It turns out that my neighbor from the opposite side of the street out here in the country needed some help with his pool yesterday. I’ve had some experience with filters and such, so I was pressed into service.
Just as I was returning from an exercise walk, my phone rings, it’s my neighbor Jim. He explains the dilemma he’s presently having with his pool filter. I’m actually at the mouth of his driveway when I get the call. I tell him I’ll be right over. I walk to my house to check in, the wife is in the midst of fixing a wonderful country breakfast. I let her know the issue Jim is having with his pool, that I’m going to give him a hand and I’ll return in a jiffy, NOT. I get that look, if you’ve been married fifty-five years you know the look.
I walk back across the street and find my neighbor poolside, standing next to the filter outside the pool. He fills me in on what was going on, he can’t seed the guts of the filter properly and is pumping Diatomaceous Earth back in the pool. Jim looks at me and says, ”Linda is going to Kill me,” together for over thirty some years, I’m guessing he knows “that” look also.
I survey the situation, eventually figuring out the flow scheme and how the guts need to fit into a plethora of tubes, few, if any are properly seeded. Jim proceeds to tell me he’s not very mechanical, but if you need your appendix removed he could do that quite successfully. I request a rubber mallet and gently tap all into place. Combined we start to put the lid into place, I proceed to drop one of the wing nuts needed into the bottom of the filter. Once again the entire guts are remove and I go fishing blindly through the murky Diatomaceous earthen waters and retrieve the wing nut.
Slam, Bam, thank you Ma’am, the second try is the Coup de Gras. We check all the connections, hit the start switch and dang if we don’t have clear running water going back into the pool. Jim breaths a sigh of relief, the wrath of Linda shall not come upon him. Jim says thanks, I say “that’s what neighbors do.”
Back home the Mrs, God Bless her, says “two or three pieces of bacon” with my perfectly Butter Scrambled eggs and raspberry spread toast? “Three” I say, and proceed to tell her the pool filter event. All is calm in Dodge.
Fast forward 6 hours and Jim says on Face Book.
OK, so the day started out uneventfully. I was having a problem with my pool filter, no matter what I did the pressure would rise after a couple of hours post back washing. I called my pool service and was told that they don’t do service calls on Saturday. So I called my good friend, next door neighbor, former Marine, retired State Trooper, and all around recognized pool guru.
Linda and I decided to put the leaf net over the pool since the Crepe Myrtles were dropping tons of blossoms into the pool. We couldn’t find any clothesline rope so we decided to use coated wire clothes line rope temporarily to hold the net in place until Monday. All good, right? My wire cutters wouldn’t cut the braided wire very well so Linda suggested using s hatchet to cut the line.
Good idea! But as I was cutting the third length of wire rope I chopped off the tip of my left thumb. Blood flew everywhere and I headed to the house, irrigated the wound for ten minutes, Applied an antibiotic cream, wrapped it with a paper towel, then a second, then a third, and a fourth and still the blood was spewing from the wound. So much for taking daily aspirin. I elevated it above my head to no avail until Linda came into the house, took charge and put a proper bandage on the wound.
Not the best of days, tomorrow I am going to sit in the recliner all day and try not to further damage my body or my psyche. That is all. Hope you had a better day !
I, sometime after Jim’s post, look at the Face Book message Jim posted of the incident, and reply to Jim the following.
You should have called the Marine across the street. Rumor has it he always has a couple hundred feet of Para-Cord on hand, an extremely sharp knife that he knows how to use as well, is always clipped to his pocket. Another rumor I’ve been told is that the knife is so sharp than an Air Force PJ Medic once borrowed the same knife to perform an emergency appendectomy during a remote clandestine military mission.
Obviously this loping off the end of a thumb was not representative of good use of available resources. Lesson learned, when all else fails, call in the Marines. Semper Fi
Once I got to hear “Have You Ever Seen The Rain,” and I got to thinking, yep, I’ve seen it and I’m now living it. That rain is COVID-19. You see, for those that don’t know, I’m in my late 70’s, and in my golden years. Every day up in the vertical is a Sunny Day! This dang Pandemic thing is just rain on my sunny days.
Just one week prior to my birthday we went into the Lockdown mode. That day was March 19. Part of my every week prior to the Lockdown, I got to spend Mondays and Thursdays for the past four months with a special buddy, his name is Harrison. This man was ten plus years my senior, married to a Bridge, card player, who needed some Her Time. My buddy also liked traveling the Eastern Shore of MD, DE, and VA and needed to get out some himself. Those two letter identifiers, that’s Maryland, Delaware and Virginia for you out of the country readers. That area is also referred to as the DELMARVA PENINSULA. Every day with Harrison was a sunny day.
