The following commercial currently appears on television in the US:
"Hi, folks, your buddy John Rich here, and if you love God and America as much as I do you should be doing all of your online shopping at MammothNation dot com, and while you're at MammothNation be sure to get some American-made Redneck Riviera whiskey, a whiskey 100% blended right here in America and fully supporting Folds Of America. May God bless you and God bless America."
If that is not an exact quote of what Mr. Rich said, it is close enough that I don't hesitate enclosing the statement in quotation marks (British, inverted commas).
To my way of thinking, loving God and America has absolutely nothing to do with buying a particular brand of whiskey or even any whiskey at all, for that matter.
An old spititual song comes to mind:
I got shoes, you got shoes
All God's children got shoes
When I get to Heaven gonna put on my shoes
I'm gonna walk all over God's Heaven
Heaven, Heaven
Everybody talkin' 'bout Heaven ain't goin' there
Heaven, Heaven
Gonna walk all over God's Heaven
In a second verse of the song, the singer gets a robe and looks forward to shouting all over God' Heaven, and in a third verse the singer gets wings and looks forward to flying all over God's Heaven. However, after receiving shoes, a robe, and wings and rejoicing at the prospect of walking, shouting, and flying all over God's Heaven, the subtext of the song remains clear: Everybody talkin' 'bout Heaven ain't goin' there.
I do understand that "loving God" might not be the same thing as "talkin' 'bout Heaven" but my point is this: What does buying (and, one supposes, consuming) 100%-American-made Redneck Riviera whiskey have to do with one's patriotism or eternal destination?
Exactly nothing, that's what.
If you think otherwise or wish to rake me over the coals for having a Puritanical streak, please leave a comment.
Wednesday, March 5, 2025
It has ever been thus
In the previous post I expressed shock that Ron Howard who as a child played Opie Taylor on The Andy Griffith Show and as a teenager played Richie Cunningham on Happy Days is now 71 years old.
i suppose it has ever been thus, the shock I mean. In my parents' generation, one minute Shirley Temple was singing "On The Good Ship Lollipop" and the next minute Richard Nixon was appointing her to be a delegate to the United Nations and Geral Ford was appointing her to be ambassador to Ghana and George H.W. Bush was appointing her to be ambassador to Czechoslovakia.
One minute Mrs. RWP and I were walking down an aisle at our daughter's wedding to light our family's side of the unity candle while Alan Payne and Lisa Klausman sang "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler On The Roof:
Is this the little girl I carried?
Is this the little boy at play?
I don't remember growing older
When did they?
When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn't it yesterday
When they were small?
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears
and the next minute the bride and groom have been married for almost 33 years and not only have two grown sons but also have two grandchildren.
Time indeed marches on, and I am told on good authority that it waits, along with tide, for no man.
Case in point: Czechoslovakia does not exist any more. It split into two countries, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, not to be confused with Slovenia, home of Melania Trump.
Speaking of Trump, here's your factoid for the day: Calista Gingrich, third wife of former Speaker of the House of Representatives during William Jefferson Clinton's administration Newt Gingrich, was appointed by Donald Trump to be ambassador to the Vatican during his first term and appointed ambassador to Switzerland during his second term. I thought you would want to know.
When I first typed the preceding paragraph I mistakenly wrote Calista Flockhart. What a boo-boo! Calista Flockhart is the wife of actor Harrison Ford, not the wife of Newt Gingrich. Appointing Calista Flockhart to be an ambassador two times over would make about as much sense as appointing, say, Shirley Temple.
Tempus, as the Romans used to say, fugit. Time flies. And I can tell you without fear of contradiction that the older you get, the faster it will fly.
I remain, as ever, your roving correspondent,
Rhymeswithplague
i suppose it has ever been thus, the shock I mean. In my parents' generation, one minute Shirley Temple was singing "On The Good Ship Lollipop" and the next minute Richard Nixon was appointing her to be a delegate to the United Nations and Geral Ford was appointing her to be ambassador to Ghana and George H.W. Bush was appointing her to be ambassador to Czechoslovakia.
