat straddling a broomstick will not hold a candle to the "aswang" where I grew up. From the other nearby islands they even evolved into taking different but no less menacing forms.

They're mostly female but the occasional male is more fearsome and unforgiving. During the day, they live normal human lives as regular members of the local community.  At night, when everyone is asleep, the "aswang" will go to a secluded place, usually thickets of vegetation of banana trees or bamboo.  There, the "aswang" will sprout bat-like wings and proceed to separate her upper body, from the belly button up at the waist, then off  she will fly away for a night of marauding menace, leaving the lower body unattended, standing still. Before sunrise the "aswang" will come back to the same spot to reunite with his or her lower body, back to  human form to the unsuspecting community.  

What did they hunt for? And how?  

They would fly to the towns or barrio away from their own community, which they typically leave  alone and unharmed.  However, that is not to say that other "aswangs" from the other towns will not be doing the same thing.  So, just because the local "aswang" will fly somewhere else, no one is safe in any town or barrio.

Vulnerable homes are those with thatched roof of nipa fronds, such as ours when I was growing up.  The "aswang" would alight at the top of the roof where a child or children are sleeping on the floor below. She then separates the nipa  ever so slightly for a good look.  Then, once she finds her victim, she would release through her funneled lips  a thin, continuous strand of her saliva through the slit on the roof into the child's mouth or nostril.  This takes away the child's spirit from the body. By morning, the child is dead. The "aswang" will come back later in the week, during wake. That is when she will devour the body from the inside.   It will take several night trips before the "aswang" is finished. The village people who attend the all-night wake are told to remain awake because even if only one person is up, it will keep the "aswang" from completing the task, but invariably everyone doses off, which enables the "aswang" to devour its victim through its long tongue from the rooftop.  The family and the villagers will take to the cemetery a body empty from the inside except for banana stalks and coconut husks  that the "aswang" replaced it with.

Then there was the famous "Tio Gimo" (nickname for the formal Spanish name of Guillermo) from the other island across from ours.  He had several attractive daughters, fair skinned with light brown hair - typical of mixed Spanish and native blood. Many young men would be lured into calling on the young maidens' home lorded over by "Tio Gimo"; Tio actually means "uncle", obviously endearing as it sounds.  These men, always from out of town, will never be heard from again. "Tio Gimo" and his daughters were "aswang" who had evolved into a different form by preying on love-struck adult males instead of young children. That is how "Tio Gimo" and his daughters survived  by feeding constantly on the strangers' flesh, blood and bones.

Listening to these stories, we were too young or perhaps even too scared to question how people knew of the story if nobody ever came out alive.

Something we did know, however, was how to defeat the "aswang".  One will have to find the lower half of the "aswang" as she forayed into the night. Pouring capfuls of salt or vinegar or a combination of both over the exposed lower half prevented the flying  "aswang" from reuniting and reconstituting herself or himself into a full human form again. At night when all is quiet, we occasionally hear a distant and faint wailing or moaning sound.  We were told by the elders that an "aswang" somewhere was pleading to allow its body halves to be put back together.  We will not sleep well that night.

The "tamawo" was something else.  

One side of the lot where our nipa hut stood, was where the edge of a pond began, part of a larger watery world of  mangrove - muddy, dark, as vegetation obscured the sunlight from getting through. From our lot stood a huge tree. One of its main branches leaned over as an overhang over part of the pond that was clear of aquatic grass and water lilies.  It was a perfect spot to fish. With one or two of my friends we would go up there, straddling horseback-riding-like on the huge branch, with our bamboo fishing poles, tiny hooks and wiggly worms in old rusty tin cans, excited to snag perch and mud fish just below the opaque water.  We were careful to always ask for permission in hushed tones addressed to whichever spirit was present every time we go there. We cannot see the "tamawo", of course, but they're bound to be there because that part of the pond was where their vessels would come to dock.  

The "tamawo" is invisible to everybody, except to some of the elders who are gifted with extraordinary eyesight.  They would tell us that the "tamawo" would leave us alone, in peace and free from harm, if we don't offend them. When asked what the "tamawos" look like, the gifted elders told us that the "tamawos" are pale skinned, almost white, but they have one distinguishing facial feature.  They do not have a philtrum - "the vertical groove on the surface of the upper lip, below the septum of the nose".

When we were out on that tree or anywhere else we ventured to go in the field or thicket of wild berries and such, not only were we not to forget to ask for permission to pass, we were not to point at anything or our fingers would fall off. At the pond, it was often that we saw a kingfisher a short distance away, perched on a drooping branch, watching for fish below.  The kingfisher had striking features of a pointy beak and plumage of beautiful colors of blue, green and red with a tinge of orange.  Not only can we not point at it, it was best to leave it alone. More than likely it was a "tamawo's" pet. 

In fifth grade, a beautiful classmate of ours did not come to class one day.  We heard later that she passed away  the night before. Our teacher took those of us who wanted to go to her wake. She was the quiet type who pretty much kept to herself, except to be with one or two close friends.  Though not very sociable, her pretty face and a rare but unemotional smile framed by long curly dark hair made it hard to ignore her. 

We were told she was taken by the "tamawo" away to their  invisible outer world, adopted to live among them.  There were many unexplained childhood deaths when we were growing up.  Half of them were attributed to the "tamawo" and the other half predated upon by the "aswang".

