Fern

I was kinda late this year in setting up the planters - well, with Global Warming and all, this is really the first week this year that the temperatures have stayed above the 40s for more than 24 hours in Wisconsin.  So, I went to Stein's Garden Center and took advantage of the closeouts on bedding plants - got lots of petunias, marigolds, impatiens, dianthus, and snapdragons.

On my way to the checkout, I was caught off-guard.  A rack of tiny Boston Ferns caught my attention with their beautiful green fronds.  I had forgotten how affectionate the little critters could be.  One of them practically begged me to take him home.  I usually don't do impulse buying, so I was a little sheepish when I got it home, in its little plastic pot with fronds protruding from its protective sleeve.  But my wife said "What a cute little t'ing!"  So I knew I was on the right track.  I could put him up in a planter over in the shopping court, where he'd get lots of light and fresh air.  I put him at the top of the steps, to re-plant the following day.

Next morning, however, there were NO fronds protruding from the plastic sleeve - my little fern had been mowed down even with the pot.  I asked Syd if he had seen anybody enjoying the fresh green salad-y flavor of my new fern.  But Syd was busy inspecting the summer quilt-storage arrangements, and couldn't answer any security-related questions at that time.

But ferns are fast to heal, and very understanding about the "pruning".  Mine was no exception.  Within a week, all the missing fronds had filled in, and Fern is living happily ever after!

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Sock it To Me

Today's lesson is about thrift.  Now we all know that the government lets us keep part of the money we earn, because we work so hard. But, that money can just slip away from us if we don't take care of it.   Pictured below is a handy savings aid.  It's a cute little folder you can get for free from your nearby bank.  Supplies are limited, so be sure to get there before 1972.  If you fill up this little cardboard folder (there are tiny half-moon slots inside, just the right size for a dime) you will have "squirreled away", in no time at all, Three Entire Dollars.  

Just take this, along with your pass-book, down to your corner bank, and the teller will put this into your savings account for you. Just watch it grow!  In no time at all, you will have fifty dollars, a  hundred dollars, or more!  The magic of compound interest will increase your money as you save, building a secure nest-egg for your future.

And that brings us to today's project.  Now that we have more money than we ever dreamed of, keeping that money safe is of paramount importance.  Let's compare different investment options.

• Let's take $490.00 in cash, and deposit in our M&I Bank savings account.  
• For comparison, let's put the same amount in a sock, and toss it under the bed.  

A year later, we pull out the sock, which has accumulated an unbelievable amount of dust - where does all that fur come from?  Reach in, and pull out the money, what have we got?   $490.00 - the money was not in the bank, and so it did not grow.

Now, let's go to M&I and empty out the savings account.  Arrange it on the table, and count it.  Isn't it amazing?  After a year in an M&I Savings account, you now have --- $454.00.  There is less money than there was a year ago because M&I has charged four times a $9.00 per quarter maintenance fee.

So, when it comes to saving your money, the clear choice is:  The Sock!.

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Bye Bye Blackbirds

I always wondered why I heard the birds so clearly from the vacant unit in the back of our shopping court.  Well, I kind of suspected why, but I just didn't have the time to take on another project.  But yesterday, I was forced to face the problem.  How could a bird be living above the ceiling and, apparently, thriving?   They need food, water, and I suppose they'd like a little fresh air and sunshine once in awhile.  (i get that way once or twice a year.)  So, when they started pooping through the cold-air returns, that was above the radar, the Mrs. mentioned that the bird poop might have something to do with the cheeping.   Next thing you know they would be hacking into the WiFi and texting Al Quaida birds living in the Axis of Evil countries.

So, I got the ladder and popped the ceiling tile.  At the time, there was a Cheep-Fest going on up there.  These were not very advanced birds up there.  A bird on one end of the room would say "Cheep" and the bird on the other end would answer "Cheep" and the birds outside would chime in - you guessed it - "Cheep" again.  That was the whole show -- "Cheep".  I think I'd rather wait until it comes out on CD.