One minute Mrs. RWP and I were walking down an aisle at our daughter's wedding to light our family's side of the unity candle while Alan Payne and Lisa Klausman sang "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler On The Roof:
Is this the little girl I carried?
Is this the little boy at play?
I don't remember growing older
When did they?
When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn't it yesterday
When they were small?
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears
and the next minute the bride and groom have been married for almost 33 years and not only have two grown sons but also have two grandchildren.
Time indeed marches on, and I am told on good authority that it waits, along with tide, for no man.
Case in point: Czechoslovakia does not exist any more. It split into two countries, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, not to be confused with Slovenia, home of Melania Trump.
Speaking of Trump, here's your factoid for the day: Calista Gingrich, third wife of former Speaker of the House of Representatives during William Jefferson Clinton's administration Newt Gingrich, was appointed by Donald Trump to be ambassador to the Vatican during his first term and appointed ambassador to Switzerland during his second term. I thought you would want to know.
When I first typed the preceding paragraph I mistakenly wrote Calista Flockhart. What a boo-boo! Calista Flockhart is the wife of actor Harrison Ford, not the wife of Newt Gingrich. Appointing Calista Flockhart to be an ambassador two times over would make about as much sense as appointing, say, Shirley Temple.
Tempus, as the Romans used to say, fugit. Time flies. And I can tell you without fear of contradiction that the older you get, the faster it will fly.
I remain, as ever, your roving correspondent,
Rhymeswithplague
Sunday, March 2, 2025
Time marches on
Yesterday was the birthday of Ron Howard, the actor-producer-screenwriter-director who played Opie on The Andy Griffith Show and sang "Gary, Indiana" in The Music Man.
He is now 71 years old.
I am in a state of shock.
He is now 71 years old.
I am in a state of shock.
Sunday, February 23, 2025
"Mormors lilla kråka"
...is a children's song/game played in Sweden. According to what I read, "It can be played as a Lap Rhyme or a Circle Game. It's also sung while going around the Christmas tree or Maypole. At the end, everyone crouches down."
I don't know about you, but I don't go around the Christmas tree. I know what a Maypole is but I don't think I have ever seen one in person. Everyone crouching down sounds like our "Ring Around The Rosy". The song and accompanying movements for the Lap Rhyme version that my children enjoyed were taught to me in Boca Raton, Florida, in 1969 by Swedish couple Conny and Yvonne Evborn. Conny is a man's name in Sweden; he and Yvonne were husband and wife. I met them earlier that year when IBM sent me to Stockholm for the whole month of February to learn about the IBM 1130 computer. IBM Sweden sent Conny to Boca Raton for several months and he brought Yvonne with him. In December we invited them over for dinner around Christmas and after dinner we sang "Silent Night" together, Mrs. RWP and I in English, Conny and Yvonne in Swedish. Then Conny taught us the game to play with our children. Around the time of the great Y2K brouhaha I also played it with my grandchildren. I am waiting for our great-grandchildren to get a little older so I can play it with them. Anyway, here are the words to the song they taught me:
"Mormors lilla kråka"
Mormors lilla kråka
skulle ut och åka,
men ingen hade hon som körde.
Mormors lilla kråka
skulle ut och åka,
men ingen hade hon som körde.
Än slank hon hit,
Och än slank hon dit,
Och än slank hon ner i diket.
Än slank hon hit,
Och än slank hon dit,
Och än slank hon ner i diket.
Here is an English translation:
"Grandma's Little Crow"
Grandma's little crow
Wanted to go for a ride,
But she had no one who drove.
Grandma's little crow
Wanted to go for a ride,
But she had no one who drove.
Then she slipped here,
And then she slipped there,
And then she slipped into the ditch.
Then she slipped here,
And then she slipped there,
And then she slipped into the ditch.
The Swedish language has three extra letters after z, namely å, ä, and ö. The å is pronounced oh, the ä is pronounced eh, and the ö is pronounced like the oo in book.
Furthermore, k is sometimes pronounced like sh and sometimes not, and sj is sometimes pronounced like kw and sometims not, at least it sounds that way to my ears. For example, the word körde in the song above is pronounced sherda, and the number 777 which spelled out is sju hundra sjuttio sju sounds an awful lot like kwer hoondra kwerty kwer, especially when older Swedes say it. Younger Swedes say shoo hoondra shooty shoo instead, go figure.
