A Name by Any Other Rose

I just saw a thing on Facebook where somebody wanted suggestions for the name of her new tenor ukulele. I know there are people who name everything, and I know some of those people. I am married to one.

My wife named the riding mower Chewy, the push-mower was Nibble. There’s also Swishy the washing machine and Fluffy the dryer. In the garage we have Frosty, the big freezer, and our old refrigerator, Fridgie. (The fridge in the kitchen is Icy.)

She christens cars almost the minute she drives away from the showroom. We’ve had too many between us to list all their names here, but our current ride, a Chevy Equinox, is Belle. She is blue. (Get it?)

I never named any of my musical instruments, of which I have had dozens in my life, but this summer I rediscovered the ukulele, bought a couple new ones, and suddenly – they all have names.

What is it about the ukulele that makes people want to name them, I wonder. Maybe it’s because they’re little and cute and you cuddle them when you play.

Well, whatever the reason, I must now report that I have four ukuleles – a Martin soprano, a Kumalae soprano (that my friend Larry gave me), a Favilla baritone uke, and a Luna concert ukulele which are named, respectively, Marty, Larry, Barry, and LunaTunes.

And I don’t care who knows it.

Been there, seen that

I've been thinking about future travel plans and where I’d like to go and what I’d like to see. I freely admit that I am a sight-seer. I know it is considered unsophisticated and banal and downright common to like to see sights, but that’s why they’re there, isn’t it? To be seen.

Some of my favorite tourist things are historical, like Civil War battle fields or places where Presidents from other centuries were born or lived or got shot or whatever.  Museums are good because there’s lots to see in one place.

There are some sights that are worth seeing but once you have, you're done. Mount Rushmore is one of those. You drive a long way to get there, pay to park, walk a long way to the visitors’ center, and finally you look up and – there they are – four faces carved in the side of a mountain. “Okay, what’d’ya wanna do now?”

Plymouth Rock is another one (“Yup, there it is all right.”) and so is Niagara Falls (which someone once described to me as the second greatest disappointment in the life of a new bride). “Oh, look! Water falling over a cliff.”  Got it.

Not all natural wonders bore me. The Blue Grotto, a sea cave on the cost of Capri in Italy, was very cool. Here’s how I described it at the time:

”Arriving on the Isle of Capri, we took a motor boat to the Blue Grotto, where we transferred to row boats (four people to each) to go inside the cave. You have to lay down almost in the boat to get into the narrow little mouth of the cave. When the tide is up, you can't get in at all. Inside the water is bright azure blue as if illuminated artificially, but, of course, it isn't. The guys rowing the boats sang most of the time inside the cave.”

There was also one special moment I will never forget. My friend Marcy and I ended up in different boats, and at one point when her rowboat and mine were fairly close, she looked at me, put her palms up and shrugged her shoulders as if to say “What’s the big deal?”

I called out, “Take your sunglasses off.” She did, and then she said, “Oh, wow!”

As Much As I Hate To Admit It

I have no use for Colin Kaepernick who is, among other things, a male chauvinist pig, but I am on his side with regard to his  protest during the playing of the national anthem. If the First Amendment grants citizens the right to burn an American flag in protest, then it ought to permit a person to protest by taking a knee during the playing of "The Star Spangled Banner."

I have written on the topic of disrespecting the national anthem in a previous posting (see "Shame on You," from January 22, 2012), and I include a few pertinent sentences here.

In my youth (and yes, that was many decades ago) when the anthem was performed before a sporting event, spectators stood, removed hats, put hands over hearts, and even if they didn't sing along, they did face the flag, and even if they weren't exactly solemn, they were at least quiet for the duration. When it was over, they applauded and cheered, not for the performance but for the anthem and the republic for which it stands.

Over the years, sports fans have started clapping and cheering closer to the start of the song than the end of it, until at some events they carried on clapping and yelling and making noise throughout. As time goes on, fewer and fewer folks actually sing, stand, remove hats, and put hands over hearts, or for that matter, even pay any attention to the anthem at all.

An athlete who kneels, and remains quiet and still during the performance, shows more respect for "The Star Spangled Banner" than the guys drinking beer and yucking it up with their pals while the anthem is performed.