C’mon, everyone, let’s

play more and work less! 

     You know, I really look forward to the annual holiday slow-down many businesses  start to experience at this time of year.  It’s chance to finally catch up with all the “I’ve been meaning to” projects.  So, that’s a good thing. 

     But, I notice as I get older (is it just me?), that the workforce in our country gets . . . lazier(?).  When I was a kid, everyone’s parents got off early on Christmas Eve and maybe New Year’s Eve, plus Christmas Day and New Year’s Day (or maybe just one, and not the other). 

     And the week in between?  Work went a cog or two slower than usual and people drank a pint or two more than usual.  Kids played with their new toys.  Emotions were harp strings.

     When did this all change?  Can someone fill me in?  We no longer have a holiday week.  We now have a holiday season.  It starts with Halloween and runs through January White Sales!  Kids now play with new toys (and emotions now run fragile) all year long.   

     To be completely honest, I must admit I can appreciate that we all need that vital first week of the new year to collect our business selves and put them back together. 

     It is, after all, a great week to just fall off the calendar while we do lots of Alka-Seltzer, cover whatever we can find of our heads with our pillows, gargle mouthwash, eat mints, brush teeth and take however many deep breaths our lungs will tolerate. 

     So, okay, let’s chalk up that first week of January as necessary recovery time, and a period to re-learn to change the last digit or two of the year we write on checks and memos.  Good.  We took care of that one.  Now that period from Halloween to Thanksgiving, and then again from Thanksgiving to Christmas, needs some adjustment.

     I mean why not just start with making Valentine’s Day a week-long lovefest that simply dissolves into a heavy-drinking St. Patrick’s Week and then just cruise through to Earth Day?  Hmmm, only one day for the Earth?  Oh, yeah, and take off your birthday too! 

     Seriously, folks, we’ve already got 4th of July and Labor Day, both of which started as a day (Labor Day even says Day!) and then –as if by a miracle– both suddenly (like POOF!) turned into whole weekends, and are now both settling into a full week each.  Maybe we should just close everything for the whole summer.  I mean schools do it!

     Oh well, at least as we head closer to that great White Sale week under all those new sheets and pillowcases, we can be excited about anticipating all the new Christmas clothes we can start wearing (if they’ll still fit!) when we finally drag our sorry selves back to the reality of some serious labor . . .  at least until Ground Hog’s Day.  Maybe that could spread out some?  Hmmm, Ground Hog’s Week.  Sounds good to me.  halalpiar                                                       # # #

See Nov 29th post (below) for New Year’s contest prize and rules – Then GO FOR IT!  Emails to Hal@TheWriterWorks.com with “SOUNDS OF THE SEASON” in the subject line.  # # #

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ONE thing about Christmas  

There is ONE thing about Christmas that thankfully always survives.  And that ONE thing always manages to rise above:

• the protests of close-minded “PC” worrywarts who cringe (and yes, panic) at the thought of anyone mentioning anything more specific than “Happy Holidays” for fear of insulting and upending the belief systems of non-Christians

• the life-threatening turmoil of struggling people and countries

• the out-of-touch, out-of-place over-the-top commercialization of a joyous and sacred religious celebration

• the self-inflicted emotional and physical stress that breeds in upsetting memories and unrealistic worries triggered by self-indulgences and self-inadequacies that accompany annual cultural periods of celebration of love and family

• the shakiest of world economies, national economies, state economies, county and town economies, company and organization economies, family and personal economies

That ONE thing I’m talking about is the ever-expanding collection of traditional Christmas Carols.  The traditional Christmas Carols that all of us have grown up with and sang and hummed (and memorized so many of) that thankfully find their way into our hearts year after year. 

The poorest of times, the saddest of times, the most disconcerting of times are all at once lifted in spirit each year by the music that the celebration of Christmas inspires. 

Well, not for everyone, you say?  Wrong!  For everyone, save those that lurk among and hide behind the evilest and blackest of terroristic souls. 

The impact in today’s world for many is that Christmas carols in all their splendor supercede even much of the sacredness they celebrate.  The music is respected and enjoyed in every corner of our world. 