I find esoteric details about language fascinating and I'm sure you could not possibly live one minute longer without knowing what you learned in this post.
You are most welcome!
I don't know about you, but I don't go around the Christmas tree. I know what a Maypole is but I don't think I have ever seen one in person. Everyone crouching down sounds like our "Ring Around The Rosy". The song and accompanying movements for the Lap Rhyme version that my children enjoyed were taught to me in Boca Raton, Florida, in 1969 by Swedish couple Conny and Yvonne Evborn. Conny is a man's name in Sweden; he and Yvonne were husband and wife. I met them earlier that year when IBM sent me to Stockholm for the whole month of February to learn about the IBM 1130 computer. IBM Sweden sent Conny to Boca Raton for several months and he brought Yvonne with him. In December we invited them over for dinner around Christmas and after dinner we sang "Silent Night" together, Mrs. RWP and I in English, Conny and Yvonne in Swedish. Then Conny taught us the game to play with our children. Around the time of the great Y2K brouhaha I also played it with my grandchildren. I am waiting for our great-grandchildren to get a little older so I can play it with them. Anyway, here are the words to the song they taught me:
"Mormors lilla kråka"
Mormors lilla kråka
skulle ut och åka,
men ingen hade hon som körde.
Mormors lilla kråka
skulle ut och åka,
men ingen hade hon som körde.
Än slank hon hit,
Och än slank hon dit,
Och än slank hon ner i diket.
Än slank hon hit,
Och än slank hon dit,
Och än slank hon ner i diket.
Here is an English translation:
"Grandma's Little Crow"
Grandma's little crow
Wanted to go for a ride,
But she had no one who drove.
Grandma's little crow
Wanted to go for a ride,
But she had no one who drove.
Then she slipped here,
And then she slipped there,
And then she slipped into the ditch.
Then she slipped here,
And then she slipped there,
And then she slipped into the ditch.
The Swedish language has three extra letters after z, namely å, ä, and ö. The å is pronounced oh, the ä is pronounced eh, and the ö is pronounced like the oo in book.
Furthermore, k is sometimes pronounced like sh and sometimes not, and sj is sometimes pronounced like kw and sometims not, at least it sounds that way to my ears. For example, the word körde in the song above is pronounced sherda, and the number 777 which spelled out is sju hundra sjuttio sju sounds an awful lot like kwer hoondra kwerty kwer, especially when older Swedes say it. Younger Swedes say shoo hoondra shooty shoo instead, go figure.
You are most welcome!
Thursday, February 20, 2025
I, Don[ald J.Trump] Quixote
Dear Reader,
Enclosed please find for your consideration and entertainment a completely unauthorized ramble through the gray matter of the 47th president of the United Stats, a peek into his psyche, a glimpse of How He Probably Sees Himself, in two parts.
A. Part 1.
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a Heavenly cause
And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unteachable star.
B. Part 2.
Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel
jLike a carousel that's turning running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that I find in the windmills of my mind.
Like a tunnel that I follow to a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that I find in the windmills of my mind.
Keys that jingle in my pocket, words that jangle in my head
Why did summer go so quickly, was it something that I said?
Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of my hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song
Half-remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?
When I knew that it was over I was suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair!
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that I find
In the windmills of my mind.
[Editor's note. My apologies to (1) Miguel de Cervantes (1547-1616), author of Don Quixote, (2) Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion, composer and lyricist respectively of the 1965 musical production Man of La Mancha, (3) composer Michel Legrand, French lyricist Eddie Marnay ("Les Moulins De Mon Coeur", 1968), and English lyricists Alan and Marilyn Bergman ("The Windmills Of Your Mind", 1968. For this post I have changed the perspective from second person (you, your) to first person (I, my) in an attempt to get inside the head of Donald J. Trump. I do want to point out, solely in the interest of accuracy, that the French lyrics speak of the windmilles of my heart while the English lyrics speak of the windmills of your mind, which may or may not be significant. I'm not sure I achieved what I set out to do, but it was an interesting exercise nonetheless. --RWP]
Enclosed please find for your consideration and entertainment a completely unauthorized ramble through the gray matter of the 47th president of the United Stats, a peek into his psyche, a glimpse of How He Probably Sees Himself, in two parts.
