What Would Jimmy Do?

Yesterday I mentioned being in Ethiopia and celebrating Meskel — a holiday in commemoration of the Finding of the True Cross. I thought the True Cross might be a good topic for today….

Meskal is an annual religious Ethiopian holiday among Orthodox Christian believers. It takes place near the end of September. In addition to its religious values, Meskel coincides with the end of the main rainy season and the onset of Ethiopian spring.

Meskal is also a time when many urbanites return to their villages. The villages celebrate Demera — a ceremonial burning of a large bonfire. The faithful paint their foreheads with the ash from the bonfire as a gesture of good will. The event is conducted on the eve of Meskel to recall the smoke that supposedly led Empress Helena to the site of the True Cross. Here’s the story as I understand it….

The True Cross, upon which Christ had been crucified, was thrown in a ditch and then covered with litter until Empress Helena, mother of Constantine, the first Christian Emperor of Rome, discovered the location of the three crosses that were believed to be used at the crucifixion of Jesus and the two thieves that were executed with Him. Empress Helena had a revelation in a dream to make a bonfire and the smoke would show her where the True Cross was buried. So she ordered the people to bring wood and make a huge pile. Frankincense was added to the pile and then lit. The smoke rose up into the sky and returned to the ground, exactly at the spot where the True Cross had been buried. 

The national feast of Demera is held at Miskel Square, a big square in Addis Ababa, every year in commemoration of Finding of the True Cross. The celebration dates back 1600 years….
Today, Meskel also marks the start of tourist season in Ethiopia — tourists from many countries converge on Ethiopia to enjoy the ceremonies during the Meskel celebrations. 
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I’ve always liked hot or spicy food. One of a number of places known for spicy food is Ethiopia. Years ago, I was TDY in Addis Ababa and as luck would have it, one of my good friends was assigned there and lived in a nice house along with his wife and little girl. While I was there, I had a number of meals with them. One dish that their cook made was one of my favorites. It consisted of a highly seasoned meat sauce made from mutton, beef, or chicken, spiced with the local hot pepper. The sauce was ladled onto a flat bread that was kind of like a spongy, flat pancake. Then the bread was rolled around the meat sauce, like what we call a “wrap.” You ate it like a sandwich. 

It turns out that I was there during the latter part of September when there is a big festival called Meskel — a holiday that is celebrated in commemoration of the Finding of the True Cross. Meskel means the cross in Amharic. 

But to finish my story, the mutton version of my favorite food is the favored dish for that annual festival  held near the end of September. 
My friend’s household help lived in a separate house behind my friend’s house and they had been feeding and raising a small lamb since the spring in anticipation of the holiday feast. It turns out that my friend’s daughter had become very fond of the lamb. 

On the day of the festival, the “servants” invited my friend and his family to dinner at their house. I was also invited. We had drinks and then there was a big ceremony in presenting the main dish — my favorite — made of lamb. Needless to say it devastated their little girl. The lamb had become a pet to her and she couldn’t believe anyone could eat it — especially her. I remember my friend trying to explain to the hosts why she was so upset — they were very gracious, but I’m sure they really didn’t get it.

I think this is a funny story, but it’s also a really sad story — I can imagine how that little girl felt. One of the cruel lessons of life we all have to learn growing up, I suppose…..
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I’m not sure why, but I thought of something today that I hadn’t thought about in a long time.
When we Lived in Manila, in the Philippines, it was almost like living in the United States. There  was the old part of Manila, that was more like you’d expect, but around the old section, it had become a very modern, clean, efficient Asian city. There were shopping centers with chrome and glass department stores and unlike a lot of our overseas posts, just about anything and everything was available. 

And — it was one of those places where Americans were genuinely liked.The Filipinos celebrated just about every American holiday and followed lots of “American” customs. The stores were always decorated for Christmas, they had Thanksgiving dinners, etc. 