Pretty much our day got started around nine and ended around four. We would go out for lunch and often would start talking about food shortly after deciding where we would go on that given day. My partner loved history, especially the history of and places available on Delmarva. On occasion we had pre-planned the day. Most often we would decide where to eat while going to get rid of several day’s household trash or going to the local Recycle Bin with the household magazines and newspapers.
We did a lot of pre-planning over our food. Just the planning was a sunny time and it always brought excitement into the future., especially Harrison.
“Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” is a song written by John Fogerty and released as a single in 1971 from the album Pendulum (1970) by roots rock group Creedence Clearwater Revival. The song charted highest in Canada, reaching number 1 on the RPM 100 national singles chart in March 1971. In the U.S., in the same year it peaked at number 8 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart (where it was listed as “Have You Ever Seen the Rain / Hey Tonight”, together with the B-side). On Cash Box pop chart, it peaked at number 3. In the UK, it reached number 36. It was the group’s eighth gold-selling single.
Some have speculated that the song’s lyrics are referencing the Vietnam War, with the “rain” being a metaphor for bombs falling from the sky. In his review for Allmusic website, Mark Deming suggests that the song is about the idealism of the 1960s and about how it faded in the wake of events such as the Altamont Free Concert and the Kent State shootings, and that Fogerty is saying that the same issues of the 1960s still existed in the 1970s but that people were no longer fighting for them. However, Fogerty himself has said in interviews and prior to playing the song in concert that it is about rising tension within CCR and the imminent departure of his brother Tom from the band. In an interview, Fogerty stated that the song was written about the fact that they were on the top of the charts, and had surpassed all of their wildest expectations of fame and fortune. They were rich and famous, but somehow all of the members of the band at the time were depressed and unhappy; thus the line “Have you ever seen the rain, coming down on a sunny day?”. The band split up in October the following year after the release of the album Mardi Gras.
In a literal sense the song describes a sunshower such in the lyric “It’ll rain a sunny day” and the chorus “have you ever seen the rain Comin’ down on a sunny day?”. These events are particularly common in Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama, but less common in other parts of the country, due to localized atmospheric wind shear effects. In Southern regional dialect, there is even a term for it: “the devil beating his wife”.
So my friends out there in the world’s CVovid land, how are you coping? I ask, are you free for the present, soon to be locked down again? Was your 4’th of July parade rained upon? Is your SUNSHINE gone? Will I ever dine with my friend again?
I share with you an enlightening poem from across the dis-functioning Bay Bridge, which connects the Western Shore with the Eastern Shore of Maryland. I was not going to call you at 0400 hrs George to let you know I was doing this George. Sleep well my friend.
Often after he posts something on one of his many venues, George sends me scurrying to find out just what in the hell he is referencing. Most often I’m successful, but on occasion I’m left scratching my head. Enjoy the poem.
The best short social isolation poem so far is by Grandpa Brody
It was his response to a recent “poor georgie’s almanack” posting.
FREEDOM AND CAGES
I looked out my window and saw a great sight, A bird and a squirrel were having a fight. Seeds on the ground were causing their rage, They were free, unlike me, pent up in a cage. Coronavirus dumped on us, a rampant deluge, We’re saved for the time in our homely refuge, The squirrel has bolted, the bird struts around, My heart’s with the seeds all over the ground, It’s so strange inside, I can hear graying hair, Sounds of the crowds, and look, no one’s there, We are stuck in the house for a foe that is viral, All normal relations are in a downward spiral. The long golden silence is but tarnished words, I long for outside, breathing free like the birds, My life of the past and its warmth do I seek, I’ve endured this affliction for all of one week. Squirrel has returned eating seeds that are left, Looking out of my window to the world, bereft Of my freedom to move anywhere that I please, To enjoy the squirrels and birds in the trees. Next week may be better, a brisk sunny walk, Or perhaps my dear wife and I will just talk, About the day when this plague’s in the past, But for now, how long will this dilemma last?