The "mantiw" was one that no one had ever seen but they were around when it was windy. During the night, of course.  They have long legs because everyone can hear them running over the homes, but not touching any of the structures; but they'd come by so fast  disturbing the air to rush out and back, accompanied by a whistling, sometimes roaring, sound. There could be a herd of these "mantiw" running, especially when it was raining, as if they were either fleeing from or going after something.  But nobody could see them and they were not known to harm anyone.

The "kapri" was another harmless creature but no less sinister. We never asked but I've always wondered why those who were "allowed" to see them always described them as male.  There seemed to have been no female "kapris".  The "kapri" is a giant, about 10-12 feet tall, who resided in big abandoned homes. They have a hairy body, large head with disheveled crusty hair, over large piercing black eyes.  Once, a bunch of us young kids and older teenagers and one adult went to an abandoned home because there was a "kapri" there.  The adult and an older teenager who could see the "kapri" described the creature to us.  The "kapri" was reclining his giant body with his back against the wall, legs splayed on the floor, smoking a huge cigar.  Yes, "kapris" were known to smoke cigars!  And the reason we go there to "gawk" at a creature we could not see was because the "kapri"  too was  a harmless denizen of the dark realm.

Up to this point of my musing, I was re-telling from memories of my childhood.  What follows below are those from sources that are at least two to more times removed from  directly hearing or experiencing them.

Many islands away up north of the archipelago were  creatures that those in our island felt fortunate to not have to deal with them.  I will only mention one here.  The "tikbalang" has a huge torso, hairy and muscular, an ugly face and disproportionately long legs like those of a giraffe's. We were told it indiscriminately preyed on anyone - adults and children - who wandered through the open field or empty streets late in the night.  Its hunger and appetite for human flesh rises with that of the waning and waxing moon, when the night is dark.

In the capital city in the main island was a story that today would seem to follow a universal pattern.  It is called the "Lady in White".  One major street, Balete Drive, so named because  one giant tropical tree species - Balete - stood in one corner, and there used to be several of them along that road.  There are so many versions of the story, episodes too long to cover here but what was consistent was that a Lady in White waiting by that tree would hail and get into a taxi, or privately driven car, in the middle of the night. After that, the stories would turn into so many different terrorizing versions.  Actually, this story may have started from way back when the method of conveyance was still a horse-drawn carriage. 

Photo of a Balete Tree

Below is a representation of what "witnesses" described what the lady looked like.

In the southern islands, at the university where I went, the school hospital had one prevailing story of a Lady in White, presumably the apparition of a deceased nurse, doctor, or previous patient. The reader will note that such stories abound in different parts of the world, across all cultures.

As I said in the first paragraph, we outgrew the stories by about the same time we learned there really was no Santa Claus, some later than others.  Whatever the effects were on the other children I grew up with, I am in no position to assess.  For me, those stories that included episodes from the comic book version of The Twilight Zone (we had no TV then) were what pushed me to the sciences by the time I got into my freshman year in high school. I embraced physical science, math, algebra and geometry because elements of those subjects were provable, and as in geometry, postulates and theorems and proofs of congruence, shapes whose areas and circumferences can be solved, etc. without any ambiguities.

But I wondered why the stories, even to this day, in many parts of the world, remain in circulation. Is it because fear is just a natural  human instinct, stoked by so much we do not and cannot know?

I was scared of moving from home for the first time to go to college. Integral calculus scared me after I failed it the first time I took it.  College graduation was a happy time but we were all scared about not getting a job.

Potential recession, the threat of war, crime, waiting for medical test results, all of these feed into our capacity for all sorts of mental anguish from what seems like our instinctual nature to be fearful.

I feel that those stories that I seem to remember so well, though I cannot vouch with a hundred percent accuracy of my recollections, may have actually prepared me in how I dealt with all kinds of fear later in life. For example, I knew that the "mantiw" that our elders would tell us about came during the monsoon season when rains would be accompanied by high winds. That explained for me the whistling and roaring sounds, which were much too fearsome when one lived in a nipa thatched home.  The death of young children - so difficult to comprehend or accept - which could only have been caused by the "aswang" or "tamawo" is not a good accounting of the fact that the childhood mortality rate could have been explained by inadequate health care and prevention during those times.

Imagine what it was like for our early ancestors to be fearful of so many things beyond their comprehension. But fear must have been and still is a survival tool. As children, our learning brain with a default feature to be fearful of the unfamiliar perhaps have yet to discriminate between and among a lot of stimuli.  

The question is why adults relish the idea of scaring young children.  There are a lot of reasons, I'm sure. It is fun. It is passing on an initiation tradition of the time they too had been scared. It is a way to get the kids to behave or be wary of unfamiliar environments. Who knows?

All of these can be relegated to superstition because who doesn't have one? We eventually outgrow almost all superstitions and  childhood lore we hear, but woe to those who do not.

I think it is best to quote Carl Sagan, from his book, "The Demon-Haunted World" (Science as a Candle in the Dark):

"..when, clutching our crystals and nervously consulting our horoscopes, our critical faculties in decline, unable to distinguish between what feels good and what's true, we slide, almost without noticing, back into superstition and darkness..."

"The dumbing down of America is most evident in the slow decay of substantive content in the enormously influential media, the 30 second sound bites (now down to 10 seconds or less), lowest common denominator programming, credulous presentations on pseudoscience and superstition, but especially a kind of celebration of ignorance”

I hope I have redeemed myself for subjecting the reader to some of the ghoulish recollections of my childhood, then coming up with rational explanations as to neutralize the irrational.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN !

What's Up With 6174 and 495

They are numbers. But not just ordinary numbers. But before we try to explain why, I suspect there are among the readers who already know what they are.   The explanation will not be for them. However, they might benefit from whatever insights they will read into  why these numbers are special, along with several others more popularly, if not commonly, known. But I must hasten to wager that these numbers are rarely known to many.