Anyhow, the first year we were there, my boss had a six year old daughter and she wanted to go trick or treating on Halloween. My boss was out of town and he’d asked me to take his daughter trick or treating. They lived out in one of the “villages” in a suburb of Manila. So I went out after work and his daughter was dressed up like some kind of a creature — I don’t remember what — but it was probably from some movie or something and she had a couple of her friends with her, also dressed for trick or treating. We started down her street and knocked on the first door and no one answered. The next house had the porch light on — a good sign. So she knocked on the door. The door was opened by what looked to be a pretty old woman. She took one look, screamed, and slammed the door. We were all a little surprised and were just about to turn away and leave when the door opened again. The woman threw a large bucket of water on us — and, continued to scream. 
Just a word of warning — apparently Halloween isn’t celebrated in the Philippines. At least it wasn’t back then….
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I’ve talked about my favorite restaurants a few times on this blog over the years. Usually Claire and myself had similar opinions of the places we ate, and I recently came across a memento that reminded me of a particular night, long ago, at one of our favorite restaurants.

It was one night at Oscar’s. Oscar’s was an old-fashioned restaurant in an old house. It was almost hidden by palm trees near the edge of the water, in Monrovia, Liberia. We both thought the food was good, especially compared to the other African eateries in Monrovia. Claire’s only complaint was the giant cockroaches that often went trotting across the tabletops.

One particular night we were dining with a good friend, and his wife, that was assigned to Monrovia. We had a huge meal of very spicy curry and quite a lot of Heineken beer. Then our friends insisted that we have Oscar’s famous dessert. Turns out that their famous dessert was Crepes Suzette. Against my better judgement, we agreed, and all the wait staff seemed delighted — we were about to find out why….

Oscar’s “crepe master” arrived at our table wheeling a cart filled with crepe making paraphernalia and lots of liquor bottles. The “master” was an old Liberian — must have been at least 80 or 85 years old, but he was enthusiastic and very dressed up, wearing a coat with tails. He proceeded to heat the crepe pan over an open flame, poured the batter in and flipped the crepes like the chefs you see on TV. He went through the whole routine and put on quite a show…. but boy did he use a lot of booze. He poured in cognac, and more cognac, and then Grand Marnier, and then some more and then Cointreau. The sauce looked like a big bowl of soup, and most of it was some kind of alcohol. I think he probably added a couple more shots for good measure. But anyhow, he folded the crepes like blankets and poured the sauce (soup) over them and of course added some extra cognac on top. Then he ignited them like flaming volcanoes (that were swimming in moats of liquor.) 

Claire mentioned that if we ever went back to Oscars, she’d just order the crepes — she thought the alcohol fumes must have done the roaches in because we didn’t see any during dessert.
Claire used to make really good crepes, but she had to admit she couldn’t top Oscar’s…. and she could never have crepes without thinking of Oscar’s.
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Julius wasn’t the only famous Roman with the name Caesar .
Gaius Caesar was the emperor of Rome from A.D. 37 to 41.
He’s remembered as a vicious and cruel ruler, a sadist and someone that suffered from elusions of his own power and importance. And those were the nice things about him.

Gaius Caesar grew up in a military camp where his father’s soldiers nicknamed him “Caligula” — “Little Boots” for the child-size military boots he wore. His father, Germanicus, was a great Roman general and an adopted son of Emperor Tiberius. 
Germanicus’s military victories made him extremely popular with the Roman public. So popular, in fact, that Tiberius became jealous and had him killed. Later, Tiberius killed Caligula’s mother, Agrippina, and Caligula’s brothers.

Historians don’t know why, but Caligula was spared and went to live with Tiberius on the island of Capri. Eventually Caligula gained the confidence of Tiberius and when the emperor died, he named Caligula and his grandson joint heirs to the throne. But Caligula had no interest in sharing power, so he managed to get the Roman senate to declare Tiberius’s will invalid and to choose him as emperor. 

Everything started out good — for the first six months Caligula was a good ruler, but all that changed when he got sick with what was called at the time, “brain fever.” Speculation is that his sickness may have been an attack of encephalitis — a disease that can cause a marked character change and results in behavior similar to schizophrenia. Anyhow, after the illness, Caligula’s character changed completely — he became a vicious tyrant. Historians believe that he probably became insane.
His actions, after his sickness, included only things that a total wacko could think up. Like, murdering most of his family, declaring himself a god, making his horse a senator, emptying the Roman treasury, etc. 

