— Photo by Frank L. Palmeri
The remains of Woody Thick.
“Call me Ishmael” is the iconic opening sentence of the classic novel “Moby Dick” by Herman Melville. It’s the story of one man’s obsession, leading to his ultimate destruction.
While not an easy read — Melville goes way down the rabbit hole of seafaring lore and whaling intricacies for much of it — it’s still a powerful work with themes that stand the test of time. If you can plow through it, you will no doubt be rewarded.
We can become obsessed with more than catching an elusive whale, of course. Things like:
— Trying to make the cut in a golf tournament;
— Running a marathon;
— Getting our art displayed in an exhibition; or
— Publishing our first book.
And on and on. Obsession doesn’t have to destroy us.
I’m obsessed with learning to play music and, while my progress is painfully slow because I don’t practice nearly enough, the journey of learning to play, even just a little at a time, is rewarding.
So let me tell you about my new obsession. His name is (was) Woody Thick — in honor of Moby Dick, of course.
When we built our house, we went to a large tree farm/nursery, where we got a lot of the foundation plants and a few trees for our property. I had never been in a place like this before. They had so many trees of different varieties it just blew me away. But one tree really got my attention.
If you ever attend an evangelical church, watch the ladies who sit up front. When the choir or the band really gets going, these ladies raise their arms up and wide in praise, as if they are opening their souls to God herself.
Well, this tree I saw at the nursery — turns out it was a flowering cherry apple tree — had its two main limbs rising from the trunk in this exact manner. It was like the tree was praising the Lord.
Even our landscape architect said it was by far the prettiest tree in the whole place. That tree graced the front of our home for many years, becoming a favorite of birds and squirrels along the way.
Now the tree wasn’t perfect. When it flowered in the spring, it was absolutely stunning with its pink flowers. But the voluminous tiny cherry apples that fell got underfoot, and under tires, and corralling all those smashed apples was a pain.
Still, you had to do it, or else they would draw ants and such. Then, after over 30 years, some limbs began to die. As I trimmed the dead ones, the live ones started to grow over the driveway, right where we didn’t want them.
So last year, after thinking long and hard about it, I took out the chainsaw and that was it. Everything has its season, as we know all too well.
The stump that was left was about 8 to 10 inches in diameter. I’ve removed smaller stumps myself in the past, so I figured this one wouldn’t be much different. Then I got started, and that’s when I realized I was dealing with my new obsession, which was removing Woody Thick all by myself.
Turns out stumps are like icebergs. What you see above ground, or above water, is only the tip. There is a lot more that you can’t see.
I started digging around the stump and, wow, it just got a lot wider the more I went. Still, had I been able to easily dig around it, the job would have been a lot smoother.
The problem was, because this tree was planted when it was already quite sizable, the root ball had been enclosed in a metal wire mesh cage. There was a lot of thick wire surrounding the part of Woody Thick that was underground.
This made it extremely hard to shovel anywhere near it. What I had to do was use a hatchet to break the wire, then bend the wire back and forth until it snapped. I had to do this over and over to get rid of all the mesh. That was really hard and time-consuming.
After a lot of hard work over several days I had most of Woody Thick exposed. Then I attempted to push it back and forth. Good luck with that.
Even banging it with a heavy mattock did nothing. If you ever want to know how a 5,000-pound car can bash into a tree and the tree not move an inch, take a look at the root system. What an incredible foundation nature gives to trees.
The strong, thick roots embed themselves tightly into the earth, making an interlocking structure that is just about impossible to budge. Trust me on this: When you are removing a stump, until you get it to move just a tiny bit, you haven’t gained on it in the least.
At this point, I needed a new plan of attack, so I had to deploy my least favorite tool of all of them, the chainsaw. Think about a chainsaw for a minute.
You have an 18-inch or longer very sharp blade with no guard of any kind spinning like a maniac right out in the open. There are just so many things that are dangerous about using a chainsaw that I only use it as a last resort.
If you have to use a chainsaw, please, for your own safety, take the time to read and understand the manual that came with it. Read that last sentence again. Chainsaws are serious business.
I had wanted to remove Woody Thick as one complete piece but, when I saw how strong it was, I changed my strategy. It was time to divide and conquer, just like the generals do in war time.
