Recipes for Dealing with Lemons

Posted on November 2, 2022 by hdh

Recipes for Dealing with Lemons

“When life gives you lemons, make apple juice, then sit back and watch everyone figure out how you did it.’

He told me that, and at first, I thought it was a very funny thing for a 5th grader to impart to me. He was always a joker. How many students have I taught that only spoke about themselves in the third person?  Only one, his name was Marvin. (Actually, his name was Jacob, but I thought I should use an alias so that no one would recognize who I was writing about.)

Little did I know that his words of wisdom about lemons and apple juice would be so profound and useful in the rest of my life. I mean, who makes apple juice out of lemons?

Well, it turns out that metaphorically, I do. Let me enlighten you. 

Did you ever get into a discussion with someone and realize that where ever that person has decided to take you is so off base that you really don’t want to be part of the discussion? In today’s political climate, that happens a lot. So what do you do?

Do you argue back and forth, knowing that whatever you say is not being heard? Do you make up a false excuse that you must be somewhere else and then just leave that person standing there? 

I used to work for a boss, and when certain people started arguing with him, he would just say, “You’re talking to yourself.” and then he’d walk away, leaving the person standing there exceedingly frustrated.

The psychologist at one of the schools I worked in described such conversations between two people that don’t listen to each other as “simultaneous monologues.”

A noted behavioral expert said the best thing to do is just listen to what they say and respond, “Thanks for sharing.” That usually ends the conversation right away, for how do you continue after that is said?

Getting back to Morgan’s quote. The key to dealing with the lemons that are being thrown at you is just to hear what they’re saying and then repeat it back to them. Not agree with them, but say things like, “I can see you feel that… whatever the discussion is about.” 

You know they are not going to listen to anything you have to say in regard to the topic being discussed. So, playback their own words, acknowledging that that is what you are hearing. Turn those lemons into their own apple juice.

This works very well, especially with relatives. In fact, they even go away quite pleased that you are such a good listener and agree with everything they say. Mind you, I should point out never specifically say you agree with anything they say unless you really do. Hearing their words coming back at them gives them the impression that that is what you said as your opinion. 

Granted, you don’t get to argue your own thoughts and beliefs, but a noted teacher in Minnesota once told me as we were learning about being the change agents in our schools, “You’ve got to work with the living.” Some people may never accept change, so focus on those that are willing to listen to you first. 

It’s not easy to do and can be very frustrating at times to listen to others rant about issues you disagree with. But as my ex-student, Melvin, inferred, making apple juice from lemons is so confounding for the giver of those lemons they won’t even realize what you did. 

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Why is…?

Posted on October 26, 2022 by hdh

Why is…?

Every year at Passover, as the youngest in my family, I always got to ask the question, “Why is this night different from all other nights?” Throughout the Sedar dinner, that question would be answered by multiple people doing readings from the Haggadah. For my family, that night was different from all other nights.  

Then again, that question could also be asked periodically throughout the year for other nights, which, too, were different. Answers might include, “Your father’s working late tonight; we’re waiting up for him.” or “We’re going out to eat tonight.” or “I’ve had a busy day, chose a TV dinner and put it in the oven for yourself.” or if it was a Sunday night, “We had dinner at lunch today, go make yourself a sandwich.” or, “You don’t want to know, just eat.”

This pretty much continued through adulthood. That was until a little over two and a half years ago. Now, we celebrate the never-ending holiday of COVID-19 every night.

The question to be asked is, “Why is this night like so many other nights?” 

“Can’t we go out to eat?” you might ask. And the answer is, “No, there are too many people that are not wearing masks.”  

Another question asked, “How about after dinner, we go to the movies?” And the answer is, “You don’t want to sit in a large theater group where people may not have been vaccinated and are coughing on you, do you?” 

Yes, these nights tend to be all the same. Stay home, have dinner, then read, play board games, or watch TV.

Even Passover celebrations and other holidays, where families usually got together, have become stay-at-home, and we can Zoom together virtually, then read, play games, and watch TV.

This is, of course, not the same for everyone. Just go shopping in a supermarket for food, or go to a mall and count how many people you see wearing masks. You can probably count them all on one or two hands. Obviously, the non-mask-wearing people clearly feel that this night and day can be different each time they go out. And go out they do. Unfortunately, I’m not one of them. Call me a pessimist, but I like to play it safe. 

So I have a plan for tonight; when I’m asked the question, “Why is this night like every other night?” my answer will be, “It’s not!”