Find me even one non-Christian who doesn’t know some of these tunes and refrains, and who fails to find reassurance in the messages of peace and love and joy that the marvelous songs convey.

Am I suggesting the music is so pure and the music is enough that we should take down the Santa Clauses, pull the light display plugs, and not exchange gifts?  Hmmmm.  Maybe not a bad idea.  After all, times are pretty tough. 

Let me snap you back to reality: If you are reading this, odds are at least a zillion to one that times are not so tough for you compared to those who are suffering pain and hunger right now.  

I AM suggesting that our traditional Christmas music can and does literally carry the holiday season, even for many less fortunate people.  The point is that it can and does. 

However the spirit moves you best

is the best way for you to move. 

But whatever you do for or about Christmas, let yourself SING OUT!  It’s as good for your soul and well-being as laughter is for your heart!   halalpiar

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See Nov 29th post (below) for New Year’s contest prize and rules – Then GO FOR IT!  Emails to Hal@TheWriterWorks.com with “SOUNDS OF THE SEASON” in the subject line.  # # #

Check out and contribute to the daily growing 7-Word Story started 91 days ago (inside a coffin).  Click on the link to the right, or go to the “BOOKS” tab at the top of this page, then to the top headline link.

Ting-a-ling-a-ling, crackle-

crackle, POP!, fizzle, HO-HO-

HO, bzzzzzzt, scrape-scrape,

clatter-chatter, ding-dong,

burp, chop-chop, snip-snip,

clink, ZzZzzZzzzz, CRASH!

     IF YOU CAN NAME 10 of the sources of today’s 15 Sounds of the Seasons (Above) and 5 of yesterday’s 10 Sounds of the Seasons (Below) . . . YOU’LL WIN your name in type as big and bold as my post headlines (your choice of colors) PLUS your picture AND an up-to-300-word message from you, posted right here on this site from 12 noon ET New Year’s Eve, 2008, to 12 noon ET New Year’s Day, 2009! 

     Just think, you can New Year’s party your brains out and then  –ZING!–  fling open your laptop and call everyone you know to see your 24 hours of Internet fame, and still have it be there when you sober up the next morning. 

     The perfect way to kick-off the bowl games, propose to your sweetheart (or maybe someone you meet New Year’s Eve!), initiate your first quarter sales program, publicize your Polar Bear Club winter swim schedule, or get your worry list ready for your annual January shrink visits! 

     Imagine the envy and jealousy you can create as your parting shot to 2008.  Think of the hope and positive vibes and well wishes you can send as your welcome message for 2009! 

     If you do a really good job of guessing the Sounds of the Season sources, or if you don’t guess right, but you do it creatively, I will also consider posting your bio (or resume if you’re job hunting — hey, y’never know!).     

     You heard me, even if you guess wrong but do it creatively, you could still win worldwide creative genius acclaim and notoriety, right here in blog city. 

     This site is visited regularly by thousands of people from more than 30 different countries.  We’re not just talking “hits” here; these are quality visitors who stay on this blog site an average of 15-30 minutes each . . . enough time to decide to interview you, hire you, marry you, or just send you cash!

     Here’s your chance to give a sales pitch for yourself, or your business or political or community or organizational cause for FREE. 

     No strings attached.  No one will make sales calls and your email address and name will be kept in a shoebox under my bed — no sales or rentals; no spam; no annoying anything.  That’s a promise. 

     Winners will be notified by email by December 27th, 2008.  I reserve the right to edit any submission for decency, good taste, and overall presentation. 

     GO FOR IT!  Emails to Hal@TheWriterWorks.com with “SOUNDS OF THE SEASON” in the subject line.  halalpiar    # # #

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Aaaargh, OOoooh, Umpf,

GlugGlug, Gurgle, Gobble,

FaLaLaLaLa, Hiccup, Yum,

STOP YELLING!   

     Well, a little digest-yesterday’s-turkey-soccer-game today with my son-in-law, my all-state soccer star nephew, my travel team soccer star grandson and my two soccer-player grandaughters reminded me about the notion of time slippage (funny, I would have sworn I was hitting my late teens before the game started as surely as I felt 95 by the time we finished –10 to 8 final score), and the need to eat less next year!

