Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag or Happy Birthday - How cool to receive such a greeting and......

Good Morning, all! 

(Be sure you read all the way down; you know I get wordy, but words and writers go together kinda', sorta' right? There are also some nice pics I think you will enjoy.)

Well, it's that day. Yes, it's that day. The day. Oh, yes. The birthday. Thanks to all who have sent such kind, gracious and loving greetings and well wishes, virtual and cards in hand. As you see in the title of this post, birthday wishes have come from near and far. I love this! The rich diversity that friends and family and acquaintances bring and offer is a virtual banquet of words with so many nuances of flavor, texture, form and function. Bring it on! "Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag" alone is a linguistic feast. Thanks to my FB friend aus Deutschland!

A sentiment, poignant indeed:

"I was born when I was very young." I got that somewhere and just had to include it. That's about it although it is true. 

A narrative I offer with regard to my presence on this planet - Here 'tis: 

     My sister Sandy and I had numerous conversations during her final years, and she brought me up to speed on a number of events. One of my favorites is when Mom found out she was expecting another bundle of joy - well, that would be me. I suppose (counting back) that it was near the end of November, 1958 when she learned that she was about to have her fourth child; she was thirty-six years old. Mom and Dad had the first set of kids in the early 1940's, and the second set in the late 1950's. I wasn't planned, at least not by Mom and Dad; God had other ideas. I like to refer to myself as an "oops" baby. No wonder I like the unexpected. 

Mom and Dad 1944 - yes, long before me.

Back to Sandy...when Mom found out, she was very upset and angry and specifically with Dad. Hmmm........wonder why. Sandy said Mom just hauled off and hit Dad; Mom could pack a hefty punch, so I don't doubt this at all. Maybe that exertion had an impact on me as well. No idea - no matter. I'm so glad I had such great parents. Being older, I understand them much better. Both are deceased as is my sister. But, at 58 (in a few hours), I do understand more of the reasons for the variety of experiences, both positive and negative, and appreciate Mom and Dad (Bill and Dora Ruth) much more. 

A moment having to do with cake....

One birthday event I'll share with you goes back to the mid 1960's. Mom was going through a very dark period due to depression and anxiety. Dad was in Korea, working as an ammunition inspector with the Civil Service i.e., TDY. I was about six or seven. It was my birthday, but Mom was not able to do the birthday stuff. A neighbor, Caroline,  about four houses down, was going to bake a cake for my birthday. Mom must have called her so that I would have a cake and a party with neighborhood kids. Mom told me to take the cake mix over to Caroline's; it was a Jiffy mix (familiar?). I dutifully took it and I had my birthday moment that year. In years to come, I was resentful, even angry that I had to carry my own cake mix to a neighbor so I would have a cake. Well, life's lessons have changed that perspective. Mom made the effort, difficult as it was, to call Caroline. Mom had a cake mix on hand. She didn't expect Caroline to provide that. We had a great neighbor. I had a cake. Mom saw to it the best way she could. She took care of my birthday. It didn't have to follow some rule book for birthdays. Mom made it happen - she put me first. 

Often, love does exactly what we need it to do 

even when we might not be aware that it is love at work.

Thanks, Mom and Dad

Mom and Dad - 50th Anniversary, 1991

So, at this point today - which has felt like Christmas morning - I have arranged white roses in a wonderful, silver Victorian vase,  posted on FB and responded to many very kind messages. I made homemade muesli (to die for), have had more cups of coffee than I care to say because I don't recall. 

Then, I picked fresh figs. In the backyard, there are two fig trees. Every year, I am "gob-smacked" to go out and find these luscious, beautifully wrapped bursts of flavor hanging from the branches. Figs often hide behind their leaves, so it's a must to inspect carefully. For days now, there have been very few ripe figs, hardly any. 

Well, today, like a Christmas morning right before Mom and Dad open the door for us kids to run in for presents, I opened the back door to find a bounty of figs - God's birthday gift I do believe. How amazing. Special. Grace filled. Awe filled. I have found multiple luscious, beautifully wrapped bursts of flavorful words from friends and family. How amazing. Special. Grace filled. Awe filled. 

