Auld Lang Syne

The New Year fast approaches and many of us are thinking of our resolutions for improvement. We’ll fail most likely, but it’s nice to remember once a year that we CAN change if we’re willing.

There is a song with which we’re all familiar – Auld Lang Syne. We hear or sing it every midnight New Year’s Eve, but do we really know its meaning? It is a song about remembering the past, lamenting the distance of friends, and not forgetting old acquaintances. A compilation of long existing writings and additional poetry put together by Robert Burns, a Scots poet, in 1788, Auld Lang Syne has become known worldwide.

“Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot and old lang syne?” The lyrics ask if we should forget our old acquaintances and friends; should we forget the “old long since.” We’re all familiar with the first verse and chorus, but I found the rest of the poem very poignant; remembering times past and the distances between us, whether they be emotional or miles.

“And surely you’ll buy your pint cup, and surely I’ll buy mine; And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

“We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine; But we’ve wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne.

“We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dine; But seas between us broad have roared, since auld lang syne.

“And there’s a hand my trusty friend, and give us a hand o’ thine; And we’ll take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne.

“For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”

For some reason this song has made me very emotional this year. It is a song of lament and longing for people we once knew, for those whom we’ve grown distant, for a time of simple pleasures and company.

Time is short for us all. If we live to be 100, there are not enough years in our lives for petty quarrels or imagined hurts. Angry words or actions are a stain on our lives as well as those to whom they are said or done. Is there any one of us who does not wish for one more chance to say I love you to a departed one in our lives? Is there any one of us who does not wish to take back or make up for something we did to hurt another?

Life is fleeting my friends. Remember that when you lash out at your child, spouse, family, friend or neighbor. You may not have the chance to make it up. Tomorrow is not guaranteed to any of us. Remember the past and learn from it, but take a cup of kindness today, for auld lang syne.

A Christmas Letter

With the postal rates going up and up, fewer people are sending Christmas cards these days, or sending fewer of them. My own list of card recipients has been trimmed a bit over the last couple years. For several years I didn’t send cards at all simply because I didn’t have time to personalize each message. Then I discovered the “Christmas letter.”

Most of the people I send cards to are either out of state or people I don’t see a lot during the year. It’s not that I don’t care about the friends and relatives who live nearby, it’s just that life gets in the way. This is my way of sharing a bit of what’s happened to me over the past year with you.

For instance, without my newsy little Christmas letter how would my friends and family know about my involvement with the Friends of the Ripley Library and the many events we sponsored this year, like the Valentine bake sale or the trip to IKEA in Pittsburgh to shop for furniture for the library community room?

Or even more exciting, without this missal of information, no one outside Ripley would know of my acting debut as Crystalline Daniels, bar room hussy in the murder mystery production of Honky Tonk Homicide; or my second role, appearing as Gabby Gossip, gossipy newspaper reporter, in The Santa Clause – sadly, typecast in both roles.

Visits from my granddaughter Abby and her family; my daughter, Jessica, and her husband Mike; and my very good friend Sue, from England were definitely highlights of the year. I was able to drive to Minnesota in August to visit my children and friends for the first time since relocating to New York in 2008.

I was privileged in 2010 to be invited to two centenarian birthday parties. My great aunt Alice Kearns from Clymer, turned 100 in June, and my much beloved kindergarten teacher, Edna Kofoed, turned 100 in October. It’s rare to know someone who lives to a 3-digit age, but to know two of them in one year is humbling.

This past year hasn’t been all fun and games though. I’ve tried to do my part with volunteer work around town this past year; and much of the time my column is devoted to various organizations and causes in an effort to bring much needed attention to these worthwhile groups.

I’ve tried to be good this year, although I’ve failed a time or two. And I’ve tried to make my little corner of the world a better place. I wish you all a joyous Christmas and a blessed and peaceful New Year. Consider this my Christmas letter to each of you.

Imagine – The Town of Forsythe

When the fertile minds of Meeder’s Restaurant regulars get bored, watch out. Some pretty bizarre ideas are discussed, mulled over, and declared viable!

