I love spending time with elderly folks, they are some of the coolest cats I know! Perhaps it's because I'm the oldest grandkid on both sides (things like that happen when your born to teenagers), but it's a fact of my life-I like 'em. Grandpa Weddle is a wise-old soul for whom I have much respect and appreciation. My biological grandma Weddle passed away before I was born, but Fortune smiled on me by not leaving me alone in that quadrant of grandparentness and gave me Grandma Emily. Papaw Phillips passed away a couple of years ago, but for the 28 years I knew him he was one of the main spokes that kept my life rolling. Mamaw Phillips remains an important part of my life to this day. Each one of these corner-stones has recounted many entertaining, inspirational and at times quite hilarious accounts of some of their days-gone-by, and I hope to hear many more of how they got from then to now.
Several weeks ago I joined an amazing company called Home Instead Senior Care that provides non-medical care for the elderly. I get to spend several hours each week visiting and fraternizing with septuagenarians, octogenarians, nonagenarians and other curious creatures with much life experience, and not a little more wisdom than me. It's a fulfilling segment of my life whether we're going out to eat, attending stage productions or just sitting by the fire in a parlor recounting the passage of time they've witnessed and how it compares to today's world.
Due to privacy concerns, I'm not at liberty to reference my clients by name or location, so I'll stick with initials. Right now I'm with a 90+ year old man who I'll call P.C. who is by far one of the more fascinating people I've been privileged to meet. Brilliant and with a storied past (read: Ivy League educated), this man is a fabulous human being who amazes me often with his erudition. I love to read, and that widely, but I've yet to reference an author or work that he doesn't know something about. I recently attended an opera with him presented by the Indiana University School Of Music. The production was Cosi Fan Tutte, subtitled The School For Lovers, and was an entertaining and humorous work to say the least. P.C. told me much about it beforehand, and I've discussed it with him a few times since, and I must say I'm hooked!
In my real estate business some of the more enjoyable clients I've had have been of the elderly variety. Much of the time to them I'm just a "young whippersnapper", but I enjoy the opportunity to represent them in purchases and sales because of their willingness and ability to trust me with their needs. Their confidence is both humbling and motivating. The satisfaction of completing a transaction with them, too, is a grand experience because they are typically very appreciative of an honest days' work. Hat tip to these older Americans!
Here at the bottom of the page may I just add that I feel my life would have been missing some of its more agreeable moments had it not been for the elderly. My advice to all is this: whether you're helping 'em across the street, pushing them in a wheelchair or just sitting around engrossed in conversation, though the walk be a bit slow, the navigation a bit strenuous, or the talking a bit loud, be sure the rewards will be manifold and both immediate and lasting!
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Monday, October 24, 2005
Schiller's "Letters Upon The Aesthetic Education Of Man"
Some years ago I began a volume-by-volume journey through The Harvard Classics. I'm currently in Volume 32, Literary And Philosophical Essays, and nearing the end of this book is the work by J.C. Friedrich Von Schiller that I've referenced in my title, Letters Upon The Aesthetic Education of Man. I completed this section of the book in the wee hours of Sunday morn, and thought I'd record a few of the more noteworthy quotes I was fortunate enough to read, and perhaps add a passing comment or so.
"...a soul that takes pleasure in appearance does not take pleasure in what it receives but in what it makes."
From personal grooming, to fashion sense, to physical fitness, the message here seems to me to be quite matter-of-fact. The baseline truth is that if we put forth an effort in projecting as healthy and attractive appearance as we may, we'll get pleasure in the compliments we receive, but even more from the personal satisfaction with what we've accomplished.
"...the skilfully worked scabbard will not attract less attention than the homicidal edge of the sword."
Image is everything...dress for success...you never get a second chance to make a first impression...the list seems endless when it comes to the importance of our appearance in certain situations. To the above quote I'd simply proffer that no matter how cutting-edge your talent may be, if your sharpness is sheathed in ugliness, you may never get the chance to divide and conquer!
"...pleasure may be stolen, but love must be a gift."