A. Part 1.
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a Heavenly cause
And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unteachable star.
B. Part 2.
Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel
jLike a carousel that's turning running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that I find in the windmills of my mind.
Like a tunnel that I follow to a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that I find in the windmills of my mind.
Keys that jingle in my pocket, words that jangle in my head
Why did summer go so quickly, was it something that I said?
Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of my hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song
Half-remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?
When I knew that it was over I was suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair!
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that I find
In the windmills of my mind.
[Editor's note. My apologies to (1) Miguel de Cervantes (1547-1616), author of Don Quixote, (2) Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion, composer and lyricist respectively of the 1965 musical production Man of La Mancha, (3) composer Michel Legrand, French lyricist Eddie Marnay ("Les Moulins De Mon Coeur", 1968), and English lyricists Alan and Marilyn Bergman ("The Windmills Of Your Mind", 1968. For this post I have changed the perspective from second person (you, your) to first person (I, my) in an attempt to get inside the head of Donald J. Trump. I do want to point out, solely in the interest of accuracy, that the French lyrics speak of the windmilles of my heart while the English lyrics speak of the windmills of your mind, which may or may not be significant. I'm not sure I achieved what I set out to do, but it was an interesting exercise nonetheless. --RWP]
Wednesday, February 12, 2025
Of the people, by the people, and for the people
Today is what used to be celebrated in this country as Lincoln's Birthday because Abraham Lincoln, 16th president of the United States from 1861 to 1865, was born on this date in the Year Of Our Lord 1809 in a log cabin in Kentucky. The anniversary of his birth now receives scant attention, if any in the media and among the populace. How soon we forget. I mean come on, people, he freed the slaves.
In addition, the birthday of George Washington, first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen, used to be observed on February 22nd. But both Lincoln and Washington have been relegated to the ash heap of history and replaced in our national conscience and calendar by something called Presidents Day that occurs on the third Monday of February so that federal employees could have yet another three-day weekend. That's not according to me, that's according to Lyndon Baines Johnson. This year the date is February 17th and all US presidents will be remembered as great citizen-patriots, every last one of them, or so we are encouraged to think.
This post is (a) deadly serious, (b) mildly iconoclastic, (c) excuciatinly accurate, (d) a pathetic attempt at humor (British, humour). Pick one.
In addition, the birthday of George Washington, first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen, used to be observed on February 22nd. But both Lincoln and Washington have been relegated to the ash heap of history and replaced in our national conscience and calendar by something called Presidents Day that occurs on the third Monday of February so that federal employees could have yet another three-day weekend. That's not according to me, that's according to Lyndon Baines Johnson. This year the date is February 17th and all US presidents will be remembered as great citizen-patriots, every last one of them, or so we are encouraged to think.
This post is (a) deadly serious, (b) mildly iconoclastic, (c) excuciatinly accurate, (d) a pathetic attempt at humor (British, humour). Pick one.
Friday, February 7, 2025
More completely unrelated ABCs
A. The English language contains lots of words from other languages. Many of them are food words found in restaurants (quesadilla, tortilla, taco, enchilada, coq au vin, beignet, croissant, filet mignon, wienerschnitzel, ravioli, spaghetti, fettuccine, tiramisu, teriyaki, hibachi, won ton, wok, I could go on). Wines come to mind also (cabernet sauvignon, cabernet blanc, pinot noir, chardonnay, champagne, chianti, zinfandel, rosé) but many ordinary, everyday words that have nothing to do with food or drink have been absorbed into English from other languages as well. Such words are referred to as loanwords. Here are a few of them:
shampoo
khaki
hula
sombrero
karaoke
salsa
chutzpah
dinghy
banana
penguin
divan
Can you think of others?
