Time is...

Yesterday, I published an expanded post of an idea I saved a month ago. This morning I discovered that the posting date reflects the day I originally saved the idea, not the actual day of the events I reflected on.

Does the actual date really matter when ideas and contemplations are at the heart of a blog?

Albert Einstein, I am reasonably certain made the initial inroads into time's elastic nature, but a novel opened my imagination.

I read H. G. Wells' The Time Machine when I was about 12 and was immediately captivated by his notion of traveling while remaining in the same place. Perhaps my fascination was enhanced by the fact that I lived in a couple of centuries old farmhouse across the street from an 1760's posting inn. An awareness of what-happened-here was ingrained as I walked to school through a cemetery whose earliest markers were from 1641 or rode my bike past the Endicott Pear Tree (still giving fruit though planted by John Endicott when he was governor of Massachusetts Bay in 1632). My sense of time as history was implanted very successfully very early in my life.

Some facts may require a time stamp to authenticate their validity, my blog does not. After all (and apologies, Albert) time is relative.

Ennui - No Chance!

A friend called yesterday asking if I was getting antsy staying with Mom while helping her get acclimated to a new apartment arrangement. My "What on Earth would lead to that conclusion!?" remark elicited, "well, Hell, you never stay in one place long while you're home. I figured you'd be getting bored being in an old people's home for so long."

Huh!? Bored? While in the company of Kathleen D. Mayer?! No chance. Here's how today went, so you can make your own assessment.

Breakfast conversation included a recap of the resolution of the government shutdown, why no one we knew ate green food at breakfast, is non-reflective glass on pictures worth the money, should we send a  tee-shirt declaring "Past, Present and Future walked into a bar. The situation was tense." to my Australian college teacher friend, and possible furniture arrangements for her livingroom.

Then Mom took a phone call from the public relations firm organizing the Jackson, Mississippi museum's groundbreaking event next week. (A couple of years ago my family returned a necklace to the museum that had been "liberated" during the the Battle of Jackson in May 1863. The Union Army ancestor gave the necklace to his sister and it has remained in the family for 7 generations.) The museum had contacted Mom for an interview about the necklace because it has become a very popular item in their collection. After speaking with the PR organizer for about half an hour, Mom handed me the phone so I could coordinate emailing photos and images of documents we have unearthed linking the events and my ancestor. This encouraged her to reprise her comments about enjoying 21st century technology as long as some one else manned it. 

Then we drove to the dentist's office where a magazine article prompted a discussion of which pollinators would I rather have in my yard: bees or hummingbirds. 

Stopping for lunch led to a conversation on why Burger King never offered Swiss or Sharp Cheddar on the Whopper and an argument about onion rings, which led to a side trip to Bud's to get an order of Stella May's fabulous crispy onion rings.

Later this afternoon, I shared an email from my friend in OZ who commented on Mom's having had dinner with J. B. Rhine of paranormal research fame. Mom said tell him about "my psychology professor who studied with Carl Jung in Vienna and hypnotized me in class when I questioned the efficacy of that practice." Seventy years later and she is still chortling about her reaction when he remarked, "Unsuccessful? Try lifting your arm."

Then she told about Tuggle the 450 pound boar that escaped from the butcherers at her grandfather's farm in rural Georgia. Tuggle broke his leg trying to run across the field and had to be put down. The issue was not doing that, the issue was locating a sharpshooter proficient enough to kill Tuggle with as little damage as possible because he was a food boar, it was 1931 and 99% of him was to be consumed! When Mom mentioned Tuggle had been a stud, I asked if hogs were gelded and if so, what was one called since I only knew about geldings, capons and steers. This led immediately to a Google search and the information that a gelded pig is a barrow, a gelded rabbit is a lapin and a gelded goat is a wether. 

That brought us to memories of rural farm life experiences in Georgia, Iowa, Maine and North Carolina from both of us.

All of that happened before dinner! 

