Tag: books

“We’re All Mad Here.” “Curiouser and Curiouser Indeed!”

“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”  Alice, realizing how her perspective has changed.

I have always been obsessed with Alice in Wonderland. When I was a kid, I loved it for the wonderful and cooky characters. The Cheshire Cat, the Caterpillar with his vowels, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, The Queen of Hearts and of course the inimitable Mad Hatter. I will admit the white rabbit held a special place in my heart as he rushed about going nowhere.

I have often related to that effort so many times in my life.

The tea party, the mushrooms and all the other craziness Alice endured on her journey seemed like a fun story in a crazy place.

Of course as I grew older, I realized the metaphor for the journey into adulthood, but I chose to ignore that truth. I prefer to think of wonderland as a place filled with funny creatures, tea cakes and hats with price tags hanging off of them. Now that I think of it, probably where late comedienne Minnie Pearl got the idea.

The tag’s price of 10 shillings and sixpence supposedly represents individuality and embracing your own uniqueness.  

The reality is that Alice’s journey is all of us seeking to achieve the goal of growth and wisdom as we wander through wonderland. Or as it’s put so succinctly in the book by the Cheshire Cat, “We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

Our lives are filled with crazy creatures and cake and tea as we struggle through the lessons thrust upon us by some force in charge of our destiny.

So why is Alice such a universally loved and cherished part of our childhoods and our culture.

Why does it seem to endure through all the technology, AI and so-called movement forward in human innovation?

Despite the arc of a lifetime of risks, rewards and hard-fought lessons, there is something so positive about the fall into that land of craziness and adventure that never gets old. Never changes and remains filled with lessons to which we can return and feel welcome.

It’s as though life’s tough moments seem less so in Wonderland. Just sitting around a table filled with tea cakes and beautiful china.

One of my favorite lines, among many gleaned from Alice was “It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

Brilliant in its brevity and substantial in its genius.

Just two lines that sum up one of the great questions of human existence.

Would we change anything if we could go backward in time?

Tempting as it might be to believe we could change the past, undo mistakes or redo our life’s arc, it would be a useless effort.

This miracle couldn’t occur unless we could go back in time knowing what we do now. Being the person we became and feeling as we do now about our existence.

So what would stop us from change despite being a different person then?

I believe it would be fear.

The temptation of redoing our existence would be heavily colored by the inherent fear we’d throw off the balance. Innocently change something so significant we’d lose what we love.

A road not taken, a door not entered, a promise not kept.

Even the most inconsequential moments may not prove to be so small after all.

A moment too late to meet a soul mate, a career opportunity overlooked and unanswered, a special bond with a mentor that led to a destiny fulfilled.

Are there really any small moments, at least that we can determine?

So when Alice says she is a different person, of course she would be making decisions based on the old Alice, ignorant of who she ultimately became.

Before, the mushrooms, before the courtroom and before the Queen of Hearts. She was Alice. Young, naïve and lacking in the wisdom to make the choices, seek the counsel and embrace the people that would mold her existence.

Eating the mushrooms, a lesson in moderation and judgement. Too much mushroom, too tall to get through the door. Too little doesn’t work either. Is the lesson here there is always a perfect amount in the end? Moderation is the key to moving through the door? Or do mushrooms simply signify the physical and psychological agony of puberty often leading to helplessness.

So, is there a perfect amount?  Wouldn’t it vary from person to person? Aren’t the mushrooms also a lesson in individuality? Choosing what’s good for you. What will work best within the parameters of your own life, independent of others? An inch here or there and it all still works.

There are so many metaphors for life one never thinks about while simply embracing Alice’s journey.

The Rabbit Hole is a leap into the unknown. Brave, unaware and relying on our subconscious. Chasing the white rabbit is pure trust and innocence in the future that lies beyond.

The Caterpillar serves as a catalyst for Alice’s growth and metamorphosis. Maturing and navigating adulthood.

Lest we forget the Queen of Hearts. She signifies tyranny. “Off with their heads!” is symbolic of unchecked power.

The Cheshire Cat one of my favorites, is deception personified. The partially disappearing body and creepy smile, represents deceit and a highly subjective universe. The hidden garden references the Garden of Eden. The search for it represents unreachable splendor, the loss of innocence, and aspiration.

