Off-the-Shelf

The Blog Prophecy

Yesterday, I was tediously sanding paint off the east side of the house - for a solid three and a half hours - when, with a wandering mind, it occurred to me that some of my blogs have been prophetic in terms of content. So, last evening before the Red Sox game I reviewed my entries over the past couple of years and culled the following excerpts:

From $3.99 per Gallon! (posted on 10/01/06)

That's right folks, $3.99 per gallon. Do you believe it? No, no, I'm not talking about gasoline. No, I'm talking about milk ... one gallon ... skim milk ... from a cow! And what is the reason for the huge increase in milk prices? Demand, they say. Demand? How is that possible? Are people drinking significantly more milk these days? Are people switching over in droves from Black Russians to White Russians? Has there been an increase in the size of cereal bowls? (Little did I know then that gasoline prices would soon eclipse the price for a gallon of milk!)

From The Year's Last Word (posted on 12/31/06)

Gasoline prices are inching back up. Soon we'll be at $3 per gallon. I say, to improve our collective psyche, the oil companies should do what food producers have been doing for years -- decrease the size of their product in lieu of raising prices. For instance, have you seen a Devil Dog these days? Or a Twinky? They're puny! So I propose that instead of selling gasoline by the gallon, it should be sold by the half gallon. That way, instead of seeing $3.19 at the pump we'll see prices like $1.59, just like in the old days! We'll be lulled into thinking we're paying less! And let's face it, in these strange times we need as much lulling as we can get. (Boy, what we'd give to be paying only $3.19 per gallon!)

Also from The Year's Last Word (posted on 12/31/06)

Ice Caps - They're melting! Every couple of months we hear of an ice sheet "the size of Rhode Island," or "the size of Manhattan," or "the size of Dorchester" falling off into the Arctic Ocean. We need to fix this problem. No worries - I hear the Canadian government, in conjunction with the National Hockey League, is in the process of sending a fleet of Zambonis to the Arctic to make new ice as we speak. (Amazingly, in September 2008 it was reported that a piece of ice described as being "the size of Manhattan" did in fact break off in the Arctic! Unbelievable! See the posting below as well.)

From Candidates' Names, Slightly Askew (posted on 1/8/08 - the night of the New Hampshire primary, before the polls closed)

As part of New Hampshire primary tradition the voters of Dixville Notch, situated in the extreme northern part of the state, and of Hart's Location, in central NH, cast their votes at midnight. The combined results were as follows: Obama (D): 16 votes; McCain (R): 10 votes; Huckabee (R): 5; Paul (R): 4; Clinton (D), Edwards (D) and Romney (R) tied at 3 each; Richardson (D) and Giuliani (R) tied at 1 each. Of the 46 voters in the two towns, 11 were registered as Republicans, 10 were registered as Democrats, 24 were Independent, and one was a dairy cow by the name of Gertie.

Coming out of the conventions it will be Barack Obama for the Democrats and John McCain for the Republicans. Obama will choose John Edwards as his running mate. McCain will choose Newt Gingrich. Just months before the November election, a huge chunk of the polar ice cap ("the size of Montana" according to environmentalists) will break off, causing a desalinization problem in the Gulf Stream and sending our hemisphere into a climatic crisis. Panic will ensue, during which Al Gore will be drafted as the Green Party candidate. In the general election, no candidate will receive the majority of the Electoral College, so the House of Representatives will be charged with the task of selecting our next president. And the winner is...  (I was right on Obama and McCain ... wrong on Edwards and Gingrich. And the mention of a huge piece of the ice shelf breaking off just months before the November election is downright uncanny!)

From 2009 - An Orwellian Play (posted on 6/18/08)

It all began in 2008. Beneath the weight of a weak dollar, growing war costs, soaring fuel prices, runaway inflation, and a Fall TV lineup of one reality show after another, the economy finally crumbles. A Great Depression lingers over the land, with widespread unemployment and few opportunities for full-time positions offering decent benefits (unless you call 80% medical coverage once the $2,500 deductible is met, and two weeks vacation decent!). This economy forces many folks to sell their dining room set on eBay just to put food on the table ... except now, there is no dining room table on which to put the food ... the irony, huh? (A Great Depression does, in fact, linger over the land if something is not done and done quickly to shore up the stock market and the economy ... although I'm already thinking of hocking my old high school ring to buy groceries this week!)