Have you ever seen a beaver wearing glasses? 

      As for sounds of the season, btw (thumb-basher-text-messaging-shorthand for “by the way”), by the way, I’m really not a bah-humbug guy; in fact, I LOVE Christmas, BUT I TRULY HATE Christmas music and commercials that start before Halloween, and that steamroller over Thanksgiving like it was Ground Hog’s Day. 

     What in the world makes retailers think they will make more money if they advertise earlier? Right-o, jolly-good, and all that.  Of course I’ll just dig deeper in my wallet and start pulling out all those sequestered thousand dollar bills to spend on gifts because all that wonderful, exilarating advertising is reaching me earlier this year!

     Oh, yeah, and all those blessed charitable moods that start to kick in about now . . . you know, the ones that are sabotaged by print, broadcast, online and direct mail requests for my hard-earned dollars that came by way of hard-working wage-earning needy neighbors right here in my community.   

     Well, la-de-dah, now I’m supposed to pile up those hard-earned dollars and kiss them goodbye (along with my needy neighbors!), and immediately wire my money half-way around the planet to such needy causes as the NFACLISSYBB (Nonprofit Foundation for the Astigmatic Correctional Lens Implants of Speckle-Spotted, Yellow-Bellied Beavers).

     Of course, with some tenacious googling, I might find that these poor, afflicted beavers are critically essential (like cones and cups are to ice cream) to nocturnal pigmies in the Outback who rely on them for nighttime navigation when the moon is not full . . . because numerous pigmies will undoubtedly wander about aimlessly through the night, midst crocodiles, snakes and wild boars without beaver beacons to guide them.  I mean have you ever seen a beaver wearing glasses or contact lenses?

     So present-wise, what’s a person to do?  Do you go for these needy charities and hope your relatives and friends will understand and appreciate the potential tax deduction possibilities? 

     OR, does one, for example, spring for the $400 electronic book reader as a potentially emancipating Christmas gift accompanied by expressions of your seasonal hopes and prayers for cousin Billy Bob (whose idea of a book is something he was told that the judge once threw at him when he was brought in on a DUI charge for riding a large senior citizen tricycle . . . yes, of course one with a tall antenna brandishing a bright orange pennant . . . for cutting across the 20-something lane plaza at the foot of the Driscoll Bridge on New Jersey’s infamous Garden State Parkway at morning rush hour when the 65 mph speed limit goes to 387 mph (350 mph if roads are wet!) OR, do you just get him the antique Arthur Godfrey ukulele he fawns over at the corner pawn shop?

     Such a quandary!  Oh, and to the sounds of the season list, add:

Y  I  K  E  S  !               

  halalpiar

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Well, it’s here: Thanksgiving,

and my 200th posting! 

     Now you not may think much of either of those milestones, but suffice it to say about the first of these that I do love turkey (except the species featured in yesterday’s post!), and about the second, that it’s like a baseball player reaching 200 career errors (because I’ve learned something from every post and miscue!).

     Actually, I never thought I’d find anything as challenging and rewarding at the same time as writing a daily blog.  It’s challenging because I rarely know where the inspiration is going to come from ’til I’m staring at the blank screen like a post-surgical labotomy patient.

     And the discipline involved?  I’d rather do push-ups.  The nightly time crunch and rapidly advancing bedtime with a take-out-the-dogs thing sandwiched in between doesn’t do much for my heart rate when all I’ve figured out is some dumb headline that I’ll inevitably scrap and redo anyway.

     I know, it’s welcome to the journalist’s world.  God bless ’em, I really admire the talented few writers who can pump out daily newspaper features that educate, inform and entertain . . . night after night. 

     Anyway, enough of me spamming your brain.  All I really want to say today is thank you. 

     My blog visitors have grown from a weekly count-on-one-hand number seven months ago, to a consistent few hundred-and-growing-steadily every single night. 

     People tell me they laugh and they learn.  Who could ask for more? 