First, we acknowledge that language, in every manner that they are used or exhibited, is the single and most special quality that separates us from all other creatures. It is what makes us human. Words - singly or part of a group - are what and how we communicate. They are spoken or written.  In prose or poetry, in songs and speeches, in sad or happy tones, words are the meat and potatoes of language. But lest we forget, we have numbers that are significantly part of language as well, and they are what give superpowers to language.  

One example of the superpowers of numbers are when they are employed in statistics; in polls (in about a month, numbers will decide the fate of a nation in crisis); in defining socio-economic issues because numbers can dominate in how goods are sold and purchased; inflation numbers affect the rich and the poor and sometimes the very viability of a business or how a family manages to make life livable, and so many other things too lengthy to list here.

Okay, so let's dive into these two numbers: 6174 and 495. Then we'll go into  more insights on numbers later. Including zero, which technically is not a number but it is the most important fuel that provides numbers with unlimited energy because it not only can double up, it can exponentially increase the power of numbers.  However, it too can literally render a number as powerless as a feather wafting in the air, practically reducing a number to inutility. We'll get to it later.

6174 is named after an Indian mathematician named D.R. Kaprekar who discovered it. It is now known as Kaprekar's constant.

The number will show up constantly when manipulating the digits of a four-digit number in a certain simple way of subtraction that will result in 6174 all the time.

"Take any four-digit number, with at least two of the digits to be different from each other (leading zeros are allowed).

Arrange the digits in descending and then in ascending order to get two four-digit numbers, adding leading zeros if necessary.

Subtract the smaller number from the bigger number.

Go back to step 2 and repeat".

It's best to illustrate with an example.  Take the number 8457. Arrange it in descending order to become 8754. In ascending order it becomes 4578. Now, subtract the lower number from the higher number.

8754-4578=4176, now, 7641-1467=6174     

Let's try the number 1234:

4321-1234=3087, now 8730-378=8352,  8532-2358=6174

Try this on your birthday, using month and days, i.e. Dec. 7, as 1207. 6174 will always show up at the end, in as short as two steps but no more than seven. Remember though that at least there must be two different digits. It will not work, for example in 1111, or 0000. Which makes you special if your birthday is November 11. Your birthday thwarts the Kaprekar's constant.

Now imagine if you are tasked to determine the variety of numbers or number combinations that will give you the constant 6174? It is a huge number. That's why, even a combination padlock, shown below, poses a challenge. Put simply, four digit combinations are a formidable challenge even if we know that given the Kaprekar's routine, you will always come up with a constant, 6174.

495 is the constant when using the same operations on three digits (always keeping in mind that at least one digit is different from another. Sometimes, it only takes one routine to arrive at 495. The number 612 will give us 621-126=495. And on and on for any 3-digit number.

Now, y'all know the Kaprekar's constant.  What is it good for?  Other than 

that it works almost beyond our ability to understand why and how? You've heard a lot lately about algorithms and AI. 

 

al·​go·​rithm ˈal-gə-ˌri-t͟həm 

: a procedure for solving a mathematical problem (as of finding the greatest common divisor) in a finite number of steps that frequently involves repetition of an operation

broadly : a step-by-step procedure for solving a problem or accomplishing some end

n+1... is a simple example of an algorithm instruction to add 1 to any number in a series, say 1+1, 2+1, 3+1. It can easily be made complex by simply modifying the definition of n or the value of 1 to something else.

The algorithm behind the Kaprekar's constant is just a tad more complicated.

Throughout our history since our ancestors discovered it, the role of numbers has gone from that of marking how many deer Grog the caveman had to his credit by scratching them on a piece of bone to treating numbers with superstition or fear.  Before the Babylonians kind of invented zero, humans had gone on with their lives without it.  But once known, the Greeks actually banned the use of it, while the Hindus worshipped it. We will not get into constants like the value of pi or the Hubble constant because they deserve more pages than merely be part of a musing.

Today, there is just no way we can conduct our lives and businesses without the zero. The zero to the right of any digit, and however many is added, gives power to that number and we had to come up with words like billion, quadrillion and gazillion when children run out of words in place of so many zeros.  And don't forget the Googol (different from Google). On the other hand, when a zero is written to the left of a number with a decimal point before the zero, the number gets smaller and smaller and for the purpose of nomenclature we add 'th', say, to the million or billion to signify how small a number has become. But get this. Computers only understand zeros and ones when they do the gazillion calculations with "the speed of summer lightning" (from Henry Higgins, in My Fair Lady).

Then we invented infinity (∞) and every number became even a lot smaller, in comparison. We hear that the universe began with a huge explosion 13.7 billion years ago. With infinity to look forward to beyond today, the beginning of the universe might as well have started this morning, relatively speaking, that is. But (∞) is real to anyone who uses integral calculus.

But numbers too have gone on to influence our psyche. They have become tools for superstition. At one time there were no 13th floors in tall buildings. 8 is revered in Chinese culture but 4 is not. 666 is not to be written down or uttered by devout Christians. 7 and 12 are good numbers in both the Old and New Testaments but 40 seems to have a disastrous connotation as when it rained for 40 days and nights that floated Noah's ark.  And nothing good came to the Israelites when Moses went to spend 40 days away from them.  Before that they wandered through the desert for 40 years.