In less than one full day, my mind has dealt with subjects ranging from green breakfast food to Duke University professors.  Bored? Not a chance! "barrow" is now a part of my vocabulary but "ennui" will never be!

Parrothead Book and Binge

I adore my book club. It is small - only 10 members - but we seldom leave it. The last two vacancies were due to out of state moves. Members suggest books, we vote and the winnner is what's read. It's a challenge because frequently individual members are forced out their comfort zones when an author they would never pick off a shelf wins the vote. My personal horizons have been enlarged by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Childs, James Lee Burke, Spencer Quinn, and Carolyn G. Hart.

My book club is called Book and Binge since we coordinate the chosen reading selection with a local restaurant's menu so we can "eat, drink and be merry" while discussing the work for that month. The Lost City of Z saw us at the Jax Brazilian Cafe. A Dave Robicheaux adventure found us dining of Shrimp Étouffée and jambalaya. The People of the Book found us "down under" at Outback.

While we eat, we talk about the book using questions submitted by the book's sponsor. (I LOVE this part because it allows the career teacher in me to re-visit skills retirement have put on the shelf.) Next month, our book is Jimmy Buffett's Where is Joe Merchant? Since I suggested it, I had to create our discussion questions. This was a challenge because not one person in Book and Binge knew he was a writer, and only a couple knew much about his music. So I wanted to develop questions that built from a knowledge of his words.  

I have been a Parrothead since I first heard JB in Key West after I moved to Florida in the mid 70's. I bought my vinyl of  A1A and have never looked back - only to the horizon. I own 9 vinyls, many tapes and cds as well as all his books. I even required my AP class to analyze Tully Mars for a Timed Writing!

I have been entranced and delighted by the depth of JB's facility with words and ideas. And, bemused when people who have never paid attention to those words discover the layers which exist in them. (I have often wished he would write a song called "Layers" as it seems to be a perfect fit for him.) Hence, I eagerly await Book and Binge's reactions to their introduction to him. 

While I was researching my discussion questions, I found a fellow admirer of the layers in Jimmy in a blog entry from Preacher Mike. Reading this blog prompted me to try to make my own list of Top 10 Jimmy Buffett songs. I have been stymied. Every time I generate a list I believe I can live with, another song pops into my head and I have to renegotiate with the current list. I don't think my struggle will ever end and I adore having a rationale for listening to all that "shrimp boat rock" offers its audiences.

Jimmy is a year older than me. He touched a chord in A Pirate Looks at Fifty, I joyfully anticipate what will happen when that self-same pirate looks at 70 in a couple of years. Like Einstein in one his latest songs, Jimmy is a surfer riding the swells and troughs of life and making connections from his world to the one the rest of us inhabit.

After Book and Binge meet in October, I'll write about what happened. I hope he'll ride this wave to the beach and not wipe-out, but waves and readers are not always predictable.

Note: Anyone planning on reading Joe Merchant who wants my questions, just let me know.

New faces, new places

Visiting in a foreign land is akin to beginning a new job. New places, new faces, moments of panic, instants of frustration, spots of delight. I am in Brazil as I write this, staying with a friend who lives here now. Though I came down here with no expectations about Brazil, I did not expect it to be cold! I should not have been surprised as this is southern Brazil, just a stone's throw from Ururguay, far from the equatorial regions. It is winter down here and the sky has been gray and foggy/drizzly for days, reminding me of Cincinnati in December. The temperature hovers around the mid50's  with nearly 80% humidity. I thought I had packed correctly, but I should have followed Angie's advice and prepared with more layers. 

I went through customs and had to change airlines in Brasilia. Though I had no problems, it was disconcerting to hear only Portuguese.I had no idea what anyone was saying, I just followed the crowd in front of me and hoped I would end up at the correct desk. It's been years since I was jolted from my confortable routine to find myself sitting in an airport gate area with absolutely no idea what the loudspeaker was saying and hoping the plane's departure time was accurate as that is all I had to go on when the line formed for boarding. When I found my seat, I thought:  "halleluajah! I have succeeded." 