     I am so grateful.  I appreciate every time you stop by and every new person you send along to visit . . . and every laugh.  YOU are my adrenaline. 

     Have a safe, peaceful and happy Thanksgiving wherever you are and who or whomever you’re with.  Thank you Michael Infusino for your skillful, good-natured tech support.  And thanks, Kathy, for always letting me stay glued to my keyboard without complaining when I know I should be doing chores.  I love you!  

     Oh, and remember our troops out there, will you?  Their courage, sacrifices and vigilance make this special day and all the freedoms we enjoy possible.  Thank you.  Hal    

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With all this fowlness in the air

     Okay, so I’m thinking if he looks like a turkey, and moves herkey-jerky like a turkey, and gobbles like a turkey, he’s not a duck! 

     Regrettably, however, because mixed feather-beds can be confusing when it’s time to get some sleep, the talkative new leader of all the other turkeys has managed to exercise his powerful gobbling to attract some duck followers as well. 

     With all this fowlness in the air, it’s surprising to hear the turkey leader hasn’t been able to find adequate appointees to the upper echelon of turkeys . . . strong active turkeys who get the pecking orders straight. 

     No, instead, the new turkey boss has thusfar selected a scrawny gaggle whose get-things-done qualifications flutter aimlessly around their experiences of having already spent themselves trying to appease the whims of their past leaders.

     This collection of left-limping turkeys he plans to surround his nest with, is, I suppose,  better, in a way, certainly, than the unscrupulous and anti-flying creature contingent of past associations, but not much better. 

     The top turkey’s choices are also hardly satisfying, or instilling of confidence to those who feed them.  Though, alas, the turkey chieftain resolutely declares his choices to be “fresh faces.” 

     This means that all the turkeys in the land –and that bunch of misdirected ducks– will accept the appointee collection on (fresh) face value.  [And turkeys, you may want to remember, are not among those creatures God has blessed with great-looking faces!]    

     Perchance the turkey boss has forgotten these worn out fresh faces were spent years ago accomplishing nothing in the footsteps of their then do-nothing turkey leaders?  Who exactly are we talking about here? what past leaders? you may ask. 

     Oh, please, surely you know.  Remember the one who was preoccupied with the varied uses of Cuban cigars that were –like other similar products– tried but never inhaled?  And still he hangs around like arm-candy under his turkey-wife’s wing.

     Or, then there was the homely peanut farmer who turkeys, ducks (even pigeons) wish would just go back to quietly tending (shelling and salting?).  Surely those products of his would be more appeasing to elephants on the cusp of a stampede than his meddling insistence on beating the bushes to stir up the natives. 

     [Maybe none of the other turkeys have told the ex-turkey boss, or the new one, that elephants can’t “reach across the aisle” when the turkeys on the other side are all swinging machetes?]   halalpiar

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Take two talkwalks,

                                         

get a good sleep, and 

                                                                          

call me in the morning!

     A very dear old student friend once told me she got more out of a couple of talkwalks than she did an entire semester of classes, readings, and studies. 

     Over the years I have recommended the practice to many business partners, management teams, marriage partners, close friends and relatives.  Typically the feedback has been of positive results. 

     With just a couple more weeks ’til the beginning of D’FIFTH (Dysfunctional Family Invasions For The Holidays), it seemed like good timing to suggest that the best way to work through relationship problems is by taking a walk together, far (even a block away will do) from the madding crowds, and talking out the issues, the conflicts, one at a time, shoulder to shoulder, without yelling, and without interrupting. 

     Now, admittedly, this may be a little harder to do than just reading it here, especially if you’re used to punching, slapping, kicking, biting, screaming, shooting, stabbing, hair-pulling, and ear-twisting.

     It starts with an invitation to step outside.  No, not like in the old cowboy movie saloon scenes, when a fight was imminent and nobody wanted to end up winning and then have to get hit with a huge bill for damages.  It’s more like, Hey, David, you old brother-in-law son-of-a-gun, you, how about we take a walk around the block and try out these two Cuban cigars I got? 