“For tonight, we are going on a trip. I’ve packed a picnic supper that we can eat in another room on a blanket. I’m planning on playing a multi-hour meditation YouTube video of an ocean scene as if we are at the beach. And I might even stream the live Aurora Borealis from my phone on the Explore.org App. 

Why not make this night different from all other nights? 

 

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A Mystery to be Solved

Posted on October 20, 2022 by hdh

A Mystery to be Solved

It started with an email. It said, “Be prepared; you have 3 days.” The Sender was unknown, so I just put it into my junk mail.

I got a similar email for the next two days, “you have 2 days.” followed by “tomorrow’s the day.”

Even though I had put all of those emails into the junk mailbox, I was a little apprehensive as to what was going to happen the following day, the day I was supposed to be prepared for.

I checked my email throughout the morning and into the early afternoon, but there was nothing suspicious in any of them.

About mid-afternoon, I went out to get my regular mail from the mailbox in front of our house, and there it was…a letter. It was addressed to me, with no return address. The most peculiar part of the envelope was that it was addressed in red ink. (Or at least I hope it was ink.)

I chose not to open it up in the house but rather outside as I wasn’t sure what I was going to find in it. I carefully tore open the envelope and looked inside. Inside there was a ticket. The kind of one you bring to the post office to collect a package. My name was on the ticket, and it stated that I had to redeem the package from the post office by the end of the day. There was a second slip of paper in the envelope that said the contents of the package would disappear again if I delayed pickup. 

Well, what would you do? The mystery was too compelling and, if I had to admit, very anxiety-provoking. I went to pick up the package.

When I got to the post office, the clerk there asked me for multiple forms of identification. Satisfied that I was who I said I was, the clerk went into the back and returned with a locked wooden box. I was given a key to the box and asked not to open it inside the post office. I was not to return either the box or the contents of the box.  I was even escorted from the building by a security guard. I didn’t even know that the post office had security guards. 

I didn’t want to open the box in public, so I took the box home.

When I got there, I went to my back porch, took out the key, and unlocked the box. I opened it slowly. 

Inside was a piece of paper. On that paper was a list of ingredients for Holiday cookies to bake. They were broken up by years going back as far as 2011 and ending in 2020. The box also contained a blue Covid face mask and I few other items that had been missing from our house over the years. And finally, there was a simple card, which read, “Sorry for the delay, I forgot to return these when I returned the red spatula that I returned last week, that I had taken. I hope you weren’t searching for them for too long.” It was signed, Herman, your house ghost.

We always assumed Herman had taken all of the things that we were missing from our house. The fact that he had returned the red spatula to the drawer that we had searched in every day for the three weeks it had gone missing had been a total mystery to us.  We blamed Herman since neither Christina nor I could find it. We always made reference to Herman’s thievery whenever things went missing, though it’s more as an excuse for our misplacing things or accidentally throwing things out than a real belief that Herman existed. But now this? 

 

So now, we’ve got to believe that he is real. Unless…because of the way this box was sent and the precautions that were made by the post office staff before giving it to us, maybe there is something or someone more nefarious that has access to my home? 

All I know is that I have to be more vigilant should this happen again. And  I will definitely make sure if it does, that I’m prepared. 

 

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I’ll be right back…

Posted on October 13, 2022 by hdh

I’ll be right back

It was mind-boggling. How could he leave me alone with that beast? 

“I’ll only be out for a while, no longer than an hour. I’m sure you can handle her,” was all he said, and then he was gone. 

“Now what?” I muttered to myself. “What am I supposed to do for an hour to keep her happy?” 

I thought for a while and decided…games, maybe? No, she’s too young to understand. I could maybe feed her. Of course, what does one feed someone like that? All I get from her is growls and complaints when I get near her. Is there a special diet she’s on? If I try to feed her and she chokes or gets a reaction to what I feed her, what would I do then? 

How about taking her for a walk outside? No, I’m pretty sure I am not supposed to leave the house with her. But what if she has to go to the bathroom? 

Why didn’t he give me any instructions? And where was he going that was so important right now? 

All right, now think, Harvey, your smart, well maybe not that smart; otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this position. What would my mother do? 

Oh yeah, she would probably pick her up. Not if she’s growling and whining like that. I need to find a way to comfort her first. 

I start pulling at my hair and making all sorts of crazy faces out of stress and frustration. I don’t know what to do. 

Wait a minute…what’s that I hear? She’s not whining anymore. In fact, she’s looking at me and looks very much like she’s enjoying my frustration. 

Maybe that’s it…I need to act totally silly in front of her. That I can do. I was born to be an idiot. So that’s what I do. I make a fool of myself. In fact, she even likes it. I get close enough so that I can even pet her on the head. She’s even smiling at me. 