I went to a party last night at a night club called New York 72. The music was from the American 80's but the food and drink were pure Brazil. I dipped by appetizers in a farina-based substance that looked like wheat germ but tasted like peppered sausage and drank a sugar cane based cocktail that made my brain a bit woozy! I had a great time! 

This has been a good experience for me. Being challenged to use my coping skills in a new way is healthy and envigorating. I should keep doing this kind of thing! I feel like I have in the past when the first few days of a new job were behind me and I had begun to recognize the faces I saw, to know the way to the bathroom, to blend in with the routines. That initial moment of adrenaline rushed panic was erased as what had been new became familiar. 

New Jobs

One of my friends has begun a new job in a new city. She is excited and nervous simultaneously.  I know how she feels. My CV lists more than a dozen jobs I have worked while pursuing my career as a teacher including two restaurants, a clothing store, a lumberyard, two offices, a travel agency, a country store, and a veterinary clinic.

My restaurant experiences were very different, though my bosses had similar managerial styles. Dottie was small, blond, quiet, even-tempered and delicate. (Perhaps the last person you would think of to run a very upscale Massachusetts dining and dancing facility.) From her, I learned to watch customers as much as I listened to them; the secret to a successful waitress is accuracy combined with anticipation – bring what was ordered and never allow cups or glasses to get below half full. Frank was an ex-Marine DI who became a resort hotel restaurant manager in Kennebunkport, Maine. His tutelage expanded on Dottie’s: waiting on the same vacationing family for a week or more three meals a day demanded attention to detail and excellent memory skills. (He encouraged us create card files for the yearly families so we never had to ask how coffee was taken or eggs were cooked.)

Selling clothes for Conrad & Chandler taught me that many, many women do not see themselves with any degree of honesty when they shop. They buy what they want to wear, not always what looks good on them. C&C also taught me how to gift-wrap boxes of shape and size – a chore I loathed when I was working there, but a skill that has generated many compliments over the years from recipients of my gifts.

The Plywood Ranch (a New England lumber yard chain) was a challenge on many levels. I knew nothing about nails, tools, woods, appliances or lumber when I started – I did know how to run a cash register, how to talk with customers and how to work with guys. (I discovered that except for the older ladies in the head office, I was the only female employee in over 10 stores!)  When I left The Ranch after two years, I could plan an efficient kitchen, suggest the correct wood veneer for a room, match decorative shelving with its purpose, and accurately prescribe the size nail needed for a specific task and drive a forklift.

I have held two office jobs. One was for a Jacksonville-based insurance company; the other was for Lockheed Martin. In both positions, I was a tech writer – creating clear directions for complicated software programs. These jobs re-enforced what I knew from teaching high school – keep it simple. Nothing new, there, but I did have a couple of epiphanies. One revelation was my uneasiness in office spaces. I was used to seeing and greeting hundreds of teenagers every day; the solitude of office work was numbing. I sat at my desk, guarded by a secretary who kept most chance conversations from happening. The second revelation concerned deadlines. As a teacher, I had only a few each year (all of which revolved around publishing grades for which I alone was responsible). As a tech writer, I discovered I was at the mercy of someone below me. Yikes! When my superior asked where the re-write was, I had to admit it wasn’t ready yet because I had not received responses from those involved. I was unprepared to be the one reprimanded because I had not completed my work. I loathed not being in charge of my own destiny. So when I was offered a permanent position, which paid considerably more than teaching, I declined and headed post haste for my classroom!

New jobs offer challenges and awakenings. They compel you to review your priorities and your strengths as well as confront your weaknesses. Everyone who is comfortable and relaxed in their bread-winning situation should take a leap and leave that normal routine to try something different.

What's in a door?

