Saturday, August 24, 2002
SEAWEED ANYONE?
I find that a dozen or more seaweed varieties are edible, but because it is said to be in that state, does not mean I have to
eat it. I plan to take it very cautiously possibly trying one after another.
Such restrictions we place upon ourselves are silly, I suppose, because there is strong evidence to show that mankind has consumed seaweed in some form for a long time, sometimes out of necessity and others
times, it appears, by choice. Furthermore, I have probably eaten it and not been aware of having done so. Many oriental and exotic dishes make use of one or more of the edible types, and I would imagine some “health foods”
constructors must incorporate a bit of seaweed in their concoctions now and then.
Initially, I have to learn which-is-which. It’s a lot like gathering mushrooms, I’d say. You’ve got to know the good from the bad - the edible weed from the forbidden weed. The look so much alike to the beginner
and, let’s face it, they don’t appear to be appetizing in the least. You may pass good ones by while seeking some which look better.
The most popular variety is a brown algae an it grows just under surface of the water. Other types thrive best at four feet below the surface which makes it more difficult to gather an edible portion. Seaweed, by the way, do not
have roots. They hang onto rocky surfaces with what watermen call “hold fasts” or “grippers”. The strongest storms can’t tear them loose so don’t even think about taking whole plants. Where would you keep them anyway? Oh,
you plan to eat them?
Back off. Such urgency can lead to disappointment. Some require washing, cleaning, cooking and even re-cooking to become tasty or even acceptable.
I haven’t found any great collection of seaweed recipes in most cookbooks thus far, but I’m still looking. There are several versions of a soup called Mizo which makes use of dried kelp and there is a Japanese type
of much the same thing called Zoni.
Other types of edible seaweed you make watch for include:
dulce, laver, majoran, and Irish moss.
A.L.M. August 20, 2002 [c-371wds]
Friday, August 23, 2002
ALWAYS RED!
Why can’t fire engines continue to be red?
Fire department vehicles have always been red. That was the color which denoted danger of fire and the color was an assurance that help was on the way. In recent years this has been ignored and all over the
country we now have green fire engines, yellow, white, blue and, I dare say, one or two plaid or psychedelically decorated fire engines in multi-colors, as well.
Red was the accepted color for fire engines because of the long range of recognition of the color. Anyone can see red from afar.
So, with that scientific reason in mind, the designers went on the decree that blaze orange should be used for all hunting season garments because of the long range visibility of that color which can be seen from
afar.
Other planners insisted that school buses and highway repair and maintenance vehicles and equipment, must be painted yellow. Why? Because of the long range visibility of that color. Anyone can see it from afar.
The bright, clean, clear contrast white was chosen by other experts because it could be seen from afar.
Small, wonder, then, that someone eventually came to think that Irish green was best, or Mediterranean blue, or Mexican Magenta and our fire engines lost something which had long been the most recognized
emergency vehicles.
Rescue units come in all colors, it seems. The word “AMBULANCE” spelled backwards is to be emblazoned on their fronts for easy recognition in rear-view mirrors ahead of them. Anyone can see them from afar.
Another reason used by all is that the insurance companies are said to offer rates when vehicles are done up in a defensive colors.
Complainers, too, are easy to see from afar, but I still like my fire engines done up in a good coat of ”fire engine red” enamel - all brass or chrome fittings polished and a black-spotted Dalmatian hound aboard to
help find the fire plugs.
A.L.M. August 22, 2002 [c-337wds]
Thursday, August 22, 2002
SEPTEMBER 12TH
It might be wise for us to be somewhat concerned about September 12th, the day after the much-planned anniversary observances of the 11th.
It appears that just about all TV shows seem to think they are obligated to do a re-run of the September 11th events on the anniversary date. Others are planning some elaborate “specials” marking the day and
there will be, no doubt, announcements forthcoming which will be naming or re-naming streets, avenues, parks, schools, and who knows what else, after someone killed at either the New York of D.C. sites.
There is a marked danger here in overdoing the whole thing. What a terrific let-down this is going to provide for survivors and relatives of those who died? After September 11th and in the weeks following the
tragedy will seem to have been forgotten, I fear.