Thanks - filled. 

So, let's see where this anniversary leads. What adventures are ahead today and in the year to come? It's a good thing to be getting older. Often it takes a mirror or just a movement (like standing up) to remind me that I am getting older. Who is that guy with the silvery white hair looking back at me? Oh, it's me. Cool. 

Thanks everyone! Please join/follow my blog-we'll call it a birthday gift or an early Christmas present or just joining the blog. :) Whew! Thank God for medication and coffee. :)

Yep, the right mirror. 

Ah, there I am. Found the right mirror!!!   

We've come a long, gay way, but the road still has some of the same old rocks in it. Yep.

Back in the 1980's, coming out of the proverbial closet and identifying as gay was a challenge indeed. Some of us decided to stay in the closet; some blasted through the closet door without even opening it first; some peeked through a slight crack in the door first and then ventured out - ever so cautiously. Some of us didn't know we were in a closet. I didn't.

You know, older homes (I mean truly old homes.) had few to no closets. My Grandmother's home had one closet in the whole house. It might have been added later though. At one time, closets were considered a room, and the more rooms you had, the more tax you had to pay. So, let's not have closets. Instead, the wardrobe was the harbinger of clothing at the time. So, is it possible that a gay person was in the wardrobe? That brings so many possible themes to mind, but I shall resist the temptation, for now, to engage those themes, yummy as they may be.

So, what is my point? Ah, yes! Having come out of the closet in the mid-1980's or should I say, having been pulled out of the closet, I knew little of what may be ahead of me. Quite innocent at the time, well - naive, or just ignorant (maybe stupid?), I determined that assuming this element of my identity was just fine. Fortunately, I had parents who refused to be judgmental of the differences among people, regardless. As a kid, when I asked for a doll as a Christmas present, Mom and Dad got me one. She had pretty blonde hair, kind of curly. So, I gave the doll a most striking butch hair cut. I suppose this being during the 1960's, it smacked of a flat top. Don't know.

As a result of my parents' neutrality about my "quirks," I saw no problem with integrating some stereotypical gay characteristics. I wasn't particularly successful with these traits, qualities, eccentricities. Trying to "flame on" came across more like a Bic lighter lacking enough fluid or a flint (some of you get that image :). This was the time  - back to the 80's - when wearing your collar up was a style statement. Being gay wasn't necessary to practice this fashionable trend, but it seemed to help. Well, my collar just wouldn't stay up.

I made it through those days with no tremendous trauma. Eventually, by virtue of sporting a gay emblem on my car, I would have the occasional word on my car's window - written in the morning dew (how poetic) such as "gay" or "fag." Okay, someone has their spelling down quite well. On one occasion, some guys in a car hurled insults and prejudicial names at me as I sat in my car behind them. It must have been the pink triangle emblem where a front license plate would go.

That was almost thirty years ago. Within the last year, after I finished teaching a class, several of my students stayed around as I packed my books and materials. Discussing age, I reminded them that I was indeed their age at one time; I had raven black hair, and was admittedly a guy who could turn a few heads. One of my students, a bright, fun loving bit of a rebel suggested that I must have had good luck with the ladies. I responded, "No, I don't play for that team." The students in the class responded to my statement, but the responses were positive and intriguing: "I wondered"; "I thought so"  - and that was about it. How cool! Neat! Dope! Dank! Lit! ...... nice?  I'm learning the lingo.

Up to this point is primarily back story to bring you to my point. Yes, we have come a long way on our path to be accepted and integrated into society at large, but some of the rocks (real and metaphorical) from forty years ago when I was yanked from the closet do litter the road. This came to mind within the last week. Some workers came to my home to remove some debris due to the storms back in late June. Upon meeting the first guy at the front door, we had a fun banter with each other as they were about to begin their work. I enjoy such engagement with others; some refer to it as just male BS, an unnecessary exchange of nonsense and useless information that is really more like a spitting contest or alpha male test. Maybe so. I must admit that in my experience such exchanges provide bonding that has unique qualities. So, all was going well. Then, my partner came to the door to see what the workers were about. He didn't say much; he was as pleased as I was to have this debris removed, and made that known.

