Do Not Flash The Octopus

I had heard about the Monterey Bay Aquarium in California for years, but when I finally got there, I was not prepared for how immense it is.  The place is like a theme park for aquatic life.

Tanks with jellyfish, which some people consider edible:

Tanks with sand dollars, which seem to like to stand vertically:

Tanks with anemones, which are venomous:

And a tank with an octopus, which does not like to be flashed:

I was not prepared for how immense the Monterey Bay Aquarium is, and I was not prepared for how expensive it is: $40 for an adult, $25 for a kid. That meant a family of five spent $155 to get in. I looked around; the place was overrun with kids. 

One thing I was prepared for: I knew that when I left the aquarium, I would have no interest in eating seafood.

I blame that on my mother.

Our sixth-grade class went on a field trip to the American Museum of Natural History in New York City, one of the largest museums in the world.  Much to my disappointment, we were not going to the Hall of Dinosaurs.  Our teacher took us to the Hall of Fishes.

None of the fishes in the Hall of Fishes moved, because they were all models.  They sat in dioramas or were fastened to the wall.  I dutifully looked at all the dioramas because our teacher wanted us to, but the exhibits seemed stale.  Our hometown was surrounded by salt water on three sides, and the Hall of Fishes was noticeably lacking in the feel of walking on a sand beach, the sound of waves lapping the shore, the smell of salt air.

Having dutifully looked at dioramas, our sixth-grade class went into the American Museum of Natural History cafeteria to eat the lunches that our mothers had packed for us.  I opened up my lunch bag and found that my mother had made me a tuna fish sandwich.

Mom!!!!!  How could you do this to me?

I had just seen a life-size model of a tuna fish attached to the wall of the Hall of Fishes.  I couldn’t possibly eat tuna fish for lunch.

Nobody in my sixth grade class would trade sandwiches with me.  I went hungry that day. 

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Shirley Temple had a great time at the Codfish Ball (4-minute video).  Lobsters dancing in a row shuffle off to Buffalo…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkLjMdE9-lY

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

Tying The Knot At Age 70

I stopped in a co-worker’s office and said: “I am getting married next month, and I am 70 years old.”

Her reaction: “Well, some people take a long time to make up their mind.”

My response: “It wasn’t a matter of my mind; it was a matter of the government making up its mind.”

Many people get emotional because they are going to get married; I was emotional because I could get married.

March 21, 2014 was the date for the ceremony: the day when Randy would transition from being my buddy to being both my buddy and my husband.  That date was chosen because it marked the seventeenth anniversary of us being a couple.

There are a limited number of states where we can get married. Because we wanted to get married outdoors, that narrowed the choice down to California.

We turned to Google, and typed in “Wedding Venues in California”.  The first place that Google showed us was a keeper: we looked no further.  It was The Sea Ranch Lodge, sited in a twenty-mile stretch of Pacific Ocean coastline that is under a covenant to keep its architecture in a state of harmony with nature: no one can paint the outside of their house (house exteriors must be weathered wood); no one can have a lawn; no house can block the ocean view of another house.

Randy and I signed a contract once the Sea Ranch wedding planner assured us that the weather would be perfect on March 21.

Well, on March 21, it wasn't too foggy and it wasn't too chilly as Randy and I stood on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

We were joined by 12 wedding guests and 2 wedding crashers in the form of harbor seals cavorting in the cove below us.

I was in fine form during the ceremony until they played the wedding song that Randy had chosen.  It was Natural High, sung by the strong voice of Merle Haggard, backed up by the haunting voice of Janie Fricke.  Merle and Janie sang: "You stayed with me through thick and thin..."

I lost it.  I blubbered through my vow, while putting a ring on Randy's left hand: "On this day, I re-new the promise I made to you seventeen years ago: that I will show you respect, consideration, and care.  As a sign of my commitment, I give you this ring to wear."

Since MAR 21 is World Poetry Day, I made sure that my vow rhymed.

Off to the Lodge to have Randy's son and my brother sign the wedding certificate.

Signing the wedding certificate must have put my 81-year-old brother in a romantic mood; he approached a woman in the lobby and asked her if she was a rich widow that he could sweep off her feet.

Before Randy and I went off to California, a friend asked me why we were doing this.  The basis of his question was the fact that many state governments (including our state government) will not recognize our marriage, and some state legislators are busy dreaming up new ways of discriminating against us.

The answer is that, as I entered my seventieth year, the Veterans Administration said it will recognize same-gender marriage and so will the Internal Revenue Service.

