What Would Jimmy Do?

I remember back in 1999 and all the concern as to what would happen when the year 2000 arrived. There was widespread concern that computers wouldn’t work and people wouldn’t be able to get their money out of banks and maybe even civilization as we knew it would come crashing down. Of course none of that happened, but maybe it was the start of the conspiracy theories that are so popular today.

I read a book recently that mentioned similar happenings back in A.D. 999 when the clock was ticking down toward the new year of 1000. It seems that people throughout Europe were holding their collective breath. Everyone was wondering what the new year and millennium wold bring. Many thought it it would herald the Last Judgement and the End of the World, and pilgrims converged on Jerusalem where they thought the final battle between good and evil would take place.
According to the book, some of those pilgrims were thrown to their knees during the journey by a thunderstorm. They recorded the event for posterity, believing that the thunder was the voice of God announcing the Day of Judgement. 

In that same year — 999 — a meteor appeared in the skies above England, shining with a light so brilliant it turned night into day. That even caused a lot of doubters to become believers.
I guess the good thing is that nobody had to worry about their computer crashing….
— 30 —

This morning, as usual, one of the first things I did was make coffee. And every morning, just like most of you, I imagine, the first question of the day in my mind is — where did my morning coffee come from?
Well, ok, maybe that’s not the first question in your mind, but I’m going to tell you anyway.

The story starts a long, long time ago, in a land where there were no Starbucks… and stories about the origins of coffee became legends….
According to an ancient Ethiopian legend, a goat herder named Kaldi discovered coffee while in the pasture with his goats. When he saw that his goats were acting frisky after eating berries from a certain tree, he decided to experiment on himself. Kale liked the effect so much that he told the local monastery about it. The abbot who ran the place thought the “magic berries” were a work of the devil and threw them into the fire. The burning beans produced such a good smelling aroma that the monks rescued them from the flames. The monks began to use the beans in religious ceremonies and for medicinal purposes. 

The earliest written record of coffee was about A.D. 900 by anArab physician-philosopher named Rhazes. Rhazes thought that coffee (which he called “bunchum”) contained a substance that could cure disease. But you didn’t drink it — the berries were dried, crushed, and mixed with fat to form a ball that was eaten.

An Arabian legend is very much like the Ethiopian, except, of course, in this version of the story Kaldi is an Arab instead of an African. It contains the same frisky berry eating goats, and Kaldi trying some, too. But in this story, a tired and hungry learned man named Aucuba just happened to be passing by and saw Kaldi and his goats jumping around. Since he was hungry, he ate the berries and — miraculously — wasn’t tired any more. Aucuba was so impressed that he took some of the berries, sold them, and became a rich man. No one knows what happened to poor Kaldi — apparently he didn’t have any of that entrepreneurial spirit.

So, it turns out that coffee was originally used by the general public as medicine (some might say it still is.) Only religious Muslims used the bean in a beverage. But by the 13th century, Arabian coffee houses (called “qahveh khanchs”) served it as a drink to anyone who had the money to pay for it. A lot of Muslims were so upset at the public use of this “holy beverage” that they threatened death to anyone who frequented these dens of sin. But we all know what it’s like when you gotta have that cuppa java — the threat didn’t keep the café crowd away. And those coffee fans must have “spilled the beans,” because the word about coffee started to spread.

European travelers brought back the news of an unusual black beverage called “qahveh” (coffee.) By 1615 Italy was importing it. Its debut caused a commotion among the Italian clergy who thought  it was the “bitter invention of Satan.” Pope Clement VIII, however, eventually gave his papal approval.  Over the next 80 years, coffee drinking and coffeehouses spread from Italy to other parts of Europe. In 1690 the Dutch managed to smuggle a few plants to the Netherlands where the first European coffee cultivation began. That ended the Arabian monopoly on the coffee trade. 

