From the Ground Up

For some time now, I've been wondering whether I will ever be able to procure a vacuum cleaner which actually picks dirt up off the floor.  We are barraged with a flurry of sophisticated electronic devices which can put the world into the palm of our hands, but just try to find a decent vacuum cleaner...it's next to impossible.

Back in the day (the "day" being the late 1950's and early 1960's), the Electrolux was the king of vacuum cleaners.  Not only would this vacuum pick up any unchewed pieces of dog biscuits, it would pick up the entire dog if not handled carefully.  Its spartan appearance (see picture at right) masked its true power.  My grandmother had one of these, and when it was brought out, I remember that I tended to behave myself, because to be honest, I was somewhat scared of the thing.

For years, we've tried to find the perfect vacuum, and there have been a couple of good contenders.  Once upon a time, we purchased a Panasonic, though from our recollections, Panasonic seemed more like the brand you would rely upon for a decent clock radio than a vacuum.  But nevertheless, this Panasonic canister cleaner was a workhorse, and it survived almost thirteen years.  Granted, this vacuum was doted upon and taken to a special repair shop here in Atlanta which catered to its every whim.  When we moved to Charlotte for a couple of years, it began to exhibit strange and unpredictable behavior, due in large part, or so I believe, to a feeling that we no longer cared for or nurtured it as we had in Atlanta.  Within a year or two, it was toast.

We had an ancient Hoover vacuum cleaner which belonged to my wife's grandmother, and of course, it ran for many years, but it also weighed approximately forty pounds, so it never got to the upstairs of our house.  In fact, I think we might have given it away, come to think of it.

New vacuums come with thousands of attachments.  The average out-of-the-box vacuum cleaner contains approximately 5,710 doodads, including a couple of screws which, once loosened, can never be re-tightened to their original torque.  But that doesn't really matter, because after six months, you have lost half the attachments anyway. There are attachments for everything -- upholstery, car seats, antique furniture, shag carpets, garage floors -- you name it.  But forget all those, because you and I both know that only one attachment will really work.

Aesthetics come into play as well.  Take the Dyson, for example -- this vacuum cleaner reminds me of some type of alien life form.  The designer is evidently extremely proud of his invention and hosts a series of entertaining TV commercials.  It's a cool-looking machine.  Then there's the Roomba.  The Roomba is a robotic vacuum cleaner.  Our neighbors have one, and their house always looks nice and clean.  The Roomba just sits there rather unassumingly -- it appears to be a solitary device which does not require much in the way of human interaction.  I'm partial to the Oreck line of vacuums, because they appear rather old-fashioned and functional, which most likely means that they actually pick things up off the floor.

The popular big box electronics retailer Fry's sells a plain brown box vacuum that I like.  I can't remember the brand name, but it's made for some company in Brooklyn, and it's a totally no-frills creation.  My guess it that it will pick up anything, anywhere, forever.  This particular vacuum isn't on the Frys.com website, because you have to see it to believe how downtempo it really is.  I'm tempted to buy one just for grins.

So I'm thinking of going back full circle, with a retro approach to vacuuming, but there's still one thing that bothers me just a bit.  Back in the day, my Aunt Alma had a black poodle named Tangeroo, which she always called "Tangewoo." Aunt Alma was the first relative I knew who owned a color TV, so periodically, we would venture over to watch Hogan's Heroes and Gomer Pyle: USMC, during which times we could always tell that Tangeroo was in the house, due to his characteristic (and unfortunately, pervasive) scent.  Aunt Alma always kept her house clean, but when we would visit, all we could smell was Tangewoo, and she had an Electrolux, as I recall.  I suppose that, after all, even the best vacuums can't pick up everything.

Going Home

You guys know me by now...I'll post blog entries about anything from insects to absinthe. But I have wanted for some time to post a very personal entry about a trip I made last year, a trip back to Memphis, where I grew up during the Sixties and Seventies. This particular trip was for a reunion of the Mullins Methodist One Way Singers, a youth choir of which I was a part back in those days. Actually, I was a guitar player for the band which accompanied the group, and I suppose I wasn't always on the best of behavior, but my heart was always in the right place, and I loved this group.

Through the years, I've had several chances to attend high school and college reunions, but I have to admit that I've never gone. I've always heard stories about how people get nervous before attending, how they fret about their looks, what others might think of their accomplishments or perceived lack thereof, or whether the same petty differences that plagued them in earlier years might persist. I didn't feel any of that prior to the Mullins reunion, because I really wanted to see these friends again. I was just incredibly excited to have the opportunity to be back with this group and with people who had meant so much to me.

