Meditation on Baloney

My Grand-daddy was a gentleman of true Southern tradition and he was not given to profanity but when he was confronted by unsolicited exaggeration or mendacity he would freely employ some fine-tuned and well-aimed exclamation, the meaning and import of which everyone at that time well appreciated. The words he used were common parlance and could be employed at the stable, the barbershop or the living room. There was no need to cover the children’s ears. If ladies were present it was not considered a social disaster or even as bad manners.  If someone expressed a “howler”, he would quickly repudiate it with one of the expressions in his arsenal.

These quaint characterizations are still in parlance though not so common: eyewash, horsefeathers, tommyrot, twaddle, bilgewater, hogwash, poppycock, balderdash and applesauce were all his favorites. The fact that he had so many at the ready perhaps indicates his intrinsic cynicism or it may be a commentary on the general level of discourse. Reading the newspaper today is a classic occasion for these singular outbursts which do nothing to answer the calculus of a well-crafted argument but which offer their user a satisfaction in their explosive discharge. It goes without saying that television reports also offer ample outlet for such steam pressure release.

One can easily look up the derivations of these words and find some exact and some fanciful opinions as to their origins. As for “applesauce” its effect probably stems from its mere ordinariness since it is really a well-loved and universal condiment. On the other hand, “baloney” which was also one of the preferred words in his repertory is a little harder to understand as a pejorative. Is this an anti-immigrant ultra-nationalist word of dismissive power? Is there a hidden message in the use of “baloney”? We know that the meat preparation comes from Bologna in Italy. Was the crushing tide of Italian immigration responsible for the fear and loathing of the people who brought with them this most estimable and portable foodstuff? Was being Italian equated with eating baloney as it was with the Irish eating potatoes, the Scots eating porridge, the Germans eating schnitzel or the French eating frog’s legs? There are worse sins for a people than having a preferred food, like genocide for instance.

Anyhoo, back to baloney. Maybe we can better understand its use from an examination of its ingredients. In Bologna the town there is a traditional sausage called mortadella from which baloney is descended in a transoceanic way. Many of the ingredients are the same (beef or pork) as are some of the spices (black pepper, nutmeg) but the appearance of mortadella has obvious evidence of chunks of pork fat. Here the American government, as a part of its proprietary interest to keep its people safe and healthy, has mandated that the ingredients be ground so fine that nothing discernibly different is recognizable. In this homogenized amalgam of meat, fat and spices there is no way to tell exactly what or where the ingredients come from (what part of the animal that is). The pedigree of the American expression of disapproval “baloney” is thus a pure metaphor for something so apparently free from nutritional value, so common in appearance and so devoid of substance that it must describe the vacuous nature of an observation made by someone who has nothing of consequence to say. And that’s no hooey.

With hugs,     Celeste

Partay!

The urge to be hospitable is emerging again. No one liked that stay at home mandate. Social distancing is bad enough and the word “lockdown” has become an element of everyday conversation. That word has a militaristic connotation implying forceful penalties for violations and was previously applied to prison populations and then to schools/offices horrifically under attack. It is sad that this is where we are.

And yet under that skin of distrust and avoidance flows a richly vibrant pulse. It is driven by the human heartbeat of shared good fellowship and common decency. We want to entertain, have people over again. Not that the viral veil has been lifted, only that we have an irrepressible yearning for community. That’s a good thing. As good things go, I am not including the family weddings in the traditional manner sans masques or the backyard barbeque for the neighborhood sans masques or the rowdy bar scene sans masques. What I refer to are the more intimate parties of 4-6 people.

The practicality of this naturally depends on your living space and table size. We used to joke about the “kiddie table” and now we are sitting there. It has become perfectly acceptable to distribute guests at your home in satellite tables. Not every dining room table (even after the leaves are added from the closet storage) can serve for what are allowable distances between diners. Couples are one close configuration to accommodate, but once you add in any singles, you don’t want to force discomfort or uneasiness on anyone. We don’t want them to feel like outcasts. Separate everyone in that case.