I used a wire brush to remove as much of the dirt from around the stump as I could — dirt is like grinding paste for a chainsaw blade, quickly dulling it — and then cut it vertically right down the middle. I did this cut carefully and slowly, letting the saw do all the work.
I also cut the channel wide, so the saw blade wouldn’t get pinched. Again, be very careful when running a chainsaw. It above all other tools should command your greatest respect.
When I completed the vertical cut, I was able to ever so slightly move each half of Woody Thick. That’s when I knew I was over the hump. Until you get some movement, you have nothing.
Then I did some thinking “outside the box,” as they often say in the business world. What I did was pry the gap open with a long metal bar, and insert a car tire jack in the gap.
My thinking was, expand the jack and let it push the stump open, breaking it apart while letting the jack do all the work. Easy peasy, right? Not!
Most times, when I tried opening the jack, it would just pop out. A couple of times, before it popped out, I got the gap to be really big, like 10 inches. But instead of snapping, the live wood in the stump’s deepest remaining roots just bent and returned to position.
It never came close to breaking. Score one for Mother Nature, and zero for thinking outside the box.
So I dug down more and more, and finally found one of the main roots, or “taproot,” that was holding one side of Woody Thick down. After resharpening the chainsaw blade, I carefully used the tip to dig into that main root.
I was using the saw like those guys who carve bears out of tree trunks do, tip first, though nowhere near as artistically as they do. And it actually worked. After that main root was severed, prying and levering revealed several smaller roots that I took out with the hatchet. Just like that, one half of Woody Thick was gone.
For the second half, it was rinse and repeat. Fortunately, I didn’t have to use the chainsaw again.
That half of the stump had some rot in it and, after a lot of hatchet work and prying, I got it out in two pieces. Whew, that felt good.
There were a couple more big horizontal roots that were a real pain to deal with, because of how thick and deep they were, but by then I was “in the zone” and just fought with them until they gave up. Holy moly.
At this point, all I have left to remove are the vestiges of the roots that expanded out from Woody Thick. I want to make that whole area pristine so that whatever my lovely wife and I decide to plant there has a decent chance of making it.
A lot of times you’ll hear guys who have powerful trucks say something like, “Yeah, this baby is a real stump puller!”
I have a brand new truck, and I briefly thought about attaching a strong, thick metal chain from its bumper to the stump to try to yank it out that way. But then I thought, “Hmmm, do I really want a thick metal chain in tension behind my brand new truck?”
If the chain slipped off, which is not only possible but actually quite probable, I’d have lots of metal ricocheting right back towards me. Or maybe the whole stump itself. Or maybe the truck would lurch forward when the stump gave way, causing some kind of mayhem.
Powerful, stump-pulling capable pickup trucks are no doubt great; actually using them to pull out stumps, not so much. Too many bad things can happen.
Could I have just called a tree guy to grind the stump out? Of course, but I wanted the many roots around the stump removed as well, which is a lot of labor, so I figured I would just do it myself.
Also, after a career working at a desk with computer software, I actually enjoy doing physical work where you can plainly see the results of your effort just by looking. A finely tuned database is nice, but no one can see that. A big honkin’ hole in the ground from where a large stump used to be? Now that’s something everyone can see.
While removing Woody Thick was not as epic as hunting down Moby Dick, it was just as satisfying. Chasing after your obsession, as long as it doesn’t destroy you, is a very good thing.
— Photo from Frank L. Palmeri
Frank L. Palmeri calls these books “the three big ones.”
In high school, I was introduced to three books that changed my life. They are all of the genre known as “dystopian fiction.”
What is that? Well, if utopia is like heaven on Earth or the Garden of Eden, dystopia would be the opposite. Not exactly hell, because that’s not “real,” at least not while we are alive. More like an oppressive police state, or life under an all-powerful dictator, where the individual is subjugated for the good of “the state.” Dystopia is not fun, to say the least.
The three books are “Brave New World” by Aldous Huxley from 1931; “Animal Farm” by George Orwell (pseudonym of Eric Blair) from 1945; and “1984” also by George Orwell, from 1949. These three books had a profound impact on my life.
