Posts Tagged ‘Memories’

One of the more favorable things I am grateful for in my life has been the amount of inventive and creatively talented people I’ve been blessed to be surrounded by.

Thomas Crenshaw is one such individual who a few days ago put together this little tribute video for one of his (and mine) favorite TV Shows. The video is fun, compelling and burning up the replays on youtube right now.


Thomas Crenshaw

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Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood won four Emmy awards, and Rogers received one for lifetime achievement.

During the 1997 Daytime Emmys, the Lifetime Achievement Award was presented to Rogers. The following is an excerpt from Esquire‘s coverage of the gala, written by Tom Junod:

Mister Rogers went onstage to accept the award — and there, in front of all the soap opera stars and talk show sinceratrons, in front of all the jutting man-tanned jaws and jutting saltwater bosoms, he made his small bow and said into the microphone, “All of us have special ones who have loved us into being. Would you just take, along with me, ten seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are. Ten seconds of silence.”And then he lifted his wrist, looked at the audience, looked at his watch, and said, “I’ll watch the time.” There was, at first, a small whoop from the crowd, a giddy, strangled hiccup of laughter, as people realized that he wasn’t kidding, that Mister Rogers was not some convenient eunuch, but rather a man, an authority figure who actually expected them to do what he asked. And so they did. One second, two seconds, seven seconds — and now the jaws clenched, and the bosoms heaved, and the mascara ran, and the tears fell upon the beglittered gathering like rain leaking down a crystal chandelier. And Mister Rogers finally looked up from his watch and said softly “May God be with you,” to all his vanquished children.[13][21]https://secure.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/wiki/Fred_Rogers#Personal_life

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I remember a day in 1995 when my college room mate told me that he once wasted $8.95 to call his friend from one of those mid-air phones they used to have on planes. I thought he was both cool and stupid all at the same time. Until about 20 minutes ago, I felt the need to blow $12.95 on four hours of internet on a flight to the west coast mostly for the justification of making sWifi onboardure that I had a car rental and to login to some work things. Really I won’t login to work, but it makes me feel better about having the capability to do so.

I wonder how I’ve gotten to this point. Feeling the “need” to be connected even at 20,000 feet.  I reminisce of the days gone by when I drilled a hole in the floor of my parents house to run the only phone line we had in my parents bedroom to my room, so I could get on a BBS and download the latest C64 games. And then I think geez, that actually took us a lot longer I thought it would. From 14.4 in 1985 to Inflight High Speed Connectivity. (2010) 25 years. Yikes. I’m old. But still very much connected!

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In my recent trip to the Olympics in Vancouver, I noticed a fun piece of vernacular.

When we asked for directions, or instruction, which was often, given all the activities we were doing, the response in confirmation was “Perfect.”

Fictitious  example:

Ben: “Will this road take us to the Stanley Park?”

Canadian: ” Take Granville to W. Georgia then you’ll see the signs.”

Ben: ” O.K. just to reconfirm. Go down this street (Granville) turn right on Georgia and look for the signs.”

Canadian: “Perfect!”

That might seem a little trite, but almost everyone we spoke to used the word “Perfect!” specifically.

I found it very polite, affirming and delightful.

So cheers to my Perfect friends up North! To put to use the compliments I learned in the Motherland last year “You’re Brilliant!”

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On the fourth I went down to Eastern Market for some Independence day fun at Eastern Market. Amongst the fresh food and the artisans is a pickle vendor. YES! A pickle vendor. To me this was absolute heaven. I’ve been a pickle fan for as long as I can remember. I have great memories of following my mother down to the Capitol farmer’s market on a brisk autumn morning when the cucumbers were in bumper crop and enjoying the sounds, smells and smiling faces. Shortly thereafter finding myself sitting in front of a towering pile of cucumbers on the kitchen table while a striking smelling brine brews on the stove. My mother was an industrious canner so I have some experience with how a cucumber become a pickle. But I don’t think I was ever a real connoisseur until I discovered the IN A PICKLE, vendor. IN A PICKLE sells a variety pickles and olives all made from a local farm. They sell individual pickles on a stick, pickles by the pint and quart. I never really liked the fresher pickles until I hit my thirties. Before I wanted my pickles good and petrified. I remember anxiously waiting for the pickles we packed in the fall to be ready to be eaten in the early spring. I in fact would run down to the cellar, and look at the color change over time, my mouth salivating for that salty goodness. A few things I learned from the IN A PICKLE folks were these variations. A kosher pickle has Salt, Water, and Vinegar, as well as the appropriate blessings or authorizations. A (Full) Sour Pickle is only Salt and Water. Of course you can add dill or whatever special spices you like. But then there’s the Half Sour Pickle, which basically means it only sits in the bring for half the time of a full sour. Full Sour = 3 months or more) Wish I’d know that was an option as a kid, I’d have been pickling it up a lot sooner! Since discovering the pickle vendor I’ve been back for more varieties, and find myself feeling a bit glutenous after I down a pint single-handedly, but hey at least it’s not ice cream right?!!!

Make your own pickles.

Check out the history of pickles

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As of lately, I’ve noticed I’ve accumulated a lot of stuff! How does that happen??? Seriously.

I think there’s a magical universal time threshold that spontaneously adds more items of clutter to your household based on how long you’ve been there. At 6 months you auto-magically spawn more towels. A year later, more sports equipment. Two years more t-shirts and unmatched gloves than you know what to do with. Not to mention all the parasitic knick-knacks and post-cards that attach themselves to you from your travels. Birthday cards, and funny joke items your friends thought were so funny at the time.

The question is what to do with them? Especially when considering a move. Now I used to really enjoy moving because it was a time to purge yourself of unwanted baggage. Let’s face it, that three-quarter length tee-shirt from the top of pikes peak, isn’t really doing much good since they’ve been out of style before I even wanted to grow facial hair. But you get that stuff, because there’s an emotional attachment. You get that stuff to remember. Should have taken a picture.

Hmmmmmm….. take a picture. Lovely microscopically small digital pictures…… “Ohhh technology, I love you technology” ( Napolean dynamite reference – watch the credits to the end.)

Hence the T-shirt Graveyard is born.

Ben’s T-Shirt Graveyard

Even cooler, Circavie.com allows to create a history of anything, add your media and present it in a timeline fashion. The best part about it, is that as I took the pictures of each of my t-shirts, it was so much easier to give them up knowing I could really keep the emotional baggage/memories in my repository of mental dysfunction without having to hold on to the item. The stories, jokes, trips, good times and the bad, came flying back in a flood of “remember when” moments and now, they’re finally documented for a time when tapioca pudding is the only thing I’ll find exciting! Keep on, keepin on. The emotional brownie points keep adding up as I donate the old clothes to the salvation army.

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