The confusion of Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Can there be absolutes or is everything actually a bit imperfect or even the same?

Alice is clear while confusing. Answers that raise more questions and filled with life lessons and challenges disguised as a childhood dream.

Isn’t Alice’s journey representative of ours as we traverse this place where “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.” Those words seem truer to me each day. Curiouser and curiouser.

Perhaps Lewis Carroll knew something we didn’t and it’s all a dream after all. In the meantime, tea and cakes can make the journey more pleasant. And couldn’t celebrating an unbirthday be a perfect way to spend an ordinary day? More tea please, Mad Hatter.   

Fact: Old Ladies Solve Murders

Agatha Christie was right, old ladies make great detectives. Spies not so much with all the shooting and chasing. But great detectives and not for the reason one might think. AI may be threatening to take over the world. And I will admit I’ve seen some campaign commercials here in LA lately that absolutely speak to the brilliance and benefit of AI. Yet, sometimes things can’t be duplicated, even by great tech.

So how do old people beat AI? Oh sure there is wisdom that accompanies age, but it’s more. The skills it takes to be a detective are not the only advantage aging brings. It is the hard and extremely cold fact that old ladies are invisible. They can travel about unnoticed as they check out the clues quietly summing up the scene.

Now of course some are better than others.

However, there is a common denominator as they all live in small towns or villages, if you’re in England.

Yes, New York would be hard to navigate, although Jessica Fletcher did venture out of Cabot Cove occasionally.

However, the cases always involved someone in close proximity to her. A relative or neighbor.

Even Miss Marple couldn’t know everyone in New York. Nor I imagine would she want to. But that’s a blog for another day.

So what is it about older ladies, especially widows that seem to hone their investigative skills?

First and foremost, I imagine it’s because they are quiet. They listen and pay attention to details. So when a murderer is spouting a piece of evidence that directly links them to the crime, they actually hear and absorb that knowledge.

Unlike younger people that are so engrossed in social media they hear nothing. Save of course the blare of loud music or pings that signify a text has just come into their phone.

Older women also have years of watching people speak. They have developed a sixth sense about those who are lying, skirting the truth and avoiding the question.

Good information if you’re looking for a murderer.

They are also smart and know the questions to ask. For example. Someone in her village has come to enjoy a cup of tea.
Knitting needles come out, but this is merely a ruse because Miss Marple already has a plan. She has a list of questions she will inconspicuously ask to discern if the person is the murderer.

Yes, it’s just that easy apparently, to figure it all out. Sadly, the police are usually the last to know.

So she has poured the tea, offered the biscuits. And no, I have no idea why the British call cookies biscuits, another one of their supposedly charming quirks I imagine. Despite how heinous the killing, there is always time for tea.

The killer couldn’t be more at ease. Unsuspecting while sipping and munching in a haze of comfort around who they believe is someone totally harmless.

So as with anyone in that position, the guard is let down and a killer tends to slip up and let out a potential clue.

Aha! Marple attacks ever so cleverly. Knit one, purl two, knit one. “So, how are your hydrangeas doing?”

“Oh thank you for asking. They are much better now that you told me to use that special mix. They seem to be thriving. How did you figure that out?”

“Just something my mother used to do to help her garden when it seemed tired. Did you get the mulch at the florist I sent you to? He seems to have just the right mix to make the formula work?”

“Yes, I went there as you suggested.”

Marple is no fool and this was nothing about mulch of course. She is well aware the florist is closed for the month and on vacation with his family at the shore. Aha! She has uncovered a lie. So much for that alibi.

Now Marple must unearth the reason for this deception. Although she is already highly suspicious.

She backs off a tad knowing that after a lie, the killer will be a bit on guard.

“Did you hear the schoolmaster has accepted the job in Cornwall?”  She inquires ever so innocently.

“Yes, what a loss. I had him in first form when I was eleven. Such a wonderful man. A great loss for the entire village.”

Excellent, the killer is back at ease.

Marple strikes again.

“I should wonder they’ll have trouble finding a replacement. After all, one of those who would be considered was the victim in that dreadful murder.”