Considering the times we are living in, I thought it would be great to reread them and see how they’ve fared over time. I rarely buy books because I read so many — I get them from the library, just to save on having to shelve and store them — but I decided to buy new copies of these three.
I figure I’ll give them to my grandkids when they get to high school (and let’s hope high school teachers will still be able to assign these profoundly important works by then). So let’s take a brief look at each book, in the order of when it was published.
“Brave New World”
After the nine years war, the whole world is composed of two societies: a modern one where babies are born from test tubes, destined to be in distinct social classes, and “savages” that live a primitive, jungle-type existence.
The modern society uses all kinds of means like chemicals, sleep motivation conditioning, and “soma,” an LSD-like drug that provides bliss without hangovers. In terms of morality, “everyone belongs to everyone.” There are no mothers, no fathers, and you can have sex with whomever you want.
In fact, there is no real sense of the individual in this world; you’re just part of whatever caste you were “born” into. The tension in the novel comes from one of the savages being brought to the “brave new world” and how he reacts to it.
This imagined future may seem preposterous in many ways; consider how short the “free love” period of the 1960s was. But think about how, for many people, TV is like soma, in terms of just vegging out in front of it and being “programmed” by it.
Also, at the time this book was written, overpopulation was on everyone’s mind. Now, we see developed countries in the West actually losing population, and it’s only in the so-called “third world” where overpopulation is still a problem.
“Brave New World” may seem a little dated now, but its message about conformity, mind control, and the basic concept of individual autonomy still resonates today.
My copy of “Brave New World” came with “Brave New World Revisited,” from 1958, where Huxley expands on the original. When I read this, my body went into “flight or fight” mode; I was literally shaking.
I felt like I had to hit something or run. That’s because he describes in detail how dictators and demigods use the “Nazi playbook” to further their own agendas.
Large, screaming crowds at rallies being driven into a frenzy with simple code words (think “lock her up!”); repeating a lie over and over until many believe it’s true (“the election was rigged!”); and the unabashed use of lies and propaganda (“I’ll build a wall and Mexico will pay for it!”).
Trust me, if you really want to understand our times, read “Brave New World Revisited.” That this was all predicted, just about exactly how it played out, so long ago just blows me away.
“Animal Farm”
“Animal Farm” is, without doubt, one of my favorite books of all time. Using a simple Aesop’s fable-like style, Orwell completely destroys communism.
After the animals kick the oppressive humans off the farm, two pigs — Napoleon and Snowball, metaphors for Stalin and Trotsky, the infamous Russian revolutionaries — get the animals organized to run the farm themselves.
Using a simple catchphrase, “four feet good, two feet bad,” the farm does well at first. As time goes on, the pigs become more greedy, and pretty soon conditions are even worse than when the humans were in control.
The catchphrase at the end of the story — “all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others” — has entered the public lexicon and is used any time totalitarian regimes or dictators are discussed.
This book, due to its sheer simplicity yet powerful themes, is an all-time classic. These days, book bans, unbelievably, are becoming a thing.
Many are banned due to what can be considered graphic, inappropriate, or clearly racist content. I’m not a fan of banning any books, because no one is forcing you to read any of them, but I will say this: The day that “Animal Farm” goes on the banned book list is the day when we really have to worry.
“1984”
“1984” is, by far, the scariest of these three books. In a post-war future, Winston Smith works for “the Party.” His job is to rewrite history, such that the party is not now and never has been wrong.
This is in a state where “Big Brother” is always watching and listening. There are surveillance cameras everywhere, even in one’s own home. In this society, even a tick of the eye can get you reported to the “Thought Police.”
Winston meets a young lady and they have a brief affair, but they soon get caught. They then experience brutal physical torture, which is described in horrific detail.
As bad as that is, you don’t even get the pleasure of a bullet to the head until your mind is completely broken down and rebuilt. When you honestly believe that “2 + 2 = 5” — not because it does, but because the party says it does — then you can have peace, by death or by expulsion.
You might think “1984” is too extreme, but it is a fact that, in communist societies today, people get “disappeared” all the time. This is why sending anyone to atrocious prisons in other countries is so wrong; we are all about due process in this country.
Everyone, even the worst of us, is guaranteed his or her day in court. Period. We should be extremely angry — even up in arms — about this.