Okay, here’s the real challenge. Can I pick her up? Yes. Yes. Yes! She likes that too. 

She starts whining again when I put her back down on the ground. You’ve got to be kidding. Here I go again.

Well, I have to admit Ronald did come home within the hour, and by the time his mother came home, his baby sister was fast asleep in her crib.

I asked Ronald what was so important that he had to leave at that time in the morning. He said, “Oh, I forgot that I was supposed to pick up the newspaper at the local candy store before mom got home.” 

I didn’t mention to him that he didn’t return with a newspaper when he came back and that he was carrying a number of new comic books. He probably didn’t want anything to do with the task he left me with. 

Either way, next time I’m invited to go to Ronald’s house to play with his sister, I’ll make sure it’s his older sister or his mother is going to be home. 

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It all began with…

Posted on October 8, 2022 by hdh

It all began with… 

I consider myself a very open-minded person. There are lots of things that, when told to me, I believe. Occasionally I get fooled by those things spoken to me. For example,  I’ll believe a technology piece of equipment can do all these wonderful things that, in fact, it can’t; I believe the person trying to sell me a car or some health plan will work without any hitches; I try to believe in a politician who promises me the world. I get very disappointed when these promises and product endorsements fail to meet my expectations.

 There is one thing that I have never been disappointed in, and when said, leads me to great expectations, which mostly are always fulfilled. And that is the word “Once,” when it is followed by the words “upon a time.”

I am a storyteller and a firm believer that stories are the foundation of learning. When I hear the words, “Once upon a time…” I know that I will be taken on an adventure. I know that wherever I am taken to, I will come out of there with a better understanding of the world and of myself. 

I may not like the story that I hear. But usually, there is always something within its contents that educates me. With each “Once upon a time,” I discover things. This is something I should look out for–This is someone I should become; This is somewhere I should go; This is a behavior that I should emulate; This is why there should always be a “Happily ever after.”

 

Knowing all that, let me leave you with this:

 

Once upon a time, there was a group of many writers. They always got together to share their thoughts, experiences, and imaginations with each other. There came a time when a great pestilence ravaged the world, and they were told that they could no longer meet for fear of infecting each other. This made them sad. 

Time passed without a solution to their dilemma as more and more people were infected. And then came Zoom. Zoom was a magical creature. It had figured out how to capture the spirits of all these writers and put them in little boxes. Safe within those boxes, Zoom made it so that the boxes could connect with each other without any fear of transmitting this virulent disease. And so it was done. Those writers could again meet and share their thoughts. 

It wasn’t a perfect solution, for Zoom could not capture all of the writers. Some were unable to join these groups. Compromises were made. Some groups started to meet on their own, in person, risking contamination. They had a helper of their own, too; she was called Vaccine. Though not everyone was willing to accept Vaccine’s help. 

Another compromise was made with the aid of a third helper. He worked well with both Vaccine groups and Zoom’s boxes. His name was Hybrid. 

And the world moved on. There was a lot of give and take. But eventually, more and more writers got to meet, write and share. And it continues to this day till the next, “Once upon a time” shares a new story.

 

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It’s all in the name

Posted on October 7, 2022 by hdh

It’s All in the Name

It’s fun to name inanimate objects. The most popular objects to name are ships or cars. I don’t own any ships, so I’m left with cars. My cars all had names. 

My first car was a used car. It was a 1967 Mercury Comet. It didn’t take me long to come up with a name for that car. It was called Noya. As in, “This car really Anoyas me, and this car encourages my para “noya”. You get the idea. If something could go wrong with a car, this car found it. Its most notable feature was that the windshield wipers only worked when the turn signal was on, and the wipers moved when the light of the turn signal was on…start, stop, start, stop… You were in trouble if it was raining and you turned a corner where the turn signal reset. It took you a few seconds to realize the wipers had stopped. And if it was a torrential rain…

My next car was a blue Plymouth Duster. I already had planned to call it “Hoops,” but when I got the car, it did not look like a “Hoops,” so it got the name “Little Hoops.”

Next, I had a Honda Accord followed by an Acura. I don’t remember their names, but I’m sure they each had one.

When I married Christina, we had two cars. One was a 1995 red Subaru Legacy station wagon,  appropriately named “Red L.” Christina had a little red Mazda Hatchback. It, we called “Little Red.”

When Little Red became too small, for we had a child now, we got a 2001 Subaru Outback; it was green. We weren’t very original; it was called “the Outback.” 