Marple looks up from under her specs and studies the killer’s reaction.

The killer flinches noticeably. She catches herself quickly, but not fast enough for Marple to have learned all she needs to know. She has determined the person she is with is guilty.

After a few other pointed questions Marple has what she needs to offer that murderer up on a bone china biscuit plate.

And she does so with humility and relish. Although inside of course she is aware she is much smarter than the authorities and can run circles around their skills any day of the week.

Yet she is nothing if not generous and humble. She wants the police to praise her skills and appreciate her help.

And although they consider her an old busy body, they are forced to admit, she’s got the goods.

The method and the ending never vary. Oh the murderer and victim may change, but Marple’s methods remain the same. Tea, biscuits, knitting needles and a few pointed questions then Bob’s your uncle.

Another case solved in one or two hours.

Only Agatha Christie could create a Miss Marple, because she was her in every way. A woman who understood the value of paying attention to details.

I suppose that’s why to this day people still love, read and reread her novels, watch her movies and refer to her as the undisputed Queen of Mystery.

Christie is a master of understatement and suspense. Unequaled in her ability to craft a convoluted mystery in a clever and interesting manner.

Guessing along and figuring out the killer is a source of pride for any mystery lover, and more reassurance the greats always do it best.

Brilliant? yes. An unassuming woman? Indeed.

Still the greatest of all time? You bet, and AI can put that in their pipe and smoke it. Knitting needles and all.

All Great Inventions Began With Women

I am so tired of hearing men talk about how women nag. What in the world defines nagging. Perhaps we should switch it around and say men don’t do things on the first five times they are asked. So women are merely inspiring them.

Now that makes more sense to me.

One never hears about the fact that all great inventions throughout time have been inspired by women. And the fact men don’t always respond to first requests.

No, this is not a sexist rant so just go with me please. I shall gladly explain.

For example, the trash compactor is the direct result of women asking their husbands to take out the garbage. How many men have been sitting in front of the television watching football and heard their wife call out from the kitchen.

“Honey, take out the garbage, please.”

 No response.

“The garbage is overflowing I need you to take it to the can, please.”

No response except a whoop from the den about some field goal.

“Hello, the garbage isn’t going to take itself out.”

No response.

The wife enters the room.

Her husband looks up innocently.

“Didn’t you hear me ask you to take out the garbage?”

“I was watching that last play. It was amazing you should have seen Mahomes? The guy’s beyond great. Do we have any more of those potato skins left?”

“The garbage is overflowing. I need you to take it outside. The next commercial you can grab the bag and not miss a play.”

“Sure, sure as soon as the game is over. And could you check on those skins please? I almost forgot, are those wings done yet?”

“You said that hours ago.” Wife sighs, husband returns to game.

At some point in the evolution of man one husband took a minute to focus on what his wife was asking.

He inquired, “Why can’t you take out the garbage?”

Leaving the hospital after having the can of Budweiser removed from his ass, he pondered the question of why men have to do garbage duty.

Wait. he thought, perhaps there is a way to delay the inevitable. Why not just crush up the trash to allow room for more. Then less trips to the garbage can.

And thus the trash compactor was born. And yes, we have women to thank for that one.

Now we turn to the refrigerator.

In the beginning I imagine a woman discovered that she could keep leftovers from spoiling when they accidentely dropped into an icy snowbank.

“Oh look,” she told her husband. “This leftover deer is still fresh. Can you build me a box that’s cold enough to keep leftovers in?”

Man decided this would greatly lessen his need to hunt so often and spend more time on other pursuits. So he thought long and hard about how best to accomplish his wife’s request.

Hmmm, he thought. Maybe I can cut down a tree, hollow it out and fill it with ice. Then she can put the meat inside.

It caught on quickly and soon everyone in the area were making tree freezers.

Women were ecstatic to have this convenience.

On a roll now, next, women wondered why they had to leave the cave in freezing weather to cook the food over a fire.

“Hey, Hymie, Can you make a cooking pit inside the cave for me? It’s too cold to stand outside and roast a moose.”

Despite thinking her a bit demanding since he had just created a frozen tree, he relented. Not wanting to be kept away from fun time with his bros, he quickly found a spot to keep the cooking duties inside.