Finally, the Roman people had enough and were ready to give “Little Boots” the boot. Caligula and his fourth wife were killed by the officers of his guard. He was succeeded as emperor by his uncle Claudius — a kinder, gentler emperor. Of course, Caligula had set the bar pretty low……
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A few days ago President Biden indicated that he was going to have a ”come to Jesus” meeting with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. When asked, Biden said that the expression “come to Jesus” was one that is commonly used in southern Delaware and that it means a “serious meeting.”

The phrase isn’t just common to southern Delaware — I think it’s pretty universal. I’ve heard it as long as I can remember and I grew up in Oklahoma. When I was young and my mother took me to the Baptist Church in Maysville, every church service ended with a “come to Jesus” moment. They always ended the service singing songs and the minister asking people accept Jesus and be “saved.” I think he was, in fact, asking them to “come to Jesus.”

I have a suspicion that the phrase originated from those kinds of religious services or activities — religions pushing for personal conversions to save their souls by turning away from the devil and coming to Jesus.

But today, the “religious” aspect of the phrase has gotten lost. People that say “we need to have a “come to Jesus” meeting are not just serious, but they’re really, really, really, serious. It’s meant to convey the importance of a meeting where some crisis is finally going to be addressed. 

I think it’s interesting that this phrase must have originated in the Christian community — I don’t ever remember hearing of a “come to Allah” meeting or “come to Buddha” meeting…..
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All my life I’ve heard about people that supposedly “spontaneously combust.” I always put that in the category of old wives tales, or more recently fake news. But I ran across something interesting a few days ago that “appears” to be true. It was an article about Jacqueline Prietman, a British woman, that constantly produces ten times the static electricity of a normal human being.

The lady, who ironically married an electrician before she knew about her strange condition, grew up with no more than the usual mild electromagnetic field that surrounds everyone. But when she turned 22 years old, she noticed that her mere touch would cause ordinary household appliances to short out and “fizzle.”When others used the same appliances, they worked normally. Apparently she could also change the channels on her TV by just going near it. Priestman had to buy at least 30 new vacuum cleaners in her married life, plus five irons and several washing machines.

She was studied by Michael Shallis, a former astrophysicist, at Oxford University. He said that she was actually able to transmit tiny bolts of “lightening” that could affect any electrical system nearby.
He couldn’t come up with an explanation for the phenomenon, but he did say that most similar cases he had investigated involved women.
After studying more than 600 people with Pressman’s condition, he wrote a book called The Electrical Connection. 

There is a name for people like Priestman. Because people with abnormal amounts of static electricity often cause streetlights to flicker when they pass by, scientists call the strange disorder Street Light Interference, or SLI. People with the condition are called SLI-ders or Sliders. (I’m not making this up.)
I guess people like this lend a whole new meaning to “getting a charge out of life.”
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We’ve had a couple of nice days lately and in the afternoons, I’ve spent some time reading on the patio. We live in a very nice housing development, or “village.” There are quite a few kids in the neighborhood. But while I was sitting out enjoying the great weather, It occurred to me that I didn’t see any of those kids. If fact, I almost never see any kids — occasionally, you’ll see one walking to the bus stop or maybe home from the bus stop. But you never see them outside playing.

I don’t remember the last time I saw any kid, or group of kids, playing outside. I’m not sure when this all happened, but I just noticed it. Of course you know where this is leading — some extensive research. I really was curious and I discovered it wasn’t just my imagination — kids really don’t seem to play outside much anymore.

Here’s some “facts” that I found interesting:
Only 6 percent of American children, ages 9-13, play outside unsupervised.
A 2004 survey found that 71 percent of American mothers said they played outdoors every day as children, but only 26 percent of them said their kids played outdoors daily.
A 2005 study indicated that 71 percent of adults reported that they walked or biked to school when they were children, but in 2005, only about 20 percent of children did. 