This would seem to me to be a time for simple, uncomplicated acts of remembrance rather than a re-enactment of all the details of the tragic time. Not that those things should be forgotten, of course...far from
it, but to bring them back in full-force when memory is so recent is unthinkable in my book.
Much more in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion, we could observe religious ceremonies in one or the other of the religious faiths represented among the dead and injured. Care should be taken, too, it
would seem to me, to include among those honored those individuals who survived the attacks. They, in turn, should take this as a special time in which to thank those volunteers who came so readily to their rescue in moments of
crisis. It would be a time in which these people might acknowledge the assistance of any who have aided them in “getting on with their lives” after the events of a year ago. Much remedial love and care has been expended by
many people and groups in the past year to help victims regain some assurance that human values endure in spite of such a terrible setback.
Mark the occasion in some, simple, sincere manner, if you wish, but let’s not overdo it and cause needless hurt.
A.L.M. August 18, 2002 [c-368wds]
Wednesday, August 21, 2002
LET’S GO TO THE FAIR
Fall is Fair Time throughout the nation.
Fairs are not so numerous as they seem to have been not too long ago. The ones remaining are largely in rural areas or in larger cities which are dependent on agricultural income from the surrounding area.
The first fair I remember attending was in Norfolk, Virginia, a costal city far removed from what we thought of as being farm land. I remember seeing chickens, ducks, cattle, hogs and other farm animals, but the
main events of the fair for me, and, I suppose, for the adults who took me, was racing. In all its forms - racing was the feature I most remember.
I liked horse races but they seemed to be over too soon. The excitement was so short-lived it was all over before I could identify with a favored horse and rider. I still feel that way. Too fast.
My favorite was harness racing ... the sulkies!
A driver was seated on a narrow, rather precarious shelf, perched there between the spinning wheels and immediately to the rear of the horse. From that “roosting” area, he encouraged his horse to drag the cart
around the track with seeming abandon. The driver was always intent to try to take advantage of any flaw he could detect in the other driver’s movements. Very often the horses seemed to angticipate what wsas likely to happen
and what they were expected to do. More skill seemed to be required in harness racing, and not all of it was predictable, either.
There was a suprising hushed sound and lack of loud noise with the harness racing, too. There was the soft whirring of the wire wheels. The sound of rapidly beating hooves pounding the dirt track. Bursts of cheers
and jeers from the crowd watching; fear expressed that a cart might topple over at times - with good reason. The light carts would leave the track surface for a second or so, and the driver would lean in toward the inner rail until
sometimes they look like a racing schooner man at sea leaning out over the water.
The carts weighed well over a hundred pounds in the ealry 1800’s when they replaced racing wagons. Over the years they have lost weight until today they weigh in at about forty pounds. I have often thought
that if the seat were a solid strip of metal rather than the weight-saving strips, the contraption might become airbourne with the seat acting as a wing. Around 1872 a bow-shaped axle was invented and form the bike-like cart
which is the prevailing type today. The design enabled the horses to run even more eagerly, since they lost their natural fear of clipping their heels on axles, when they really felt like turning loose.
Ocasionally, a cloud of dust trailed after each passing group, but most tracks had a sprinkler wagon to wet the place down a bit before the acutal running.
My first and only early experience with automobile racing ended in a tragedy. To this day I have mixed feelings concerning car racing of any kind and I keep re-living that initial experience.
The car in that race was a boxy-looking “Maxwell, probably a 1921 or ‘22 mode cut down and soiued-up as a racer. It was painted a violent, fire-engine red and it was quite visible as it came roaring down toward
the grandstand. It was leading the pack by seveal lengths and, then, just as it started into the curve to our right, it swerved suddenly,
and did an end-over
-end tumble. It took to top layer of hay bales forming a barricade of bales of hay erected to protect concession stands of the fair beyond. It landed on a “kewpee doll” concession tent and burst into flames. The driver was killed but
it seems to me the two people in the tent got out in time.
To this day , I find it all coming back as I try to watch stock car racing and other vehicular competitions on TV. I sometimes think this might be another case of: too much ...too soon. Kids are not grown-ups. We
need to remind oursleves of that from time-to-time.
