TALK THE TALK BABY

Has there ever been a generation who thought theirs wasn't the best? The best time to live? The future looks dim if not scary?

I don't think so. But why did so many relish the past, their past and lament the present? Because the past is safe. The memories have survived. The person(s) has survived. Memory is selective, too. We tend to block out or totally eradicate bad memories. And we can do that, simply because we control what we think about. We control point of view, as well as perspective.

Not only that, but we limit or pigeonhole our reflections of people based on only a few incidents. My former 6th grade teacher and basketball coach wound up being a grade school principal where our kids attended. I also taught both of his daughters in high school. Whenever I would see him, he would always talk about coaching me and telling the same story;"those boys taught me more than I taught them that year".

I have caught myself doing the same thing. In my memory bank, former student turned co-teacher, turned boss, turned AD, turned parent to two of my students, Coach Doug Creel, and I have been through a lot together. Yet the two stories I tell about him are how he frowned and acted disgusted when bringing up the ball when he was point guard for a team made up of rummies; that is guys who had no idea what play was called or where they were supposed to set up to initiate the play he called. The other is how he spent a lot of time in my class paying attention to a cute cheerleader who sat two seats in front of him.

My point? As we get older, our computer based data bank gets so full that we're forced to isolate, to diminish in order to have any lasting memories at all. If this info is new at all to you, then great--it means I haven't shared this thought before.

TIME SEE WHAT'S BECOME OF ME

"What time is it?"

"Do you mean right now?"

I've always thought that one of the better Yogi-isms. But time and time again I've had people ask what time it was when they were wearing watches. Yet how some people relate to time is really amazing.

The ones who are punctual are concrete realists in one psychological test, while those never on time except by coincidence are abstract randomists. The two don't much mix. But I'm convinced it's in our DNA and will never be altered.

I'm the former and I wish I weren't. I'm trying to change somewhat, just because I put too much emphasis on the clock. So I try not wearing my watch, unless I really have to be somewhere for an appointment or meeting. But I'm not too successful because I have this inner clock that approximates what time it is anyway. And I'm pretty accurate. In addition, I never set an alarm clock. I just know when to get up. To further support the DNA theory, my brother is the same way.

So when we concrete realists get agitated with you who don't take the clock as seriously as we, just try to understand. for one thing, we're envious of you. Just don't make us late.

PICKY

Our granddaughter will try anything. Foodwise, that is. Last night she tried a huge chunk of very hot salsa on a tortilla chip. It was fun to watch her expression as her taste sensations exploded with caliente (warmth). She's an excellent eater, discerning, yet not unwilling to try something new.

Our older grandson, on the other hand, is extremely picky when eating. He even refuses to try my grilled out steaks. Now, I take great pride in cooking out. I can prepare a steak rare as rare or well done as can be, but Grant preferred two day old pulled pork instead.

Our younger grandson is somewhere in between. He's a great eater, but he's a little more conservative. Sometimes his young eyes are bigger than his young belly. One day he offered to eat my mistakenly ordered double burger at In-N-Out in exchange for his single, which he couldn't finish. But he's willing to try almost anything, but not when it's a painful dare like hot salsa.

As for me, at my advanced age, there are few foods that I don't enjoy. But as a youngster, I was more like our middle one. So while I might have avoided the dancing asparagus at age 10, 12, or 16, no more. I love asparagus and green beans, broccoli, and almost all the other greens. Except for brussel sprouts. That's where I draw the line of discernment.

LADY MONDEGREEN

One of the newest words added to the dictionary is mondegreen. It means a confusion of words. A mix up. A misunderstanding.

It seems there was an Old Scottish ballad that had the line "they laid him on the green," but was misunderstood to the point of "the Lady Mondegreen". Thus, the terminology.

Examples from "Silent Night" include Round John Virgin instead of "'round yon virgin". Another from Credence Clearwater Revival "there's a bad moon on the rise," mondegreened into "there's a bathroom on the right".