And, hopefully, hospitals will recognize our marriage, and no hospital will ever again bar Randy from visiting me while I lie in a bed in that hospital’s Intensive Care Unit.


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A YouTube video of Merle Haggard and Janie Fricke singing "Natural High" - 3 minutes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTHRl6sATmM

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

Words Of Advice For People Who Stay In Hotels

  

I bounded off the plane after it touched down at the Rhein-Main-Flughafen in Frankfurt, Germany.  It was 1967, and I was eager to see what my first day in Europe would be like.

I took the airport bus into the city, checked into a hotel, took my suitcase up to my room, and looked out the window.  Germany!  I was in Germany!!  Time to explore!!!

First, a quick stop in the bathroom.  I went into the bathroom, closed the door behind me, took care of business, and then discovered that the door would not open.

I fiddled with the doorknob.  Right, left, up, down; the bathroom door did not budge.  I put my shoulder against the door and pushed; the bathroom door did not budge.  I saw that the bathroom door had a ventilation grate near the floor.  Being a red-blooded American boy, I always carried a penknife with me.  I unscrewed the grate, but the opening was too small for me to crawl through.

I realized that the cleaning crew would not be coming until the next day.  What was that, 20 hours from now?  20 hours without food.  Plenty of water, but no food.  And the bathroom floor was a cramped chilly place to sleep.

My first day in Europe, trapped in a hotel bathroom.

I needed to be rescued.  I curled up on the bathroom floor so my head was at ventilation grate level.  I pounded on the door three times.  I was in Germany, so I shouted: "Hilfe, Hilfe, Hilfe!  Zimmer Nummer Drei Hundert Sechs Und Zwanzig!"  For good measure, I repeated the pounding, but this time it was "Help, Help, Help!  Room Number Three Hundred and Twenty-Six!"

I repeated the phrases, over and over, increasingly sounding like a maniac.

Then came a muffled voice.  Someone in the hallway spoke in English: "I am going to get the manager."

"You don't need to get the manager.  Just come in my room and open the bathroom door."

"No thank you.  I am going to get the manager."

The manager came into the room and sprang me from my trap.  I stepped into my hotel room, and the manager, being a good German, began to admonish me.  "Look, there is nothing wrong with this doorknob."  He turned the doorknob and it looked like the bathroom doorknob was working properly.

I spoke to the manager: "If the doorknob is working properly, then step into the bathroom and close the door behind you."

His eyes narrowed a bit, "Oh, no need to do that.  It is obvious that the doorknob is working."

I felt vindicated.

The Internet tells me that I am not the only person to be trapped in a hotel bathroom.  

Johnny Quinn of the US Bobsled team got trapped in a bathroom in Sochi; Jenn Brown of ESPN was trapped in a bathroom.  But Quinn had the brute strength to destroy the door and bust his way out.  Brown had a cellphone to summon help.  .

We who have gotten trapped have all learned a lesson, and here are our words of advice: if you are the only person in a hotel room, never close the door to the bathroom.

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Here is a one-minute news report about Johnny Quinn, trapped in a bathroom in Sochi:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnSY6O0PdjI

Here is a two-minute news report about a pilot trapped in a bathroom on his own plane:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvX8VW0KHiA

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

I Am From New York, And You Know Why I Am Here

I stepped up to the Reception Desk and said: "I am from New York, and you know why I am here."

They knew exactly why I was there.  The receptionist pointed, and said: "Go through that door and it will be on the right."

I was at the Crystal Bridges Museum Of American Art in the town of Bentonville (population 38,000) in northwestern Arkansas.  I was drawn there because Crystal Bridges is now the home of Kindred Spirits. This 1849 painting, considered to be Asher Durand's masterpiece, is in the style of the Hudson River School. 

The painting depicts Thomas Cole and William Cullen Bryant standing on a rocky ledge in the Catskills.  It appeared in one of my junior high school textbooks, basically as an icon for New York State.  

Kindred Spirits once hung on the walls of the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue, until the Library received an envelope with $35,000,000 of Wal-Mart money.  The painting now hangs on the walls in an art museum in a ravine in Arkansas.

Calling Crystal Bridges an art museum is an understatement.

I started my trip through the museum at Twentieth Century Art:

Then I noticed the architecture:

Then I started to look out the windows, and noticed how the museum pays homage to the nature around it:

I noticed a sculpture that caught the light:

I saw how the windows multiply an image:

Light was coming in from the sides and coming down from above me:

There were vistas:

There were shadows:

As the sun moved across the sky, the buildings took on different looks:

Even the interior doors were capturing light:

And there was water:

My mind was filling up; this place was so much more than art and sculpture.  Crystal Bridges was a convergence of many things.