Now we have two cars. One is a caramel-colored 2011 Subaru Legacy sedan, called Milky Way. What else would you call something that had a caramel color. The newer car is a 2015 Mazda 3 hatchback (since our child has moved away and we could go back to a smaller car) named “Blue 2,” as it is the second blue car I’ve owned.

With the prices of cars now, it may be a while before we choose to purchase a new one. We hope the cars we have now last a lot longer. Either way, I will have to create a name for the new car. For those of you that know me, how does TARDIS sound to you? That’s a reference to Doctor Who. If you don’t know what a TARDIS is, it is an acronym for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. It’s a time and space travel machine—my kind of car, probably not Christina’s.

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The Voyage

Posted on September 29, 2022 by hdh

The Voyage

It was supposed to be a short trip. It always was. I would get strapped into my seat, and we would take off. It took minutes to get there. I don’t remember much of what happened from where we started to when we arrived at our destination. But I know it was short. 

When we left for our destination, it was a bright sunny, cool day. I didn’t need a jacket at all. There were very few clouds in the sky. I enjoyed looking at the trees with their leaves of all different colors surrounding us as when we leave our home port. 

The next thing I noticed, we were there. The air’s getting colder now. If this is night, it is very crisp. I need my jacket.

I stared out at the horizon and could not see any trees. The only colors visible were the bright shining dots in the sky. Where was I? Is this the center of the universe? Is this my first taste of what the universe is like on a night like this?

There were millions of those shiny dots above me, and there were two large bright yellow circles also that I could see. One was floating in the air with all of the dots. And the other was resting in the water in front of me. It must have been cold too since it was shivering with the water’s movement. 

I was awestruck. It was beautiful. 

I was picked up and carried back to a house. There I was placed in a bed. I didn’t want to sleep, there was way too much to see and do. But I wasn’t allowed. They put bars up around me to prevent me from escaping. I know the others stayed up later than I was allowed to. That usually worked for them, but someday, I will figure out how to climb out of this cage, and I will join the fun. 

—-

Thinking back on those times, I remember them well. Even though I was only 1½ years old. I now know the trip to our fall vacation spot by the beach was a 2-hour drive from our home that I usually slept through. But that first time…when the universe was mine to behold, it was amazing.  

 

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What’s the Rush?

Posted on September 22, 2022 by hdh

What’s the Rush?

“We have to go!” Jack said as he hurriedly packed as much as he could carry.

“But why?” his mother asked. “You just got home from wherever you’ve been. Why don’t you rest for a while, and then we’ll go.”

“We can’t rest, we have no time, he’s after me!”

His mother asked, “Who’s after you? Such a nice boy like you. Even when I’m angry at you for selling a cow for beans, you try to make up for your mistake. First the gold, then the eggs, and now I thought you would play music for me on that harp. Such a nice boy.”

Jack regretted not telling his mother where he got the gold and eggs as he stood there with a golden harp in his hands. 

“I’ll tell you later mom, we have to go, he’ll be here soon,” Jack said frantically. 

“No!” was his mother’s stern reply. “We will stay here and discuss with this person who is after you and solve whatever is bothering him.”

Jack didn’t know what to do. “Mom, this person that you want to solve a problem with is a cannibal. The solution to his problem is to eat me, and if you are here, he will probably eat you too.”

Jack’s mother was perplexed. “A person who eats another person?” she muttered to herself. “What kind of person would do that? And why?” she said out loud.

Time was quickly running out. The ground was beginning to quiver as the giant just reached the cloud line. So Jack had to confess all. He rushed through the tale of the beanstalk (which he was surprised his mother had not seen, then again, her eyesight was pretty poor), the stolen bag of gold, the hen that laid the golden eggs, the musical harp, and the giant who was climbing down the beanstalk to crush his bones to make bread. 

Jack’s mother may have been slow, but in this case, her motherly instincts rushed in quite fast.   

“Crush my boy’s bones! Not while I’m alive!” 

She quickly ran to the shed and grabbed her late husband’s axe. Jack’s mother may have been weak-sighted, but she had a lot of strength from years of tending to the house and cow. She found the said beanstalk and, with a few quick hits from the axe, watched as it toppled to the ground. 

The giant being way too high up the beanstalk at the time, had no time to escape and fell to his demise. 

Jack stared at his mother with pride. He was a little worried about what people would say.

    His mother realized his anxiety and said to him, “Don’t worry about the giant or me. The giant was a bad person. We’ll be fine. We’ll just say that you chopped down the beanstalk to save me. It will make a much better story.”

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Do you want to learn how to play the banjo?

