No Mow May

On By scottpetersenIn No Mow MayLeave a comment

“No Mow May.” I heard this term for the first time last week. Judging by my Socratic inquiries, most of the people I know have never heard the term either. But “No Mow May” is an increasingly national movement to . . . . are you ready? Do NOt MOW your lawn during the month of MAY. . . .

No Mow May is an environmental movement intended to allow grasses/lawns to grow undisturbed for an entire month. The purpose is to help provide a safe haven for pollinators (mainly bees) and other wildlife. The effort will thereby have a positive impact on local ecosystems and reduce emissions from lawn mowers and leaf blowers.

After learning about the term while playing golf at a perfectly manicured golf course, I drove home — keeping watch for No Mow May lawns. And interestingly there were a few. Most were covered with high grass and dandelions. Notwithstanding good intentions, there has been criticism of No Mow May given that pollinators will settle in (“Martha, isn’t this a beautiful lawn? Let’s pollinate!“) and on June 1st – be shredded to pieces with the first mowing. It has also been criticized given a propensity for fungal disease. One of the suggested options would be that each homeowner simply allot a small square/area of property where the grass can grow, the pollinators thrive and the condition of the rest of the lawn remain attractive.

One suggestion I have is — is to simply go back to the old push lawn mowers and lawn rakes. We’ll call it “Push Mower May.”

The Orphan Master’s Son

On By scottpetersenIn Kim Jong Un, North KoreaLeave a comment

[A repeat from September 21, 2014] On July 10, 2014, I offered a post on Kim Jong Un – the animal who rules North Korea (pardon me – the “Democratic People’s Republic of Korea“).  Little did I know that I’d be following up my post so soon with another post about North Korea — “The Hermit Kingdom.”  

On February 17, 2014, the United Nations released a report on North Korea which details some of the unspeakable cruelties and horrors that occur daily in North Korea:  starvation; corruption; prison camps; wholesale extermination, slaughter and murder; torture; rape; kidnapping of young women; forced abortions; brainwashing; and acts worse than your worst nightmare. 

I just finished reading The Orphan Master’s Son by Adam Johnson.  This 2013 Pulitzer Prize winner (for fiction) and New York Times bestseller depicts life (if you can call it that) in North Korea.  It paints a 443 page picture of one young man – an orphan named Jun Do  – who rises through the ranks to rival Kim Jong Il  (1941-2011) the psychotic “Dear Leader” who preceded Kim Jong Un.  I could go into great and glorious detail on the images of the book.  Suffice to say, the book is powerful and compelling.  And painful.  It makes you want to task Jack Reacher and Mitch Rapp (see 8/25/11 and 12/30/12) to do a Control Alt Delete of North Korean leadership.

Haiku

On By scottpetersenIn Haiku, Matsuo BashoLeave a comment

(A reprint from February 7, 2012)

A haiku is a short form of Japanese poetry characterized by three qualities:

1. There are three stanzas of 5, 7 and 5 syllables;

2. There are two well-defined images (with a kireji or “cutting word” between them); and

3. The subject is usually drawn from the natural world (often seasonal).

The most famous composer of haiku poetry was Matsuo Basho (1644-1694). He was the grand poet of the Edo period and his poetry has achieved international renown. His works frequently appear on Japanese monuments and at traditional Japanese sites. Basho’s most famous (and probably the best known example of) haiku was “The Old Pond.”

Fu-ru-i-ke ya

Ka-wa zu to-bi-ko-mu

Mi-zu no 0-to

The translation?

Old pond

A frog leaps in

Splash

A haiku can be a poignant teaching tool for students since it requires structure, thought, concentration and result. 

“The Winter Squirrel” by Renaissance Hombre

A squirrel sits still

His tail begins to move

And away he goes

Move over Mister Basho. . . . .

So this painter. . .

On By scottpetersenIn HumorLeave a comment

So this guy walks up to a house and rings the doorbell.  A woman answers the door.

“Ma’am, I’m a painter.  I will paint anything.”

The woman thinks. . . “Why don’t you paint my porch.   Paint it dark brown.” 

So the guy goes to work an a few hours later, he rings the doorbell. 

“Ma’am, I’m all done.  By the way, it wasn’t a Porsche – it was a Mercedes Benz. . . .”

The Old Neighborhood

On By scottpetersenIn The old neighborhood1 Comment

[A repeat from November 7, 2012] My parents lived in a 2 room attic in the 6000 block of West Byron Street in Chicago from 1942 until 1950.  Typical Chicago bungalow.  I was born in 1947 and lived in the attic for my first three years.  I remember the place with some clarity.  My mother (who is 90) gave me some old photographs taken in this location. 