But he still reserved the right to cook over an open fire outside. So in essence barbequing, over which men still hold dominion, became another lifestyle innovation. One that women and men agreed was a twofer that  benefitted them both.

In all three of those progressions into the future it was women cajoling their husbands to help with the chores that led to these modern improvements.

I believe one of the most overlooked of modern conveniences has not been credited to women, but mistakenly to men.

The automobile. Yes, men get the credit, but it was women that inspired the idea.

Let us check our history.

It happened during a rainstorm. The ground was muddy and difficult to walk over.

There was to be a party at a neighbor’s cave. The husband sat waiting and watching two neighbors killing one another over a bear carcass. After his wife finished dressing, she entered his area of the man cave wearing a new tiger skin and matching shoes.

“Let’s go,” he grunted. “We late for party.”

When they reached the cave entrance she turned to him.

“Excuse me? Hello, it’s wet.”

He walked out as she stood fixed on the spot.

“Come,” he urged. “We miss all the chicken wings.”

“You really expect me to walk out there in the rain in my new frock and shoes? You must be crazy if you think I’m trudging through the mud. I’ll look a mess by the time I get there.”

“Not my fault it rains.”

“Well, I’m not walking.”

“You expect me to carry you?”

“That would be fine.”

He continued toward the neighbor’s cave as she stood fixed to the floor.

“Come!”

“Nope, I’m not ruining new outfit. You carry me or I not go.”

He looked back to see her standing, arms folded and staring at the cave ceiling.

“Oh brother, you take the cake,” he said as he walked back into the cave. He lifted her asking, “Happy now?”

“No, not really I’m still getting wet.”

And so was born the wagon. And, of course the umbrella soon followed. Then the car etc. etc..

So who actually inspired the car? I believe I solved that riddle.

I could go on and on, but I believe I’ve made my point.

Men may have created many inventions we enjoy today, but women inspired and cajoled them to do so.

I have never seen a muse pictured as a man. Neither have I ever seen men inspiring wars to be fought over them. Helen of Troy? Trojan Horse?

Before you get all sexist accusing on me, I am merely pointing out that women have inspired men to do better, grow and create.

Even in the Garden of Eden it was Eve who told Adam there was no reason to run to the grocery store when apples covered the trees.

Oops, okay maybe that was a bad example, but I believe I made my case.

I don’t want to be one sided here, so I will admit men are responsible for inventing ear plugs. There, Fellas, happy now. I gave you credit.

So next time a woman says, “How many times do I have to ask you to…” perhaps she is merely inspiring the next great invention for mankind. Just say thank you and get to work, Guys.

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

I have been without electricity all day. Now you’re thinking…and so, what’s the big deal?

Okay I can see why you’d think it’s no big whoop. After all once there was no electricity and oil lamps and wood fireplaces lit and warmed the home.

Yes, but that’s the point. Unless we have oil burning lamps I’m not aware of in this building and a fireplace filled with wood and kindling, it is rather hard to make it work.

And by it I mean your computer, your phone, your refrigerator, your oven, your lights and pretty much your life.

I have never been one of those people who believe they are totally dependent on modern conveniences to survive. I pictured myself as a rugged pioneer type who could cope with hard work to get things done. Me come from strong stock! 

Able to cut firewood and pump the water from the well. Carrying the milk in from the barn after milking the cows. Having cows!  

Boy was I wrong. I now truly believe I can’t exist without the tech junk. And Lord, what a wuss I am.

Tomorrow I shall go to Costco and buy a slew of battery-operated candles to hide away for another day when heaven forbid there is no power.

Can’t open the fridge, can’t phone a friend because I didn’t charge my back up charger, and no television. Oh my! I keep staring at the TV waiting for Netflix to appear.

Talk about desperate, I was sitting in the dark garage with my car on charging my phone.

How on earth did I get so darned reliant on power?

Yesterday sitting on the couch, I felt an earthquake. Nothing huge, but enough of a shaking to make me hold my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop, literally.

Yet today, although I was prewarned about the power outage, I found myself unprepared to deal at all.