Plucking people off the street is not now and never has been who we are (but don’t tell that to innocent Japanese people who had to suffer the indignity of abhorrent internment camps during the last world war).
The term “Big Brother is watching” has also entered the public lexicon. In the book, there were screens and cameras all over the place. You could never shut off the propaganda, just lower the volume.
But think about this: We all carry radio transmitters with us at all times, so “they” know where we work, where we live, where we eat, and where we shop. Under the guise of listening for keywords like “Alexa” or “Siri,” they listen to us all the time and do who knows what with all that data. All I have to do is drive by an Asian restaurant, and the next thing I see is ads for Asian food on Facebook.
Let’s go back to the party saying “2 + 2 = 5.” That’s called “doublethink” in Newspeak, the language of 1984. It’s like when a certain gentleman claims his Park Avenue penthouse is 30,000 square feet, when it’s actually 11,000 square feet.
If the duly elected leader of the country says it’s 30,000 square feet, then that’s what it is. And somehow you’re not worried yet? Holy moly, give me some soma now, please!
These books and these outcomes are scary to the max. What causes these things to happen is apathy. In “Brave New World,” the people had free sex and soma to keep them down. In “Animal Farm,” it was slogans and team spirit that united them, until the team showed their true colors. In “1984,” it was a ruthless class of madmen that craved power for power’s sake.
Don’t let apathy happen. Read newspapers, read books, stay involved, think for yourself and, above all, vote. Your life, and your grandkids’ lives, may literally depend on it. I’m serious.
There is a lot of other great dystopian fiction, like "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream" by Harlan Ellison (what happens when Artificial Intelligence takes over), “Fahrenheit 451” by Kurt Vonnegut (book burning), and “The Handmaid’s Tale” by Margaret Atwood (women as baby-making vessels).
Still, nothing compares to “Brave New World,” “Animal Farm,” and “1984.” They are by far the best of this depressing but vital genre. If you have not yet read them, or if it’s been decades since you looked at them, I urge you, read them now. They will give you much more clarity about what is going on in our country today.
Let’s end with the party’s slogans from “1984”:
— War is Peace;
— Freedom is Slavery
— Ignorance is Strength
Consider yourself warned.
I’ve been having a rough time of it lately. Truly, my moniker “Cranky Frankie” is getting a workout these days.
It started with a February drive down to Florida. We got to see some friends on the way down, which was great. That’s why, when I go south, I’d much rather drive than fly. So much to see and do on the way. You miss a lot when you just fly over everything.
My daughter rents a huge house down there so family members can just drop in and out when they can. To be playing with the grandkids in the pool, hot tub, and at the well equipped amusement center is just priceless. Making memories with the grandkids makes it all worthwhile, surely.
My problems started about three days before we were scheduled to depart. I started feeling really lousy, very flu-like. The kicker is the cough I had to go along with it.
Have you ever heard the expression “he’s coughing up a lung?” That’s what this was like, a full-bodied, hacking cough that hurt so bad it was like someone was gouging a rasp up and down my throat. Just terrible.
I went to an urgent-care facility down there and got flu medicine, which helped, but it took days for the cough to go away. I hope to never have anything like that happen again. I’m getting shivers just thinking about it.
Tip: Those little honey-flavored throat lozenges like Ricola really help. I was guzzling them. And don’t forget good old-fashioned cough syrup. That thick, sugary stickiness helps soothe the throat. It’s hard not to drink the whole bottle when you’re really hurting like I was.
By the way, the weather in Florida in mid to late February wasn’t much different than it was up here, if you can believe that. It was just freezing most mornings, making beach activities problematic. There were plenty of other fun things to do, but don’t think it’s always perfect weather down there during our long, cold winters, because it’s not.
When we returned home, I decided to see an ophthalmologist about a problem I’ve been having with my eyes for some time now. They start to tear up, making them itch and making my glasses hard to keep clean. Really annoying.
It turns out, if the brain thinks the eyes are dry, it makes them tear. So you think you have too many tears when you actually have too little. That’s why they make “artificial tears.” Who knew?
If you follow the news, you know that not too long ago some folks became blind using bacteria-infected artificial tears. Holy moly. Another thing to worry about.