The musical and cultural landscape was quite different during the period this choir was active, and living in Memphis, we grew up surrounded by music. Much of it at the time was so-called "Jesus Rock", which had arrived on the scene in the late Sixties. We formed the One Way Singers one Sunday night in 1971, after collectively listening to Jesus Christ Superstar as part of our Methodist Youth Fellowship meeting program. We surveyed our skills and found that we indeed had a large enough number of people of different voices, as well as assorted crazy musicians (including yours truly), to make a go of it, and that's exactly what we did.

For the next four years, give or take a few months, we toured and performed at venues ranging from Texas to Canada to Florida. I will never forget the excitement of those days when we played our first really large "venues", churches who were eager to host a touring choir and to hear the unique blend of folk/rock that characterized our sound in those days. We rehearsed diligently, starting every Sunday afternoon about 4:00, and continuing until our evening youth programs began around 6:00. At its peak, the choir numbered over 120 people, with a band generally consisting of six or more -- two guitars, bass, drums, keyboards, and percussion. I had played music for years -- piano, trumpet, french horn, and guitar -- but I had never felt such a rush as that I experienced when playing for so many people when we had the music "down", well-rehearsed and ready to deliver. The feeling was absolutely incredible, and we had experiences on those tours that will always stay with me.

So I jumped at the chance to reunite with this group last summer. A small group of us hung out most of the weekend, and we talked incessantly, staying up late and trying hard to catch up on all that had happened in the thirty-plus years since we'd been together. Each night, as we headed to our respective hotels and homes, we went back filled with excitement.

The reunion proper consisted of a barbecue dinner (after all, we were in Memphis) and rehearsal on Saturday night, followed by performance of three pieces of music at the regular Sunday service the next morning. These were three pieces that we'd sung so many years before, and it was interesting that even after all this time, the characteristic nuances of expression remained in our voices. I had brought along my Stratocaster, but I decided at the last minute to plug my baritone pipes into the choir -- I'd never sung these songs, just played them, but years of choral singing here in Atlanta enabled me to change gears on the fly, and it was fascinating to be a voice for a change. Looking out into the congregation, seeing faces I hadn't seen since 1972 or 1973, and being back in this familiar, warm, loving place, was a tremendous emotional experience, somewhat overwhelming, and also something I shall never forget.

So, "verily I say unto you", if you have the opportunity to experience a reunion of people this close to your heart, you should make every effort to attend. My weekend at home -- and over time, there have been moments when I forgot what home was about -- was an inspired gift that I will always treasure. Go home when you have the chance...go home and find peace. And when you do, remember that it is the accumulation of experiences that ultimately makes us who we are.

Freeze Frame

5:07 AM on the morning of the snowfall

It snowed in Atlanta last Sunday. Actually, it didn't just snow, but rather it snowed and snowed and stayed. We rarely have enough snow accumulation to amount to much of anything, but this was an exception. Some of the snow that fell last Sunday night is still on the ground today, one week later. What the snow created was a kind of alternate universe.

Being house bound is not really my style, but in this case, there wasn't a choice; besides, a fierce winter cold had taken hold of me, so I was effectively down for the count anyway. Having lived in the North, I've been socked in by some bad weather before, but here in the South, it's a bit more of a radical departure from the norm. The city of Atlanta and its suburbs have almost no snow removal equipment, so basically, what happens is that the snow and ice just sit there until they have melted, which in this case has taken days.

It's not like we didn't know that the storm was coming, because nowadays, meteorologists can forecast the arrival time of the next mosquito swarm -- but that didn't seem to help too much. Grocery stores ran out of milk, bread, and from my observation, chicken. Businesses either shut down or instructed their employees to work from home. Schools were closed all week, which wreaked havoc with the schedule and will probably necessitate extensions of the school year into June. In some cases, even emergency vehicles could not reach their intended destinations.

But the other side of the coin was that we got to see our city in a whole new light, that of true white winter. It was amazing to see how an ordinary field off the side of a major commuter road could be suddenly transformed into a Currier and Ives scene, or how complete strangers could run into each other and swap snow stories. One morning, I actually was asked to witness the notarizing of closing documents for a woman whom I'd never met. She and her husband were moving to Florida, and she had brought her closing papers to the UPS Store to be notarized. Since I was the only other person to have successfully navigated my way to the store that morning, she recruited me as a witness, and I was happy to oblige.