When I was in college my lucky number was 13.  It annoyed my friends but what I was going for was that 13 is a prime number, the consecutive numbers 6 and 7 when added together is 13. 7 is a prime number but although 6 is not, the product of multiplying the consecutive numbers 2 and 3 makes 6.  At the gym, the locker number I always use when it is not occupied is no. 67.  It is not superstition but simply to help me remember every time I go to retrieve my stuff after swimming.

Now, if you are encountering it for the first time, you will not forget 6174 or 495. I know what you are going to do. You are likely to make number combinations from those two on your next lottery pick.  If you win, I hope you remember to send me a commission. I'll take a small fraction because  even with just a few zeros my share from $120 million  will still be a windfall.  GOOD LUCK !

 

The Other Person's Shoes

I was driving one day on a lane that was moving particularly slow and going even slower by the second. The car I was following was behind another  car whose driver  can't seem to make up his/her mind. Suddenly the driver in front of me blew his car's horn for sustainably long seconds as the driver in front of it suddenly turned into the next corner street but obviously without turning on its signal light. The same horn blaring driver in front of me then stepped on the gas for a screeching acceleration that smoked his tires on the concrete in an apparent show of disgust and frustration.

I felt the driver's frustration at that exact moment but just as quickly  I did a momentary re-assessment. There was still another twenty minutes or so of driving so there was time to think a bit more about it.

The thoughts that came to me were about the driver who turned suddenly: (a) what if the driver was an old person (I was not able to make out if it was a man or woman or young or old) who had difficulty looking for an address or just simply confused about where he/she was going; (b) what if the person, young or old was having a bad day or struggling emotionally about something, etc.  So many reasons we couldn't possibly know from a distance.  So many circumstances we had no way of assessing without knowing the person. It is exactly - more than we realize or care to admit - how quickly we get frustrated, even ill tempered over something that when all is said and done was about one little thing.  Or, in the greater scheme of our entire life that day, it was clearly nothing.

Was the driver in front of me frustrated or angry because he was running late for something? When we come to think about it, if the driving time for the frustrated driver was a total of twenty or thirty minutes, the delay he encountered may have been a mere few seconds. In the overall scheme of timeliness, it was a mere fraction of time. Studies have shown that on city blocks of traffic, drivers who weave in and out, passing cars whenever they can, typically gets ahead by mere seconds over those driving steadily along one lane after twenty blocks, with traffic signals operating normally.

But that is not the point of this musing, of course.  It is about, "What if I were in the other person's shoes?" We are talking about the slow driver. It is easy to think of what our circumstances are, but what of the other person's?  The truth is that intersecting events we encounter, sketched through with rapid succession of mini-observances we often make conclusions over, are matters we have very little bases to make a judgment over.  But we do it anyway. 

The cashier at the grocery store who was not too friendly or unbecoming in a business that partly relies on customer relations and mainly on good service to insure repeat patronage deserves our understanding.  There are many reasons why. They become clear once we try putting on their shoes.

Let's try just this one pair.  "You are nineteen years old. You graduated from high school a year ago. You had ambitions. You did, but they are shelved for now.  Your parents divorced two years earlier. Your dad who promised to pay for part of your college tuition reneged on it.  He remarried. A younger wife with a child and a career that is not going too well are a few of the reasons your dad was not able to meet his promise. Your mom has never recovered from the divorce and much of the money she makes as a nursing aid goes to alcohol and social activities with her friends.

You left home and now share an apartment with two other friends whose luck in life is not much different from yours.  Reluctantly, you applied for this entry level job that pays  minimum wage just to get your footing on steady, albeit sometimes shaky grounds,  but you promised yourself to get a better one as time goes by.  It has been nine months now doing the checkout register. You do every overtime work whenever it's available like re-stocking merchandise or cleaning the storage rooms to increase your take home pay.

You found out this morning that your mom was laid off from work for frequent absenteeism and you know why.  She called you about a medical expense she didn't have money for. Your boss just gave you a hard time for being late this morning even though it was the first time it happened.

You went to your station immediately, skipping the company coffee and donuts at the employee lounge.  You are allowed  fifteen to twenty minutes after clocking in but you were in no mood for chit chat with co-employees".

Friends, if we could just try on her shoes and give it some brief imaginary moments to enter our thoughts, we will have found a narrow conduit to understanding some of the things we encounter that make us lose perspective as to be upset or frustrated at some of the littlest things. 

That is what compels me to greet these cashiers by their first names if they have a name tag at every grocery checkout .  As you all know, as a caregiver I do all the grocery shopping now.  So, I make it a point that these cashiers hear the sweetest sound they'd like to hear whether it is their first minute or the sixth hour on the job - the sound of their first names. It is worth every decibel to hear it come out of a stranger's mouth. 

This will not be the perfect answer to world peace.  Clearly, we can all come up with all kinds of exceptions or even excuses to not try the other person's shoes.  But is it not worth it to at least try it sometimes?  More so if the other person has no shoes and we try to walk alongside them.  It is estimated that 300 million people worldwide cannot afford to buy shoes.

Each time we are frustrated at not being able to get anything when we absolutely think we need to have it, think of the 300 million.  Just think, they'd be happy to try any one person's shoes anywhere.  So, whenever we can, as often as we can, let's try the other person's shoes.

"Always put yourself in others' shoes. If you feel that it hurts you, it probably hurts the other person too".        

--  Rachel Grady

Listen, The Animals Are Talking

Let me share a few of the transcripts of conversations I discovered recently; however,  I cannot for now disclose where or how I got them.

1. The early worm was talking to the early bird

Worm: Hey, what's this?  Let go of my waist!

Bird: I'm the early bird, I get the worm, didn't you know?

