5.9.2020 – confusing, waiting

confusing, waiting
for potential future that
might never return

Potential future?

Potential future that may never return?

Is that tautologic?

Or pleonasmistic?

A Yogi Berraism, in other words?

Coach Berra was famous for saying things that he claimed he never said.

Most of his sayings, mis-remembered or not, were kinda goofy.

Coach Berra said he would have his pizza cut into 4 slices because he couldn’t eat 8.

Stuff like that.

I remember once talking with my brother Tim and I quoted Coach Berra’s, “It gets late early out there.”

He was talking about deep left field in Yankee Stadium.

I don’t remember what the point was that I was making to my brother.

But Tim looked at me and said, “I know just what you mean.”

Potential Future?

Potential future that may never return?

I just read that this morning in the article, “US job losses have reached Great Depression levels. Did it have to be that way?”

According to wikipedia. “In literary criticism and rhetoric, a tautology is a statement which repeats an idea, using near-synonymous morphemes, words or phrases, “saying the same thing twice”.

Tautology and pleonasm are not consistently differentiated in literature.

Like pleonasm, tautology is often considered a fault of style when unintentional. Intentional repetition may emphasize a thought or help the listener or reader understand a point.”

Well, there it is.

Potential future.

Saying the same thing twice.

Or is it.

I would argue that potential future is not that same as future potential.

But that is not what was written in the article.

“Potential future that might never return.”

If you said that to me, would I bit confused?

A little bit.

On the other hand.

I know just you mean.

5.8.2020 – VE DAY Today

VE DAY Today
Victory in Europe Day
1945

Winston Churchill in a shout out to the crowds in London said, “God bless you all. This is your victory!

It is the victory of the cause of freedom in every land.

In all our long history we have never seen a greater day than this.

Everyone, man or woman, has done their best.

Everyone has tried.

Neither the long years, nor the dangers, nor the fierce attacks of the enemy, have in any way weakened the unbending resolve of the British nation.

God bless you all.”

General Eisenhower released a statement from Supreme Headquarters – Allied Expeditionary Force that said in its entirety, “The mission of this Allied Force was fulfilled at 0241, local time, May 7th, 1945.”

On May 17, 1945, my Dad wrote from 12th Corps Headquarters, “As far as I know, we are going to remain in Germany for occupation but of course everything is mixed up and we don’t know just what will happen.

In none of his surviving letters does my Dad even mention that the war had ended.

In his last note before the end of the war, dated May 1st, he wrote, “The Air Corps certainly did a lot of damage here in Germany in the past year. As we travel through we can can see all the destruction. I don’t see how they can keep fighting much longer.”

It is interesting to note that his letter of May 17th was not delivered until July, 1945.

I am nearing 60 years old.

My Dad would have been 100 years old.

Strikes me that when he was 20, the United States Civil War came to an end 75 years earlier.

5.7.2020 – just be by myself

just be by myself
feel evening breeze, gaze at moon
I lost my senses

Stay at home.

Quaruntine.

Is it any wonder we are losing our senses.

As someone said, the problem with common sense is that is it so uncommon.

The words of that old cowboy poet, Cole Porter, keep coming back to my mind.

Okay, so Cole Porter stole the words or came by the words in such a way that a court had to decide they were his.

Not the Roy Rodgers way now is it.

But the words are there anyhow they came to be.

I just don’t like fences.

Oh give me land, lots of land, and the starry skies above
Don’t fence me in
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love
Don’t fence me in

Let me be by myself in the evening breeze
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees
Send me off forever but I ask you please
Don’t fence me in

Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle on
Underneath the western skies
On my cayuse, let me wander over yonder
Till I see the mountains rise

I want to ride to the ridge where the West commences
To many words, gaze at the moon till I lose my senses
And I can’t look at hobbles and I can’t stand fences
Don’t fence me in

Oh give me land, lots of land, and the starry skies above
Don’t fence me in
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love
Don’t fence me in

(for what its worth, Mr. Porter said it was his least favorite song. Go figure?)

5.6.2020 – library feeling

library feeling
of communion, a feeling
of vitality

In the middle of the United States of America’s part in World War 2, EB White got a request from the War Department to write out the meaning of Democracy.

In the the Notes and Comment section of the July 3, 1943 edition of The New Yorker magazine, Mr. White’s response was printed.

Andy White wrote:

We received a letter from the Writers’ War Board the other day asking for a statement on “The Meaning of Democracy.”

It presumably is our duty to comply with such a request, and it is certainly our pleasure.

Surely the Board knows what democracy is.

It is the line that forms on the right.

It is the don’t in don’t shove.

It is the hole in the stuffed shirt through which the sawdust slowly trickles; it is the dent in the high hat.

Democracy is the recurrent suspicion that more than half of the people are right more than half of the time.

It is the feeling of privacy in the voting booths, the feeling of communion in the libraries, the feeling of vitality everywhere.

Democracy is a letter to the editor.

Democracy is the score at the beginning of the ninth.

It is an idea which hasn’t been disproved yet, a song the words of which have not gone bad.

It’s the mustard on the hot dog and the cream in the rationed coffee.

Democracy is a request from a War Board, in the middle of a morning in the middle of a war, wanting to know what democracy is.

It is the don’t in don’t shove ought to be added to our money just under In God We Trust.

And that Library feeling of Communion.

I guess you feel it or you don’t.

If you don’t you have my sympathy.

I hope you enjoy the mustard on the hot dog.

My youngest son is named Ellington.

His middle name is Bernard after his Grand Father.

I snuck an EB into the family without telling anyone.

5.5.2020 – bridges toll, bells toll

bridges toll, bells toll
toll as death toll totals climb
along life’s tollway

Toll.

The cost.

A charge payable for permission to use a particular bridge or road.

And the number of deaths, casualties, or injuries arising from particular circumstances, such as a natural disaster, conflict, or accident.

Or the sound or cause to sound with a slow, uniform succession of strokes, as a signal or announcement.

As well as taking a toll.

Or, have an adverse effect, especially so as to cause damage, suffering, or death

Such a sad word.

Too many applications.

Heard too often.