I wish I knew where the time went! How could it have been 2 months since I last posted? I have a new respect for the dedication of daily bloggers! (How did that woman blog every day when she was cooking her way through Julia Child's cookbook?) 

I started looking through some old journal entries for ideas. As I re-read the words below, I realize they still hold true, despite being four years old! I wonder what that suggests about how I view the world?

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Knowing my passion for Dr. Seuss, a friend sent me this quote by writer/director Gary Ross, "Ultimately, so much Dr. Seuss is about empowerment. He invites us to disappear into our imagination and then blows the doors off what that can mean." So what can a door tell about life? About others? About ourselves? 

Here are my kitchen cabinets. These doors are indicative of my stubbornness and my creativity.  The cabinets are constructed of that icky maple-y veneered pressboard product sold as “wood.” Their brownish color reflected that tackiness. When I decided to re-do my house, I came up with the idea of wallpapering the inserts of my kitchen cabinets AFTER I repainted them a forest green.  That re-painting notion was my first perseverance discovery. Turns out that it is damned difficult to make paint stick to the surface of kitchen cabinets, which are protected against the odors and steams and normal kitchen miasmas that accompany cooking. Painting kitchen surfaces requires pre-sanding, surfacing, sanding, surfacing, sanding and surfacing BEFORE the actual paint is applied. I could have painted the entire house by the time the cabinets were finished. But my wallpapered doors are sooooooo cool that even 7 years after their creation, they still garner compliments and make me feel successful! In this instance, it’s not what’s behind these doors that is significant, it’s what ON them that is indicative of my refusal to quit on a dream.

Speaking of dreams, on the right side of this picture is my classroom door at Middleburg High, the day before our volleyball team traveled down to Orlando to compete for the State Championship. My classroom neighbor, Letreze, and I stayed at school until 10:30 the night before this to make (God Bless Big Stencils.) and put up the door signs. When the students came down the hall that morning, one of the girls screamed, ran around the corner into the next hall to find her best team-mate. They stood gawking and laughing and texting the other team members and the coach. Before the opening school bell rang, the girls were all there, so I asked them to pose for a soon-to-be-champions picture.  Unfortunately, they went to dinner a few hours later at a local Orlando eatery and 8 of the 10 got food poisoning. The FHSAA delayed the championship game 24 hours; the girls lost by only four points in the final tie-breaker match - becoming the poster children for competitive perseverance! In this instance, it's not what’s on the doors that counts, it’s what’s in front of them that is indicative of my efforts to connect what happens in my classroom with what happens in my kids’ lives.

This final door represents a combination of the previous two: my stubbornly creative approach to melding academia and real life – this is the door way to Norman Hall, site of the University of Florida’s College of Education.  I first walked under this arch and through this door in 2003. I walked into a world of new friends, frustrating experiences, guest lecturer spots, and travel adventures. Behind this door, I found a new career as an on-line instructor in the UF Graduate School, a potential new career as a how-to-book-writer in digital photography, and an appreciation for my own worth as well as my diverse intellectual pursuits. Past this door, I discovered two women who are my intellectual and chronological peers; together we three have learned the true meaning of the phrase “soul sister.” In this instance, it IS what's behind the door that has significance; it indicates that at 61 I am still going strong and still open to new experiences and still asking , “Why?”

Piddlin' Around

The garbageman's truck awakens me as it grinds past the house. I rise and greet my day with a grin; Richard Nunn gives me his cheeky weather updates as I walk on my treadmill for my self-imposed mile. I sip my morning cold carbonated caffeine and savor a fresh grapefruit. As I rinse my dishes, the phone chimes. (Do phones really "ring" anymore?) 22 minutes later, I am all caught up on the news from my book club and have a lunch date for later in the week. I head back to the sink to put the dishes in the dishwasher, when the doorbell calls me. It's my UPS man, I trade  him my package for a glass of iced tea and we both go merrily on our ways. The dishes finally in the washer, I pop open the garage door and put the load of clothes I washed last night into the dryer, which vents into the garage. (That's another story.) The mangy, flea-ridden dog from next door is out AGAIN and has crapped on my driveway, so the hose and I clean it up as well as spray him to get him back in his own yard. John, the mailman and former student, honks and drives into the yard since I am out, hands me the mail - no chat today as he's running late.