I swore a lyric from a song spouted a real obscenity one time recently. I can't reveal what I thought it clearly said, but I was way off, when our son straightened me out with "show me the money". It doesn't always have to be close to be a mondegreeen.

There are thousands more, so be on the look out for them. And, now you know what to call 'em.

WHERE DO THEY GO

A Model A, circa 1913 or so,and I may have missed it by 20 years, occupied some of my youth. I hadn't thought of it for years.

A wifffle ball game at a park near the ocean adds to my reflections. What they have to do with each other is the topic of this morning's blog.

Bill Moore, two years older than I , lived up the street from my childhood. I always hung out with the older guys, and one way to be around them was to work on, mainly push Bill's Model A down the street until he could get up enough speed to start it. Then he'd ride around a couple of blocks, it would die, and we would push it back home when it couldn't make it on its own.

Yesterday on Coronado Beach my son, daughter, and two grandsons and I played a 9-inning game of wiffle ball on a huge park field where we shared our Summer play with some Lacrosse girls. Hey, they were nice, and it is California. We could see the sand and the ocean just to the first base side. Wind currents did strange things to the flight of the ball. Although I lost, I hit for the cycle as did our daughter. Our son and younger grandson didn't, but they won.

The connection? Why don't people work on old cars and play wiffle ball anymore? I mean where were all the other people yesterday? Why do I see empty fields in the middle of the afternoon? Saturday afternoon we went to the park at Petco Field where they have a beautiful little ball diamond with fences and bases and chalk lines, at least grass cut baselines, and there was one other dad and his kids along with two neighbor kids playing. Again, we had a great time. Again, where were the others? Plus, we never saw one Model A.

Where do they go? What else is there to do? A childhood is special. And all too brief. I know, there are a lot of things to do besides work on old junkers and play wiffle ball. But there may not be too many any better.

TV LAND

One of the first tv shows I remember watching was Wells Fargo. Along with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans and, of course, Jingles. Also Howdy Doody and The Mickey Mouse Club Show.

I was thinking of some of those old shows and wondering where they are. That is, are they still stocked away somewhere? I mean, obviously a lot are in syndication and picked up by indies and even some bigger stations like TBS. But how about the shows such as Alfred Hitchcock Presents and Wagon Train? Route 66 and Ben Casey?

They may not have been the golden age of television. But it sure ain't today. Not with the stale stuff on there now. Some movie, an Adam Sandler vehicle?, made the statement that he was dumber after having watched a tv show. And for me, that's how I would sum up the current age of television.

So I'm ready for an oldies channel to pick up Room 222, Ameerican Bandstand and Hullabaloo, Hill St. Blues, St. Elsewhere, along with The Patty Duke Show and The Fugitive and lots of old time shows that never made it into syndication. Could tv viewing be any worse?

IT'S A GOOD THING

John Adams once said that he could never imagine himself living anywhere else except by the sea. How it does have its charms. How it does have its appeal.

But I was reminded of a friend of mine who took a tract of land and built a golf course. It wasn't a very good course. (And it wasn't a friend named Ralph, who built a very good course, but ran short of money to keep it up, but his design was great. His game was great. But it took him forever to hit a shot. He visualized, he looked at a shot on a familiar course as if he were playing it for the first time, but he'd put up good numbers.) But he thought it was beautiful. He would just look over the land and marvel. So like President Adams, he couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Even after he sold the course, he could often times be found there. It still had the appeal to him.

Another friend of mine, an author, starts a short story with the line, "Kansas is best driven at night." Yet I have friends in Kansas, and one loyal reader Blaine E., who love the state. It has its charms and quiet sunsets and rolling hills (at least around Kansas City) and its appeal.

For me, the warmth, the desert are what I enjoy. Not that I don't love traveling to the sea and other climes. But I also love no or at least low humidity. And like my two golf course architects, I love to look out over a great golf course.

So there you have it. Different people like to live different places. And it's a good thing.