Published by poor georgie’s almanack
Retired. Writing essays about local and world events that affected the decisions made by our ancestors that resonate with our lives today. We are who they were. Also writing my take on what Ben Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanack might be like in a modern world that now has electrcity. I was head of PR for The Washington Post during Pentagon Papers and Watergate, special assistant to the Postmaster General, senior staffer on the US Senate Foreign Relations Committee, a show business press agent, Chicago chamber of commerce press relations manager and consultant to US and international governmental and nongovernmental agencies and corporations. Examples of my work are in the Smithsonian and Newseum collections. poor georgie’s almanack (since 2011) can be found at http://georgekroloff.blogspot.com You can Google it or follow me on Facebook or Twitter. View all posts by poor georgie’s almanackPublished March 25, 2020
Back in October of last year, my son-in-law asked me if I’d be interested in spending a few days a week with his father traveling about the shore. The shore would be the Eastern Shore, known to many as the Delmarva Peninsula. His father is in his late 80’s, and he experienced a stroke several years ago, which has affected his speech, balance, and short term memory to some degree.
Harrison is the husband of Sylvia and the father of Greg, Lisa, and Julie. There are also grandchildren and, most recently, a great-grandchild. His father immigrated to the United States in the early 1920s from the Netherlands after first arriving as a flower bulb salesman. Harison’s father ultimately established a nursery business in the Salisbury Maryland area. That business, under Harrison’s love and guidance has grown considerably. Under Greg’s guidance the nursery continues to propagate.
So, just where is the Delmarva Peninsula, you might ask? The Delmarva Peninsula encompasses parts of Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia. All that land east of the Chesapeake Bay and south of the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal ending at the Virginia, Bay Bridge-Tunnel at Cape Charles, makes up the Delmarva Peninsula. We even have a Regional Spaceport here.
Harrison loves the history of Delmarva. He loves the land, especially the open fields, many of which are planted this time of year with Winter Wheat. These fields remind me of Ireland, so green in their contrast to the trees still in their winter hibernation. Historical homes and buildings are a natural magnet for Harrison. Harrison also loves his midday meals, which we share. Perhaps we shall have some Gastro insight down the road.
My new-found buddy knows the short term memory has taken a trip to somewhere not in the present. There are moments when a delightful chuckle will come up, “oops,” he might say, you better ask Sylvia that one when he has a thought, and it fly’s off the carrier deck like an F-18. Never is this gentleman frustrated with his position in life. He is a kind, gentle human being who loves his family, life, the land, and the Eastern Shore.
His devoted wife drives him to the local senior center five days a week for some Physical Therapy, and comradery, with those on the same station in life as he. We are starting our fourth month together, and I continue to learn from this man with so much knowledge of what I like to say, this, that, and other things.
May this week bring me more adventure as I travel the Eastern Shore with Harrison. With the blessing of those close to him, I look forward to sharing some of them with you.
Thank you Sylvia, Lisa, Greg, and Julie for sharing someone special with me.
Super Tuesday’s this week, don’t forget, vote early, vote often.
Did you know that caterpillars are not “transformed” into butterflies? In metamorphosis (the name of the process), a caterpillar is liquefied. Only after its actual death can entirely new creature, a butterfly, emerge!
But most people’s image of the process is more like Eric Carle’s classic children’s book The Very Hungry Caterpillar, in which the little caterpillar “makes a cocoon around himself and goes to sleep, only to wake up a few weeks later wonderfully transformed into a butterfly!” (amazon.com)
The Very Dead Caterpillar would probably have sold fewer copies. But it would have been more accurate.
When I was a kid, I used to love going to La Mirada Creek and catching those pudgy little pre-frogs we called pollywogs (you may have known them as tadpoles). I would bring them home and dump them into a tub, and then watch with fascination as they shed their tails, sprouted legs, and crawled out like showroom models: “The new Frog!” That’s transformation (“change of form”) and it’s majorly cool. But it’s not what a caterpillar does.
A caterpillar dies.
After building its own coffin (cocoon), the caterpillar seals itself inside—and dissolves. And then, in a process only vaguely understood by scientists, that stew of free-floating genetic material undergoes a total metamorphosis (“change of nature”).
In other words, butterflies are not souped-up caterpillars, they’re entirely new creations made from caterpillar soup!
Not surprisingly, caterpillars and butterflies are used as spiritual symbols in virtually every culture on earth. But because the real process is so radical and so little understood, they’re nearly always represented as symbols of transformation, rather than metamorphosis. To be fair, many religious teachings do help people become better caterpillars.
But that’s not enough.
According to Jesus, God doesn’t want souped-up caterpillars, he wants butterflies. He wants us to die to ourselves (Luke 9:23-24) and become completely “new creations” (2 Corinthians 5:17). Just like caterpillars do.