In 1723 a sneaky guy named Gabriel Mathieu de Clieu stole a coffee plant from the Jardin des Plantes, a botanical garden in Paris, with the intention of bringing coffee to America. According to historic records, on the voyage, he encountered violent storms, pirate attacks, and a severe water shortage on board. It’s considered some kind of a miracle that both he and his plant survived the voyage. It was from this one plant that the growth of coffee spread through the New World. 

Coffee finally made its way to Brazil in 1727. Francisco de Melo Palheta, a Brazilian army lieutenant, was sent by his country to arbitrate a boundary dispute between French and Dutch Guiana. Both countries were cultivating coffee, but they weren’t allowing the export of seeds or seedlings. Palheta wanted his country to be part of the lucrative coffee trade, so he endeared himself to the wife of the governor of French Guiana. She was so impressed with how he handled the arbitration that on his departure she presented him with a bouquet. Hidden in the bouquet were coffee seeds and cuttings. Palheta brought them to Brazil, where they flourished, beginning the now well-known Brazilian coffee industry.

So now you don’t have to do all that wondering about coffee — in the morning, you’ll have time to just stop and smell the coffee. And may your coffee kick in before reality does……
— 30 —

During my working years, on several occasions, I was assigned projects in what was then considered “hard-core” Communist countries. We always went there with certain assumptions — the house or hotel room would be “bugged,” we would be followed, and we would have to be extra careful about breaking any “rules” that changed at least daily.

Years ago, two of us were assigned to one of these countries for a couple of months and we seemed to be handling it pretty well, except for the restaurants. To call them mediocre  would be a major compliment. I mentioned that to one of the clerks in our hotel and he became very excited and told be about a brand new restaurant that had just opened on the outskirts of town — he claimed that it had an “exotic” foreign menu. Well needless to say, both of us were very interested in checking out the new place to eat. I think it was the very next night that we decided to go there and after work, we went back to the hotel and got all cleaned up and put on clothes that would be appropriate for an “exotic” restaurant. We went through the lobby and the valet had pulled our car up to the front door for us. There were two or three guys hanging out in the lobby — I recognized them because they had been following us everywhere we went since we got there. I always waved and spoke to them, but they never acknowledged my friendliness. 

Anyway, we got in the car and started to the restaurant using the directions the hotel clerk had given us. My friend was driving and I was navigating. When we pulled out of the hotel driveway, a car fell in right in behind us — more of our friends that we were used to by now. We drove, with me directing, and I figured we had to be close to the restaurant, but the area we were in didn’t look like it would have any kind of a restaurant. So we stopped and asked a policeman and he sent us off in another direction and gave us landmarks to look for. We wound up in a complete dead end. We turned around and our friends following us also turned around and then pulled out from behind us, and took their place slightly ahead — my friend looked at me and I looked at him and I said, “follow that car.” And we did —directly to the restaurant. 

I don’t remember if the food was good or not, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t worth all the effort it took to get there. Our “guides” waited in the car while we ate. After the meal, we all headed for the hotel.
— 30 —

This is a story I’m sure Claire would remember very well — we talked about it a few times over the years.
When we were in Manila, Claire served as the finance officer for our office. Shortly after we had arrived, she requested a new typewriter — the one in her office looked like it was about fifty years old. Apparently whoever had the job before Claire didn’t type, because it looked like it had been doing nothing but gathering dust for a while.

The request for the new typewriter was made through the embassy, as was the common practice. For some reason the embassy decided to procure a typewriter locally, rather than via headquarters in Washington. They purchased a brand new typewriter locally — it looked like the IBM Selectrics that most everyone used back then, but it was not made in the US, or by IBM. I think it may have been made in France, but I’m not sure. 