My alpha male opponent, within one glance, seemed to have made an observation and a judgment. His entire demeanor changed. He became quiet, reserved and withdrawn. He remained so for the entire job. The two guys working were superb workers; they were efficient, thorough and professional. The yard looked great. Upon completion, I went out to thank them with the same approach as when we met at the door. The one gentleman's expression had not changed: guarded, stoic, reserved. I could be wrong. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he had received some bad news. I don't know. However, my senses know this dynamic. My heart and mind know this dynamic. It's hard to describe, but it did indeed cut me to the core; I hurt; I felt like the air of my soul had been punched out of me, leaving a scarred faggot at the center. No cheer here, queer.

Those rock remnants and even emerging rocks will likely litter my path until I eventually start my soul lift from this dusty plain. You all know the old saying about sticks and stones. Well, stones do hurt and words do hurt. With thanks to God, after one has walked such a rocky path for a number of years, feet do toughen up; rocks are more easily recognized; engaging the rocks is easier so they don't have quite the power they did; there are choices about just which rocks are worth stepping on or which ones should be stepped around. Maybe, just maybe, we might gather some rocks and create a different path altogether...it could happen. I'm sure of it.

Out of the closet, yes.
On the rocky road, yes.
Around the bend, yes.
Up the hill, yes.
Meet the rock, yes.
Suffer the rock, yes.
Bless the rock, yes.
Soul lifts from the rocks, yes.
Soul
lifts
from
the
rock.
Yes, yes, yes.

TATipton: Les mots sont formidable, n'est-ce pas?

TATipton: Les mots sont formidable, n'est-ce pas?: Hello all, What a delight to see additional followers. I should think it easier to follow if there is something to follow! Such bodes the...

Les mots sont formidable, n'est-ce pas?

Hello all,

What a delight to see additional followers. I should think it easier to follow if there is something to follow! Such bodes the need for additional commentary and possibly (probably) more awareness for others to know that this blog exists. Yet, such arbitrary word crafting is an inherent trait in many of us who write; I suggest quite a bit of writing is not an actual physical, tactile, kinesthetic activity, but a mental, emotional, even spiritual awareness that insists, usually, to be recorded, and not remain a member of an unspoken oral tradition. Is such even possible?

I continue to remind students how powerful words are. The choice of a word may take some time; there are just so damn many words! The connotation and denotation must be considered; will the word chosen have the impact I intend? One of my favorite phrases, not of my own creation, is "Intention often determines interpretation." I must agree. I suggest it follows that I have a choice with regard to my intention. Our social norms, specifically those connected with spoken language, provide rather poignant communication based on our intentions. The brevity of sentences, or the tone of voice, eye contact, rhythm, pace, context, timing; all (and more) provide meanings that may be quite subtle or blatantly obvious.

So, one might ask (we'll say one is asking) just why I should choose today to write again. It's simple. I am striving to secure a position at a local university, and if I say that I write a blog, it would likely be in my best interest to demonstrate that such is true. So, a few words on words today is my offering to you.

By the way, with the continuing evolution of our language i.e., e-mail messages, messaging, text messages and the other constructs, I find in some ways I am "old school"; such doesn't bother me. In fact, I find it a rather amusing tool when connecting with those who are forty years (or more) younger. Never did I think I would experience a generation gap, yet as I continue to grow into my age, I find that such gaps can and do occur. So, I may choose to fall in the gap, lacking the vocabulary to request assistance, or I may yell across the gap and ask for a few definitions and directions for using today's communication styles. So, with some regularity, I am instructed in the meanings and usage of words and sometimes the intentional lack of words. I'm amused and perplexed. My students? I suspect they are quite amused when an older guy attempts to speak their vernacular. Eventually, I may know when something is dank, dope or lit. Until then, I shall continue to observe these amazing young students, with every intention of perplexing them with my own sense of words. 