From the most horrific rapist to the ineffective would-be romantic, may this truth reach the depths of the soul. To add to this aphorism would seem to me a most irreverent act, so I'll silently exit and allow the hush of its profundity to wash over the gentle reader...
"...a soul that takes pleasure in appearance does not take pleasure in what it receives but in what it makes."
From personal grooming, to fashion sense, to physical fitness, the message here seems to me to be quite matter-of-fact. The baseline truth is that if we put forth an effort in projecting as healthy and attractive appearance as we may, we'll get pleasure in the compliments we receive, but even more from the personal satisfaction with what we've accomplished.
"...the skilfully worked scabbard will not attract less attention than the homicidal edge of the sword."
Image is everything...dress for success...you never get a second chance to make a first impression...the list seems endless when it comes to the importance of our appearance in certain situations. To the above quote I'd simply proffer that no matter how cutting-edge your talent may be, if your sharpness is sheathed in ugliness, you may never get the chance to divide and conquer!
"...pleasure may be stolen, but love must be a gift."
From the most horrific rapist to the ineffective would-be romantic, may this truth reach the depths of the soul. To add to this aphorism would seem to me a most irreverent act, so I'll silently exit and allow the hush of its profundity to wash over the gentle reader...
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Listening Through The Ears Of Another
A curious thought has presented itself to me today after reading a fabulous post by Jeremy Abel. I read Jabel's (for that's what I call him) Mood Music yesterday just a half-hour after completing my own post that chronicled my previous twenty-four hours' worth of listening. I scanned his list and had a number of reactions. There were some works in his selections I didn't recognize, and was able to pass over quite easily. A few of his choices left me with serious feelings of disagreeableness, while still others resulted in my experiencing a palpable excitement as they recalled certain memories and affection. Having a day to think about it all, though, has brought screaming back to my mind an issue I'd faced many times in the arena of personal struggle, but always squelched before allowing it to be presented to others. Today, though, I think I'll let it go and see if I'm alone in hosting this strange sensation.
What I'm about to unveil is a hideous, dangerous beast, so gentle readers beware. This creature has for me remained unnamed because I can't think of a way to describe it, really, let alone tag it with some title. Okay, enough of that, I'll unleash my odd phenomena and let you decide for yourself what should be done to me.
It's strange, really, but I think I shall begin by suggesting a few scenarios in which I've sighted (or at least sensed the presence) of the monster. I've on more than one occasion acquired a new album that rocked my world and made me feel like all other music was, at least for the moment, rendered obsolete, and determined someone else should hear it immediately. I then have played it for the friend, or family member, or whoever happened to stumble past, only to have them begin talking about something altogether unrelated to the work just a matter of seconds after it began. The beast roared, and I felt anger, aggravation and disgust. How could they? I mean, this same music stopped me in my tracks to where moving past it would have required a lot of effort...which I'm not certain I could do. But the ones I played it for treated it with the utmost disdain. On other occasions similar things have happened, such as the listener walks out of the room, takes a phone call, puts in a different piece of music, etc. Terrible, huh? Actually, that's only half the battle, and not the worst part by far. More hideous than the shock of others not being nearly as impressed with the music I brought to them is my own lame inattention when others play music for me! I've tried to conquer this by attempting to find in the tune, or album, just exactly what created the attraction for them in the first place. This has helped immensely, but at times the effort is mightily laborious.
As I expose these feeling to you who read these lines, I sense an absolute inadequacy to get my point across. I'm only barely getting presented the frustration on the one hand, and the shame on the other. I've tried to prepare myself for both maddening events prior to facing them by silently anticipating my reactions, and deciding to act out the way I see as best. A mask over my true feelings, at best, though, is all I can accomplish. You see, what I think I want others to do is recognize that if I've taken the time and put forth the effort to introduce them to a work, I've only done so because I care for them on some level, and want them to experience the same euphoria I have at listening to it. Use it as a launching pad for a conversation, and find out why it means something to me. But when I'm the one being forced to hear a tune that I don't immediately fall in love with I have trouble focusing on what I'm hearing. You'd think in the former instances I'd be more understanding of others disinterest, and in the latter I'd be more appreciative of what I'm being asked to listen to. But, I must sadly admit, my two-headed monster gets the best of me more than I care to admit.