Last weekend, I paid a visit — to the old neighborhood.  I slowed outside the small brick home.  Gazed.  Memories.   Took a picture.  Then drove around back to see the little porch and the stairway (the only entrance) going up.  There were two guys working in the garage behind the house.  I slowed again.  Looked.  The two guys looked at me.  “I used to live there.  In the attic.  Up there.”  I pointed.  “The bathroom’s on the right.  Bedroom on the street and the kitchen right there.”  They looked at each other.  “You want to go in?”  One asked.  “Sure!” I responded. 

I had tears in my eyes as I climbed the back stairs.  And went in.  The place was neat — and pretty much as I remembered it.  Slanted ceiling.  There was the lone street window where my mother would hold me and I would wave at a little boy across the street.  Bathroom and little kitchen.    The two gents who were from Mexico (two brothers one of whom lived in the attic) could not have been nicer.   No hurry.   What a trip!  I sent them copies of pictures of their home — from 65 years ago.  Though between us, I still think of it as “my home.” 

The Vikings

On By scottpetersenIn Doyle family, The Viking Age, VIkingsLeave a comment

[A repeat from August 11, 2019] From about 790 A.D. until the Norman Conquest in 1066 A.D., the Vikings sailed the world.   They were warriors, raiders, traders, merchants and explorers.  They discovered America long before that Columbus fellow.  And they sailed their longships (oars and sails, shallow draft and symmetrical bow and stern to permit instant reversal of course) wherever the wind would carry them.    

The Vikings came from Scandinavian countries –Denmark, Sweden and Norway.   French Normans were descended from Danish and Norwegian Vikings who were made feudal overlords in Northern France.  The Vikings who raided and remained behind in Ireland (often because they had met a young lady) – were given the name “Doyle” which is from the Celtic Ó Dubhghaill, which means “son of the dark (or evil) foreigner.”    

As Christianity spread through Scandinavia, the Viking raids diminished and by the end of the 11th Century, the great Viking Age came to an end – not with a bang but a whimper.  

My father’s great grandparents were from Lyngby (just north of Copenhagen), Denmark.  They were caretakers of the local cemetery.  As they would dig graves, they uncovered various artifacts from the Viking Age.  And long before.  I have at home two beautiful stone axe heads they dug up and passed through the family. These relics are displayed on a shelf in my home office.  Great paperweights but still sharp . . . . and ready to use. If only they could talk. . . .        

Duhhhh. . . . Zinc!

On By scottpetersenIn Who Wants to Be a Millionaire1 Comment

On August 16, 1999, “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” debuted on American television. ABC picked Regis Philbin to host the show. The program featured a quiz competition where each contestant had to correctly answer a series of 15 questions of increasing difficulty. One form of assistance was the “lifeline.” The contestant had a limited number of lifelines available in each round – and they could opt to have help – by calling their lifeline.

In early 2000, yours truly served as a lifeline for the son of friends from our church. The topic for which I was to be a lifeline – if that topic was chosen – was “world currency.” On the given evening, I stayed in my office rather than go home. In anticipation of the possible “call” (there was no guarantee I would be needed) I taped maps, charts, lists, and pictures all over my office. Ever the Boy Scout – I was prepared.

As the show started, I had a call from an ABC representative. I was told that if I got “the call” I would be talking with Regis Philbin first. AND I was instructed (probably four or five times) that “you are NOT to make any small talk with Regis.” I said I understood and the call ended. Minutes passed. What seemed like hours. And then . . . .

RING. . . . RING. . . I answered “Hello Scott – this is Regis Philbin. I’m here with your friend who needs some help with a question.” And my friend came on – “Scott – the question is – what metallic component is dominant in the United States nickel. Is it A) Iron B) Zinc C) Aluminum or D) Copper.” None of the maps, charts, lists or pictures addressed this question. And I began to perspire. It couldn’t be iron. It would rust. Aluminum – no. Copper was the penny. And I said “Zinc.”

The answer was D) Copper. If you ever want to get a smile from my family members, just say “duhhhhhh zinc.”

The Slop Bucket

On By scottpetersenIn Slop BucketLeave a comment

[A timely repeat from April 25, 2019] Years ago, I worked at a Boy Scout camp in Wild Rose, Wisconsin. We first served as “trainees” for a month. Trainees would rotate through the various camp areas.  Doing grunt work.   Spending a fair amount of time in the kitchen peeling potatoes, doing dishes and cleaning up.