Posted on September 17, 2022 by hdh

Do you want to play the banjo?

I play a number of instruments. I play guitar, harmonica, and fiddle. I can play mandolin and piano a little and played trumpet in Junior High School. I’ve dabbled with saxophone, viola, and string bass. I also play a number of strange noisemaking devices as music, like shower hose, jew’s harp, and kazoo. 

Though I might have tried to learn, there is one instrument that I will never play: the banjo. And this is why. 

I was about 35 years old when I read an article in the paper that offered free lessons on how to play the banjo. All I had to do was go to this address, and I would be provided with a banjo on this particular date and time, and I would not only be given a banjo to keep but would be able to play and perform with it that very same day. 

This looked too good to be true, but I figured why not. What could I lose? And banjo was on my list of instruments I wanted to play.

I booted up my Apple //e computer, and since I had just purchased a 56K modem, I could connect to this new thing called the World Wide Web. I quickly logged in to my Applelink Personal Edition account and tried to find out about the organization sponsoring this offer. 

Back then, at 56K, one did not find information so easily. It took over an hour to discover that the information I was looking for was not to be found.

Throwing caution to the wind, I decided to go anyway. I got on the Long Island Railroad train and took off to the place mentioned in the article. I don’t remember exactly where it was, but when I got there, I found there was a big circus tent in the middle of this field. As I entered the circus tent, several other people were waiting in line to talk to the ringmaster (who was the one mentioned in the article) about learning how to play the banjo. 

After a rather quick interview, ten of us were chosen. I was the tenth. I felt honored. 

That was until I was handed a banjo, had to put on a clown’s costume, and was thrown out into the center ring with the other 9 players and told to play. There were no instructions, and the cacophony noise produced by us brought much laughter to the hundreds of people that were in the audience, especially when the ringmaster let loose the elephants that started chasing us all around the ring. It was my worst nightmare come true. 

The elephants were gotten control of finally as the ten of us rushed off center stage and left the tent. 

We were thanked for our service outside the tent and given our clothes back. We were told we could keep the banjos. And that was it. They didn’t even give us tickets so that we could see the rest of the circus performance. 

When I got home, I was still shaking and felt pretty dejected. 

The banjo is still somewhere buried in my attic, never to be looked at again. Just the thought of it makes me shudder, which is why I never intend to learn how to play one. I’m also not too fond of elephants anymore either.

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Reflections

Posted on September 15, 2022 by hdh

Reflections

It’s funny how the reflections of the scenery around you are so clear when you are at a lake that is still and shiny as glass. The imagery and perfection of those reflections mirror exactly what is there. That’s why I was quite surprised when I looked directly into the lake, expecting to see my reflection, but didn’t. Instead, I saw someone else. 

I quickly looked behind me to see if someone was standing there and whose reflection it was. But there was no one there. It was just me and the lake. I am well versed enough to know the Greek myth of Echo and Narcissus and a number of folktales where people see the moon’s reflection in a body of water and think that it is caught in a lake. But this image I saw was not a reflection of reality. This was someone totally different. In fact, it was not someone I recognized.

For one thing, he had long golden hair, bright blue eyes, and pointed ears. I may have changed a little as I grew older, but I’m sure I don’t have any of those attributes. Even knowing that, I checked my hair and ears just to make sure. 

It seemed only reasonable that I should talk to that reflection if that’s what it was. 

“Who are you?” I asked. 

At first, there was no response, but I did notice a questioning look on his face as if he was considering an answer. 

“I was about to ask you the same question,” was his slow response. “In fact, I’m not sure what I should call myself to you. Where are we?”

I named the lake and felt it important to also name the planet, just in case he was from somewhere else. Which it turned out he was. 

“Earth?” he pondered. “I’ve heard of that place. Isn’t that in a galaxy called Milky Way? We learned about that in our universal geographical upload.”

Now my curiosity was aroused. “Where are you?” was my question.

“I’m not sure if your primitive species know of it. I’m from the third planet in the bi-solar system of Santur, in the galaxy called Dyslexia.”

“How is it that you’re here?” I asked. 

“We’re testing out our new ultra video system that allows us to communicate with other places. You are the first contact we’ve made.”

I was going to ask him more when all of a sudden, there was a ripple in the water as a cloud passed overhead, and all that was left was my reflection in the lake. 

Did it really happen? Yes, it did, but I was so enthralled by this encounter it never dawned on me to pull out my iPhone and take a picture. Who’s going to believe me without proof? 

I’ve been back to that lake on numerous occasions and have never been able to duplicate that experience. I wish I had gotten his name or at least a number to call.

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