My Cell Phone Doesn't Recognize Me

My cell phone doesn't recognize me. Me! The guy who pays for its feeding each month...the guy who bought him the little leather jacket so he wouldn't fall and be smashed, cracked, broken, fragmented, in a mess, in a heap, no good, worthless, of no use. (No issues here.)

I tried the security app that allows face and voice recognition in order to unlock your phone, so as to provide added protection. I thought that was pretty nifty ("nifty" - from what dark pool did that arise all of a sudden?). Sorry, side bar - nifty makes me feel the need to wear plaid, dungarees, sneakers, eat peanut butter and jelly on white bread with a glass of whole milk, and call shotgun for the station wagon. [End Scene].

Okay, the phone who doesn't know his own Daddy - owner. So, I confirmed the app, allowed the phone to take my pic, and spoke the magic word for voice activation six times so it would understand me clearly. Okay, I spoke in French to the gadget, but it was to understand. It agreed it had. While on line in the grocery store, waiting to bless the running belt with groceries from the store's myriad of shelves, coolers, freezers, I held up my phone and looked at it. Immediately, I realized how odd I felt at the action itself: looking at my phone as if I were seeing it for the first time. This is a p-h-o-n-e - pa-hon-ee. No, fone (with a long o sound, silent e at the end); what's it for? You get the idea. It was foreign all of a sudden. In order to make my phone more secure, I handed it the power to recognize me in order to let me in to my own phone. Does this not seem ludicrous?

Staring at the phone, feeling fully stupid, noting how absurd this was, yet how normal this has become, I proceeded to unlock my phone.

The phone (I paraphrase): I DON'T RECOGNIZE YOU.

This has lead to an afternoon and evening of musings, ideas, doubts, a plethora a'plenty. So, more to come on this one. I'm not through with it for sure. Here's hoping my Blog recognizes me. Here's hoping I recognize me.

Timothy?

Ramping up to School Days! Set the table!

As tradition has it, academics and the classroom beckon at this time of year. Sounds like a holiday in such a "word frame". Yet, as an instructor, it is indeed a holiday of sorts. I begin to anticipate the possibilities this semester will bring. Too many times have I been asked if I get bored, teaching the same thing over and over. My definite and determined response is a resounding "No!" The material is boring if I choose for it to be, yet what defines the classroom experience for me is the incredible interaction with so many different people, students from every walk of life.

Imagine serving a meal to a group of thirty people. Maybe you have several vegetarians, a vegan, someone who is lactose intolerant, someone who has no clue as to protocol at a dinner: which fork do I use or when do I begin eating? Sure, that would be a bit more formal, but then so can a classroom when needed. For me, this dinner and teaching have similar dynamics: I have to know who is showing up, what they already know, what they do not know, how they learn, their past experiences with learning, how they interact with their host.

I could put a loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter and a jar of jelly (grape of course), and let that be it. This is it. This is the course content. It's up to you to eat the stuff or not. I'm just going to put it out there. If you don't choose to eat (learn the material), that's your problem. This metaphor could take many roads I think you will agree.

So, I look forward to my dinner guests. Yes, I'll tell students which fork to use as well as when we began using forks in Western culture even though America did not get the fork until later than Europe. Hopefully, my students will inform me well on what works for them, which foods they prefer. So, a new semester begins. Time to plan a number of dinner parties. Can't wait to meet my guests.

Here's to a great academic year! (No, you don't drink before everyone else during a moment of "Cheers". Use a semicolon for that. No, a comma won't do; it isn't strong enough to hold back that brewski. 

FIGS - yep, figs.......

     Figs. Yes, just figs. Growing up, the only figgish thing I knew of was a cookie that encased a rather thick, dark, sweet, paste-like substance. I found the odd scattering of white specks throughout this filling quite interesting, having no idea that these were seeds. So, my childhood relationship was limited with regard to figs. For years, the fig was to me like a butternut squash; it was there, but I had little interest in it. I'm confident that you are familiar and skilled with the proper response to things in which you have no investment.

