Symbolicism

I have been giving a great deal of thought to the current brouhaha over the Confederate flag flying at the South Carolina capitol. That is mostly because I have had a hard time making up my mind how I feel about it. I now have a decision.

I think that displaying the Confederate flag in, on, or around any governmental property is wrong. By "any," I mean city, township, county, state, and federal.

However, I do not think it is wrong for individual private citizens to have and display Confederate flags or other items depicting the Confederate flag on, in, or around their personal property.

Americans do and should remember and celebrate the dedication and sacrifice exhibited by the soldiers who fought so bravely in our great Civil War, whichever side their ancestors were on. So if folks in the South want to fly the Stars and Bars in remembrance of their defeat, let them. After all, this is America. (See Amendment 1 to the Constitution).

What makes the Confederate flag objectionable, of course, is its association with racism, and we will not be able to ignore that association until racism in America disappears.

Good luck to us on that one.

Allow me, s'il vous plait.

A co-worker told me this story.  I wish I had been there.

A businessman took four clients, including my colleague, out for dinner at a very fancy and expensive French restaurant. He asked his guests what they would like to have and then took it upon himself to order for all of them in French. He did it all -- appetizers, wine, entrees, side dishes -- struggling mightily at times to dredge up vocabulary and syntax buried deep in the memory of his high school French. It was a slow and tedious process.

The whole time he spoke, the waiter stood silently, his pen poised over his order pad, but he wasn't writing anything down.

When at last the ordeal was over, the guy closed his menu with an air of finality and permitted himself a small triumphant smile.

Then, very politely, the waiter said, "I'm sorry, sir. All the French-speaking waiters have gone home."

Bury My Heart at Wounded Pride

Our errand-running this afternoon led us down a nearby road that passes a chunk of land that calls itself a memorial garden and which I call a cemetery. It's one of those with no above-ground tombstones, just plaques that lie flush to the ground. It is tucked snugly between a golf course and the airport.

According to their web site, in addition to "traditional in-ground burials," they also offer cremation, lawn crypts, a mausoleum, and a niche columbarium. (That's the official name of the structure with the little cubby-holes that hold the urns of cremated remains. My grandmother's ashes are in one of those at Bohemian National Cemetery in Chicago.)

What is really fascinating about the place is the large banner waving in the breeze at the corner of the property announcing "50% SAVINGS ON SELECTED GARDENS." Probably the ones closest to the airport.

We are living longer, but I don't think that it's too few deaths that is causing the garden in memoriam to throw a half-off sale. More of us are evidently opting for the less expensive cremation and ash-scattering.

Although -- I did click the button that said "This Week's Burials," and it returned a screen that announced there were none this week.  Hmm.

And while I'm on the subject, and since I may never have an opportunity to mention this again, I want those who are not already aware of it to know that in Kalamazoo, Michigan, there is a cemetery called Mount Ever Rest.  I am not kidding.

Oh, yeah?

There is a television commercial in which we find an elderly woman sitting in the passenger seat of a car driven by a young man.  Upon learning that the car is equipped with Wi-Fi, she says delightedly, "You mean I can update my blog from here?"  The young driver turns to her and says incredulously, "You have a blog?"

What's wrong with an old woman having a blog, you smart-alecky young whippersnapper?

For the Tines of Your Life

I have discovered exactly why dessert forks have shorter tines than dinner forks.

It's so that when you are trying to get a large forkful of cake into your mouth, you don't stick the fork down your throat.

So let's be grateful for the dessert fork.  (Also, the cake was excellent.)

Too Ashamed to Plagiarize

I saw something on the news last night which must not have impressed me much because I can't remember what it was about, but the guy who was the subject of the story had a blog, and I saw that the title of one entry was something like, "Too Tired To Think of a Title."  I thought about stealing that, but I'm not really too tired this morning, just not very clever.

After my long year of unwellness during which the only time I left the house was to go to a doctor's office or a hospital, I visited a casino this week. We were on our way to Wal-Mart actually, but my wife was amenable to my suggestion that we pass it by and keep on heading a little further north. We didn't stay long, but I got to play blackjack (single-deck pitch) for about 90 minutes, and I won $80. A dealer named Nancy remembered me, even though the last time I was there was 16 months ago.  I suppose somebody who was there every Monday afternoon for a several months running might well be remembered.

I wouldn't mind resuming that practice, once the weather can be depended upon. If I could be sure I'd win at least 80 bucks every Monday, that would be even better.

No News Today

Sometimes I think of things I'd like to blog about, and I jot them down -- well, keep track of them, anyway. Typing on a keyboard attached to a computer with a word processing program isn't actually "jotting," is it? Anyway, I just consulted that list, all the items of which are at least a year old, and was confounded by these three:

Dirty martini

Clean kitchen towel

Doctor office, waiting room, magazine flip

No idea whatever. Because of my recent illness, I haven't had a martini in over a year. I like them only ever so slightly dirty, but that doesn't seem like much of a topic for contemplation, much less conversation.  The clean kitchen towel doesn't ring any bells either, and I suppose I was going to make a crack about people flipping through magazines in doctors' waiting rooms, but I don't know why, except, perhaps, because I myself do not flip through magazines.

When I pick up a magazine in a waiting room, I turn to the Table of Contents at the front to see if any article appeals to me. If so, I open to that page. I do notice that many people tend to flip backwards, which seems rather silly, but I'm still not sure there is anything here to blog about.

So, I guess I won't write about any of those things today.