So, there you have it folks, the Blog Prophecy: Obama for the Democrats, McCain for the Republicans, $3.99 per gallon for milk, Arctic ice "the size of Manhattan," and the Great Depression of 2008.

Now for the Red Sox -- I predict they take the ALDS three-games-to-one and eventually go on to beat Manny and the LA Dodgers in the World Series. The week following, voters will cast their ballots in the Presidential election. And the winner is...

Jack Sheedy

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Working Title: Harvestman

The current moon phase is waning crescent. The New Moon will arrive on the morning of September 29. And the next full moon - the Hunter's Moon - will arrive on the evening of October 14.  Please mark your calendar.

With that said, some sketches ...

Random Literary Selection

The working title for this latest blog is "Harvestman." Why "Harvestman"? Because earlier this morning, with eyes closed, I opened up the dictionary to a random page, pointed to a random section of that page, and when I opened my eyes I saw that my finger was over the word "Harvestman." Totally random, haphazard, without forethought or premeditation. And without my first cup of coffee, I might add.

It marks the commencement of a completely new way of writing - which I call "random literary selection" - and which I hope will utterly and thoroughly revolutionize the way words are put together to form sentences in the future.

For instance, using the random literary selection method, I recently scribed the following note to my doctor:

Dear Dr. _______,

Radiant consistency weep pecuniary electropositive

wrecker hold dressing push hillbilly cable. Singular point

thumbtack enthusiastic relapse part derivation bespoke

filmy helpmate sicklebill bean tree party line.

Sincerely,

JTS

My doctor immediately scheduled me for a colonoscopy. That'll teach me, huh!

Painting the Living Room

It was time to have the living room painted, so I opened up the telephone book and selected a painter - a Mr. Pollock. When he arrived I described exactly what I wanted done and he set off to work as I headed out to run some errands.

When I returned home I found Pollock packing up his things, apparently finished with the painting job. "Go have a look," he said. So I went inside. All four walls of the room were covered in splattered paint. Not a brushstroke to be found - all splatter! There was an energetic motion to his work, mathematically chaotic in nature, brilliant in its random design, but it was not what I had wanted done. I immediately tore up his check, sent him on his way, and consulted the telephone book for a second painter.

Next arrived a painter by the name of Rothko. I showed him what the previous painter had done to my living room walls. Again, I described what I wanted and then left Mr. Rothko alone as I headed out to the library to do some reading, secure in the notion that this new painter understood the scope of the job.

Sometime in the mid-afternoon I returned to find that Rothko had already finished and had left. Entering the house, I stared in utter amazement at the walls that stared back at me. Each wall was covered in large squares of dark color, with lighter bars of color above and below. His images were overwhelming -- with overlapping, contrasting colors -- filling me with vague concepts of space and time. It was genius in its scope. Yet, this would not do for a 10' x 13' living room! So, for a third time I consulted the phone book for a reputable painter.

The third painter was a gentleman named Hofmann. He said he was an abstract expressionist. I said I wasn't interested in knowing his political affiliations, as long as he painted my living room to my specifications. So after detailed instruction, I left my house once again, this time to do some shopping, and left Mr. Hofmann alone to attend to his work.

When I arrived home Hofmann had just finished up. I passed him on the front step as he carried a ladder out to his truck. "I think you'll like it," he said. So I rushed inside. There, upon all four walls, were small squares and rectangles of various color - mainly reds and yellows - against a background of bold brush strokes of dark green. Though his work represented such spatial treatment of shapes and colors, spectacular in its abstract form, I was hoping for something more along the lines of off-white walls and beige trimwork. So I tore up Hofmann's check and sent him on his way.

Discouraged, and fearing the results of a fourth painter, I decided to do the job myself. So I purchased the paint, spread out some drop clothes, and painted the room as I had originally wanted it painted. When I was done, I stepped back to examine my work. Not bad. No splattered paint! No large squares of dark color bordered by bars of lighter contrasting color! No small red and yellow squares against a dark green background! Abstract expressionists! Humph!

Nope, none of that stuff -- just water lilies, on every wall. What can I say; I'm partial to the impressionists.

Driving Bin Laden

Last month, Osama bin Laden's former driver, Salim Hamdan, received a 5-½ year prison sentence for his role in motoring the al-Qaida leader from terrorist meeting to terrorist meeting, with brief stops at fast food restaurants along the way. In fact, Hamdan, who was apparently clueless that bin Laden was even a terrorist, has already served more than five years awaiting trail, so in a few months he will be scot-free.