Back in the house I open the mail while finishing my Diet Coke. A letter from Mom (who must be the only woman left on Earth who still puts pen to paper as a method of major correspondence.) prompts me to flop into my comfy chair in the Florida room and listen to birds while I read. I get ready to call her but then remember she's teaching her journal class right now, so later. The dryer rings, I fold and put away. Treze shows up, announcing Bill has asked her "Will you run an errand for me in St. Augustine?" Do I want to keep her company? Bill should know better! We take our time, lunch at Monk's Tavern, wander a bit and meander home hours later, mostly prompted by three increasingly irked phone calls from Bill wondering "What the Hell are you two doing? It was a simple errand!" 

I catch up on computer-communications as the rain splashes down. (I wish it would stay for a while; we are so fire-hazardy as we're 7 inches below normal rainfall over two years.) I have fun e-chatting with a former student who works at the Pentagon and just had a great conversation with an admiral about Howard Roark and Ayn Rand's novels. She wanted me know that 26 years later, she is still enthralled with Rand's concept of "second-handers" which is what prompted the conversation she had; she had made a reference to the idea and he had asked for more details. 

Talked to Mom before she went to wine and cheese, she sounds fabulous - lively and enthusiastic as always. Lord, I love that woman. Made myself a new chicken/mushroom/onion dish for dinner. Took longer than I thought to cook, but I have discovered my wok is temperamental. As I was putting stuff in dishwasher, Joe called to chat and ended with did I want to see the new Imax movie coming out this Friday and afterward try the new freshwater fish restaurant at World Golf Village. 

I curl up on couch with my latest knitting project (a lap rug for Pierson), turn on the tv and am elated - back to back Leverage re-runs. No matter that I own the dvd set and have seen them all, this shows delights me. I finish my knitting section, channel surf for a bit. Nada. I write in my journal. I head for bed.

Nothing extra-ordinary happened today. I had a good time, though I accomplished nothing huge. I piddled around and loved it.

Teacher Traits

    Years ago I was asked to name the single most important trait a successful teacher should have. At the time, my response was, “An elastic sense of humor.” Recently I was asked the same question.  After decades of teaching, my answer is “a toss-up between patience, perseverance, and thinking on your feet.”

    Literature in the Media began with a blown bulb in the projector. Not easily reparable as this was one of the new mega-gimmicky attached-to-the-ceiling wireless projectors whose bulbs are viciously expensive. “Not a problem,” noted the school’s media equipment Mr. Fixit, “It’s still under warranty. I’ll put in the order right now.” So he whipped out his iPhone and dialed. Of course, no one had either an empty classroom or an available portable projector that period, so I took Coach John Heisman’s famous advice, “When in doubt, punt.” In the remaining minutes of class, the students and I discussed what made a movie “Good,” Bad,” “Passable,” or “A Waste of Time.” The depth of their responses led me to create a course whose purpose was to teach critical media literacy.

    First Period AP Literature started off normally as the students wrote their bell-ringer journal entries on a Debussy quote while his music played in the background. I opened the discussion of the assigned chapter of Thomas C. Foster’s How to Read Literature Like a Professor (a text the students enjoyed even more than I anticipated) in my normal fashion; “Anyone have any questions or comments?” After several minutes of interested back-and-forth, Katie raised her hand and asked, “Ms. Mayer, what’s phallic mean?” I hesitated for a second, thought, “This is AP and they are seniors in high school.” and answered, “It’s an adjective reference to a penis.” Total silence.  Katie looked stunned, gathered herself and said, “What? How is that a symbol?”  I explained the symbolism and how it could be used in characterization, for example, if applied to a car or perhaps a stereo system and that the reference was not always attached to shape. “Oh,” Katie nodded. “So, it’s like a ‘mine’s bigger than yours’ type thing. That is so cool. I have got to remember that.” Needless to say, it took work and focus to get the class back on the task of discussing the remainder of Professor Foster’s chapter on possible meanings of communion.