One fine morning last week, the difficulty of opening new businesses and zoning laws came under scrutiny at a certain table of frequent breakfast goers. New York State taxes in general came under fire and the idea of cutting New York City loose from the rest of the state was under discussion. After due consideration, it was determined to be impossible to rid ourselves of the behemoth that drains our resources.

Attention soon turned to wasted local tax money. “Why not start our own town,” was thrown into the ring. The idea quickly caught hold and discussion ensued.

The new town, to be organized to the east of Ripley, would be called Forsythe. But wait a minute. According to New York Hometown Locator “Forsyth is a community or populated place (Class Code U6) in Chautauqua County.” It already exists! It’s right there, on the Internet. (A Code U6 is an unincorporated, not officially designated census place.)

The panel of Ripley planners determined that Forsythe should start at Brockway Road and extend to the Westfield line on the eastern side of the Forsythe Bridge. “That means we already have a cemetery,” said one enthusiast. Ripley Beach would be included in the boundaries and could be developed as a state park, thereby producing much needed income, another proponent suggested.

The children of the new community would be bused to surrounding schools for their education, sidestepping the issues of consolidation and annexation. No highway department would be needed since the main routes of 20 and 5 are already plowed and maintained by New York State, and other roads within the boundaries of the new town could be easily plowed by the local population, almost all of whom own a tractor and plow. Sections of road would be assigned to property owners.

No water/sewer department would be needed, since all residents would be required to have well and septic systems in place. Electricity would be purchased from Westfield since it is well known that they have cheaper electric bills.

Zoning would be deemed all commercial/rural, thereby allowing a large influx of business growth. “Walmart could be first in line – a BIG Walmart store right where those big hay rolls sit.”

Some thought was given to claiming sovereignty and collecting a fee from New York State for running the New York Thruway through sovereign land, but it was determined that had already been done.

More planning sessions are needed to work out the kinks in this new venture. Most any morning around 8:30 a.m. at Meeder’s will find the committee hard at work with this, or other pressing matters. Additional ideas welcome. Nay-sayers need not apply.

Shopping Gone Wild

With Thanksgiving behind us, the 2010 Christmas shopping season has officially begun. Some of you have been shopping for months now, picking up special items for loved ones throughout the year. You people are nuts and an embarrassment to those of us who wait until the last minute to find “just the right gift.” (You are organized and frugal and the secret envy of those of us who aren’t, but you didn’t hear that from me.)

I don’t normally shop “Black Friday,” the crowds and the rudeness get to me; but I ventured to the mall last Friday, and Saturday as it turns out. It really wasn’t too bad. By 9:30 am the frenzied shoppers were done and home sleeping it off. I did encounter a phenomenon with which I was unfamiliar, however. Canadians. Canadians come by the bus loads to shop Black Friday weekend. I had no idea.

After seeing dozens of cars with Ontario plates and bus after bus in the parking lots of every major retailer, I cornered one of our friends to the north and asked why the influx of foreigners. (I didn’t really phrase it that way of course.) It appears that American Black Friday discounts are a far superior deal than those of Canadian retailers. And besides, “It’s a fun weekend. We come down with friends every year to shop and enjoy the crowds,” said my Canadian friend. These people gotta get out more.

I’m not sure how deep our discounts have to be in order to make it worthwhile to pay bus fare, hotel stays and duty upon returning to Canada, but thanks for supporting the American economy Canada. Come on down!

A relatively recent shopping occurrence is Cyber Monday. Cyber Monday is to the Internet as Black Friday is to the retail stores. I am young enough to know what Cyber Monday is and old enough to not trust shopping on the Internet. The great deals of the season are offered online on the Monday following Thanksgiving, and while I’m sure they are phenomenal, I just never think to shop the Internet. My kids shop online all the time. Their Christmas lists are entered on Amazon. I wonder if they know that anyone old enough to still be shopping for them won’t think to look on the computer to do so.

There is something about entering my credit card number and sending it out into the ether that just doesn’t set right with me. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve done it. I’m sure I’ll do it again. It just doesn’t feel right. I bet the Canadians don’t do it – they come to America.