B. On January 1, 2023 at phrasedictionary.org, writer Chris Drew wrote, "Similes are like little linguistic gems that help us vividly describe the world around us." I would delete the word "like" (thereby turning it into a metaphor) and just say that similes are little linguistic gems that help us vividly describe the world around us. At least, they can be if they are fresh. Sometimes, though, they grow stale. Sometimes they become clichés. Here are a few that come to mind:
as cool as a cucumber
as cold as ice
as hot as hell
as warm as toast
as soft as a baby's bottom
as hard as a rock
as quiet as a mouse
as high as a kite
as drunk as a skunk
as happy as a clam
I have no idea how happy a clam is or how drunk a skunk can be.
Again, can you think of others? Remember, this is a G-rated blog, by and large. Yorkshire Pudding, this means you.
C. For the last six weeks, Storyworld has been sending me one question a week as a prompt for writing pieces that will be compiled into a book at the end of one year. As you may remember, our oldest son subscribed to this project for me as a Christmas gift. That is the reason my blogposts have slowed to a crawl. I'm not going to share what I have written but I thought I would let you see the questions that Storyworld has sent to me so far:
1. What's something you've made that you feel especially proud of?
2. What was your mom like when you were a child?
3. How did you get your first job?
4. How did you meet your spouse? When did you know that you wanted to marry them?
5. What song always brings back a particular memory?
6. Where were you when you found out that JFK had been assassinated? How did it affect you?
It's going to be interesting just to see what questions I will be asked as the weeks go by. I hope they don't interfere with my blogging to any great extent.
D. February is a big birthday month in our clan of 22 souls. We have birthdays on the 4th, 6th, 9th, 18th, and 20th, and by "we" I mean (in no particular order) my son, my grandson, my great-grandson, and the wives of two grandsons. I have always been a card sender but the world is working against me, both by increasing the size of my family and by increasing the cost of a postage stamp. Seventy years ago a first-class stamp cost 3¢ but now one is 73¢.
On that happy, clamlike note I will bring this post to a close so that we can ponder the great mystery of life together.
shampoo
khaki
hula
sombrero
karaoke
salsa
chutzpah
dinghy
banana
penguin
divan
Can you think of others?
B. On January 1, 2023 at phrasedictionary.org, writer Chris Drew wrote, "Similes are like little linguistic gems that help us vividly describe the world around us." I would delete the word "like" (thereby turning it into a metaphor) and just say that similes are little linguistic gems that help us vividly describe the world around us. At least, they can be if they are fresh. Sometimes, though, they grow stale. Sometimes they become clichés. Here are a few that come to mind:
as cool as a cucumber
as cold as ice
as hot as hell
as warm as toast
as soft as a baby's bottom
as hard as a rock
as quiet as a mouse
as high as a kite
as drunk as a skunk
as happy as a clam
I have no idea how happy a clam is or how drunk a skunk can be.
Again, can you think of others? Remember, this is a G-rated blog, by and large. Yorkshire Pudding, this means you.
C. For the last six weeks, Storyworld has been sending me one question a week as a prompt for writing pieces that will be compiled into a book at the end of one year. As you may remember, our oldest son subscribed to this project for me as a Christmas gift. That is the reason my blogposts have slowed to a crawl. I'm not going to share what I have written but I thought I would let you see the questions that Storyworld has sent to me so far:
1. What's something you've made that you feel especially proud of?
2. What was your mom like when you were a child?
3. How did you get your first job?
4. How did you meet your spouse? When did you know that you wanted to marry them?
5. What song always brings back a particular memory?
6. Where were you when you found out that JFK had been assassinated? How did it affect you?
It's going to be interesting just to see what questions I will be asked as the weeks go by. I hope they don't interfere with my blogging to any great extent.
D. February is a big birthday month in our clan of 22 souls. We have birthdays on the 4th, 6th, 9th, 18th, and 20th, and by "we" I mean (in no particular order) my son, my grandson, my great-grandson, and the wives of two grandsons. I have always been a card sender but the world is working against me, both by increasing the size of my family and by increasing the cost of a postage stamp. Seventy years ago a first-class stamp cost 3¢ but now one is 73¢.
On that happy, clamlike note I will bring this post to a close so that we can ponder the great mystery of life together.
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