The ophthalmologist then told me my right eye wasn’t draining properly. Turns out there are drains in the eyes that send the tears down your throat. So I had surgery to put a stent in my right eye.
The stent fell out, I had another one put in, then I had all kinds of eye-itching and tearing problems. For someone who reads as much as I do — three newspapers and three books a week — having any kind of eye problem is devastating.
Another tip: Eyesight is precious. Wear safety glasses when you work on stuff, don’t stare at the sun, wear sunglasses, and take good care of your eyes. Can’t afford not to.
As if all of the above weren’t enough to deal with, I had to have a second round of laser surgery on my gums. I have a bridge in my mouth that I religiously take care of with floss threaders and such, but it was getting diseased underneath.
The laser cleans that all up. But, following that surgery, I could only eat soft, mushy foods for a week, and I have to baby the area for a month (no brushing or flossing there, yech).
Sometimes you’re the bug, sometimes you’re the windshield. Just gotta deal with it.
Though I’m no spring chicken in my mid-sixties, I consider myself to be in great health. I exercise six days a week, eat healthy, and get enough sleep. Still, at this point I’ve had seven surgeries:
— 1. Arthroscopic surgery on my right shoulder;
— 2. Arthroscopic surgery on my left shoulder;
— 3. Double hernia surgery;
— 4. Arthroscopic surgery on my right shoulder, again;
— 5. Periodontal laser surgery;
— 6. Eye duct surgery; and
— 7. Periodontal laser surgery, again.
And that’s not even counting all the colonoscopies, endoscopes, root canals, MRIs, CT scans, etc. For someone so healthy, I’m a real basket case!
The good news is our health-care system is capable of taking care of so much more now than it did years ago. There are drugs and procedures for everything.
The problem is the rules and regulations for health care — especially after you reach age 65 — are too convoluted and confusing. I don’t know what the answer here is.
Everyone involved — doctors, nurses, drug companies, insurance companies — and all have their own agendas. No one seems able to get them all together to make it easier for us normal folks who just want to be treated fairly. Is that too much to ask in the greatest country in the world?
When you get older, so much of your health outcomes are dependent on the decisions you make each day. You have to eat right, first of all. If you like greasy burgers, don’t eat them every day.
You have to sleep enough. Don’t sit there scrolling your social media feed before bed because then you’ll never relax and fall asleep properly.
And you have to do some kind of exercise daily, even if it’s “just” walking. I put walking in quotes because it’s actually one of the best things you can do; easy, fun, low impact, and productive. Walk as much as you can; you’ll never regret it.
We’re all going to get sick from time to time. No way around that. Now please excuse me, I need to get a tissue.
There was a great TV show in the 1970s called “Kung Fu.” It was about the adventures of Kwai Chang Caine, a Chinese “Shaolin Priest,” or monk, played by David Carradine.
Though Carradine was not Asian, he had the kind of face, facial expressions, and demeanor that let him be very believable in the role. In fact, he was great at it.
His character defended his Master when the Master was insulted. In that society — a feudal type of society, kind of like our Wild West but with swords instead of guns — any kind of slight from an underling could not be tolerated.
He’s forced to leave his home and all he’s known and winds up traveling through the old American west armed only with his wits and fierce martial arts skills.
As you can imagine, he was not taken too kindly by many folks in the rough and tumble American west. He meets all kinds of people and gets into dramatic and dangerous adventures every episode.
Seeing him wipe out six cowboys at a time with swift roundhouse kicks, throws, and chops never gets old. Note: He didn’t go around beating people up because he wanted to; it was only used as a last resort, which made it all the more poignant.
Often, before someone knew what Caine was physically capable of, they’d look at him dressed in rags, barefoot, and with no possessions, and say something like, “What can you possibly do about it?”
The answer he always gave, which still resonates with me today, was this: “I can think. I can wait. I can fast.”
Let’s briefly examine each of these.
Clearly we know that the following are not wise activities: smoking two packs a day, drinking until you pass out, beating your spouse, gambling away the rent money, shoplifting, and standing on the edge of the cliff at Vrooman’s Nose to take a selfie.