Worm: All I ever wanted was  to see the first rays of the sun as I crawl out of the ground. I'm an early worm.  

Bird: Listen, I'll be a good early bird today. Here' s the deal, I'll let you go if you tell me where the next worm is coming from.

Worm: There is a big fat one coming right out where you pulled me.  He's always late because he is that fat.

The bird let it go and went to wait for the big fat worm.

The moral of the story: The early worm too gets a reward. Provided it can talk and the bird understands it.

2. A wolf was talking to a wolf psychologist

Wolf: I'm frustrated.  I'm hungry. Prey animals see me a mile away, I can't even get close before they are alerted.  I did everything to conceal my presence.  I even wore  pig skin dyed the white color of my prey.

Wolf Psychologist: I hear this all the time.  I'm so tired of hearing the same old complaint.  I'll say it one more time. Okay?  In order to succeed in getting close to your prey, you must be a wolf in sheep's clothing, not, repeat - not a wolf in cheap clothing.

The moral of the story:  None, nada, zilch, zero

3. Cockroach talking to another cockroach

Cockroach 1: I eavesdropped on a conversation of our human hosts this morning in their kitchen.  They worry too much about existential threat this, existential threat that.  They are so paranoid about existential threats all the time.

Cockroach 2: I know what you're saying.  But you know what, I heard on  TV, just last night  that our human friends, and I use friends very loosely, spent billions  of dollars, so far, worldwide to cause our very existence to cease. I say good luck with that.

Cockroach 1: Exactly. They may actually succeed as existential threats to themselves for all we know or care but we'd still be here.  Besides, we were here first and we will still be here when all of them are gone. 

Cockroach 2: Hey, I still have a lot of their leftover crumbs they so carelessly dropped from last night by their recliner. It's a great snack.

Cockroach 1: Let me get some ketchup from the bottle cap by the trash  can.

Moral of the story: Don't ever let these bugs listen in on your conversation. And, please seal those trash cans and no eating while at the recliner watching TV.

4. A cheetah was talking to another cheetah

Cheetah 1: I'm tired and I no longer believe in this evolution through adaptation.

Cheetah 2: What do you mean?

Cheetah 1: Why do we have to keep on evolving to run faster and faster?

Cheetah 2: I see.  Let me explain. The impala and the pronghorn keep on evolving to run fast and jump higher to avoid being on our daily menu. Those who run fast go on to live and pass on their genes to their young.  Those who can't are what provide us our meal. On the other hand, the fastest of our kind gets to mate and produce the next generation, and you know what happens to those who can't catch a meal?  That's how it works. End of story.

Cheetah 1: I say we do it differently from now on. I'm tired of the same argument.  I propose we evolve into eating what our prey does.  

Cheetah 2: What do you mean?

Cheetah 1: We become vegetarians.  Yes! From now on our food stays where it is. Impalas don't have to run after grass and other vegetation.  They're just there.

Cheetah 2: You're losing it, I can tell.  You know what else you'll lose. Copious amounts of nap time. Look, it takes only a few moments of lung-bursting, heart-pounding chase that lasts  less than a minute. After each meal we sleep for however long we want.  Instead, you'd rather spend all your waking hours grazing and chewing what you ate later at night. Chewing cud, that's what they call it. You're happy doing that?

Cheetah 1: I don't know.  All I'm saying is I'm tired of going  over seventy miles an hour to get a meal.

The moral of the story: Don't switch majors on your fourth or fifth year in college from an engineering or chemistry degree to art history or cultural studies and expect to eat steak and lobster. Unless you really prefer kale and arugula. No offense to art history majors. And not that there's anything wrong with kale and arugula.

5. A Boa constrictor (big snake) and a turtle were talking 

Big snake: Don't be alarmed.  I don't eat turtles.  I can't digest your shell. Besides, I just had a baby capybara. It'll take me three to four weeks to fully digest it.

Turtle: Thanks.

Big snake: Let me ask you something. What is it that you do?  I mean, what are you really useful for? We, all snakes, keep the population of rodents in check so they don't completely deplete food supplies.  For example, we keep the rat population from exploding.  Otherwise, they'll ravage entire rice or wheat fields in short order, if left unchecked.  Capybaras, by the way, are just very large rodents, okay.

Turtle: What do you want from me?  I'm slow. I hide in my shell when trouble comes. I'm no threat to the environment. 

Big snake: Let me tell you something.  When you cross the road people stop.  They pick you up and put you across the other side out of harm's way.  Do you know that when we, I mean when my kind gets run over, there are no skid marks on the road?  In fact, instead of slowing down or braking, people speed up.  Why is that?

Turtle: Maybe you shouldn't flick your tongue too much.  And what's with the hissing and slithering? And perhaps you don't have to wait weeks to digest your food if you chew it first, instead of swallowing it whole.

At which point the Boa constricted the turtle so hard its shells flattened like a pancake.

The moral of the story: Stop talking already when you're ahead in an argument.

6. A Hyena was talking to a Baboon

Hyena: Let me tell you something.  Me and my entire family chanced upon a lone lioness with her four young cubs that I'd guess  were only a few weeks old.

Baboon: What did y'all do? (faking a Texas accent)

Hyena: We killed them all.  Ate them until not even a tail bone was left.

Baboon: I bet you were all laughing while gorging on the poor creatures.

Hyena: Are you kidding me? That's why we're called laughing hyenas, instead of our more respectable name, Crocuta Crocuta. Though not exactly as glamorous.

Baboon: Then what happened?