A friend (figophile?) says, "Look! Aren't these figs just beautiful! Look! Here's the butternut squash that I grew from one little seed. Amazing. My, my, my."

Response: "Well...my, my.....yes, that's nice." Grin ever so subtly as you back away. (A faint chuckle or giggle is quite appropriate here, yet do feign sincerity.)

    When I moved into my home on Birmingham's Southside, near Avondale Park, I found that I had a fig tree right at the back of the house, growing directly up and out, embracing the stairs to my deck. It is presently over two stories tall and I imagine ten feet or more in width at its widest point. By looking at the base and the larger branches, I imagine it's a rather old fig tree. Although not initially, I began to become aware of its offering each year, a bounty of fresh figs. (Surely, these are organic.) Some years, I have been unable to keep up with the harvest; some years have been lean. All that stated, now I hail the fig as a wonder and quite a gift.

     The fig season doesn't last that long. I would say that for two to three weeks during the summer, I can plan on gathering a pound or more of figs every morning. There is nothing quite like walking right onto the deck and picking figs from the top branches and also walking through the grass - barefoot - and picking them from every branch possible. Sometimes, they don't all make it back into the house - breakfast, don't you know. Fig trees have large, tough leaves and the branches tend to be quite flexible so I can pull a tall branch down to me for picking these succulent, juicy chunks of sweetness. So, here are two observations which in turn provide two lessons. See what you think.

1. Figs can hide in plain sight. It is only by moving around the tree and looking at multiple angles as well as under the leaves that I discover more of them. Those affords a wonderful moment for having playful discussions with the figs (when alone), almost like playing hide and seek. Did I really tell you that? 
    Lesson: Searching for answers to problems becomes easier if one considers multiple perspectives. The pay off can be sweet.

2. Figs are a favorite food for birds and squirrels and other creatures I'm sure. (I keep hearing about snakes; well, they can have some figs as well.) You can typically tell who or what has eaten or worked on a fig. If there is a neat, but pronounced hole in the bottom of the fig, it's likely a bird.

If the fig has been mauled to death, and there is but a shattered bit hanging from its branch, reminiscent of some horror flick, I should think that a squirrel had his way with said fig. Either way, I don't use those, but I do pick them and throw them out into the yard, thinking I am throwing my fellow creatures "off the scent".

     Lesson: Know that others have the same goals, needs and desires as we do (Knowing how others go about achieving such is worth noting - squirrels for example).

I remind myself that people and these creatures need food as well, and I have yet to see a squirrel at the check-out counter at the local Piggly Wiggly. (Yes, these stores exist - not just in a movie) So, if they eat a few, that's fine. I make a point to leave a number of ripe figs on the tree so the furry and winged ones can do their shopping as well. Side note: I've become aware that there are raccoons in my backyard now and then, yet I don't know if the fig tree could support their weight, and they also make an audacious racket when around.

So, the larger lesson for me is to know when I have plenty, enough; I don't have to have it all. 
For me, this is applicable to so many parts of life. 

I hope to share a few photos with you of the fig tree and figs - once I take them :) MANY thanks to "Bayou Woman" for her incredible recipe for fig preserves. I had more figs than I knew what to do with, so twelve  jars of fig preserves were the result of that concern. Fun to make and I was able to use my Mom's big canner/water bath/canning thingy pot.  

Thanks for reading. I hope you will respond and please become a follower of my blog. Themes range from the ordinary to the not ordinary and possibly the strange. A stream of consciousness may be a still, quiet stream of water or a babbling (I do mean babbling) brook or possibly raucous rapids. I just never know. Until then...