If you don’t have any nice card or game sized tables to use, employ whatever you can and toss an appropriate table cloth over it to disguise its less than elegant appearance, even if it is a shop bench or plywood slab. Add a floral centerpiece (not fragrant of course) and away you go. You may elect to ask everyone to bring their own food and utensils. No one is going to say boo to that these days. If you are preparing the meal, I suggest you opt for a plated presentation rather than a buffet. People tend to clump in such circumstances and we don’t want to hear “back off” muttered in the service line. Ideally you are able to serve outside which adds a lot of ease to the whole affair. If you do have a covered porch that would do splendidly. There is no getting around the fact that indoor contacts are the most hazardous. For apartment dwellers it will be a challenge no matter what approach you take and you will want to explain the ground rules to your guests in advance with as much specificity as possible. The latest science tells us that distancing and masking are the two simplest and most efficient preventatives from infection. Your hospitality does not extend to slacking the rules.

The lavatory should have special accoutrements: sanitizing wipes, soap, throw away hand cloths and disinfectant spray among them. The comfort of your guests and peace of mind for everyone is paramount, in addition to an invitation to return!

On bicycles and automobiles

            I do drive a car now. Since I came to this modern convenience rather lately, my sensibilities are somewhat different than those who have been long behind the wheel. I do love my bicycle though. It is a single speed, wide-tire, wicker basket-equipped contraption with a bright-sounding Bermuda bell on the handlebars which I enjoy ringing gaily for no particular reason but which also serves as a warning signal to anyone in my path. Since I am a participant in these two travel worlds, I think I am qualified to have an opinion on the conduct of operators in each.

            One of the consistently most dangerous maneuvers I often observe is the driver who veers well into the lane of the oncoming traffic with disregard for the propriety of remaining within the lines of their own allotted lane in order to give a bicyclist on his side berm plenty of room. This contrived “courtesy caution” is foolish and needs to be reprimanded. Why don’t you just slow down, Mr. or Mrs. Driver, in order to accommodate the cyclist? It appears that this tactic is another entitlement for those who do not wish to relent on the accelerator pedal. If your concern is the clearance for a cyclist in the bicycle lane, remember that you have an eleven foot travel lane for your six foot wide automobile and that the bicycle lane is usually three feet wide at least. If there is no verge and the white line is a border to the pavement then please slow down and allow the traffic headed toward you to pass before you pass the cyclist.

            This common sense approach honors the understood boundaries allowed for everyone and does not scare the wits out of the approaching driver who has no idea why another vehicle is suddenly oncoming in his or her lane. You centerline-crossers do not understand that the oncoming driver may not even be aware of a cyclist on the opposite side of the road. I urge you to stop this foolish practice before you hurt someone, yourself and passengers included.

            And you bicyclists: “share the road” does not mean hog the road in your pelotons of over-privilege. It applies to you as well. Bicycle lanes are provided as a safety and a courtesy for you. If you insist on riding in packs on travel lanes of 35 mile per hour or faster roads, please get a police escort and a permit for the Tour de Paysage you are apparently riding in. Safety on wheels applies to everyone equally.

            Accommodation and courtesy are extremely important to me but it does not mean that I tolerate dangerous and selfish behavior with service to them as an excuse.

            Ever since Wallace and I honeymooned in Bermuda we have both reveled in the charms of bicycling and I only use my automobile by necessity. We well appreciate that the rights of both users can be honored in a sensible manner if we try.