Hyena: We went about our merry way. But not for long.  Last week three brothers of young muscular lions and their family chanced upon us as we dozed off from a late lunch. They pounced on us and killed all of us until no one whimpered, let alone laughed.

Baboon: Wait, wait for one long minute. If they killed everyone, why are you here telling me all this?

Hyena: What do you want? A story or a debate?

Moral of the story: Learn to enjoy a story.  Don't waste time debating the plot. You're going to spoil it for everyone who loves fairy tales. Got it?

Consequently, please don't ask the idle mind how he chanced upon the transcript of the conversations above.  I can't reveal how or where I got them.  I have more, by the way. Encouragement, instead of criticisms, might make it easier to release more later.

La Vie en Rose

Europe in 1946-47 - waking up from the nightmare that was WWII,  their cities in rubble and still smoldering from the hellish aftermath of unforgettable suffering - had no choice but to harness the impossible will to survive and persevere through uncertainty, doubt and despair.

"La Vie en Rose" was a song written (lyrics) by Edith Piaf, the melody composed by Marguerite Monnot and Louis Guglielmi as an uplifting motivation for the grieving and desperate people of post war-Europe. It made Edith Piaf an international singing sensation when she sang and recorded it in 1947. It was translated into English in 1950 by Mack David. Three American singers recorded different versions including one by Bing Crosby in 1950 that reached the top of the charts in the U.S.

Literally the song is translated from French as "Life in Pink". Later, the literal translation evolved into, "Life in rosy hues",   but today we know it from its more popularly appropriate iteration, "Life seen through rose-colored glasses".

No matter what our situations are, life - our lives and the lives of others around us - can be viewed in many different shades of color. In fact, our daily experiences alone are a panoply of sights, sounds and impressions taken through numerous colored lenses.  By the time just before we drift to sleep and we care to review our experiences of the day, we find that our mental camera had taken pictures in different angles - wide, close up, different aperture, exposures, speed, black and white and in color - some we care to archive in our memory, others we discard, others we highlight as worth reviewing from time to time.

Such was the case for me just last week. I was in line to fill up my  vehicle at a multi-bay filling station. There are two pumps per bay and I was behind a pick up truck at the second pump where a car in front of it was at the first pump up front. A young black man by the pick up truck was pulling out his wallet to start the self service transaction.  However, I noticed him go back inside his truck.  The car in front of him had just pulled away, having finished its fill up. Then I realized the young black driver started his truck to move to the now empty slot vacated by the car in front so I could pull into the second station.  I could have waited.  That young man who clearly did not have to do what he did just proved that every now and then  from all the droplets of ordinary events that make up the human experience, one of them does sparkle from time to time.  It sparkled so brightly I thanked him twice and a third more just before he finished filling his truck.  I wanted him to know I noticed what he did. He just smiled and waved as he entered his truck. The other driver at the next bay noticed it too and said, "That was mighty nice of him".  

You see, it was not necessary for the young man to move his truck. I, and anyone in my place, would not have faulted him if he didn't move his truck. Anyone would have just  waited.  By the way, I could not have gone around his truck because there was a barrier between bays.  What he did reminded me of one of my favorite quotes that also became the title of one of my musings, about people doing things beyond what is necessary.  The quote was, "For kindness begins where necessity ends" (a quote from Novelist Amor Towles)

After my fill up I proceeded to the grocery store nearby.  I was smiling at everyone coming out of the store.  I felt light and good about life. I was literally looking at everything around me through "rose colored glasses".

Some may consider the quote a little too naive but most  agree that it says more about looking at life more positively or maintaining a positive view of the world despite some of the gloominess that one might see. "Rose colored glasses" are what optimists wear. Dark glasses are what pessimists use inside a movie theater to watch, "It Happened One Night", in black and white that starred Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable - an old romantic-comedy made in 1934 - because they thought it was a horror flick.  Optimists are wont to watch the colorized version of "It's a Wonderful Life".

Seriously, studies have shown that those who engage in hobbies like gardening, growing plants or building things generally have a positive outlook in life and who do well  when faced with adversity.  I guess folks who expect a seed to sprout and grow into a plant one day or look forward to a flower to bloom or for fruit to ripen must have a positive view of the present and the future.  Otherwise, what is there to look forward to?  That was the message of "La Vie en Rose".

Rather than go through more words from the idle mind, you may listen to both the original French recording of the song.  Try to immerse yourself in the time of post-war Europe. That's the first link below.  Just copy the link and transfer it to your search bar and click. You can skip the ad when prompted.  The second link for the younger generation is one sung by Lucy Thomas in English and lyrics shown in close caption.

By Lucy Thomas (link below):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-yI3bOKIZKk

By Edith Piaf (link below)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPU8mENUBXk

We Can Drop The Rubber Balls

The facilitator for the once monthly support group for Parkinson's caregivers spoke about an article she  read a while back. She couldn't recall who wrote it but she brought it up when one of the spouses broached the subject about how best she can prioritize  her day-to-day schedule as a caregiver to her husband. The article was about, "what if life were a juggling act". Unfortunately, there was little discussion done on it and the group moved on to other subjects.  Soon the hour was over as was the exercise designed for those with Parkinson's in the next room.

At home later, after a quick online search, I found the article: "Work-Life Balance: Juggling Glass and Rubber Balls",  By Anna Baluch  (Updated on September 25, 2019). She wrote about a speech made by Bryan Dyson, former CEO of Coca Cola, at a commencement ceremony at Georgia Tech in September 2019.

The speaker closed by explaining what is now popularly known as "The Five Balls of Life".  