When I poked my head in above the ceiling, I found myself looking directly into the beady little eyes of a black bird with a yellow beak.  She just stared at me, from not more than two feet away - no cheeping, just staring, as if she could put a stink-eye on whatever I had in mind.  From the other end, a bird who hadn't gotten the word, said  "Cheep", but this mama was busy, and didn't answer.  Over on the other end, there was a wad of grass and sticks, and this was where the other "Cheep" came from.  I left her tile open, in case old Yellow Beak decided to come out on her own.

At the other end, I saw that the grass and sticks had been tightly wedged between two iron beams.  I got a waste-basket and began to haul down the collection.  After about half a bushel of crap, a little brown bird came flapping and plopping down into the wastebasket.  He was now very quiet too.  Sooo,, Smart Guy, who you callin "Cheep" now?  I took the wastebasket outside, and dumped it on the ground.  The brown guy flew away.  Seemed pretty mature to be living in a nest, but, I guess there are people too who still live in their mother's basement just because they can.  All the while, the first bird was watching quietly from the other end.   She would be a hard one to get out of there.

There were at least two bushels of material between those beams - sticks, grass, debris.  One thing puzzled me - how could they get a two-foot twig in through such a little hole?  The entryway - a gap between the masonry and the roof flashing, only about 2 inches diameter.  I wasn't going to plug the opening before I knew that there were NO birds up there.  As I cleaned up all the debris, swept up above the tiles, and the floor. I wondered how I would know for sure that they were all out.  The next time I went up into the ceiling, I couldn't see the mama.  I could feel her sharp little black eyes looking at me, but from where?   I replaced all the tiles.

There are certain "cheeping times" in the morning when every bird seems to be out and about, and that's when I'm going to seal up the hole.  Mama was NO help. She'll have to keep an eye on the "Rafters Wanted" section of  Craig's List.

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Goodbye, Old Girl

Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend I was making space in the basement.  An old rust-petrified Rollfast Bicycle - time to admit to yourself that Someday would never come.

I'd never suddenly become a walking Swiss-army knife of mechanical acuity, completely re-build the lowly machine into a restored American classic, and pedal my way to Adonis-hood, with women swarming all over my awesome body every time i stopped at an intersection.  Maybe it won't happen.  I put the pathetic bicycle out in the back alley, in two trips, and within 1/2 hour, the scrappers had snapped it up.

Then I faced a question that I'm sure every homeowner I'm sure has asked himself:  What do I do with 75 hula hoops?  Well, see above, it wasn't likely that I'd be doing the hula.  So, noticing that Randy was open next door, I went over to Heavenly Kidzz, his emporium of children's resale.  I made a win-win offer, and there was another precious cubic yard of space.

Sadly, back in the corner, crouching down hoping I wouldn't see her, but I did...  You're next, Old Girl.  A wringer washer from the 1940s.  When I lived in a 10-room apartment ($110.00/mo) in Watertown, I had wheeled her up to the sink every week to do my wash.  Fill with a hose, and wring and drain into the kitchen sink.  It did the job, and it went well with the 1920s decor of the apartment.

Then, I moved to Milwaukee.  She came with me, although my new place had a new-fangled automatic washer, with a dryer above.  So, she went into the basement.  But her moment of Glory was still to come.  I began to write and produce plays.

My old Kenmore had a starring role in one of my favorite creations - "Lyle and Shirley at the Foot Farm".
Equipped with Christmas lights and a smoke generator, my Kenmore sharing the stage with Marian Ziemienski, one of the most talented Milwaukee actresses.  Marian played a wise old women from the hills, and used the wringer washer to process her cherished recipes for elixer.  Here, she demonstrates her craft to her granddaughter, played by Joyce Radtke.   This was the Kenmore's finest hour.