Strange, right? Well, here's the bombshell: I notice this mostly with my kids, and it spills over into other matters besides music. Many times my boys have wanted to read me a line, a page, or an entire book, and because the work is all too familiar to me or my interest level is low, I've only paid them a minimal attention. Several stories have been told to me by them in which (to me) inconsequential details were given extremely to much space, and I've found myself wishing they'd hurry. It also happens with video games, especially the ones I have difficulty appreciating (read: anything but NBA Live, Madden, or NCAA Football).
In my defense, though weak, I've slowly learned to force myself to become engrossed in every story, book, song, game, and conversation I'm presented with. I'm finding that the more I allow this temporary immersion in others' fascinations, the more lenient and tolerant I become of others when they don't get involved emotionally with mine. I almost feel a sadness for them because I know they must be fighting some rather nasty beasts while acting so disinterested. Or are they? Perhaps I'm the only one, and there's a clinical explanation for my madness. Even so, I'm determined to get as much as I can from every interaction, from my kids on to everyone else, and I sense I may someday find a complete understanding of my bafflement.
What I'm about to unveil is a hideous, dangerous beast, so gentle readers beware. This creature has for me remained unnamed because I can't think of a way to describe it, really, let alone tag it with some title. Okay, enough of that, I'll unleash my odd phenomena and let you decide for yourself what should be done to me.
It's strange, really, but I think I shall begin by suggesting a few scenarios in which I've sighted (or at least sensed the presence) of the monster. I've on more than one occasion acquired a new album that rocked my world and made me feel like all other music was, at least for the moment, rendered obsolete, and determined someone else should hear it immediately. I then have played it for the friend, or family member, or whoever happened to stumble past, only to have them begin talking about something altogether unrelated to the work just a matter of seconds after it began. The beast roared, and I felt anger, aggravation and disgust. How could they? I mean, this same music stopped me in my tracks to where moving past it would have required a lot of effort...which I'm not certain I could do. But the ones I played it for treated it with the utmost disdain. On other occasions similar things have happened, such as the listener walks out of the room, takes a phone call, puts in a different piece of music, etc. Terrible, huh? Actually, that's only half the battle, and not the worst part by far. More hideous than the shock of others not being nearly as impressed with the music I brought to them is my own lame inattention when others play music for me! I've tried to conquer this by attempting to find in the tune, or album, just exactly what created the attraction for them in the first place. This has helped immensely, but at times the effort is mightily laborious.
As I expose these feeling to you who read these lines, I sense an absolute inadequacy to get my point across. I'm only barely getting presented the frustration on the one hand, and the shame on the other. I've tried to prepare myself for both maddening events prior to facing them by silently anticipating my reactions, and deciding to act out the way I see as best. A mask over my true feelings, at best, though, is all I can accomplish. You see, what I think I want others to do is recognize that if I've taken the time and put forth the effort to introduce them to a work, I've only done so because I care for them on some level, and want them to experience the same euphoria I have at listening to it. Use it as a launching pad for a conversation, and find out why it means something to me. But when I'm the one being forced to hear a tune that I don't immediately fall in love with I have trouble focusing on what I'm hearing. You'd think in the former instances I'd be more understanding of others disinterest, and in the latter I'd be more appreciative of what I'm being asked to listen to. But, I must sadly admit, my two-headed monster gets the best of me more than I care to admit.
Strange, right? Well, here's the bombshell: I notice this mostly with my kids, and it spills over into other matters besides music. Many times my boys have wanted to read me a line, a page, or an entire book, and because the work is all too familiar to me or my interest level is low, I've only paid them a minimal attention. Several stories have been told to me by them in which (to me) inconsequential details were given extremely to much space, and I've found myself wishing they'd hurry. It also happens with video games, especially the ones I have difficulty appreciating (read: anything but NBA Live, Madden, or NCAA Football).