Can’t find the batteries for the flashlights because it’s dark in the closet where they’re kept.

Ran out of matches years ago and use the gas stove to light anything. Too bad my gas stove needs electricity to work.

No news programs and what if there is actually some good news for a change? Okay, I can still dream can’t I?

My grandsons and I can’t play our usual Roblox games on facetime because, that’s right…no phone or computer.

I have decided that if the power doesn’t come back on soon and it gets really dark in here, I may have to go to my daughter’s house.

I’m sorry but I prefer my SUV to a covered wagon. I can tough it out for only so long before this whole frontier crap gets old.

And it’s getting old fast.

It’s cold in here and I’m under a blanket wondering if there will ever be heat again.  I’m actually eyeing that old chair I want to replace thinking it would make great firewood. 

So where did she go? That frontier, pioneer Norma I had anticipated would rise to the occasion. I don’t see her anywhere, probably because it’s getting so damn dark in here I can’t see anything.

So am I shocked that I am such a lily-livered-spoiled-tech dependent-modern convenience-needy person? Damn right I am.

The fact I can’t seem to find enough to keep me busy one crummy afternoon without the stuff I’m used to having and the habits I’m so used to living makes me sad. Hashtag/books on Kindle.

We all have a routine and I guess I have seen firsthand how difficult it is when that routine is interrupted.

Should I be more flexible, more able to roll with the punches? 

I mean what would happen if a UFO landed and took out the grid in LA? Oops, we’d all be toast here. How would Gavin Newson buy his hair gel?

What do you mean my latte isn’t ready?

Hello Door Dash are you there? Door Dash please answer.

It is unbelievable how spoiled we are. 

Good luck to my neighbors with EVs.

So who is responsible for this bunch of cowering weaklings?

Modern science that’s who.

The aliens must be watching and laughing their gray asses off, if they have any, at how easy it will be to defeat us.

“Just turn out the lights and all we have to do is wait.”

Wow, I forgot, Rod Serling wrote that show 60 years ago for The Twilight Zone and he called it The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street. Yep, he predicted it all didn’t he?

Well, I’d love to watch it right now, but you see I can’t because I have no damn power!

I guess I could go for a walk, I hear there is an outdoors with sidewalks and grass and a sky, but it’s cold. In LA anything under 60 is too bitter to endure and I’m too lazy to bundle up.

Lord I’m a helpless, lazy boob.

I guess I should invest in a generator as I now understand those things are worth their weight in gold.

I’d check on Amazon and buy one, but I have no damn Internet!

As I stare at the cable box waiting for signs of life like a child watching chocolate chip cookies bake in the oven, I’m tempted to open the windows and let the stench of the candles clear out of here. But it’s too cold and there’s no heat so at this point I have to choose between darkness and freezing.

All my favorite programs won’t have been taped because the cable was out so I’ll miss them when the TV comes back on, if it ever does.

Boy I can’t get over what a whiny, weak, crybaby I am. Wah wah wah my cable box is off. How will I survive?

I’d order pizza for dinner, but I have no phone. 

By tomorrow they’ll find me frozen and starved in here hugging my cell phone in a fetal position.

I’m forcing myself to be positive and believe the lights will go back on soon. That the furnace will suddenly return to life and begin blowing forced warm air through the ducts. That the cable box will glow and blink with blue numbers reading 12:00 and the fridge will click on and begin refreezing the Hagan Daz.

Of course there is an upside to all this. I was about to clean the make-up drawers in my bathroom and throw away stuff from 1994, but it’s so dark  I have to put it off.

I also have been afraid to open the freezer and eat a pint of stress ice cream because I don’t want to thaw the food, so saving calories is also good. 

My eyes are kind of happy because staring at a computer all day does tire them out.

I’m trying to be positive here so help me out.

The workpeople are already a half hour later than they said they’d be finished, but it is the cable company after all.

I guess it’s good to be divorced from all the tech for a day. 

I’d check and see if any studies have been done on that subject, but I can’t Google right now!

At least the music on my computer works and Ella Fitzgerald sounds really good.

Music sooths and all that. Wait, I saw a flicker, gotta go, can’t talk now there’s some Hagan Daz soup with my name on it.