                                                                                                Big Hugs,                                                                                                                                                       Celeste

On Hold

On hold. Waiting. Idling. Marking time. Hanging on. These words describe the suspended animation of waiting to speak to a “representative”. I have found there are a limited number of doodles that one can create in the duration of this deferred discourse. Dull repetition takes hold after the initial brilliant inventiveness. Spirals are popular, as are daisy petals, clouds, rainbows and curlicues. These softer shapes are not necessarily gender specific. The general term for them is doodles. The impulse to fill empty space, an empty mind or a blank page is probably universal. It is honored by the cliché ‘nature abhors a vacuum’. The refined and trained graphic artists among us may produce more sophisticated renderings of moon rockets, concert halls and corporate logos rather than the more common sketchy comic caricatures. On one hand, it is a marvel to me that the human brain can operate simultaneously on separate complex levels and on the other that we can shut down those higher mental synapses so readily. I see the mind processes as a layered sandwich with or without some of the layers: lettuce, tomato, bacon, mayo or mustard for instance. Salt and black pepper and pickle are optional. This metaphor can grow to imaginative complexity. The point is that the idle mind is not truly inert at all and that is where doodles (from the German Dudeltopf ) come in. They occupy the day dreaming space, the marginalia of the focused mind.

Since we have been coping with the extenuating circumstances of this viral epidemic, there is lots of hanging on, especially when we are on the phone. We are making appointments, getting information, filing complaints and generally dealing with officialdom. It is here that we run up against some of the most dreadful sounds ever transmitted. The phone tree complications are bad enough: “Our menu has recently changed.” The subsequent musical diversion intended as a soothing passage is so scratchy and disjointed that it is practically unbearable. I inform the next representative that it is a trial to endure that sonic experience, saying, “Your interlude music is about the worst I have ever heard and almost deters me from waiting, let alone to doing business with you!” That horrible and repetitive noise is a maddening distraction when I could be accomplishing some useful and creative doodling. Since that signal is probably bouncing off a communications satellite 20,000 miles above Earth before it arrives in my ear, there is some allowance to be made, but REALLY! I don’t care if it is a clarinet concerto. It is unrecognizable noise and repellant. Something about the sound waves is so disturbingly distorted that when the cheery representative finally comes on the line and distinctly wishes me a bright welcome, it is disorienting and annoying at the same time. Of course the representative can do nothing to remedy my irritation except to say, “Yes we have heard that before.’ I would prefer silence with the occasional “We will be right with you” rather than the aural assault of abrasive din. Thank you for allowing me to vent. I don’t think I am alone in this and I know that this is small potatoes of all the things to be upset about. Much bigger issues well deserve the biggest protests right now.

Hanging on is the default mode of operation right now. Waiting for a resolution of uncertainty is foremost for everyone. The halting progress, if you can call it that, is frustrating in the extreme. The rollercoaster ride of optimism and despair has brought me to tears more than once. There is civic danger in that beyond a personal hazard. Mental health consultation however, is not my specialty; table settings and candelabras and napkin folding and floral arrangement is more of my territory.

When I say civic danger, I mean it. The national mood may bottom at such a low ebb that we settle for some swaggering tinpot authoritarian who promises a guaranteed solution to our problems, who operates without counsel, who confabulates his own worth as a leader of the people, who flatters our national pride with jingoistic drum-banging, who sells shallow nostrums for complex problems, who has no personal guiding principles unless they are polling well with the voters and who has no understanding of the meaning of Civics. Pretty scary if you ask me. We are vulnerable to this sort of manipulation if we allow it, especially if the situation gets worse than it already is. To my thinking the national ‘mood’ is critical. Fear and apprehension are not solid voting guides. Thank you for allowing me to vent again.

What has this to do with gracious living? Look to standards of action to answer that. High standards are not exclusively for the elite. A table with a camellia in a jelly jar can be just as satisfactory as any floral extravaganza. A votive candle can offer as much accent as any designer taper. Standards of performance and presentation cross all boundaries; practicing discernment in that sphere offers the opportunity for a genial life. In our own domain we set criteria all the time. Applying that to the larger society is not a bad thing.

On hold is nowhere. It is not here or there. It is limbo. (Never mind that that word is a construct for the purpose of religious rationale.) It is the province of daydreams and doodles and uncertainty waiting to be connected. In olden days when telephone lines ran through switchboards with actual people supervising them, to be ‘on hold’ meant that the physical connections were not yet made and you might be asked to ‘hold on’ in anticipation of an actual plugged connection. Being on hold now encompasses a sort of universal insecurity. Those standards I spoke of can now aid us in mutual support. We encourage and offer compassion to others as an emblem of solidarity. Or we bake them a pie. Or we share from our garden. That is the acme of gracious living.