In my defense, though weak, I've slowly learned to force myself to become engrossed in every story, book, song, game, and conversation I'm presented with. I'm finding that the more I allow this temporary immersion in others' fascinations, the more lenient and tolerant I become of others when they don't get involved emotionally with mine. I almost feel a sadness for them because I know they must be fighting some rather nasty beasts while acting so disinterested. Or are they? Perhaps I'm the only one, and there's a clinical explanation for my madness. Even so, I'm determined to get as much as I can from every interaction, from my kids on to everyone else, and I sense I may someday find a complete understanding of my bafflement.
One Stop Shop
Several years ago my grandpa Weddle told me of a fascinating website that I swear I've used more than any other since being introduced to it. If anyone knows of a comparable site, I'd love to compare.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Music Log 10-21-05
Music is a daily trip into an enchanted forest which, if I navigate the right paths, provides just the funk I need to traverse the highways and by-ways of life. Today has been another day in which I meandered down several different paths, and at the close of it all I'm looking back on my choices with much satisfaction.
I started late last night with System Of A Down shuffled on my DJ and continued through the morning and afternoon thus. The phrenetic pace and apparent thoughtless lyrics served my mood quite well. From Jet Pilot and its' insane line "Wired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilot, one that smiled when he flew over the bay...", to the snicker near the end of DDevil, and on through the thought provoking Aerials, the progression of the varying tunes and truths is fascinating. I'll admit, SOAD isn't for the faint of heart, but for those willing to "lose small mind" it's a journey well worth taking.
Midway through the day I launched my first Christmas tunes of the year for some pre-season warm-ups. (Hey, they have pre-season in the NBA, NFL, MLB and even pre-K for 4-5 year olds headin' to big kids' school, so why not one for Christmas?) I usually start on October 1, so I'm a bit behind this year, but I can't say I've missed it. That's not to say I like Christmas music less, it's just that I've had other things to entertain me, like the Howie Day album Stop All The World Now. Damn! That's a real treat to listen to, and is soul-gripping at times.
I got to drive a bit with my yahoo's and we jammed a bit to Avalon's eponymous 1st album, on which my oldest son, Boston, digs Give It Up. I hadn't heard this one for a while (I've listened to some of their newer stuff recently, but not this one) so I enjoyed revisiting a staple from days gone by. This Love was the first song of theirs I remember hearing, and the record The Greatest Story is a terrific one to say the least.
But as I've started wrapping up my day in my mobile office (location top secret), I've been soothed by channel 60 on Sirius Satellite Radio. Its name is New Country and used to be number 31 (which sounds a lot sexier than 60, but I digress), and lives up to that moniker. As I type this I'm hearing Keith Urban sing You'll Think Of Me and am about ready to get the boots out of the closet. Okay, I don't have any boots, or a big belt buckle, or a four-wheel drive truck, but I do like KU anyway. I've been serenaded by Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, Toby Keith, Alan Jackson, Rascal Flatts and others, and my day is now complete.
Well, that does it for today's musical gallivanting so I'll fade out with my revelling for now... Peace.
I started late last night with System Of A Down shuffled on my DJ and continued through the morning and afternoon thus. The phrenetic pace and apparent thoughtless lyrics served my mood quite well. From Jet Pilot and its' insane line "Wired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilot, one that smiled when he flew over the bay...", to the snicker near the end of DDevil, and on through the thought provoking Aerials, the progression of the varying tunes and truths is fascinating. I'll admit, SOAD isn't for the faint of heart, but for those willing to "lose small mind" it's a journey well worth taking.
Midway through the day I launched my first Christmas tunes of the year for some pre-season warm-ups. (Hey, they have pre-season in the NBA, NFL, MLB and even pre-K for 4-5 year olds headin' to big kids' school, so why not one for Christmas?) I usually start on October 1, so I'm a bit behind this year, but I can't say I've missed it. That's not to say I like Christmas music less, it's just that I've had other things to entertain me, like the Howie Day album Stop All The World Now. Damn! That's a real treat to listen to, and is soul-gripping at times.