    The next two sections of AP began with students walking in the door asking if we were really going to be talking about phallic symbolism. I sighed each time, considered the amazingly efficient communication network that exists in high school hallways, and basically repeated my initial remarks and the inevitable forcing of minds back to the assigned topic.

    I looked forward to Speech I because I thought nothing could complicate an impromptu about modes of transportation. During an impromptu, I place a list of topics on the lectern, and call the students up at random to speak on a topic for 60 seconds.  This day’s list was 42 modes of transport from kayak to elephant. All went well for three speakers, then, Halley looked up from the list and asked, “What’s a stagecoach?”  I replied. She decided to choose “motorcycle.” Four speakers later, Kris asked, “What’s a wagon train?” Again, I explained. He opted for “camel.” Nine more students spoke, then, Chance asked, “What’s a carriage?” I told him and he chose “scooter” and quipped, “I hope it was the kind that had a gasoline engine.”

    Some days I was certain I was making a difference in the lives of children and other days I was equally certain they were put on this earth to test my desire to teach. On those latter days, I reminded myself of two things: (1) the half-century between our ages meant an enormous cultural gap exists and (2) there’s always tomorrow.

   Who knew Scarlett O’Hara was a sage?

Thoughts Triggered by Ocean Travel

Two weeks aboard first one (Queen Mary 2), then another (Queen Victoria) of the world’s luxury liners (technically, one ocean liner and one cruise ship) has generated thoughts and rhetorical questions:

• How uplifting to watch the sea change from black to glowing indigo with the infusion of sunlight
• What intrepid souls the Norsemen were as they sailed their drache across the North Atlantic when the swells were higher than the boat’s sides
• 25-30’ seas make putting on eye makeup a real challenge
• The cuisine is varied and delectable; the gym and spa need to be much bigger.
• How puny and unimportant humans are despite their beautiful machines
• The sea is so many hues, no wonder it is so difficult to paint
• Spume flying from tops of the ship’s wake reminds me of snow blowing off the ridges of the Jungfrau massif and the Matterhorn
• Even on a slight swell day, the North Atlantic contains a sense of danger and caution
• “Roll on, thou deep and blue ocean, roll.”
• Room service for breakfast is intoxicating and addictive
• Was Samuel Coleridge a real sailor or did he experience ocean immensity only in his opium dreams?
• My stateroom creaks like it’s haunted as the ship rises and falls on the swells
• I am sooo glad I chose to bring flat shoes as I watch women teeter on their high heels and grasp handrails every time the ship rolls
• Two years ago, my iPad was attention-getting on board; this year, they are prolific. Congrats, Apple!
• Bring boat shoes! Flats were not designed for wet decks. I have to walk really slowly, almost shuffling, not to slip on the wooden and painted decks
• The wind blows so fiercely over the decks that sometimes opening a door onto a deck is like being a wind tunnel – you are pushing and pushing and going nowhere,  greatly resembling a mime
• Passengers form a kind of loose family or community very quickly
• Chaucer was a visionary. Travelers have not changed over the centuries – they still spin tales and embellish their mundane existences

Wallet Photos

Several times in the last two weeks, I have been asked if I have pictures of my family, especially Mom, with me. To my chagrin, I had to reply in the negative. 

I have hundreds of family pictures but they are all digitized and safely stored in the iPad and in the cloud. What I do not have are wallet pictures. I wonder if people even do that anymore…carry Kodak moments in their wallets. Most folk I know carry images and small videos in the cell-phones, which is less than useless here in the middle of the North Atlantic. Is this another instance of the divide between digital natives and those who dwell in the analog past?