One more thought and I’ll let you go. When you are out there shopping in the Season of Love for the ones you love, smile. Hum along with the carols being played. Greet passers-by with a hearty Merry Christmas. Relax and use the time standing in line to observe your fellow man. Practice random acts of kindness. It’s contagious you know. Spread a little Christmas cheer and remember the reason behind all this hustle and bustle.

Tribute to the Noble Turkey

Ah, Thanksgiving, that finest of feasts celebrating the bountiful harvest and giving thanks. Turkey most often graces the tables of families across the country. The noble turkey. They courageous turkey. The respectable turkey. The what???

Benjamin Franklin once wrote to his daughter that he thought the turkey should have been made America’s national symbol. In comparison to the eagle, an animal of low moral character in his opinion, the turkey was more respectable and courageous. “(He) would not hesitate to attack a Grenadier of the British Guard who should presume to invade his farm yard with a red coat on,” said Franklin. Ben admired the pugnacious turkey that defended their territory, much like Americans. Can you imagine the laughingstock we’d be today if he’d had his way?

In truth, the wild turkey runs from an intruder instead of defending their turf. It is said the Apache Indians wouldn’t eat turkey or use their feathers because they feared contracting the spirit of cowardice apparent in wild turkeys. A domestic tom turkey will charge a newcomer to his domain, but that’s because he’s too stupid to realize danger.

Most of us have heard the story of how a turkey (and I am talking about domestic turkeys raised for the table from here on out) will look up at the rain with his mouth open until he drowns. After extensive research (of three or four websites), I’ve learned this is not true. Turkeys can’t “look up” at the rain because they have eyes on the sides of their heads and would have to turn sideways to look up (and down). Therefore, the rain cannot drown them; their mouths aren’t facing upwards in that position.

Domesticated turkeys have been bred in captivity so long they lack survival skills, and intelligence. They’re weak and fat, and can’t run very fast or fly. When they’re panicked by say, a storm, they’ll run until they reached a fence or some other barrier and they’ll pile on top of each another until some poor sap on the bottom suffocates. I did read, however, that the fault lies with the farmer for not instructing his birds in the proper evacuation procedures.

Turkeys are not blessed with intelligence. In fact, they have been bred into profound stupidity. I’m told that some turkeys don’t know enough to eat and so brightly colored pellets are interspersed in their food, causing them to curiously peck and thereby eat. They retain a natural sense of curiosity and thus can, sometimes, find food, water and shelter.

Breast meat is the most often preferred portion of the Thanksgiving turkey. Hence, turkeys have been bred to produce large breasts; so much so that male turkeys can no longer fertilize eggs in a natural mating position. All turkey eggs are fertilized by artificial insemination these days. Poor Tom.

I live next door to cows and chickens and down the road from domestic turkeys. I was lamenting the fact that I could never eat any of these familiar animals. I prefer my meat to be of the unknown-origin-shipped-in-from-somewhere-else variety. However, I might make an exception for the stupid turkeys.

Wherever you are, whomever you’re with, remember to give thanks for the people who love you, for the bounty we enjoy in all aspects of our lives, and for the blessings you receive. Happy Thanksgiving everybody.

Holidays and a Faulty Memory

Indian Summer is over. (Are we allowed to say that? Indian Summer? Should it be Native American Summer? All this politically correct stuff confuses me.) We’ve enjoyed unusually warm and sunny days of late but now reality has set in. It’s mid-November; it’s raining; it’s sleeting; it’s snowing. It’s the kick-off of the holiday season!

Was the weather different in late November when the pilgrims had their first Thanksgiving? Were they plagued with rain and snow mixes? Was Thanksgiving even IN November? I’m thinking late October would have been a better choice. The harvest would have all been in by then – time to celebrate. Canada celebrates Thanksgiving the second Monday of October. Now THAT makes sense. A Monday holiday and reasonable weather. The United States didn’t settle on the fourth Thursday of November until 1941, and then it was so designated in order to give the economy a boost by starting the Christmas shopping frenzy early. Typical.