Mr. Dyson's message ran as follows: "Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the air. You name them—work, family, health, friends, and spirit—and you're keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls—family, health, friends, and spirit—are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged, or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must understand that and strive for balance in your life.”

Mr. Dyson was speaking to new graduates.  The message was profoundly appropriate for those about to face an entirely different kind of world as they "commence" life after college in the real world.

It should still resonate with everyone in the midst of their career or growing the business they started, if not more so.  It is or should be a critical consideration actually.  That drink or two after work with co-employees for the sake of camaraderie or sociability that has now become almost a daily occurrence must be quickly identified as a rubber ball. One must drop that ball once it  gets in the way of juggling the (other) glass balls. The obvious health hazard of a DUI, not counting the long term effects on the liver, the inevitable shattering of marital bliss by the last proverbial straw brought on by the now  once too often episode of coming home to a cold dinner that is still on the table that was painstakingly prepared by a spouse now too tired to even start an argument is one of the harsh realities of an unwillingness to drop the rubber ball, erringly construed as work related or required.  Mr. Dyson who himself reached the pinnacle of the corporate dream made it clear that work (and all work related) is a rubber ball. 

But what about those of us of a certain age when work (employment) is now a memory; retirement, hopefully, is blissful and affordably comfortable for body and mind? Well, not really, of course, because retirement cannot be dis-associated from living.   Nevertheless, let's just say we enjoy it and certainly more preferable to the daily grind of waking up to the alarm clock each workday morning, the commute to and from that one place we refer to as the compulsory place of home away from home.  Okay, so now let's just say we're  at a place where morning coffee can be made to linger for the better part if not entirely all of the morning. Let's say that.

Alas, we find we are still juggling balls in the air. Yes, because juggling balls in the air is pretty much a permanent chore we  have not completely gotten rid of even at a time when the accrued interest for the price of living longer is coming due every time we are reminded that growing old is a prerequisite to long life in this world . A world that is getting more complex even for those of a certain age, perhaps even more so. Oh, yes indeed, it still is. Like everything else, juggling is easier for some, more challenging for others if not nearly devolving into an exhausting predicament.  Not just physically but emotionally for those who live alone. And when not alone, juggling must be compulsory  when giving care to a companion - a loved one. That is what the lady in the paragraph was alluding to when she broached the subject that made the facilitator mention the article.

We find juggling different things now; those of us of a certain age, I must add.  There are good ways. There are wrong ways of going about it too.  The lady caregiver who brought the subject up has every reason to be stressed out.  You see, from my own personal experience, the male caregiver will have a much easier time adapting to doing the groceries and cooking and household chores than for a wife caregiver to do what used to be do-it-yourself chores of home and vehicle maintenance, and so many things well within the purview allowed for and  relegated to the male culture.  I am not saying this to sound sexist but simply to just say that traditionally male roles are less adaptable with women.  Take cooking, for example. While at home cooking is the domain of the wife we know that chefs at restaurants are predominantly males (a mystifying but undefinable phenomenon).  The same is true for dishwashing if one must observe behind the scenes of most restaurants - 80% of the dishwashers are men; so, why should that be so beneath us retired husbands when it comes to helping out in that department?  Doing a grocery run is about buying stuff.  Men are just as proficient at buying and shopping. So, it is not a big leap for the husband but clearly not  a given with the wife knowing what's wrong with the car or fixing a simple faucet leak or knowing what an Allen wrench is.  Okay, I'll stop with that because I think I have successfully presented a balanced argument so as to preclude any obligatory apology later on.

I personally feel that the transition to caregiving role has not been that terribly difficult for me.  It began with a sincere realization on my part that for the decades past from the first day to this day of our married life my wife had made many sacrifices of her own, too lengthy to detail each one here but taking care of the children and quitting her job when she was most needed at home while making the household budget fit with my ability to earn in the early years of our lives in a new country and culture, and keeping the house neat and clean every day were no small feats to have accrued for her a lifetime of one irrevocable credit balance on the big accounting book. Her sacrifices counted more than I can ever match despite the challenges associated with doing (only) some of what she used to do. And where many she is able to do she still insists on doing them.

Upon retirement I followed the sage advice to take up a hobby.  It was not difficult because I already had one all along so all I did was pick it up from the level it was while I was still working except with a little more drive and enthusiasm later. But when all is said and done it merely replaced going to work but less restrictively or compellingly so. Woodworking is an easy rubber ball to drop while caring for my wife as she deals with the burden of Parkinson's is a precious glass ball never to be dropped. I picked up swimming a few years before retirement for health and fitness.  These days it is to stay fit for the two of us because more than just as a personal goal, it is so I can be there - able to take care of her as well as myself.  But my swimming is not a precious glass ball because it can be dropped from time to time in consideration of my wife's condition. Swimming, therefore, is one tempered glass ball that can be dropped without breaking.

Most people, retired or still employed, can juggle more than five balls in the air, but they may find that the diminishing returns the extra balls may bring are not worth it.  I think Mr. Dyson hit on just the right number of five balls. Readers of this blog, you be the judge, but what is really important is recognizing which balls to drop, which precious ones to keep in the air at all times.

Always remember, with no reservations or doubt that when called for, We Can Drop The Rubber Balls!

"Learning To Dance in the Rain"

From an unlikely place one would expect to find a morsel of wisdom, I found  one posted on the wall of the auto service shop I go to for an oil change.  It is not even on a frame but on an 8-1/2 by 11 piece of paper, already yellowed with age, thumb-tacked to the wall.