A.L.M. August 16, 2002 [c-714wds]
Monday, August 19, 2002
A “PERSHER”
For some strange reason I have never discovered, an older friend of mine in
southwestern Virginia used the term ”persher” when talking about the railroad which
was, in those days,the smokey, life blood of our town.
I quickly realized he was referring to steam engines used to “push” trains up the
shaper inclines, rather than those which pulled the string of cars. To him a pusher was
always a “persher”... a specific type of engine. I never made any attempt to correct his
usage or to question in any way, but I always used the proper pronounciaion when
talking with him. In all fairness, I must mention that he never once tried to correct my
usuage of the word, either.
We often talked about railroading from the “persher” viewpoint because his
brother was a semi-retired railroad engineer who actually drove the huge, coal
powered monsters for many years. His “run”, as he grew older, consisted of about twenty
miles or so...ten of riding as a tag car to the freight train from the Yard in Roanoke. He
then did about six or eight miles until they arrived at the lower edge of the mountain.
We always called it “The Christiansburg Mountiain”. It probably had another name, but
I don’t remember ever hearing it called anything else printable. It was so named
because, at the top of the long gradeo, one arrived at the town of Christiansburg -
named after William Christian who came from the Shenandoah Valley into the Roanoke
Valley. Others with the westward urge went on into the New River Valley and then the
Holston Valley, but all had to climb the mountain at Christiansburg. The historic Valley
Piike twisted and turned its way more or less parallel with the tracks. Now, Interstate 81
pretty well flattens out much of the terrain but when I was a teenager cars working
their way up the crooked, unpaved highway used to seem to give off more stream
from oveheated radiators than did the steam powered trains.
It was a daily trip for his brother, the enineer, and some days, when the traffic
was heavy - mostly long strings of a hundred or more, empty coal cars being taken back
to the mining areas, he made the trip several times each day. They had a steep grade
and a long one to climb from the realtively low Roanoke-Salem-Vinton (Roanoke Valley
area) up to Rose Valley, I think it was called, and at Elliston and Shawsville the grade
grew steeper. That’s when “brother’s persher come to life”.
The railroad system could not have continued to exist without his brother’s
assistance in getting the cars over the crest of the mountain. Once there, he would
detach his engine from the train; exchange a blast of whistles with the fore-engine crew
and back into the Roanoke Yards to wait until another train needed his help.
I often think of the many “pershers” who have helped me climb mountains in my
life. I find there are, literally, scores of them. I can’t list them here. I’d run ito pages
describing how they have helped me in so many ways.
Think about it. Have you had some “pershers” in your life?
A.L.M. August 17, 2002 [c-546wds]
l
STILL HERE!
You may have heard or read about it, too.
You seem to have taken it calmly, but there are people who actually went into a blue tizzie over the approach of a newly discovered asteroid which passed by Earth at some 530,000 kilometers, which is just a bit
more than the Moon.
Most of them had never even heard of the asteroid, called
2002 NY40, until it was mentioned on the Evening News on TV the night before it came closest to Earth and said to be hurtling toward us .
The newscasts always us seemed to point out that it was coming toward us but that it would miss Earth by a comfortable margin, but our of “Nervous Nellies” blithely heard it as “might miss us” rather than “will
miss us.”. “Might” was impetus enough. So armed, they went public!
Can’t you imagine the rapidity with which the rumor machine set out to make it become a fact? The present day fervor was much slower, of course, the Orson Well’s “ The War of the Worlds” scare. I remember that time
vividly. It was October 30, 1938 - the day before
Halloween. I was at People’ Drug Store in downtown Roanoke, Va. seated on a stool at the soda fountain having a chocolate milk shake when I heard parts of the drama coming from the radio. Those were the days when stores kept
radios blaring for their patrons as entertainment. I knew it was a dramatic thing being done in a newsy format on radio by “Mercury Theater” actors. I didn’t think too much about it until a short time later I heard that people
somewhere accepted the radio reports as being news reports of an actual invasion of the country by outer world attackers from Mars! We just had radio, then. There was the telephone, of course. Perhaps some had used telegraph
wires as well - but the word spread rapidly that the enemy had landed as a “huge flaming object” on a New Jersey farm. The Martian invaders were quickly advancing on all parts of the nation.