All this makes me wonder what it takes for us to gain a new perspective on the familiar. This one week was special, because we saw things that we don't normally see. It makes me think that maybe we need to look a bit harder at the daily space, maybe stop every once in a while and freeze frame what we're seeing so that we can remember it later when it's a novelty. I'm watching this last snow disappear with a tinge of sadness, but I hope that in July, I can invoke the image of a frozen white winter as I'm stepping into my 100-plus degree car. Perhaps then I can remember that there's really beauty around us all the time...sometimes it just takes a fresh, new perspective to make it truly visible.

Shopasaurus

shopasaurus (shap'-ǝ-sor'-ǝs) n. 1. A creature who delights in browsing through malls and other retail stores. 2. Any beast gratified by obtaining merchandise in exchange for currency, plastic cards or personal checks.

My father was a grocer, and perhaps for that reason, I've always had an interest in shopping, be it food, clothing, electronic gadgets, power tools or books.  For a guy, I'm a pretty good clothes shopper, since as an only child, I often had to accompany my mother on her trips to clothing stores all over the city (yes, Memphians and former Memphians, I have even shopped at The Snooty Fox).  One day, I got into trouble at a Summer Avenue boutique for being impatient and hiding under the clothes racks, but that was because my mom had picked out this truly dreadful dress, the front of which I thought (and proclaimed loudly to the sales associate) looked like "bars in a jail"...fortunately, it did not accompany us home.  That circumstance notwithstanding, shopping has always been for me a pleasant pastime.

Here in Atlanta, we are blessed with a plethora of shopping options: one can go from Bloomingdale's to Big Lots in a matter of minutes, stopping for a coffee pick-me-up at any of a bajillion places around town.   And of course, I'm highly vested in this whole shopping thing, because I work for the systems and technology division of a major retailer.  I don't discriminate at all, and yes, ladies, I even know my way around DSW (the Westwood store by UCLA is slightly below ground level, but there's still enough light to see in the "discount" aisles at the back).

But my true addiction is to one type of store, collectively known as "domestic merchandise retail".  The most notable of these is the large national chain Bed Bath & Beyond.  My wife was the first to notice that when I entered a BB&B, I seemed to lose track of time -- we would enter the store together, intent on finding some particular item, but within minutes, I had become fascinated with the Keurig coffeemakers or the "As Seen on TV" items plastered to the walls.  And my ADHD behavior did not stop there, for I would continue roaming throughout the store, becoming entranced with this or that miscellaneous product without which one could not live, as least not as elegantly as one could live if one owned said product.

The problem with my behavior (as seen by others, because it is just fine to me) is that my level of distraction inside BB&B makes any trip there take approximately 5.2 times as long as it would were I not along for the ride.  I'm not sure what it is about the store, but I think it has something to do with the tremendous variety of items available.  Of course, there are always those discount tables where you can find this or that thingy that you meant to buy when it was selling at the regular price but, now that it has gone slightly out of vogue, makes for a less appealing purchase, albeit at a major discount.

The nice thing about my shopping habit is that it comes in handy at times.  My wife, daughters and female friends know that I am always up for a trip to almost any given store, and that benefits me, since I get to feed my addiction while at the same time spending quality time with them (gentlemen, shopping can be quality time, just so you know).  And who doesn't like to have a few shiny new items around the house from time to time?

Speaking of, I think I'm up for a trip to Trader Joe's.  I'm out of Two Buck Chuck, and they have these little cookies that...wait...I'm feeling myself tense up here...I can control this...really, I can.

Have a wonderful week, everyone!

Resolutions, Ltd.

I have developed a highly advanced theory about New Year's resolutions, and it is that you should only make as many of them as you can count on one hand.  For most of us, that would be a maximum of five (if you are a member of another species with more fingers, my sincere apologies).  Personally, I like to keep the number of resolutions to just two or three realistic goals, enough so that I can recite them to myself on demand without forgetting them by the time July rolls around.

I began using my resolution system over ten years ago, and it has appeared to work for me.  In fact, it has worked so well that this year, I have decided to distill my resolutions down to one, and that is:

Finish stuff.

That being said, I've now finished this blog entry.  Happy New Year, everyone!