I've been going to this auto shop for almost three decades now because it is located near where we used to live and for the two honest gentlemen in the auto repair business, if you can believe it, who ran it.  And this shop works only on one brand of vehicles exclusively. We've since moved  to another home over 15 miles away but I still go there for routine maintenance service because my wife and I continue to own vehicles made by the same automaker.  

As to be expected there had been some changes at this shop. First, one partner retired about four years ago. One of the senior mechanics bought the partner's share of the business. Last year the  older partner also retired and sold his share to the same mechanic who is now the sole owner.

The new owner and his wife now have two grown sons. The wife quit her old office job to help run the business.  The used-to-be all male office not only has a feminine touch now, there is a computer and printer and new furniture.  The wife catalogued customer data where  she can now retrieve all the information based solely on the license plate the same way that big franchise auto dealerships do.

I needed to go through the short narrative as a way to put some context to the quote above. The framed quote is just one of several - most are funny quips - that now adorn various sections of the office walls. Except for this one, all others are in  simple frames but this was the quote that caught my eye.

 "Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass but learning to dance in the rain."  

I was going to ask the wife why she picked that quote to be posted on that wall but she was not working that day. To pass the time while waiting I thought, or speculated, about what the quote must mean to the new owners - the former mechanic now owner of the business, the wife who now runs the front office. I imagined they had their share of stormy days of working for a living and raising those two boys well into adulthood and taking over a business in midlife. That quote must mean a lot to the couple.  I won't know until the next time which would be in a few months or 3,000 miles later on the odometer, whichever comes first.  Anyway, my imagined version of their story would be as good a facsimile of their real-life journey.

I assumed the quote was anonymously written.  What I found later through a quick search was interesting.  It turned out that framed versions of the quote are commercially available. Many  are anonymously presented and a few have an author ascribed to it. Vivian Greene - "is a visionary, artist, author and entrepreneur who spreads her messages of greater love and awareness to everyone on the planet.", according to  her Facebook intro - is credited for having written it.   

I encourage the reader to look into Vivian Greene's extraordinary life.  For me it is enough that she wrote that quote and her advocacy for young children around the world is commendable.

The quote will mean different things to different people.  Is it just another way of saying, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade"? A quote that is also considered anonymously written, although Dale Carnegie in 1948 did say something similar.  Or, is it not just another way of encouraging positive thinking?

We have all gone through all kinds of storms throughout our lives.  Not the literal storm but as metaphorical manifestations of life's trials, challenges, relationship and emotional issues that seemed insurmountable if not paralyzing. Of course, as is often the case, since you are reading this, the storms you've been through did indeed blow over and you managed to survive them.  Sometimes, the storms were just made up of incessant worrying over something or many things that simply went away after some length of time had elapsed. Truth be told,  most of what we worried about never happened and there was not much we can do with those that did, so why worry at all?

There are instances, of course, where the storms are real. A failed relationship, loss of a loved one, a dead end job or worse a job loss, an illness, and so many other  unfortunate circumstances are a few we can cite.  We can wait for these kinds of storms to pass and they could or might blow over. However, if all we did was wait, the storms may linger in place to strengthen further or bring even more rain. On the other hand, if we merely waited for it to blow over and it did, was it not the thing to do?  

Or, there is another way - a more proactive, even productive way - which was perhaps what  Ms. Greene meant. Accept the circumstances that brought the storm, take shelter at the storm's peak and temporary ferocity, then go out and learn to deal with the rain; learning to dance in the rain is a powerful analogy of how one may cope with the challenges.

At the loss of a loved one, we take the time to mourn; allow for a moment to be angry at a failed relationship  at the storm's peak. The loss of a job will always feel like a failure but it must not be treated like the end of a career so one must allow for time to pass, but not for too long.  In other words one must not wait for puddles to be completely gone or for the ground to be thoroughly bone dry before stepping out. It seems like I am throwing in more analogies but  the quote can be a compelling guardrail to guide us along life's journey when encountering and coping with stormy days.

What about those born in the daily storms of abject poverty, or abuse and neglect, in  an inescapable environment of hopelessness and despair?  We hear and know of extraordinary individuals who managed to unshackle themselves from the grip of the daily storms and drenching rain.  For sure those who learned to dance in the rain must have been fortunate to have learned it from others who loved and cared for them. 

From one of the interviews, Vivian Greene answered when asked if she has any children with, "Yes! I even have some to spare for you! I first began in the early '80's with Foster Parent Plan which had about 200,000 children in the program. Then it was $22 a month to support a child. Today it's called Plan International and has about 55 MILLION children. Isn't that incredible?"

"Plan International is a development and humanitarian organization based in the United Kingdom that works in over 75 countries across Africa, the Americas, and Asia, focusing on children’s rights."

This is why I enjoy writing these musings because I often begin from somewhere, such as staring at that 8-1/2 by 11 quote on the wall of an auto shop to invariably end up somewhere else.

Actually, it did strike a chord for me personally after my wife was diagnosed with Parkinson's two years ago.  That was one unexpected storm. Six years before that she had to go through a lumpectomy on one breast.  Two big storms indeed.  Fortunately, long before I discovered this quote at an auto shop, both she and I had somehow learned to dance in the rain.  Not well at first and then as life goes on we try to cope as best we can and keep learning new dance steps as called for but we must keep dancing. 

As I've written in one of my earlier musings, the ticket price to living longer is to grow old plus the inevitable surcharges of aches and pains and the stormy visitation of an unexpected diagnosis followed by drenching rains. That's when we need to learn to dance in the rain.