Digital images never fade. They remain as crisp and colorful as the instant they were created. Generations from now, descendants will call up a picture of great-great-great Grandpapa in all his startling reality. What will we have lost when those ancient images are no longer blurred and faded with age? Will some of the romance of the past die with them? Will future children never enjoy the wonder of the hunt to find when and where the picture was taken because it was geo-tagged so can never be lost?

I miss those evenings when the family gathered around the photo albums and speculated about many of the yellowed and faded images pasted there.  Where was Pop when he was snapped wearing those hideous sheep-skin chaps? (Dad thought it was Idaho; Mom thought it was Montana.) What was the color of Uncle Will’s sporty roadster displayed in the 1926 photograph?  What color were Great-Grandma Moore’s eyes? No one knows, but the mystery lead to lively discussions and conjectures. These moments of wondering add a degree of imagination to family history; will future Mayers lose this magic as they leaf though album after album on their iPads or iPhones? 

I have been scanning old family photographs and tintypes so we don’t lose the images when their paper finally dies. Intellectually, I recognize the advantage of digitizing, but viscerally, I almost pity my future nieces and nephews who will never have the opportunity to hold the crinkled paper images of their ancestors. It’s much like the arguments for and against e-books and audio-books. The portability of digital versions is obvious but there’s just something electric about the tangible feel of a book or photograph against your fingers.

Dinner Conversations

When it comes to diversity and stories Chaucer’s pilgrims had nothing on my dinner table this past week.

I adore the crap shoot that is dinner seating during a cruise. I have been fortunate in the past, but seem to have hit a jackpot on this one. Maybe it’s as easy as the fun people dine later in the evening? I don’t have the answer, but I relish the results.

My table assignment is on the first curve of the second level of Britannia Restaurant. Excellent view of much of the dining room, so people watching would be more than possible. Over 5 evening meals, I have never gotten the chance to even peek at the neighboring tables; I have been consumed by my fellow 320ers.

Since we are 7 at a table for 6, there is no distance between us, so everyone hears and responds to everyone else’s comments or anecdotes. We talk over and around each other, with no one person commanding the table for long as the discussions ranged in all directions:

• Theater or film
• Disfiguring paintings
• Edmund Burke’s definition of government responsibility
• An impromptu rendition of  La Marseillaise which might soon be on YouTube
• Prizes won as opposed to accolades received
• Shipping antique cars across the world
• Multiple marriages
• How many houses we have called “home”
• Language samplings: Greek, Portuguese, Tagalog, French, Latin, Spanish, American and British
• Books on our beside tables
• To pasta or not to pasta?
• Heavy mining equipment
• If you buy someone else’s creation, is it yours to do with as you wish?
• 10-minute plays
• Challenges of French river barge life
• Best movie ever made as opposed to the one movie watched over and over and over again
• Victorian artifacts
• The weight of kilts
• Chilled soups vs. hot soups
• iPad or Kindle?
• Innovation
• Shipping crates and valises
• Living in the Azores
• Clive Palmer funding the creation of Titanic 2
• Media literacy
• Film versions of favorite novels
• Would Sophocles and Euripides agree that literacy is more than just reading and writing?
• Public school educations
• Life on an Indian reservation
• Train travel
• Airports
• Experiencing the Rhine in a canoe
• Fishing
• Vegetarian diets

The most diverting conversations revolved around us as characters in an evolving Agatha Christie piece. Lacking the “life is a village” perspicacity of Miss Marple and the “little grey cells” of Poirot, we are still questioning each other to solve the mystery of the nearly downed man. I have one more night with Table 320. Though I hope our crime caper is resolved, I really don’t care.

 These men and women have offered me mental and conversational stimulation and challenge. They have made dinner each evening worthy of a Noel Coward play.