The Apostle Paul (in the Greek language of Romans 12:1 and 2) describes the process ofmetamorphosislike this:
“Present your bodies as a living sacrifice (build your cocoon and get in!), holy (‘set apart’), acceptable to God (nothing short of metamorphosis can accomplish this)… Don’t be conformed by (don’t take on the ‘shape’ of) this world (or ‘age’ or ‘era’), but (instead) be metamorphosed (changed in your very nature) by the renewing (‘regenerating’ or ‘re-growing”) of your mind (incidentally, the Greek word for mind is psuche—the same as the Greek word for butterfly!) so that you may be discerning (only by being metamorphosed can you know) what is the will of God (as opposed to the will of a dark and broken world), what is good, well-pleasing, and perfect (‘complete’ or ‘whole’—in contrast to the incompleteness and brokenness of this world).”
Caterpillars and butterflies are the world’s most popular symbol of transformation. But they’re also a far more powerful and challenging metaphor than most people realize.
It’s still the beginning of a new year. What better time to start over, not just as “the new You!” but as a completely new creation!
Are you ready to start work on that cocoon? Thanks Mitch, much appreciated, theRooster
On 24 September an old and dear friend of twenty five plus years left his earthly homeland of Bavaria, Germany. Hubertus, along with his two brothers, owned a centuries old farm on Collins Wharf Rd in Allen, MD. This farm, which lies behind a brick gateway along Wicomico Creek has been a mainstay of the community since 1733.
Hubertus was surrounded by daughters Natalie, Isabel, Carolin and Sophie who held him, and eased his fears to let go, and feel safe in his passing.
Hubertus reminded Mary Agnes and me as being like an overgrown Leprecheaun. Hubertus was always so happy with life, especially his yearly visits to the Eastern Shore and the village of Allen.
There are nothing but wonderful memories of Hubertus and his daughters over the years. Once I picked him and his entourage up at Dulles airport each year, it was a constant how’s this, how’s that and what’s new. This went on non-stop until once on the Eastern Shore and the “Kentucky Fried Chicken” sign was spotted,
( Hubert’s greatest toy was his hydrofoil, brought over from Germany in a shipping crate many years ago. The scene of that boat flying up the Wicomico River at 60 mph with Hubert at the helm, shall be greatly missed.)
My best interpretation of the Death Notice
You are no longer where you were, but you are everywhere we are
DR. Hubertus Rechberg
died peacefully in the circle of his beloved daughter
12 March 1948 in Munich
Died September 24, 2019 in Garmisch-Partenkirchen
In great love and gratitude we bid farewell to our father, father-in-law, grand-father and brother.
Wednesday the 2nd of October
11:00 am funeral service and funeral takes place
in the parish church ST. Clemens in 82438 Eschenlohe place.
12:30 – 17 o’clock approx. Reception in Wengwies
5.30 pm Children’s dinner PANCAKES – at Kiki (Maus’s kitchen is occupied by the caterer!)
The author of https://amehrling.com/ center, Anne Mehrling with husband John on the right and the Rooster’s wife Mary Agnes and, our trusty K-9, Benjamin Franklin after the Mehrling’s stopped by on a trip from North Carolina to Long Island, NY.
The Rooster and his wife were so appreciative to have the Mehrling’s stop by on their trip north today. We have followed Anne’s blog for a number of years, and she has followed mine. We have been known to frequently respond with comments towards each other’s writings. Although time committments didn’t allow the visit to be lenghthy, it was wonderful none the less, in meeting the person holding the pen. Well, the hand punching the keys at any rate.
I’ve grown to know the family through Ann’s Blog, as well as the growth of eight year old neighbor Logan and others who live close by. It’s simply amazing how the blogging world brings people together. This one short visit and life’s event sharing, paints the picture further and fills the gaps not said in a Blog.
Several days earlier I had mentioned to our eldest daughter of the pending visit. My daughter inquired, what we would do if they turned out to be Cereal Killers? No worry’s here I assured her. The only thing that turned out to be dead was their car. Seems the van they rode in was a rental with NY plates. Anne has written several times lately about their own van. It died on them once at a Funeral Home, (how appropriate) and, most recently needed a jump to get started. Turns out this was something I cautioned her about recently. Just yesterday she wrote in an email about their coming trip the following, “To set your mind at rest — we got a new battery for the car this morning. Yes, it helps my mind, too”. The cereal killer got the van my daughter.
So I’ll end this Blog with a most appreciative, thank you Anne and John for taking the time out of your busy schedule to vist with us. You are more than the fingers walking across the keys. We call you our friends and look forward to returning the visit, The Rooster and wife.
Don’t forget to check on the elderly.
From our house to yours, we wish you all a very Merry Christmas.