Swell kisses                           Celeste

On Masks

“Hiyo Silver!” Most people my age, nay all of them, recognize that cultural reference very well. Many children of a certain era had a first exposure to classical music with the accompanying and rousing William Tell Overture. (the cartoon-infected Light Cavalry Overture also had a delicious effect). The mask of The Lone Ranger barely hid his identity but every episode moved along with everyone pretending that he was an unidentifiable hero. Now masks have become a necessary safety accessory rather than as a costume fashion. The more willfully obstinate among us operate under the delusion that not wearing a mask is a sign of freedom when in fact they are being simply antisocial.

Be that as it may, face masks fundamentally alter our interactions and it is now very difficult in conversation to judge the mood of the wearer. Eyebrows and frown lines don’t act as adequate substitutes for facial signals. The whole picture is so important. If wiggling your ears could replace oral motion there might be some hope. Alas, we are left to assume the disposition of a person with whom we communicate. Having only part of the picture is really quite limiting when it comes to judging another’s frame of mind, which is exactly the purpose of masks in Un Ballo in Maschera where the titillation of not knowing is part of the game. Even the Phantom of the Opera was famously misunderstood, much to the detriment of his musical career. You know lots and lots of literary references to masks: The Masque of the Red Death, The Man in the Iron Mask, etc. Popular culture revels in the fascination for disguise. The imagination (not just juvenile) soars with comic book super heroes and now that movies have absorbed this potency, masks are clearly entrenched in modern western civilization. The ancient Greeks sensed the fascination with alter-egos in their theatrics well before any Freudian interpretation of behavior and maybe that is a hint for the revival of the theater arts. Who knows?

Many societies have long used masks for diverse purposes but this new worldwide trend cuts across all social, political, religious and ethnic lines. Many traditional masks, whether full-face or partial, have remained unchanged for centuries. We are struggling with the new protocol. I have observed many imaginative design interpretations and I have to give high marks to some of the creators. There is a mask for every mood and intention. There are diverse styles: medical, “outré fashion”, Day of the Dead, space age, cowboy, scary Halloween, bank robber and more with or without added venting. Their attachment passes over the ears, under the ears, over the head, around the neck in all sorts of tethering permutations. Ingenuity is riotously and imaginatively expressed.

What I would like to see is something functional and feminine. By that I mean a covering that is clearly a gender indicator. I know such distinctions are out of fashion and while gender bending is rampant, I don’t consider myself a fuddy-duddy on that topic. To me that term describes a crabby and unswerving traditionalist. Pas Moi. When it comes to this sort of distinction, I hope there must be plenty of room under the tent for one such as myself. I am not condemning anyone for their choices. Unisex has its place in modern living and I pride myself for my sense of discernment. I am wishing for some mask adaptation that is medically effective but which also has a lacy, even frilly, signature without looking like a repurposed doily. Maybe there are lots of them out there. I am certainly on the hunt. Sequins are appropriate, feathers may not be necessary.

All the hugs,                            Celeste

Isolation

            Everyone is distancing! Is that really a gerund or what? I thought that was what politicians did when they aver that they mis-spoke or when they’re caught by the press and cornered in their own shallow hypocrisy. That kind of distancing is back pedaling of the highest degree. More’s the pity that the public is so inured to this kind of flimflam talk that it is soon forgotten.  The other kind of distancing we practice now is life saving. We are asked to go even farther, to isolate.

Isolation has its medical consequences but I wonder about the artistic side. Does solitude enhance creativity? The creative impulse is a basic human trait. I don’t dismiss the inventive and calculating energies of animals who are seeking food in a world of scarcity. I am thinking of squirrels and crows at the moment. Speaking as one who has little instinct for imaginative innovation, I can only observe and remark as an outsider. Table settings may be my only forte. Hospitality is my game.