Peace to you.
Timothy

Habit

Habit

Based on yesterday's comments about angst, I suppose that one's habits may well create angst or possibly angst created said habit. We choose quite a few behaviors, I think you will agree, in response to some situation whether from the past or present, we craft behaviors or thought patterns, beliefs and behaviors in order to cope. Why cope? Why should I cope? My suggestion is coping provides some degree of relief or sense of security. Coping may be a safe defense, one that avoids conflict. Coping may be settling for what is, not realizing or having the awareness of just how much power we have to change our own perceptions or even more efficacious, our responses. How much of ourselves are we willing to share, give away, keep? Again, habit is part of this discourse. Consider how and when and possibly from whom you learned habits? Often, we are not aware of them until some event or someone affords us awareness.

If this is how I have lived (whatever that may be), then this construct is familiar and in some respect, comfortable, resulting in a sense of security. Just knowing that one can count on something or someone, regardless how unhealthy or toxic such is, provides some sense of security. Awareness of our habits in terms of communication, interaction with others, beliefs, preferences, even fashion :) can create an epiphany, a catharsis in order to accept the current order of life or determine that changes are necessary.

So, why the word "habit"? Habits can be great - brushing your teeth is a good one. Eating well, exercising, maintaining appropriate boundaries with others, being authentic in word and deed. Your own lists reflect you. Detrimental habits were adequately engaged above; my primary suggestion there is to become aware. This takes stopping long enough (difficult in today's hyper-paced world and overload of stimuli, bombarding us constantly) and taking a good look. It may not be easy. It requires honesty to self and others. You will note that in the etymology link provided below that the word "habit" has quite an extensive chronology of meaning. A primary definition deals with the habit of a religious order, the distinct dress of an order. I rather like these visible habits whether of a nun, monk, friar, or other who has taken vows to observe certain behavioral habits as well. To see them affords me a sense of stability and a gracious bow to the past. Perception. What do you think?

Now, if I can just make the crafting of a daily blog a habit!
Wishing you a superb day, enjoying your best habits. (Please find below a link to an etymology page with most interesting information about the word of the day, habit!

Thanks!
Timothy
TATipton.blogspot.com

Etymology of "habit"

Angst

It's Friday morning. 
Again. 
This keeps happening. 

Friday morning - for me - tends to have a sense of decompression, that is...
until I realize it is indeed Friday morning, and I haven't completed the whole week's tasks or 
at least my predetermined, projected tasks (entirely too ambitious so as to insure the emotional quagmire I find myself navigating - well, trying to get out of) in order to measure up to the perfection I deem required. 

Such fuels angst (I simply love this word - angst - would you believe if you feel angst in the USA, you also feel angst in Germany - same word, same meaning...linguistic thing). I think I would rather feel angst than frustration or irritation or fear or good old self loathing. 

The word just smacks of vocabulary with a bit more posh, panache and polish. By the way, use a short vowel "a" like the sound one makes with tongue stuck out, and doctor's pop-sickle stick stuck into the recesses of the throat: say "Ahhhhh,,,,,,," - angst. Does such an effort for this specificity of pronunciation seem unnecessary just like referring to a grouping of furniture, a set, as a suite of furniture (pronounced "sweet") instead of our standard "suit" as that which refers to a coat and slacks or similar ensemble? 

May I suggest you try pronouncing words with some variety? Why?

1. Others notice and question your accuracy. 
2. Others notice and question their accuracy.
3. Others notice and wonder which country you are from and what your native language is.
4. Others notice and determine that you must think you are above them - in some way. 
5. Others notice and find it amusing. 
6. Others do not notice.
7. Others notice but do not know the meaning of the word in the first place.
8. Others notice, and feel sorry for you, "God bless him - he don't know no better." 

Elevating vocabulary - what a concept. I shall have to tell you the tale of a dear young lady who thought all she did for a living was "cut chicken"; however, upon closer scrutiny, she was quite the professional. Her language was elevated in addition to her sense of self and pride. More to come. 

Have a happy Friday, devoid of any angst whatsoever. 
TATipton

Hi all!

This seems almost redundant. However, this quick post is to let you know that my blog address has been updated (again) so that I can remember it as well as others. TATipton.blogspot.com

Hope you will visit often.
Thanks.

Timothy