But anyway, Claire was happy — for about a day. The new typewriter just didn’t seem to work… ½ spaces between letters, letters overlapping each other, and all sorts of problems. She complained and the boss told her to call a repairman. That proved to be easier said than done — it seems that no one was able to locate a typewriter repairman in all of the Philippines. Finally, I asked one of the Filipinos that worked in the warehouse to find a repairman. He said he knew someone and shortly, the typewriter repairman showed up. But — there was a small issue. The repairman didn’t speak any English and no one in the office knew more than a few words of Tagalog. So I called our guy from the warehouse, who acted as an interpreter. The repairman asked what the problem was and the ‘interpreter” explained it. He then asked Claire to show him what was happening. Claire sat down and started typing — after a couple of minutes, the repairman started yelling, and waving his arms and Claire Stopped typing. Our guy from the warehouse conferred with the repairman and then started laughing. The repairman had said that Claire was typing much too fast — the typewriter’s ball with the letters — couldn’t turn that fast. She just needed to slow down. Claire, by now none too happy, asked how “slow” should she type? The repairman demonstrated, and according to Claire, his typing would be considered “hunt and peck” at best.

When we told that story, Claire always said it was the first, and probably only, time she had ever been told to work slower.
— 30 —

I guess this falls into the category of believe it or don’t — but I think it’s true….
In 1985, Wilbur Snapp, the organist for minor league baseball’s Clearwater Phillies in Florida, played “Three Blind Mice” to protest a call made by umpire Keith O’Connor. The ump tossed him from the game.
— 30 —

Six months ago today Claire, and a huge part of me, died. I didn’t write what’s below for this blog, or even for anyone to read. I wrote it for myself. Someone told me sometimes it helps to write your feelings down. So far — it hasn’t. 

It’s just a fact of life that almost everyone will go through the loss of a loved one. When it happens — to someone else — people are sympathetic, but they don’t really understand. After a short time, they return to their lives and everything goes back to normal — for them.
But for us suffering the loss, things will never be the same again. Life won’t return to normal. Maybe there will be a new “normal,” but it won’t be the same, and reality sets in as we realize what that means for us.

Of course, you know that I’m talking about myself and my efforts to deal with the loss of Claire.
The first few weeks, I heard things like “try not to think about it,” “be strong,” “life must go on,” and other such words of “encouragement.” It’s normal to say things like that, but they don’t fix anything…. right now, the situation can’t be fixed.
Another group of people tried consoling me by suggesting that what had happened was “for the best,” or “it was a blessing,” or “she’s in a better place.” Of course it doesn’t seem like a blessing to me and I certainly don’t think she’s in a better place — she’s not here with me.

For a couple of months, people told me, “you are handling this so well” or “you are so strong.” The fact is that I was numb. Everything happened so fast and there was so much to do, that nothing felt real — I was convinced it all had to be a bad dream. So I kept busy and tried to comfort our kids and relatives, and to make sure they were ok.

But now that numbness has worn off and I’ve experienced a range of emotions and feelings that I didn’t even know existed. I’ve found myself getting worse — not better. I find every day a thousand times more difficult than they were at the time she died. 
Every day, I wonder what’s wrong with me — why am I not handling this better?  By now things should be getting better, but they seem to be falling apart. 
Someone said that grief is the cost of loving. I suppose that’s maybe true, but It’s certainly a high price to pay.

It seems like everyone has their own idea of how grief works — right now, I can tell you that I have no idea. I really can’t describe how I feel — I’m angry, sad, miserable, confused, befuddled, disoriented, reclusive, lonely, mindless, and I could go on and on — it seems like I go directly from one state into the next. I guess in a nutshell, it feels like I’m losing my mind. I’m constantly trying to accept something that is unacceptable. I find myself totally exhausted — I go to bed tired, don’t sleep well, and get up tired. All my energy is apparently being used up just trying to survive. 

While I do have short periods when I think I’m getting better, suddenly out of nowhere I get this overwhelming feeling of grief — it’s like I imagine a panic attack must feel…. I guess these are “grief attacks.” So far I’ve suffered through Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, her birthday, our anniversary, and our daughter and son’s birthdays, but sometimes just “things” bring on these attacks — her favorite TV program, a letter — still addressed to her, or even just seeing one of her good friends…..