Yet people still do these things and much worse all the time. Tellingly, we have the largest prison population of any country in the world.
Are people really thinking when they engage in such questionable and often dangerous behaviors? I don’t think so. Just because we have the ability to think doesn’t mean we do it.
We all have to make decisions and choices throughout the day and throughout our lives. Some of these choices are trivial — pepperoni or cheese pizza, let’s say — but others much more so: drop out of school, steal from your grandparents, etc.
Truly, the ability and inclination to simply think before acting are so, so important. In fact, the word THINK was the long-time slogan for a little company called IBM, and they did all right.
One good thing about getting old — assuming you live that long — is you make enough mistakes that you finally learn from them. That’s called wisdom, and it’s often wasted on the young, as the saying goes.
When we’re young, we’re invincible, or so we think. When I look at the dangerous stuff I did in my misspent youth I’m genuinely amazed that I’m sitting here today writing this.
Next is waiting. This is a very underappreciated skill but one that is very powerful. In fact, if hormone-crazed teenagers could learn to wait, we’d have a lot less problems in the world (though I know that is notoriously tough — been there, done that).
There is a famous experiment where a small child is given a cookie but is told if he or she can wait a couple of minutes while the researcher leaves the room he or she can have a second cookie. As you would expect, some kids can wait and some can’t.
The fascinating thing is they’ve followed these kids long-term and the ones who waited had much, much better life outcomes than the ones who couldn’t. Wow.
Being able to wait — for a flight, for graduation, for Christmas, or whatever — comes down to being able to put off instant gratification and learning to think long-term. I, for one, try never to be without a book no matter where I am. Books keep the brain cells functioning like nothing else and really help me tolerate waiting.
As for long-term thinking, as a kid I always thought time dragged on slowly, especially during the long, hot and humid summers in the city. But, once you’re an adult with a spouse, kids, a job, and a house, you have so much to do all the time that time really seems to fly by.
I’ve often imagined what I would do if I were held captive for a long time. How would I deal with the solitude and lack of mental stimulation?
Assuming my physical needs were met — including dental floss, haha — it comes down to passing time without dying of boredom. Some of the activities I’ve thought of to pass the time include writing a whole computer software system in my head, or designing the floor plan for my dream house (more garage bays than bedrooms would be nice, thank you very much). Learning how to wait patiently is an asset for sure.
Finally, we have fasting. For a while I was doing a complete one-day fast weekly. When I had colonoscopy prep, I had to fast for two days.
Then there is intermittent fasting, where you only eat between certain hours, say 8 a.m. and 4 p.m. There are many ways to fast, and you can do it if you try. Giving your digestive system a break — especially around or after the holidays when so much food is served — can be a good idea.
I have a friend who told me that, one time, he wasn’t feeling right spiritually so he fasted for nine days. Nine days! I asked him how he felt afterwards and he said not too bad but he admitted he was a little lethargic at work.
Can you imagine that — he went to work while not eating for nine days straight. I only worked in a cubicle at a desk, nothing too physical, yet even I wouldn’t try that.
The point is, fasting is a tool that can be used to get your diet, or even your spirit, back in shape. Use it wisely and please check with your doctor first if you’ve never done it before. Just because it works for some doesn’t mean it will work for you.
Being able to think, wait, and fast are not as exciting as wicked cool martial arts skills, but in many ways are equally as powerful. Try them, grasshopper, and you will not be disappointed.
I remember in grade school having that special three-lined paper to learn penmanship and cursive writing. Often the paper came in booklet form. The teachers would draw a perfect letter on the blackboard, and we would try to replicate it.
Having that dashed center line was a big help. It made it easy for young hands to size the letters consistently.
Believe it or not, I was actually able to write legibly in cursive from following this regimen. I wasn’t great at it, but I could read back what I had written and even turn in assignments.
Some of us were better at it than others. In general, maybe because they took more time or cared more, it was obvious the girls were much better at neat, legible, and in many cases, quite beautiful cursive writing.
Most of the boys, it seemed, just did it and then moved on, though there was always that one guy in every class who could write and draw like an artist through some gift from God. You know the one, the guy who could just sketch freehand something incredible like it was nothing. How I wish I could do that.