I made it to the Nineteenth Century gallery.  I found Kindred Spirits.  I saluted the painting: “You may not be in New York State any more, but you are in a very fine place, indeed.”

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A 3-minute video about the museum:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEe-x0i3KjY

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

Driving To Iowa; Waltzing To Iowa

I popped Greg Brown into my car's tape player and got on the Interstate to head to Iowa.

Greg Brown was appropriate music for my trip because one of his songs has become an anthem for the state of Iowa:

               Home in the midst of the corn, 

               The middle of the U.S.A. 

               Here's where I was born, 

               And here's where I'm goin' to stay. 

That was the first verse; then Greg sang the chorus: 

              Iowa, Iowa, 

              Winter, spring, summer, and fall. 

              Come and see, come dance with me, 

              To the beautiful Iowa Waltz.

I had written a few Scottish country dances, and when I heard Greg Brown sing "come dance with me", I knew I had to compose another one: a dance in waltz time celebrating Iowa.  The dance took form in my head while I was driving.

When I arrived at my friend's house in Ames, Iowa, I rang the doorbell, entered, pointed to the living room, and asked her to try out the dance with me.  She polished some rough edges, and I wrote the dance down.

The Central Iowa Scottish Country Dancers like my dance.  So much so that they always make it the opening dance on the program for their annual ball.

            We take care of our own; take care of our young, 

            Make hay while the sun shines. 

            Growing our crops, singing our songs, 

            And planting until harvest time.

My dance is called Waltzing To Iowa, and I never expected it to be popular outside the borders of Iowa.  Then an Iowa dancer took my dance to Australia, and said that the dancers Down Under really liked it.

I am not sure how the dance started to spread after that. 

An email showed up in my inbox from someone I did not know.  It was a woman in New Mexico, and she had a question about my dance.  How did somebody in New Mexico know about Waltzing To Iowa?  It is on YouTube.

On YouTube?  Waltzing To Iowa is on YouTube?  I logged on and watched a group of young people in Erie, Pennsylvania, dance it.  Oh, no!  They got the dance wrong; their version had an awkward turn in it.  

Then I found another YouTube video.  This time it was Palo Alto, California.  They must have been inspired by the dancers in Erie, because they had an awkward turn; California got the dance wrong.

A third video showed another group of dancers who got the dance wrong.

I quickly emailed the woman in New Mexico the real instructions for Waltzing To Iowa, in hopes that New Mexico would get the dance right.

My dance has gone viral, but it has gone viral with an error in it.  How will I ever get it back?  

The Internet also told me that it has been danced in Cambridge, England, in November 2012, and my heart sank.  There was no YouTube video, but I can only assume that the viral version crossed the Atlantic Ocean, and Great Britain got the dance wrong.

I will see what I can do about damage control, but I am afraid that Waltzing To Iowa has waltzed off on its own.

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Greg Brown's song, The Iowa Waltz, sung as a nice duet (3 minutes): 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgNy9IwwY2Y

My dance, Waltzing To Iowa, on YouTube, with an awkward turn (4 minutes):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idxzI7FhZR0

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HERE ARE THE CORRECT DANCE INSTRUCTIONS:

WALTZING TO IOWA

A 32-bar Waltz for couples in a circle.

Couples facing center of circle, nearer hands joined.

  1 -  4    Waltz towards center of circle with nearer hands joined for two bars and retire for two bars.

  5 -  8    Turn toward partner to face out of the circle and waltz away from center with nearer hands joined for two bars and retire for two bars.  Finish facing partner.

  9 - 12   Gypsy with partner, dancing around each other back to place, keeping eye contact but no hands joined.

13 - 16   Right hand turn with partner.

17 - 18   Retaining right hands with partner, link left hands with neighbor to form a large circle with men facing in and women facing out; everyone balances right and left.

19 - 20   Change places with neighbor using the left hand.

21 - 22   Retaining left hands with neighbor, link right hands with new person to form a large circle with men facing out and women facing in; everyone balances right and left.

23 - 24   Turn neighbor with left hand halfway.  Finish facing partner.

25 - 28   Dance back-to-back with partner.

29 - 32   Pass partner by the right shoulder; turn new partner with two hands to face center of circle, nearer hands joined.

   

Dance written by Doug Schneider in 1993.

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com