Something that Claire used to say all the time — “it is what it is” — that’s true. I’m trying to make the most of what I have left. Right now, I’m not sure how I’m going to do that, but six months from today, I’m going to sit down and put my feelings on paper…. and then compare it to what I wrote today. Hopefully, my words then will reflect some amount of progress on my journey…..
— 30 —

When we lived in Manila, we were fortunate to have been able to make a few trips to Baguio — up in the mountains where the climate was temperate, even cold during the nights. Back in 1903, Baguio was made the Summer Capital of the Philippine Islands. As you may or may not know, the Philippine Islands became a territorial possession of the United States shortly after the Spanish-American War. Anyhow, shortly after Baguio was proclaimed  the Summer Capital, President Theodore Roosevelt reserved an area of 535 acres for military use in the area. This reservation was named Camp John Hay — in honor of John Milton Hay, the Secretary of State in President McKinley’s and Roosevelt’s administrations. 

When we lived in the Philippines, there was a very nice golf course at Camp John Hay. We usually stayed in Baguio — all the houses had fireplaces, and you needed them at night. On one of our trips, we had dinner one night at the Forrest House — It was an old house that was a restaurant. It still looked like a regular house… when you ate there you might be seated in the living room or maybe the dining room or even the hall. It made for kind of an intimate setting. Anyhow, the house was located on the edge of town and you had to go there the day before and tell them what you wanted for dinner, because they had to go shopping to get the food. We went out one afternoon to make reservations for dinner the following night. I knocked on the door and an old lady answered and took my order and asked how we liked our food prepared, etc. While I was talking to her, another guy came up and  followed the same routine and he ordered steak and wanted it well-done. The lady told him if he wanted his meat well done, he should order fondue and cook it himself, because she wouldn’t serve him steak well-done. He agreed and we both left. When I got in the car, I told Claire about the guy and fondue. She said fondue sounded like fun — maybe we should do that next time. 

It just happened that the next night we were seated in the same room with another table of four — one was the guy that ordered the fondue. Everyone seemed to be having a good time until suddenly Claire screamed, “your shirt’s on fire!” I looked up and sure enough the fondue guy had somehow managed to set his shirt on fire — and — hadn’t even noticed. Some of the staff came running and almost immediately put the fire out — it looked like it was the pocket on his shirt that somehow caught fire. Everyone finished their meal and didn’t seem to pay much attention to the big black hole in the guy’s shirt. 
Just another day in Baguio and a fitting way to end an enjoyable day of golf…..
— 30 —

A few days ago, I mention how our first dinner party, after we were married, didn’t turn out quite like we had planned. That brought to mind another dinner party that didn’t go exactly as planned….

We had just moved from our downtown apartment in Manila to a house in one of Manila’s suburbs. We had a “live-in” maid — her quarters were just off the kitchen. She did everything — cleaning, shopping, cooking, etc. 

Anyhow, shortly after we moved, a fairly high ranking official came to Manila to attend a conference. We invited him and several embassy people over for dinner. The night of the dinner party turned out to be Carmen’s (our maid) cousin’s birthday. Claire told her to go to the birthday party — she’d take care of dinner. Well, it turns out that Carmen prepared everything except the main dish before she left for the party and before our guests arrived. So Claire only had to do the main dish — I think it was a roast or something like that that didn’t need a lot of preparation. 