     Or: Let’s have a talk about that old girlfriend of yours? (or motorcycle?  or fishing pole?)  You get the idea.  Next, especially if David agrees, is to take a series of deep breaths [Click Magazine Articles tab above to see “Are You Breathing?” for 4-step guidance on this], and then to not inhale if you’re doing the cigar thing! 

     Have a three or four point agenda in your head — things that will clear the decks so to speak, level the playing field — junk you’d like to square away with this hardass, but don’t want to end up in a stuffing and cranberry sauce fight right after saying grace.  Y’know? 

     You need a little mental bullet list of subjects you can save up and put out there on the sidewalk in front of you as you do this walk.  Oh, and if you only have wooded trails around, maybe just hoof it around the basement a few laps, particularly if David is an outdoorsy type or has a rifle in his pick-up.

     The idea is to: 1) isolate the key points that are troubling you, 2) explain what you’ve been feeling and thinking about, 3) offer some options you can think of, and 4) ask for comments, ideas, and feedback (sometimes it’s best to set up #4 before beginning with #1.)  Be sure if you need to be critical, to criticise behavior, not the person.  Make a point of not interrupting, and of asking David to do the same, as you explain your thoughts.  Keep taking deep breaths.  Keep walking.  Keep talking.  Keep listening.

     Happy talkwalks!  . . .  Halalpiar 

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     I’m not sure why

     . . . I choose right now to share this, perhaps just a whim, but I ran across some old lesson notes from my professor days and the following paraphrase that students used to love.  It’s of James Aggrey’s “The Parable of the Eagle” as represented in the classic 1971 Addison-Wesley Gestalt book on transactional analysis: Born To Win by Murial James and Dorothy Jongeward.  I thought you might enjoy it, and may want to share it with someone special:

Once upon a time, while walking through the forest, a certain man found a young eagle.  He took it home and put it in his barnyard where it soon learned to eat chicken feed and to behave as chickens behave.

One day, a naturalist who was passing by inquired of the owner why it was that an eagle, the king of all birds, should be confined to live in the barnyard with the chickens.

“Since I have given it chicken feed and trained it to be a chicken, it has never learned to fly,” replied the owner.  “It behaves as chickens behave, so it is no longer an eagle.”

“Still,” insisted the naturalist. “it has the heart of an eagle and can surely be taught to fly.”

After talking it over, the two men agreed to find out whether this was possible.  Gently, the naturalist took the eagle in his arms and said, “You belong to the sky and not to the earth.  Stretch forth your wings and fly.”  The eagle, however, was confused; he did not know who he was, and, seeing the chickens eating their food, he jumped down to be with them again.

Undismayed, the naturalist took the eagle on the following day up on the roof of the house, and urged him again, saying, “You are an eagle.  Stretch forth your wings and fly.”  But the eagle was afraid of his unknown self and world and jumped down once more for the chicken food.

On the third day, the naturalist rose early anfd took the eagle out of the barnyard to a high mountain.  There, he held the king of birds high above him and encouraged him again, saying, “You are an eagle.  You belong to the sky as well as to the earth.  Stretch forth your wings now and fly.”

The eagle looked around, back towards the barnyard and up to the sky.  Still he did not fly.  Then the naturalist lifted him straight towards the sun and it happened that the eagle began to tremble, slowly he stretched his wings.  At last, with a triumphant cry, he soared away into the heavens.

It may be that the eagle still remembers the chickens with nostalgia; it may even be that he even occasionally revisits the barnyard.  But as far as anyone knows, he has never returned to lead the life of a chicken.  He was an eagle thought he had been kept and tamed as a chicken.

     Just like the eagle, say James and Jongeward, a person who has learned to think of herself or himself as something she or he isn’t, can re-decide in favor of her or his real potential . . . and become a winner! 

     You may need a helper, and just the thought of leaving the barnyard may make you tremble, but taking flight? — It’s a choice!  

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No matter how you feel,

                                             

do not give up your right

                                                           

and responsibility to vote. 

                                                             

     Today, Tuesday, November 4th, we name a new leader of the free world. 

     And tomorrow, the order of the day –and the many days, and perhaps years, that follow– will be compromise. 