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Alana's Poster-Child

This picture hangs on the wall of the studio where we hold our concerts.  It is a blown-up newspaper clipping of a modeling series my wife Joyce was doing a few years back at Villa Terrace, a local millionaire-mansion turned museum/concert hall.  At the time, she was working as a photo model for Boston Store and Marshall Fields, but I believe this particular photo was done by a reporter, as a story on Joyce rather than the clothes she was selling for her employers.

This year, she started her own clothing store, Alana Women's Apparel, in part of a shopping center that we have been creating in a rehab space.  She was wondering if the photo, one of her career favorites, could be incorporated in abstract terms into her store logo.

She posed the question to Tom Hoffmann, a Bay View artist acquaintance from her fitness gym, and Tom came up with the following rendition, based on the photograph.

 Also a sleek black-and-white version: 

And so, another legend is born.  I love you, Joyce.

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Arithmetic

Sometimes someone does something courageous and good for you and you don't realize what it is they've done until much later.  And sometimes you don't even get the chance to thank them; sometimes it's too late. Sometimes it's over 40 years before you realize it at all....


Herbert Richter was one of my favorite grade-school teachers.  He taught 8th grade at St. John's Elementary School, and he was the principal.  After grade school, he initiated me into the mysteries of the St. John's Church Organ.  And in 1966, he was our math teacher.   The New Math had been taught us since the 6th grade. We all knew what subsets were, how to describe a Venn diagram, and other pre-high-school algebra skills, variables, and the like.  Statistical skills and talents were developed that made us feel very smart and superior to our parents, because the ostentatious terminology sounded very learned. The parents were just adders and memorizers, not real mathemetical geniuses like ourselves.


But one day, Mr. Richter passed out what he called "the Webster".  It was an old blue "retired" arithmetic text, either authored by someone named Webster, or published by Merriam-Webster; I've forgotten which.  The Websters could not be taken out of the classroom - they were never to be taken home.  Thinking back now, I believe that Mr. Richter went out on a limb to teach us arithmetic from the old books, and he was counting on us to "keep a low profile" about what we were studying.  In all probability, he was going counter to the school board and the "progressive" things the faculty learned at teachers' conventions. Mr. Richter was taking a career risk to teach us from these books.  .


And what were the arcane teachings contained in the Webster, that three years of New Math did not teach us?  Mysteries, witchcraft and voodoo in the numbers!  Converting fractions to percentages using long division.  Compound interest.  Rates and ratios, weight and measurement conversions and tolerances.  Discounts, accounting, multiplication by tables.  And by learning these applied concepts, reviewing by relentless application of the basic add/subtract/multiply/divide skills that we had learned in the first five grades.


When we got to high school, the educators said about us that we were behind in basic algebraic skills.  Still, we caught up, and when the final grades were added up, many of us from St. John's were close to the top of the class.  And, we possessed some skills that could only have been obtained by having been in Mr. Richter's class.      


Thanks for taking the chance on us, Mr. Richter!


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April in Wisconsin

OK, then.  There are some of our readers who are displaying photos of their flowerbeds.  Beautiful Clymenestra, Amarylis, and Roses.   To these readers I warn that the following photos may be shocking, so grab a Mint Julep (or a Lone Star) before looking any further.

I was so inspired to hear from my friends that the earth was once again in bloom.  I couldn't wait to get up this morning, and fill my lungs with the fresh dew-moistened blossom-scented air of Spring At Last!  I threw open the front door this morning to get the paper, stepped out into the silvery dawn, and saw: 

 

♫♪♪♫
I’m as restless as a willow in a windstorm
I’m as jumpy as puppet on a string
I’d say that I had spring fever
But I know it isn’t spring 
--- Rodgers and Hammerstein

 ♫♪
Little Darlin - It's Been a Long Cold Lonely Winter -- the Beatles

it's

spring

and

     the

             goat-footed

balloonMan       whistles

far

and

wee

e.e. cummings

April 18, 2011


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