I lovingly refer to Thanksgiving as the “Feast of Gluttony.” It’s the one meal a year I truly enjoy cooking. This year we’ll be celebrating a week early with my daughter and son-in-law from Minnesota, and because they are committed Weight Watchers members, I’ll be trying some new recipes that are lower in calories. I’m really excited about this. I would love to eat good food that isn’t packed with sugar and butter. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

A friend of mine told a story of walking up a mountainside in Vermont with his grandchildren one Thanksgiving. They were complaining they wanted to be carried because they were so small and tired but rather than carry them, he found two sticks, one for each of them to hold onto, as he pulled them along behind him. He turned to them and said, “Do you realize that the Pilgrims didn’t have roads or paths to walk like we do?” One of the little ones replied, “No wonder they all died.”

I remember Thanksgivings in the 1950s where the snow was so deep it took hours to dig out the car so we could all pile in and drive three quarters of a mile to Grandma’s house. I tried to remember one year how many people were at those Thanksgiving dinners and I came up with between 20 and 25. My grandparents had ten children, and most, if not all, of them came home for Thanksgiving, along with their spouses and children. We all sat at the same table, in the same room, with no television.

I can remember walking into the kitchen and watching all the hustle and bustle of my grandmother and her daughters cooking. No commercial size oven there. It seems it was smaller than a modern day oven, but in it was the 24 pound turkey, with sides of ham, sweet potatoes, stuffing and baked beans all piled around it, most balancing precariously along the sides of the turkey pan. A huge pot of potatoes boiled on the stove while all the pies that had been baked the day before lined the counter top.

I know we were all squished together at that table with very little elbow room, and I know there must have been squabbles now and again, but my memory has erased all the negatives. What I remember now is a Terry Redlin type scene of togetherness. God bless failing memories…

An Open Letter to Our Elected Officials

Dear Politician,

Congratulations on being elected Governor, Senator, Assembly-person, Comptroller, etc. You have won your position by running some of the dirtiest campaigns in memory. The media tells me that statistics say running negative campaigns against your opponent works. Here’s my take on the television ads, radio spots and print media I received during this race: once again I feel like I had to choose between the lesser of two evils. I ended up not liking either one of the major two-party candidates. If your ads can be believed, and I’m sure they can’t, you were both disreputable, lying cheats who would lead us down the path of destruction. Thanks for instilling this confidence in my government. (This is sarcasm. You are so inured to it, you may not have recognized it.)

Did you make any campaign promises? I don’t recall. If there were any, they were lost in the back-stabbing and name-calling you unleashed on your opponent. It’s just as well, because I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter what you promise or say you want to do. You won’t do it. So I guess it is a better tactic to just attack and let the other candidate tell us what you’ll do that won’t be good for us. The promises that you do make don’t make sense. How can you cut taxes, increase spending, give us more services and still make the budget work? In short you can’t. But it is political suicide to tell us you’re going to increase our taxes, take away services and make us suffer more in order to get our great-great-great grandchildren out of debt. Although I doubt you are seriously concerned about the deficit, whether it be state or national. And quite frankly, we probably aren’t either. We want jobs. We want a reasonable economy where we don’t have to mortgage our future for today’s commodities. We’ve already lost our homes and savings. We dare not risk more.

Let me think: it’s been a week and a half since the election. It’s about time to start campaigning for your next term in office, isn’t it? It really doesn’t seem to matter though. Albany is run by New York City. The State government can be ground to a halt again if they don’t like what Upstate wants. Why don’t you encourage New York City to secede from the State? They can become their own little empire, controlling our money, while the rest of the State can control whether or not New York City eats. Sounds like a fair exchange to me. Think about it.

We’re not stupid ladies and gentlemen. We’re just apathetic. We just don’t care much anymore about who wins or loses a race. In our eyes, you are all pretty much the same, just touting different slogans designed to draw in voters of one persuasion or another. And that’s a crying shame. This country was built on true leadership and a population who wanted fairness and guidance. We’ve all lost our way. But, hey, congratulations on two, three, or four more years, depending on your political office, of politicking, maneuvering and posturing. I don’t expect much from you. Do me a favor: disappoint my expectations.

A Disgruntled Constituent