     No American President can ever serve the Presidency as an effective leader without respect for the Presidency from those who are, and who support, the defeated.  Why?  Because leadership requires cooperation and teamwork to achieve objectives that bring benefit to the majority, including the losers. 

     So, today, Election Day, is a day of reckoning, but tomorrow and every day thereafter needs to be a day of compromise and acceptance and moving forward using the strength of the best dreams, goals and resources that remain available. 

     For a future that serves us all, regardless of personal preferences and political alignments, the next four years’ worth of Tomorrows calls for active listening, and patience, and openness, and receptivity from each of us. 

     It requires that we make the most of what we have to work with and believe in, to achieve lasting peace, meaningful progress . . . and abundance of life, health, wealth, and spirit in the next four years, for ourselves and our families. 

     It requires that we each reach agreement with ourselves to pursue these values for our children, for our grandchildren, and for preservation of  balanced life on this fragile planet.     

     May God Bless our new leaders and give them the wisdom, vision, foresight and strength to captain our ship through the storms ahead.  

     No matter how you feel, do not give up your right and responsibility to vote.   Halalpiar 

Note http://blog.igburton.com for my new two-part blog series (Part I tonight and Part II this coming Thursday) on STOP HOLIDAY DRIVING STRESS . . . good stuff for all of us!     

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My punkin’s chunked!

     Nudged by friends, Kathy and I headed off to become part of Delaware history today in witnessing and celebrating the 23rd Annual PUNKIN CHUNKIN World Championship.  [See www.punkinchunkin.com for all the hokey details.]

     People come from virtually every state, and many different countries (including England, Bulgaria, and even California ;<) to see and experience man-made Rube Goldberg-style non-motorized catapult contraptions hurl real pumpkins hundreds of feet up into the air, and as far as nearly a mile across flattened cornfields . . . more impressive than even Reggie Jackson home runs in Octobers past.

     The devices use giant rubberbands, levers, pulleys, swivels, compressed air, heavy people jumping off ladders onto see-saw-style slingers, and virtually every other propulsion scheme known to science and garage inventors.

     Now, we’re not talking about small time events here.  There were approximately 150 venders and a a dozen world-class rides (two of which created instant nausea just to look at).  The schedule featured dozens of quality bands (including The Charlie Daniel’s Band and Randy Owen, Alabama’s lead singer) plus cooking contests, a Miss Punkin Chunkin Pagent, lots of fireworks, and food and drinks galore. 

     My unofficial guess is that there were at least a hundred thousand vehicles at the gourd flinging contests, a three-day weekend phenomenon. 

     Most cars and trucks and SUV’s looked to be filled with people and tailgate picnic paraphernalia (including full-length sofas; wide-screen TV’s; thousand-dollar grills; fully-stocked bars and kitchens on wheels; thousands of RV’s, ATV’s, golfcarts and motorcycles.  “A redneck Woodstock,” someone called it, though I must confess I didn’t see anyone cooking out on upsidedown shopping carts!

     $2 to park and $9 per adult admission probably translates to roughly $30+ average take per vehicle.  Much of the proceeds go to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital and to agriculture scholarship funds.

     So, good for you, Hal; what’s the point?

     The point is that the only incident we even heard about all day was that security teams reunited a lost three year-old with his parents.  Bridgeville, Deleware, and Delaware State Police were prominently in attendance, and good-naturedly tolerant. 

     The point is that electioneering was parked outside the front gate, and so were people’s economic woes.  My guess is that mainstream media would not have liked seeing so many happy spirited souls just three days before Election Day; it would have flown in the face of the grimacing, suffering images they’re trying so desperately to portray to sell more advertising time and space.

     The point is that the event is so utterly stupid that it’s just plain fun, and a distraction from political bombardments that was more than worthy of the couple of miles of trekking from parking space to the carefully planned pumpkin launch and drop and smash area. 

     The point is it was refreshing to see this piece of Americana alive and well and being enjoyed by people having a good time.  If you’re nearby, try it tomorrow.  If you’re not, it’s really worth planning for next year.  See you there!  Halalpiar    

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