Never prepared

 

A person with whom I was close died of cancer on January 11.

She knew her days were numbered.

I knew her days were numbered.

Yet, on the 12th of January I find it difficult to accept the fact that she is no more.

We shared lots of memories; some good, some not so good. The former we recalled fondly; the later we acknowledged and moved on.

I've known her since 1970, but from 1974 until about 2008 we were "out of touch." Parting was hardly "sweet sorrow" back in '74.

Still, during the relatively brief time we were initially close we created a book full of shared experiences, experiences we had been reliving - avoiding none - since '08.

When I try to analyze my feelings it seems it is "all about me."

I won't be able to continue my correspondence with her.

I won't hear any more about her life in the snow belt.

I won't be able to share any more photos of my kids and grandkids with her.

I won't be upset when my emails go unanswered - or she responds with one line to my 50.

As I write my frustrations, kadish comes to mind.

Kadish is not a "prayer for the dead." It actually has nothing to do with death. It affirms our faith when it is most challenged. Kadish, then, is for the living; the people who have to go on without a loved one, a special person.

I can't - perhaps "shouldn't " is the better word - recite kadish for my friend; we are not related and she's not Jewish. In a sense, that makes the loss even harder to take.

While it most assuredly is not like a parent burying an infant, the loss of a 70-year-old non-Jewish friend leaves me with the same feeling of "non-closure." There needs to be something within Judaism for those close to people for whom kadish is "discouraged."

Life goes on, albeit slightly diminished.

I've lost other friends, all of whom were of retirement age or more. Each loss hurt, but life went on. It will go on even now.

But diminished.

Casting a bad spel cq

 

An old - make that "long time" - friend is a member of a SciFi fan club, one where writing is taken very seriously.

So seriously, in fact, that the organization - once known as the "Pittsburgh Area Realtime Scientifiction Enthusiasts Club," now simply PARSEC (http://www.parsec-sff.org/index.html) - has as its raison d'être "to promote awareness of the richness of speculative fiction as literature, art and music; further general education in the sciences and arts, support contribution, both scientific and artistic, to society and to espouse the enjoyment of speculative fiction as literature, art and music with others."

It even sponsors a well-received contest for budding authors, complete with critiques by both members (first cut) and published authors.

So one would think that the PARSEC web site would be typo free.

One would be mistaken.

For several months, the PARSEC page at http://www.parsec-sff.org/l has had the following contents:

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Writing Contest Delay

16 July 2010

The winners of the writing contest would normaly have been anounced at this time.

Unfortunately, due to uncontrolable citcumstances, that announcement has been delayed.

Please be patient and stay tuned.

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There are 36 words in the three sentences. Of the 36, four are, to be kind, typos:

normaly (normally) anounced (announced) uncontrolable (uncontrollable ) citcumstances (circumstances)

Everybody makes mistakes; I've been known to fat-finger LOTS of words. Usually my spell check catches the typos - Me? Misspell a word? - but sometimes a word is corrrectly spelled but incorrect for the application, e.g., clothes vs. close; know vs. no or now. There are other "got'chas" that creep into any author's copy.

The difference is, when someone points them out to me I make an effort to correct the faux pas; I hate to be embarrassed - and trust me, I have been embarrassed in 60 point (that's BIG) type.

My friend at PARSEC knows about the "oops" on the PARSEC page; she alerted the Powers That Be. I also - before daring to mention the typos to my friend - tried to alert those Powers.

I know the page has been touched; the PARSEC Picnic copy - with map - was added after I tried to rattle the Powers' cage.

Granted I am a bit of a curmudgeon, but I think if I was a budding SciFi author, if I read PARSEC's page, I might wonder just how valid any critique by members of this organization might be.

Truth in blogging: My friend is the Writing Contest Queen and she DOES take her work very seriously; fortunately for her - and unfortunately for PARSEC - she does not create or maintain the organization's Web presence.

Yohanon Glenn
Yohanon.Glenn at gmail dot com

All your taste is in your mouth

 

All your taste is in your mouth.

Insensitive.

Unkind.

Hurtful.

Given the tone in which it was said, certainly the words were not heard as a compliment.

But at the same time, not totally inaccurate, and not necessarily intended to be hurtful.

There is in the statement a bit of truth - the charge at least suggests that the speaker acknowledges, and appreciates, the hearer's culinary expertise but at the same time has a problem with other features of the hearer's taste, be it authors, color, music, associates, whatever.

That, of course, made no difference when the words were said, and makes no differences now.

The words remain insensitive, unkind, and hurtful.

Over the years the speaker of those words created a new mantra, one probably known at the time but certainly not practiced.

"It's what the audience perceives that is important, not [so much] what is said."

Perhaps by trying to be "politically correct" we fail to say what we mean; we "weasel word" what comes out of our mouths.