After meals in the Mess Hall, Scouts and trainees would bus the tables. We would throw paper garbage into one garbage can. And we would put food waste into another.  The food barrel was called the “slop bucket.”  We were always careful about putting food scraps (no bones, no paper) in the slop bucket because we would give the slop bucket each day to a local farmer who would use it to feed his “sounder” of pigs. Uneaten food was used. . . . .

I have posted occasionally on environmental issues.  And I have touted my trademark – JUST TURN IT OFF — a motto that applies to cars, lights, water and energy. 

When I read about how the earth is being inundated with waste and air pollution; oceans overflowing with garbage; rivers and lakes turning toxic and how many folks remain heedless of our environment, I get a wee bit steamed.   But then I simmer down — and start thinking about what we can do.  “Just turning off” your water, lights, car, energy – is one thing.  But there is also merit in reusing bags, bottles, containers.  And not polluting.  And then there is recycling. 

And there is composting. Taking food waste and carefully mixing it with soil.  In the garden.  Or backyard.  You don’t need a slop bucket.  

Each one of us needs to get on board with this idea of helping our limping planet along.  Pronto. We live here.  There are generations of souls who yet have no voice – who will have to live here too.  And they will have no choice but to take what we give them. What kind of world do you want to give them?    

The N.R.A.

On By scottpetersenIn NRA1 Comment

[A timely repeat – from February 22, 2018] When I was a kid, my father sent me down to the local creek to shoot rats.  Big Norway rats.  I used a BB gun or a single shot .22 loaded with CB shorts.  When I was 14, I was on staff at a Boy Scout camp in Wisconsin.  I got on the school bus for the ride up north with my knapsack and my Stevens Model 416 .22 caliber bolt action target rifle.  Art T. brought pistols to camp since he was on a pistol team back home.  Since we arrived on Sunday, we put our guns under our bunks and on Monday checked them in to the rifle range for the duration of the summer.  No one ever thought of doing something violent or hurtful to another person.  Many of the boys were junior members of the NRA. 

I don’t object to those who want guns for hunting, target shooting or protection.  But I oppose semi-automatic weapons, bump stocks, massive clips or military-style (“assault”) weapons.  They are not necessary.  Nor are they contemplated by the Second Amendment.  The NRA is no more.  It is not the National Rifle Association.  It is now the National Assault Rifle Association.  Maybe the National Bump Stock Association.  The NRA ignores the gun violence that suffocates our nation.  Instead, they preach the same sermon that most weapons should be legal.  With little limitation.  Easy on the background checks.  As we all know, some NRA members crave automatic weapons.  And bazookas.  And RPG’s.  “Pry my cold dead fingers. . . . .”   

I understand that some believe that by confiscating all weapons, violence will come to an end.  And there are some [probably the same folks] who proclaim that even those who are mentally ill and prone to violence (as we have seen in the recent mass shootings) cannot be forced to take meds or have institutional treatment unless the individual agrees.  That’s just ducky.   Toxic attitudes. Toxic agendas.  Toxic results. .

With such extreme positions – competing for legitimacy – it is tough to find common ground.  And common sense.  We need to do something.  But sanity and compromise seem to have gone out the window.  

Shoeshine Senor?

On By scottpetersenIn OaxacaLeave a comment

I used to go to Mexico on business. Usually to Monterrey (Nuevo Leon) but sometimes to other places as well. When Donna and I would go on vacation, we would often go to Mexico. We’ve been to pretty much every special place in Mexico – at least once.

One year, we decided to go to Oaxaca – in the far south – with our dear friends Bill and Lorraine. Oaxaca is a wonderful city in the far south of Mexico. It is a poor area – yet known for its varied culture, indigenous people, amazing heritage and biological diversity. We stayed in a beautiful downtown hotel — the Camino Real (now called the “Quinta Real”).

Our hotel was a few blocks from Constitution Square, a grassy center with many shoeshine vendors around the perimete. I was wearing my black slip ons so I began walking – slowly – around the square. Each chap I passed asked if I’d like a shoeshine (“limpiar sus zapatos?”) and I’d smile and walk on. After a trip around the block I selected a gentleman to shine my shoes. And I sat. He scraped, brushed, polished and shined. I paid and gave him a nice gratuity.

He smiled. Thanked me. But I hesitated. I asked him (in Spanish) if he knew why I had selected him to shine my shoes and not one of his competitors. He looked at me and shook his head. I suggested that he walk around the square and look at the shoes of his competitors. Each one wore unpolished shoes. Except for him. I told him I selected him because his shoes were shined as bright as the morning star. He looked down. And it was like I’d punched him. It was an “Aha” moment. For him. And for me. . . .