But my question remains…. why?
My guess is that fear may be maybe the most important reason. We obviously live in a more fearful society these days. Parents have a lot to worry about, some of the things are real, some are exaggerated, some are imagined — traffic, strangers, crime, bug bites, skin cancer, injuries, animals, etc. 
And a lot of kids don’t want to go outside — they’d rather watch the screen of their iPads, or TV, or some video game. 
A lot (most?) kids are raised in an overly structured lifestyle. They’re involved in sports teams, indoor play centers, and other extracurricular activities. And some schools seem to assign an excessive amount of homework.

Anyhow, I think it’s a shame — apparently parents have come to the conclusion that all these “threats”  are real and organized activities are better for their kids than the goof-around, footloose time I had when I was a kid.
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While going through some of our old books to donate to a book sale, I ran across one about Robert Louis Stevenson — it contained an interesting story about his short story The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. We all know that it’s a tale about a respected physician that transforms into a deranged and dangerous criminal. It turns out that Stevenson got the inspiration for his story that explored man’s darker side from a real-life, respected Scotsman by the name of William Brodie.

William Brodie was born into a prominent 18th century Edinburgh family and grew up as the model of respectability. He followed his father into the cabinetmaking profession, and by his mid-twenties had established himself as a part of the upper crust of Scottish society. He had also become the deacon of the local chapter of the Mason’s Guild and an Edinburgh city councilor.

But Brodie loved to gamble — and — he had ongoing relationships with two prostitutes. As one might expect, the gambling debts started to pile up and, when his two mistresses had offspring, he found himself in desperate straits. 
His legitimate day job of cabinetmaking allowed him to visit his rich clients in their homes. He started making wax impressions of the house keys he came across, and checking out the houses for items of interest — then, he’d return in the evenings to gather up the goods. His life of crime was a solution to his money worries, but he also like the thrill of it all.

Bodie teamed up with a locksmith by the name of George Smith and together they stole everything they could in Edinburgh. Unlike Bodie, who was elegant and cultured, Smith was a small time crook with just about no redeeming qualities. After a while, Bodie and Smith recruited two more local criminals into their gang that were pretty much copies of Smith. 

The gang’s most daring job — an attack on the headquarters of the Scottish Customs and Excise — was kind of a fiasco. Brodie dressed in black and stood guard outside with Smith as the other two made their way inside. Smith got cold feet and Brodie canceled the job. 
But the attempt didn’t sit well with the authorities and a large reward was offered for the capture of those who been so bold as to even try to seal from the Scottish taxpayer. One of the gang decided to turn King’s evidence. He told the authorities that the man behind the raid was the highly regarded Deacon William Brodie. The police didn’t believe him. But they dispatched a team to Brodie’s apartment, mainly so they could officially discount the preposterous suggestion that he could be involved in such a scheme.

But what they found substantiated the claim — skeleton keys, a burglar’s black suit, and several pistols were cataloged  and taken for further examination. Bodie himself, however, was nowhere to be found. He’d fled to Holland, with the intention to set sail for America. When he attempted to board the ship, wearing top hat and tails, he was apprehended by two Dutch police officers. They escorted him off the ship and extradited him back to Edinburgh to face charges. 
At his trial, he dressed in a three-piece suit and top hat. He answered questions with a “haughty carelessness.” He didn’t seem troubled at all by the fate that awaited him — death by hanging. 

He was found guilty and as he stood on the gallows that he (in his role as city councilor) had designed, he offered up a prayer and then beckoned for the hangman to perform his task. He breathed his last on October 1, 1788.
When I was in Edinburgh there was a pub named Deacon Brodie’s — it had been there a long time. I don’t know if it’s still there……
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I’ve always heard that the Titanic  was advertised as “unsinkable.” But I ran across an article the other day that indicated that the story of the ship that was billed as unsinkable going down on her maiden voyage isn’t exactly true. 

The White Star Line never advertised that the Titanic — or her sister ship Olympic — were unsinkable. They promoted the ships by claiming that the two ships were the “largest and finest steamers in the world.” Apparently the supposed advertising of the Titanic as unsinkable was the work of a reporter after the Titanic sank. I guess a story like that sold more newspapers…..
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