I got to drive a bit with my yahoo's and we jammed a bit to Avalon's eponymous 1st album, on which my oldest son, Boston, digs Give It Up. I hadn't heard this one for a while (I've listened to some of their newer stuff recently, but not this one) so I enjoyed revisiting a staple from days gone by. This Love was the first song of theirs I remember hearing, and the record The Greatest Story is a terrific one to say the least.
But as I've started wrapping up my day in my mobile office (location top secret), I've been soothed by channel 60 on Sirius Satellite Radio. Its name is New Country and used to be number 31 (which sounds a lot sexier than 60, but I digress), and lives up to that moniker. As I type this I'm hearing Keith Urban sing You'll Think Of Me and am about ready to get the boots out of the closet. Okay, I don't have any boots, or a big belt buckle, or a four-wheel drive truck, but I do like KU anyway. I've been serenaded by Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, Toby Keith, Alan Jackson, Rascal Flatts and others, and my day is now complete.
Well, that does it for today's musical gallivanting so I'll fade out with my revelling for now... Peace.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
A Snazzy Wilma Pic
I saw this today on my news site and thought it was cool enough to post. It is credited to Daniel Aguilar/ Reuters. Pictures like this speak to me of how often there is such fascinating beauty in the disastrous.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Froggetmenots Are Fowlers, Too!
I am frog...or phrog...or frogg. I didn't choose the tag, I was chosen when the marriage of my mother (who named me Jeremy) and a goofy song by Three Dog Night (Joy To The World) took place, and the herd I grew up in began the pesky refrain, "Jeremiah was a bullfrog, Was a good friend of mine, I never understood a single word he said, But I helped him-a drink his wine, And he always had some mighty fine wine, Singin'...". Did I say a "marriage"? Pardon me, forsooth 'twas merely a one-night stand, the result of a drunken tryst somewhere on the floor of some psychadelic '70s shag-house. But, married or not, frog was spawned!
But I digress. I have created this space on your screen to allow the warped, tangled and altogether unpredictable thoughts that stain the warp and woof of my brain a violent egress. For my serious, work-related rantings you'll need to visit my "professional" blog at jeremyweddlerealestate.blogspot.com/ or surf out to my personal website at jeremyweddle.com The real me, however, will stay right herre in cargo shorts, earrings, a Green Day t-shirt, flip-flops, and a slightly askew(bless you!) baseball cap, shaking his head at his alter ego in business attire, awaiting the opportunity to scream his desire to not be an "American Idiot".
Man is a mixture of components intended to be continuously stirred lest the product be scorched. There are many ingredients, the most popular being called Spirituality, Intellect, Physicality, and Emotion. I use the word "intended" because my personal belief is in our placement here by an intelligent Creator, who I recognize as God. I'm Christian, not Christ, and therefore see no reason to focus my life on a "What Would Jesus Do" mantra. Rather, I aim to be myself and live life recognizing that Christ is too profound to be copied, and simply tip my hat to Him as Lord of this Dance called life. I say "mixture", though, because we are not "only Spiritual", or "only Intellect, Physicality, Emotion" or any other one thing. I think a life of balance is not only where I'll be happiest, but where I'll be most pleasant to those I encounter. If I'm too sharply focused on being a spiritual being, I'll become encrusted with pride, hardened with insincerity, blackened with hypocrisy, and burned with a torpid formality. And the same distasteful result would be produced if I emphasize any other one area of life. Therefore, I wish to be employed in a continual task of creating balance while giving more than a passing glance at each of the parts of me that makes me a complete being. I aim to allow myself to be immersed in the moment, and take in all I can while engaging in each activity. When I'm working, may everything else be just a step behind my occupational endeavors. When I'm interacting with others, may my attention be given to them and not attempting to collate events and ideas in each of the other genres of my lifesong. As J.G. Friedrich von Schiller advanced it, those who temporarily set aside other matters to hone in on the one at hand "gain in depth what they are permitted to lose in extension". But I hope to grasp the importance of that loss of extension being an impermanent event, and one that'll be replaced with a full recovery of breadth upon completion of the dive.