The next morning the papers were full of stories about what happened. I remember one couple in southwestern Virginia who had cautiously taken an ax to the trees holding their radio antennae aloft, because
it was being said that the invading critters could come into ones home by way of the radio waves! People, it seems, left their homes and went anywhere else they could go, seeking a safer haven and that helped spread word of the
strange attack. Many wore wet towels around their heads and face because they had been told that was a way to stay alive with the enemy doing gas attacks in advance of their invading troops of monsters.
Not everyone went for it, of course. Those of us at the soda fountain were listening to the play, but no on seem excited about it being anything other than a radio adaptation of the H. G. Wells novel from about 1872. The
program had opened with a disclaimer stating that what was about to be heard was a dramatization and not the real thing. Unfortunately, and this stands as a classic boo-boo of early radio, that disclaimer was not repeated until
forty minutes later. No one in my immediate circle of either family or friends panicked, but there were enough gullible individuals “out there in radio and telephone-land” to stir up events and real trouble.
I suppose we could say that ignorance was at the base of such reactions, but that would be unfair in many cases, because many who fell for it were, sensible folks in most things. Radio plays on human emotions as it
as it still does, but then, with far greater power and novelty than many realize. It was the first real demonstration of how radio was going to influence the public seriously. Science Fiction existed in books, of course and pulp magazines
carried shorter material of that type, but the general run of magazines did not. We now find adventure through science-fiction of advanced media including films such as the “Star Wars” series, and others. Our concept of space
then was rather limited and vague. Religious evidence and astrological lore were often a major guide to any studies concerning the outer portions of our Universe. To more people than you might imagine, the Moon was still made of
green cheese.
Even though we have learned a lot about outer space, some of us would rather retain the haunting mystery and fearful potential as we imagine it might be and a cataclysmic collision of heavenly chunks is a fiery
favorite.
It missed us again. That was August 18, 2002. It must have done so. We’re still here. Otherwise, this might have ended....”We’re here. And still...very still.”
A.L.M. August 19, 2002 [c815wds]
Sunday, August 18, 2002
EVEN KEEL
Our balance depends to a large extent on what kind of “keel” we have.
If I understand my nautical terms, the keel is the bottom, or the “base” of the boat (or
“ship”, I suppose, one might more accurately say] and unless this foundation is properly
designed for the type of seafaring we intend to do, we will find that our vessel has troubles
and will not perform in the ways we expected of it.
Too often we grow up thinking that this is something we can change, or , at least,
modify through formal education and by taking various 101’s to qualify for participation in a
certain subject area. It is, however, not all a physical thing. Much of it has to do with mental
processes rather than physical ones.
The “Old Folks” we are given to quote so often, largely because we don’t know who
ever said what we are quoting, if anyone, used to maximize young people with the words: “
You are what you want to be.”
It’s true, too. I think most of us would find, if we were completely honest with ourselves
that there are certain traits in our basic makeup which determine, to a large extent, what
we try to accomplish. Most have to do with general trends rather than specific acts.
I am quite sure the learned ones in the ever expanding educational area have
developed more elaborate terms for all such actions in our lives. Most of us however,
entangled as we are in the actual living of our lives, it is are somewhat entangled in needs
and desires and we can measure who we are by considering what it is we most often wish
could be ours. That, in time, will be what we become.
We form the keel of our lives in the early years, as we learn ,often through what often
seems to be cruel experiences, that our life has a purpose and that if we intend to sail the
high and stormy seas of glamorous adventure we must give attention of building a deeper,
narrower, more dedicated keel as our base. If we are content to remain in the relatively
shallow, less demanding waters of living except on rare occasions when the immediate
sailing weather is deemed to be perfect for us.
It may be a bit late for most of us to try to rectify any mistakes we made years ago but
we should try to find out what those errors may have been and attempt to guide a course
suitable for the type of keel we have developed. We do, however, owe it to our children and
grandchildren to guide them, as early as possible, in making positive choices. We should try to
instill in them the importance of planning for what they want to be and in working toward
that goal, forming basic structures in their young lives upon which their ship of living may be
constructed for maximum potential.
A.L.M. May 30, 2002 [c506wds]
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