This light sentence has caused some concern with those Americans who still remember September 11, 2001. To refresh, on that date 19 Islamic terrorists, on instruction from the above mentioned Osama bin Laden, hijacked four planes, flying two of them into the World Trade Center, one into the Pentagon, and crashing another in a field in Pennsylvania after an apparent struggle with passengers for control of the aircraft. On that date, some 3,000 innocent people were killed.

So, the obvious question: Should the chauffeur to the world's most notorious terrorist be convicted as a terrorist - as guilty as those who hijacked the planes on 9/11, as guilty as those who attacked the USS Cole, as guilty as those who tried to blow up the World Trade Center in 1993, as guilty as any other person associated with al-Qaida?

Apparently not. The light sentence may have resulted from the precedent set after WWII in the treatment of Erich Kempka, Adolf Hitler's driver from 1934 to 1945.

Although he testified at the Nuremberg trials, Kempka was never tried as a war criminal. He was the only Nazi witness to testify that Hitler was dead and that his body was burned. His testimony turned out to be invaluable toward filling in the details of the final days and hours of the Third Reich hidden away in the Fuhrer's bunker.

Further in his testimony, he said that Hitler was a relentless backseat driver, always telling Kempka that he was driving too fast and that a yellow light means "slow down," not "speed up"! Kempka also stated that Hitler rarely pitched in for gas money, and when he did he always insisted on Regular Unleaded instead of the higher priced Premium.

Jack Sheedy

P.S. According to Webster, a harvestman is "an arachnid that superficially resembles a true spider but has a small rounded body and very long slender legs - called also daddy longlegs." Oh, and by the way, I think there's one crawling up your left arm!

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Etcetera, etc.

I awoke early this morning, about 5:15, perhaps because of the wind outside my window, the remnants of Tropical Storm Hanna as she arrived and departed so swiftly in the wee hours.

With darkness both indoors and out I arose, brewed a full pot of coffee, let out Lucy (my Boston Terrier), and fired up the computer to continue the seemingly never-ending process of editing a manuscript I've been working on ... and on ... and on. Hopefully, I'll wrap it up this week, so I can move on to my next unfinished project!

A cup of steaming caffeine in hand, I stepped outside to let the restless wind "comb" my restless head of hair. In the sleepy morning light I surveyed the emerging scene. Small branches down here and there. Small puddles collecting here and there. Small squirrels - doing whatever it is that squirrels do early in the morning - scampering here and there. Otherwise, nothing major to report. So I took a swig of java, smiled upon the breezy early morn, and reentered the house toward my inner sanctum ... and the manuscript that won't go away!

Downstairs, in a room without windows, and thereby without distractions (and thereby, without excuses), yet with gentle classical music filling the early morning void, I took my place at the keyboard. Lucy took her place on a nearby couch. In time, I was typing, and Lucy was snoring. I guess she wasn't impressed with my output. Oh well, what do you expect from a terrier.

Some of the first things I wrote were quite random in nature. Because I was in a state of semi-sleep I assumed these tidbits came largely from my unconscious mind, and therefore represented raw brushstrokes uncensored by rational thought ... and by caffeine.

Here goes:

Item #1

Reading is one of life's great luxuries. God may have created Mankind, but Mankind created books. When I die, I plan to be buried with at least a half dozen titles so I'll have something to read in Purgatory ... I hear it's a long wait.

Item #2 

I am obsessed with car engine oil. I check the level constantly. Perhaps I need to see a therapist about this condition. Make note: "See auto oil therapist."

Item #3

I find that it's the "etceteras" in life that take up the most time, cost the most money, create the greatest amount of stress, and cause me to grow the greatest amount of gray hair. Oh, that reminds me - I need a haircut and a shave.

So, it would seem that my day is set. I'll do a little reading, check the auto oil, maybe get a trim, and then deal with all the etceteras that life throws my way.

As for Lucy, I believe her day will consist of snoring to the right, rolling over, and then snoring to the left ... with the occasional trip out to the backyard to break up the routine.

Etc., etc., etc.

Jack Sheedy

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Speaking Squirrel

In a past blog I referred to squirrels as the Marx Brothers of the local wildlife scene.