And squirreling from the serious to the silly (props to you, Billy Jowers), I'll wrap it up with a note to myself on why this blog is called "Froggetmenots Are Fowlers, Too!" It's about as bad as Toby Keith's Iraq-war induced pun Shock'n Y'All (read: Shock And Awe), and maybe worse. Here it is in a classic run-on sentence: I am not dyslexic but sometimes I act like it to make a funny and since I'm called frog I thought I'd make a blog that afforded me a place to keep my thoughts together so I wouldn't forget them so I associated Forget-Me-Nots with the eponymous "Froggetmenots" for the purpose of remembering, and since Forget-Me-Nots are flowers I had to further my normally-not-dyslexic way of speech by suggesting Froggetmenots are fowlers (which hunt birds) as these sayings are how I keep my musings from flying away, Oh glory!
But I digress. I have created this space on your screen to allow the warped, tangled and altogether unpredictable thoughts that stain the warp and woof of my brain a violent egress. For my serious, work-related rantings you'll need to visit my "professional" blog at jeremyweddlerealestate.blogspot.com/ or surf out to my personal website at jeremyweddle.com The real me, however, will stay right herre in cargo shorts, earrings, a Green Day t-shirt, flip-flops, and a slightly askew(bless you!) baseball cap, shaking his head at his alter ego in business attire, awaiting the opportunity to scream his desire to not be an "American Idiot".
Man is a mixture of components intended to be continuously stirred lest the product be scorched. There are many ingredients, the most popular being called Spirituality, Intellect, Physicality, and Emotion. I use the word "intended" because my personal belief is in our placement here by an intelligent Creator, who I recognize as God. I'm Christian, not Christ, and therefore see no reason to focus my life on a "What Would Jesus Do" mantra. Rather, I aim to be myself and live life recognizing that Christ is too profound to be copied, and simply tip my hat to Him as Lord of this Dance called life. I say "mixture", though, because we are not "only Spiritual", or "only Intellect, Physicality, Emotion" or any other one thing. I think a life of balance is not only where I'll be happiest, but where I'll be most pleasant to those I encounter. If I'm too sharply focused on being a spiritual being, I'll become encrusted with pride, hardened with insincerity, blackened with hypocrisy, and burned with a torpid formality. And the same distasteful result would be produced if I emphasize any other one area of life. Therefore, I wish to be employed in a continual task of creating balance while giving more than a passing glance at each of the parts of me that makes me a complete being. I aim to allow myself to be immersed in the moment, and take in all I can while engaging in each activity. When I'm working, may everything else be just a step behind my occupational endeavors. When I'm interacting with others, may my attention be given to them and not attempting to collate events and ideas in each of the other genres of my lifesong. As J.G. Friedrich von Schiller advanced it, those who temporarily set aside other matters to hone in on the one at hand "gain in depth what they are permitted to lose in extension". But I hope to grasp the importance of that loss of extension being an impermanent event, and one that'll be replaced with a full recovery of breadth upon completion of the dive.
And squirreling from the serious to the silly (props to you, Billy Jowers), I'll wrap it up with a note to myself on why this blog is called "Froggetmenots Are Fowlers, Too!" It's about as bad as Toby Keith's Iraq-war induced pun Shock'n Y'All (read: Shock And Awe), and maybe worse. Here it is in a classic run-on sentence: I am not dyslexic but sometimes I act like it to make a funny and since I'm called frog I thought I'd make a blog that afforded me a place to keep my thoughts together so I wouldn't forget them so I associated Forget-Me-Nots with the eponymous "Froggetmenots" for the purpose of remembering, and since Forget-Me-Nots are flowers I had to further my normally-not-dyslexic way of speech by suggesting Froggetmenots are fowlers (which hunt birds) as these sayings are how I keep my musings from flying away, Oh glory!
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