Knowledge

A Self-Aware Story

Yeah, Another Blogger126 Comments

I’ve been turning out essays and humor pieces on these pages for a long time, since April 2015 to be precise. And though my production rate has slowed down considerably over the years, and especially of late, I remain in the game. I have no plans to permanently stop putting fingers to keyboard, though that intention will be dashed — duh! — when the Grim F*cking Reaper decides I’ve been occupying space above ground for damn well long enough. The truth is, I get a kick from laying down words, partly because the writing process often enables me to discover or discern what my orientations, views, likes and dislikes truly are. In other words, I’ve learned quite a bit about myself as a result of creating content for Yeah, Another Blogger. And so, I’m nothing but glad that my wife Sandy encouraged me to revive my writing career by starting a blog (YAB, you see, isn’t the first outlet in which I’ve published stories. Many, many moons ago I was a freelancer for The Philadelphia Inquirer newspaper, covering the arts and pop culture). Thank you, Sandy, for getting me back on track!

Here’s part of the lowdown about yours truly: I came of age in the hippie era, and the good vibrations in the air back then permeated my mind and emotions, shaping the way I approach the world. Ergo, I’m fully in favor of peace, love, understanding, equality, tolerance and kindness. And for just about all of my adult life I’ve sought the company of beautiful creations in both the natural and man-made worlds, and have engaged in a pretty steady flow of colorful mini adventures.

Before Yeah, Another Blogger was birthed, did I pay attention to those facts, which to a significant extent define me? Well, I did. Not profoundly, though. My makeup, however, began to become clearer and more obvious to me by virtue of the types of stories I found myself drawn to write for this publication, and by the writing process itself. Shit, writing doesn’t come particularly easily to me. I have to strain my brain big time in order to turn out most pieces. The straining, however, often results in my slapping myself upside my head and thinking, “Hey, right! That‘s what I believe. That‘s what I like to do. That‘s who I am!”

And so, it isn’t by accident that Yeah, Another Blogger, which largely is a personal narrative, overflows with ruminations about and examinations of subjects and activities I dig: sunsets, flowers, my on-foot escapades and explorations, music, TV series, foods and beverages, and quite a bit more. Still, this website isn’t strictly about good stuff. I’ve tackled problematic issues too, those I feel I can discuss without getting in way over my head.  And on a fair number of occasions I’ve torn into those whose value systems and actions offend me deeply. My main target has been the riot inciter, con man and convicted felon named Donald Trump.

The big question nagging me, however, is this: Does any of what I’ve stated above matter? By straining my brain for a while, I came up with an answer. And the answer is yes.  The more we know about ourselves, the better, I think. We can work on our faults only when we are aware of them. And when we recognize and understand our positive sides, we gain confidence and interact with the world more fluidly and productively. Planet Earth is in a sad state right now. It sure can’t hurt when as many lights as possible shine within it.

Beautiful Indeed

Yeah, Another Blogger157 Comments

Well, I’ve been real tempted lately to pen an essay about the repressive, heads-up-their-asses people in my country who continue to believe in demagogic, riot-inciting Donald Trump and embrace his outrageous lies about the 2020 election having been stolen from him.

On the other hand, I haven’t been real tempted lately to have my blood pressure head into the stratosphere. So, I’ll stay calm by moving in my semi-natural direction. Towards the light, you dig. What follows, therefore, are a few words about beauty, a quality I found a couple of weeks ago in, among other things, a book, a song and some flowers. Away we go!

First up, the book: Local Girls is a collection of stories, by Alice Hoffman, about Gretel Samuelson and her small circle of relatives and friends. The stories are presented chronologically, and appeared in various publications before being gathered and published in one volume in 1999.

Not exactly a novel (some stories are narrated by Gretel, the others are in the third-person), but close enough, Local Girls follows Gretel from age 11 or 12 into her mid-20s. It’s set in suburban Long Island (which is near New York City), and is not the happiest of tales. Drug addiction and serious illness are among the book’s prime themes.

Nevertheless, drollness permeates the proceedings, partly by way of the sharp observations and bon mots of Gretel, her best friend Jill, Gretel’s mother Franny, and Gretel’s adult cousin Margot. Overall, Local Girls struck me as hard-as-nails realistic, despite the inclusion, unnecessary in my opinion, of some mystical occurrences. (Hoffman, I gather, is known for doing this in her works.) The book took me by the arm and then spoke intimately to me. It is damn well alive.

What got to me more than anything about Local Girls is the absolute beauty of much of its language. Time after time Hoffman took my breath away. Before ending this short discussion of Local Girls, I’ll leave you with three examples of Hoffman’s way with words.

It was a bad summer, and we all knew it. We liked to phrase it that way, as if what was happening was an aberration—a single season of pain and doubt—instead of all-out informing people that our lives were falling apart, plain and simple as pie.

She had been thinking about sorrow for so long she was amazed to hear the sound of love. What a foreign language it was. How odd to an ear unused to such things.

The streetlamps cast a heavy glow, the light of a dream you’re not quite finished waking from.

Yes, Hoffman has more than got the touch.

Now for the song: I’ve seen Brandi Carlile on a couple of TV shows and heard her music pretty often on the radio. I think she’s good but certainly not great. However, her recording Save A Part Of Yourself, is another matter. To me, it’s fab. The song, which Carlile co-wrote and sings lead on, was released in 2012.

Save Part Of Yourself concerns a love relationship that, though ended, has not been forgotten by one of its two parties. She hopes that her ex will not throw away memories of her. Such a lovely composition, so tender and imbued with longing. Yet, it also sparkles. That mandolin riff that enters five seconds into the tune, those handclaps, the joyful whoo-hoo-hoos. I for one cannot resist them.

Save Part Of Yourself’s main message, I think, is that remembrance can help us heal and make us better individuals. Who would argue with that? Here it is, following which we’ll turn our attention to flowers.

The day in which I am described as a knowledgeable identifier of flora isn’t about to arrive any time soon. Yeah, on a good day I’m able to look at a tulip and say, “Yup, that’s a tulip.” Ditto for a pine tree and a maple tree. But my scope doesn’t extend all too far beyond that. Still, that doesn’t stop me from going out to admire nature’s wonders. Hell, I’d be heartbroken if I couldn’t.

And I’m glad when my botanical expertise expands. Such as when I learned last month that a flowering plant I was gazing at during a visit to New Hope, Pennsylvania, a funky, former artists colony to which visitors often throng, was an example of a hydrangea bush. The plant impressed me. Thus, while walking and driving around my town a few days later I kept my eyes open for hydrangeas. And I found some, photographing two of them. Hydrangeas, I believe, were at the height of their flowering powers in my region (greater Philadelphia) at the time that I took these portraits. The flowers are sincerely beautiful.

(Please don’t be shy about adding your comments. Mucho gracias.)