Actually, it's sometimes difficult to think of squirrels as "wildlife." They live in such close proximity to humans that they have become nearly domesticated.

*****

On the mail route, as I drive the streets of South Dennis listening to classical music, I see squirrels around most every turn. The long hair music presents a virtual soundtrack to the squirrel activities taking place before me. Most times, the music doesn't quite fit the scene. Copland, Mozart, Debussy, Brahms, Dvorak - none of these great composers quite capture the essence of the squirrel.

Yet, the other day a piece of music came on that was just right - Beethoven's Ronda a capriccio in G. Major (Opus 129), a/k/a "Rage Over the Lost Penny."

More like "Rage Over the Lost Acorn!"

*****

If you are attentive to detail, and adept at making Disney-like sounds with your mouth, then you can make chattering noises much like a squirrel which will hold their attention for a few moments as they stop, sit up, remain very still, stare, and size up the situation within their tiny squirrel brain.

For that moment of transfixification (heck, if the President can make up words then so can I), you'll become completely convinced that you have somehow mastered the specialized technique of speaking squirrel and are actually saying something of real worth to this furry, gray inhabitant of the rodent realm.

(FYI: Learning to speak squirrel is much easier than learning a foreign language in school. For instance, after five years of Français all I could say was "Je ne comprends pas" -- translation: "I don't understand.")

But, in a few moments the magic is gone. The squirrel breaks his statuesque pose to scratch an itch. And then away he leaps and bounds toward some new adventure in the neighbor's yard.

*****

Last week on the mail route, as I was driving along in a quiet neighborhood on a crystal clear day, sojourning from mailbox to mailbox to mailbox, I spied a squirrel running across the street and into a nearby front lawn with what looked like half a bagel in his mouth. At least, it looked like a bagel, but then again, I was a bit hungry at the time so I considered that perhaps my eyes and my mind were playing tricks on me.

It turns out that my eyes and my mind were indeed operating properly. For after a moment I saw a second squirrel following the first ... with a container of cream cheese clenched in his little rodent teeth!

*****

Heck, I've even had a squirrel in the house!

He entered down the chimney in the living room. My son, then about eight years old, claimed he saw a squirrel in the Christmas tree earlier in the afternoon. By the time I got home from work the little devil had broken a tree ornament, knocked a number of items off the fireplace mantle, somehow managed to dislodge a painting from the wall, and tore up the curtains. I think he also got into the liquor cabinet because I found a highball on the coffee table.

I couldn't find him anywhere in the living room, so I sat down before the hearth and jiggled the chain that led up, up, up to the hatch at the top of the chimney (which I had forgotten to close the night before ... my bad!). Well, the critter must have been dangling from the chain for he fell right onto my lap!

I screamed!

I think he screamed as well ... and then he ran off into the dining room!

It took me the better part of an hour to corner him in the children's playroom off the kitchen, capture him under a milk crate, and gently usher him outside. He was black with soot from the chimney.

And he had liquor on his breath, which confirmed my earlier suspicion!

Jack Sheedy

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With Cream and Sugar

A cool, dry, breezy August afternoon provides a taste of autumn days ahead, days as crisp as the first bite of a McIntosh apple. I enjoy this stretch, from late August into September ... with October, Halloween, and November to follow ... leading up to the full stomach feast of Thanksgiving. (And then a good long nap on the couch!)

There is a slowing down to this part of the year, and yet a speeding up again as the school year begins. College payment is made in time for the fall semester. Books are purchased - hopefully used books. Pumpkins ripen. Crickets sing out their lonesome tune. The checkbook sings out its lonesome tune as well!

Like a pendulum, life does indeed have this way of slowing down and speeding up, of stalling and starting, of going back and forth, of spiraling to and fro like a falling leaf at the whim of the autumn breezes.

And through it all, amidst all that life sends our way, the autumn constellations return to fill our evenings with the wonderment of other worlds. Mighty Orion revisits the evening sky. The ceaseless cycle of the celestial clockwork; the inevitable change of seasons. Ultimately, it leads us to question what this life is all about. To question if there is a God up there watching over us. And if so, what His master plan might be. And whether He takes His coffee with cream and sugar, or black with perhaps an occasional shot of J&B.