That doesn't mean a callous remark is acceptable; it simply means we need to find an honest way to state, clearly and unambiguously, what we think.

But not "clearly and unambiguously and hurtfully."

Hind sight is a wonderful thing, but fore sight would have been better.

I'm not sure if the situation is unusual, but both the hearer and the speaker remember, and regret, those words spoken more than 30 years ago.

Car radios

Two unrelated events triggered some thoughts about car radios.

The two events are a recently renewed acquaintance that dates back 30-plus years (seems I've been doing a lot of that recently) and purchase of a new car.

The renewed acquaintance, and the associated correspondence, brings back many memories of the times, including a very long journey - nearly 7,000 miles - around the country.

Back in the day, I seemed to live in a car; on the road both day and night.

At one point, before the 7k-mile excursion, I had a Volvo 122S (back when Volvos were affordable) with a Blaupunkt AM/FM/SW radio.

As I traveled across country, I could tune in programs from islands in the Atlantic.

But most of the time, I had cars with standard AM radios.

Anyone who knows about "standard" radios - both the AM and FM varieties - know that they have a limited range.

As they say, range is limited by distance and terrain.

There's another factor - station output power.

I don't know if they're still around - I don't spend a lot of time traveling at night anymore (have I become "civilized" in my advanced years, or just in less of a hurry?) - but there were a number of "clear channel" stations that went from "normal output wattage" during daylight hours, "normal" probably being something between 5kW and 10kW, to 50,000 Watts after dark. Most other stations shut down at dark.

There was one super-powerful station that blanketed most of the continental US. It had, I think, 100,000 Watts of output power. The station was in Texas, but because the U.S. Federal Communications Commission limited output power to 50kW, the transmitter was in Tijuana, Mexico. The deejay was a fellow named Robert Weston Smith (b. 21 Jan 39-d. 1 Jul 95). You may have heard of Smith by another name: Wolfman Jack. A Web search for The Wolfman will turn up a number of hits. If we weren't in the mood for The Wolfman's chatter on XOXO, we could tune to WOWO (Fort Wayne IN), WGN (Chicago), WWL (New Orleans), WLW (Cincinnati) - to name four I listened to as I traveled night-time roads. Wikpedia lists all - or at least most - clear channel stations in Canada, Mexico, and the U.S. at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clear_channel.

Most of nearly 7,000-mile journey (ibid.) was in a Volkswagen 1600 Variant. It had a radio but no air conditioning which turned out to be a serious deficiency when we drove through Phoenix AZ at 2 a.m. on day in June. The Variant was towed back across the country behind a '67 Rambler Rebel station wagon. I never did get the hang of backing up a towed vehicle or trailer.

Jumping ahead those "30-some" years and into the new car, I have not only an AM/FM radio with digital readout !, but a CD player and, as a promotional gimmick, XM radio free for three months.

Only problem: I work about 10 minutes from where I live, and partially thanks to gas prices and partially thanks to having to do "other things," I spend very little time behind the wheel. There's a 1,000-mile trip planned, but other than that, it's roughly 30 minutes-a-day in the car.

Somehow it doesn't seem fair.

By the way, I once actually got to see The Wolfman close up. He was on a double bill at the Denver coliseum with Leonard (Mr. Spock) Nimoy, and I just happened to be in town. Quite a night in the Mile High city.

Yohanon
Yohanon.Glenn @ gmail.com

"A tongue sharp as a sliver of obsidian"*

I know that ill-spoken words can hurt; thoughtless - and sometimes deliberate - words not only sting when said, but, unlike most physical wounds, leave a searing scar which even years fail to erase.

The same applies to the written word as well, but perhaps there is something cathartic when the offending missive can be crumpled into a ball and ceremoniously discarded into a nearby waste basket or flushed down a toilet. Digital damage falls someplace between the spoken word and the written word: pressing DELete can be satisfying, but it lacks the impact that can be achieved by discarding with vigor an offending missive.

I was reminded of this the other day when I received an email from a person I unwittingly injured with an unkind word many years past.

"You've changed," my correspondent noted. "You used to make smart remarks, calling me 'grace' when I stumbled."

I had not intended to offend; my remark was made in at least "semi" jest; words which I apply equally to myself - indeed, I am often more severe with myself than with others, even "in jest."

I didn't know until today that what I thought was, at worst, a teasing remark was perceived by the hearer to be "as a sliver of obsidian."

That it was - is - became evident when the word came back to haunt me 30-some years after it was spoken.

Words, said in jest, in anger, in any and all modes, once spoken never can be fully retrieved.

My very delinquent apology may be accepted, but I know the scar remains.

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* From The Three Sisters: A Charlie Moon Mystery by James D. Doss, St. Martin's Press, ISBN-13: 9780312364595 http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Three-Sisters/James-D-Doss/e/9780312364595/#EXC

yohanon