Carmen, being super efficient, like she always was, thoroughly cleaned the kitchen before she left. Shortly before our guests arrived, Claire put whatever finishing touches were necessary on the main dish and put it in the oven to cook slowly for a couple of hours. When everyone arrived, we sat in the living room having drinks and appetizers. When it was time for dinner, Claire and myself went into the kitchen to get food on the table in preparation for the meal. When we opened the oven door, there sat the roast — just like it was a couple hours before…. uncooked and cold. I checked and the stove was plugged in, there were no fuses (not circuit breakers) blown. Finally, Claire found the problem. Apparently when Carmen had thoroughly cleaned the stove before she left, she had turned on the timer and the oven was set to start cooking in a couple of hours. We went back in the living room and Claire explained what had happened and apologized profusely. Everyone (except us) thought it was funny. Everyone got in their cars and we went to a Chinese restaurant. I picked up the check — turned out to be one of the most embarrassing — and expensive — dinner parties we ever had.
— 30 —

I have to admit, these writings have been pretty boring recently — I imagine they have produced a yawn or two. Well, that got me to thinking…. why do people yawn anyway? And did you ever notice that yawning seems to be contagious? I think  it even has an official term — “contagious yawning.”

You may think that people yawn because they’re tired or bored, but the traditional medical explanation is that oxygen levels in their lungs are low. However, some of my extensive research on the subject discovered that babies yawn before they’re even born. They pick up the habit as early as 11 weeks after conception. If I’m not mistaken, babies don’t take in oxygen through their lungs and I don’t see how they’d get tired — they pretty much sleep all day. I’m not sure if they get bored or not….

It appears that the bottom line is that scientists don’t really understand why we yawn. I did find an interesting “study” though — it found that 55 percent of people will yawn within five minutes of seeing someone else do it. Sometimes just hearing, thinking or reading about a yawn is enough to make people unconsciously yawn themselves. 

Even though scientists don’t know exactly why, they have come up with a few theories.
One theory is that contagious yawning is more common among those who demonstrate a greater ability to understand and share other people’s feelings. I suppose that makes some amount of sense.

Dr. Gordon Gallup and his team at the University of Albany say that contagious yawning evolved as a way to “maintain group vigilance.” Gallup thinks yawning keeps our brains working at cool, efficient, and alert levels. So in the days of early man, contagious yawning helped raise the attentiveness and danger-detecting abilities of the whole group. I’m not too sure about that one….

Humans aren’t the only ones that yawn — foxes, sea lions, hippos, dogs and cats are some of the animals that do it. There are some studies that demonstrate some animals, like dogs and chimpanzees, may also suffer from contagious yawning. 

But it looks like yawning is here to stay… when I see someone yawn I always think of an old joke — A wife was talking to her husband and after a few minutes she said, I was talking to you and I saw you yawn 5 times — was I boring you? And the husband said, I wasn’t yawning, those were unsuccessful attempts to speak.
— 30 —

Claire was a good cook — I think she was a really good cook. But one of the first “dinner parties” we had after we were married, may have shaken her confidence a little. Actually, I don’t think anything ever shook her confidence, but this is a good memory and — I think — an interesting story. 

Since this was our first attempt at entertaining guests after we were married, Claire had prepared most everything ahead of time so she could spend time with our guests instead of being in the kitchen. I can’t remember what she served, but it was a dish that was served over rice. 

After the guests arrived, I served drinks to everyone and we all sat in the living room. Claire was heating everything in the kitchen in preparation for dinner. She had everything all set except to cook the rice. She put the rice in the pan, put it on the stove, turned on the burner and then poured herself a glass of wine and joined us in the living room. When she thought the rice had cooked long enough, she excused herself and went to the kitchen — but — it turns out that she had put the rice on the stove and turned on the burner, but the burner she turned on wasn’t the one the rice was sitting on. So she moved the rice, and turned on the burner, and poured herself another glass of wine. She came back in the living room and told the guests dinner would be ready in 20 minutes (I’m not sure about the time she actually said.) 

Well, 20 minutes later when she checked on the rice, she discovered that she had moved the rice and turned on the wrong burner again. I remember dinner being served a little later than planned that night, but by the time it was served, everyone had had enough drinks that no one seemed to mind.
— 30 —