Morning began circa 6:33 on the front porch with E.B. White. I'm reading a book of his letters and find myself chuckling over my wake-up coffee at his brilliant prose. White's letters were absolute gems -- humorous, relevant, insightful, nearly short stories in themselves. In those golden days of the 1920's/30's/40's there was time ... time to relax ... time to observe ... time to reflect ... time to sit down and write a letter to a friend or a loved one. Nowadays, I scarcely have time to floss my teeth in the morning!

Mid-morning found me painting some woodwork spread out on two "saw horses" (two small wicker tables, actually) in the backyard as I enter what hopefully will be the final phase toward finishing a home renovation project I began two-and-a-half years ago.

Then off to the dump, followed by a stop at the grocery store for a gallon of milk, raspberry sherbet, shampoo, dog food, a watermelon, and brake fluid. The checkout clerk gave me a strange look when she rang up the assortment of items. I guess I couldn't blame her. By the way, since when does the purchase of a half dozen items result in the printing of several yards of receipt, including personalized coupons based on my past spending habits. Are we now nothing more than a file of demographic information stored on some grocery store's central computer system?!

Noontime arrived with a ham and cheese sandwich, and half a dozen pretzels, washed down with a glass of cola.

After lunch I tinkered with the air conditioner water pump, which has been sticking in the "on" position even after the water has been pumped out, thus threatening to overheat, catch on fire, and burn down the house ... and all my Peanuts comic books along with it. So I flushed it out, took it apart, examined the switch, made what I hoped were the necessary repairs, and reinstalled it. Now I'm praying that the weather remains cool and dry for the remainder of the summer so I won't have to actually turn it on!

Catching up on my mail, I was somewhat surprised to receive a letter from my good friend, Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama. What was most surprising was that it didn't appear to be part of some mass mailing, but was a letter typed, no doubt, by Obama himself on his Smith Corona and signed in his own hand. I could tell because the letter began "Dear Friend" and ended "Sincerely, Barack Obama."

In the letter, Senator Obama asked me to rush a "generous contribution of $35, $50 or more to the Democratic National Committee today." Unfortunately, I just rushed a rather generous "contribution" to a certain Massachusetts college, so funds are just a wee bit tight at the moment. How tight? Well, let's put it this way - the cute, chubby, gray squirrels that scamper in merriment amongst the pine needles in the backyard are looking rather tasty these days ... as are the pine needles.

Oh, but wait! On the back of the donation form is an opportunity for me to donate to the Democratic National Committee via credit card. And as luck would have it, I received no less than twelve (12) credit card offers in the mail from various banks over the past two weeks. Do you think they know I have a daughter in college, a son on the way to college next year, a brake job due on one car, a muffler needed on the other car, and a real estate tax bill due in November?! It's a darn good thing I invested all my money in wind power!

Late afternoon. Need to put down one more coat of paint. After that, I'll settle down with a Narragansett and a chapter or two of E.B. White. Then it will be time to fire up the grill for dinner. Let's see, last night was squirrel. Perhaps for tonight I can catch one of those fuzzy little bunnies that have been eating clover in the front yard. Speaking of which, the clover, tossed with pine needles and perhaps some acorns and a pinecone or two, might make a nice salad. And I think there's some left over coffee from this morning that I can throw a few ice cubes in and pass off as iced coffee! Things are looking up already!

Later, as twilight slips into evening I can watch the constellations rise one by one, with a waning moon bringing up the rear, as yet another day closes, and as a new one approaches.

Gee ... with all this excitement I can scarcely remember ... did I floss this morning?! 

Jack Sheedy

Footnote: Referring to the Bible, it may be assumed that the Lord took his coffee with sugar as suggested by the following scripture:

From Exodus 15:25: "and the Lord shewed him a tree, which when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made sweet." ("Shew" is a British term meaning "to show," derived from the Middle English term "shewen" or "showen." Isn't the English language fun?!)

Or from Nehemiah 8:10: "Go your way, eat the fat, and drink the sweet" ("eat the fat" must refer to doughnuts).

Or from Jeremiah 6:20: "To what purpose cometh there to me incense from Sheba, and the sweet cane from a far country?" (Obviously, Jeremiah, the purpose of the "sweet cane" was to put in the coffee!)

Or James 3:11: "Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water and bitter?" (Could the "fountain" be a Biblical term for a Starbucks?)

Or even Revelation 10:9: "...and it shall make thy belly bitter, but it shall be in thy mouth sweet as honey." ("Make thy belly bitter" - must be referring to decaf!)

Amen.

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