It seems to me that enforced isolation can work in mysterious ways to impede or promote artistic productivity. It takes a special artistic imagination to relish being alone. For solo creators it is a mixed blessing. Some of them rely on personal withdrawal, in addition to excessive alcohol consumption, for heightened consciousness. There is a long tradition of that and maybe it has a liberating effect on awareness but it can lead to all sorts of personal travails as well as declining originality. The trick is to know when it’s not working as it should. On the other hand, if a soloist is a performance artist then the loss of a valuable observer may impair the fulfillment and purpose of rehearsal and preparation. The immediacy of helpful guidance is sacrificed. Sometimes it’s just plain nice to have someone else in the room.

Creating at a total remove from social contact obviously allows unimpaired focus, freedom and concentration. Sabbaticals and “retreats” imply this. At the same time, this does not refute the fact that all creative efforts are ultimately intended for people. The primal urge to show off your crayon drawings to your parents never really goes away. Solitude is not a requirement but it may serve as an enhancement to the process. In this age of so-called social connection, the refreshment of purpose provided by isolation is what some artists have been begging for: no distractions. That may be an idealistic concept since the worries associated with the economic collapse remain and sheltering with a menagerie of creatures isn’t easy. Still, to have an eye on the prize of approval and reward all the time has to be crippling for the creative process; not that great works do not come from that intention, but that they might have been even better.

Maybe the highest value in isolation is the opportunity for reflection. This can lead in all sorts of creative directions and may lead to the ultimate fulfillment of that good old exhortation: Carpe Diem.

Domestic Science

Home Economics is now Domestic Science. That might not seem like big news to you but that subtle modification means the world to modern women. For those in the last thirty years who endured the derision of their peers because they had an interest in this field, vindication probably comes too late. During the dark ages for women and girls not so long ago the professional prospects for them were dim and Home Ec. served some as the “go-to” choice for life direction. Even into the twenty first century, training in skills that their mothers and grandmothers had embraced seemed to many girls and women to be unavoidably dowdy. This was a dismissive social relegation that schools did little to counter. That’s shocking in itself but to think that these lasses experienced a sort of Victorian era social imprisonment (you could always be a governess if teaching didn’t suit) is a downright disgrace.

We simply don’t accept this kind of degradation now. There ought not be any sniggering in the back row. In case it escaped your notice, the categories of Domestic Science include sewing and textiles, child development, health and hygiene, budgeting/economics, education and community awareness, and food preparation. Holy smokes! In this current situation don’t all of those skills seem to be highly important? These are critical talents to possess at any time. These are only general headings for extremely wide-ranging subjects that, when taken together, have a holistic quality as applied to managing a home. Not only does the course of Domestic Science have the cachet of serious study but it has practical value in how to do stuff and to get things done under stress or deadline or worry. Who wouldn’t appreciate that training?

For those of us who were suddenly thrust into home isolation with partners, children and pets, the vital skills promoted by the new science probably helped smooth the way. Remember that there are stoves and ovens in expensive urban condos that have never ever been fired up! How do you suppose those folks faced the prospect of cooking for themselves? A lot of the most basic domestic knowledge has been dropped from the life curriculum for many reasons. We are not talking about survival skills such as hog slaughtering, just ordinary tasks such as ironing, sewing a button and making tomato sauce for pasta.  It has probably been an eye-opener and quick course for those who found themselves without the simple proficiencies to fall back on.

I do have to say I positively adore the idea of community awareness as something to be taught and passed along. Isn’t that something to seriously ponder right now? The ethical and moral dimensions of this category are immense and so needed today along with lessons in civics (but that is another discussion). Active involvement, charity, compassion, volunteerism and tolerance are a few of the attributes that come to mind for exploration in this single category of Domestic Science. Let’s show these young people how to live. And graciously at that!

Hugs coming soon                       Celeste