My handwriting wasn’t bad until I got my first serious job, which was at a bank. I was a teller, then a head teller, then an EDP (Electronic Data Processing) Auditor. Each new job came with increased responsibility.
This meant I was signing and approving things all day long. After a while, speed became more important than legibility. You think I’m kidding?
Try being a bank teller at 4 p.m. in Penn Station with a hundred seething people in line and everyone anxious to not miss their crowded train home to Jersey or the Island. You better not dawdle, or you’ll hear about it quite vociferously.
At some point, due to the need for speed and the lack of practice, my handwriting had deteriorated to the point where it was easier for me to just print when I needed to take notes or write something down. This meant I was only using cursive for my signature.
Without regular cursive practice, my signature degraded to the point where I would get asked if I was a doctor or something (doctors are notorious for quickly scribbled prescriptions that are barely legible).
Not being able to read your own writing is pretty bad. I had the kind of jobs where quick note-taking in meetings was essential; no way could I do that fast enough in cursive and still have it be legible.
Nowadays, the kids have laptops or tablets and type their notes in class or at work, but that wasn’t an option for us Baby Boomers. So are kids better off today with typing and not even trying to print or, God forbid, actually write in cursive?
I would argue that cursive writing is an essential skill that should be taught in schools and used more by adults. Ironically, cursive writing — that is writing without lifting the pen off the page — was intended to speed up the process of creating written information. By not lifting the pen you, theoretically, should write more quickly.
But, in my case, it’s just too easy to get sloppy unless I go really slowly. I can actually print using simple block letters much faster than I can write in cursive. I’m sure that’s not uncommon.
When you even see actual handwriting these days, which is as rare as the unicorn, it’s usually simple printed block letters. The use of good cursive script is a rarity.
The only time most of us ever deal with cursive writing anymore is when we sign our names. Some signatures are legible. Most are anything but. I can’t complain, because mine is just a scribble.
If you go to a book-signing, often the author’s signature will not be legible. However, if I had to sign my name 200 times in a row, unless I went excruciatingly slowly, mine would be illegible too. I’ll give authors a pass in this regard. It’s got to cramp your fingers to sign your name that often.
Speaking of authors, imagine all the classics like “Moby Dick,” “Walden,” “The Great Gatsby,” and so many more that were written with a quill, ink, and a yellow legal pad or something similar. How awesome is that?
When those authors needed to “cut and paste,” they literally got out the scissors, cut out a part of their draft, and pasted it somewhere else. Those of us who write with word processors have no idea how easy we have it. And I didn’t even mention spellcheck.
When my father was alive, we’d need him to sign various forms for insurance, benefits, etc. He never wrote anything in his whole life. Signing his name was the only time he used a writing instrument.
Incredibly, he thought that, if he didn’t sign his name perfectly, people would think he was stupid. So he always signed his name excruciatingly slowly, so he could get it right.
I mean, when he would start to sign his name, you could get up, pour yourself a cup of coffee, come back, and he’d still be on his first name. But let’s give him some credit, because at least he eventually got it.
There are some people who cannot sign their name at all and have to use “X” as their signature. That’s sad, really. We should have a literate society. The fact that we don’t is sad, to say the least.
If you want to see some beautiful handwriting, look at the Declaration of Independence. The gorgeous cursive writing, including the famous signature of John Hancock, is truly stunning and lends gravitas to this foundational and historic document.
How can anyone look at something so grand as this and then say we shouldn’t teach it to our kids? Kids, early on, need to be exposed to good penmanship. It’s a foundational skill. Remember “reading, writing, ’rithmatic?” There is no debate! Kids should learn to write in cursive, period.
My lovely wife has a long-time friend who does calligraphy. This is cursive writing on steroids. It’s handwriting and penmanship that is so beautiful it’s used on wedding invitations and other formal documents.
Safe to say calligraphy is art. That calligraphy is just really carefully done cursive writing — something that we should all be able to do — is amazing. Maybe we’re all artists if we just took the time to slow down, pay attention, and care.
My plan from here on out is to improve my signature so that it’s legible, no matter how long it takes me to do it. I’m also going to try to use cursive writing just for the sake of getting better. Maybe I’ll write my wife a love letter. I don’t know if she’ll be more surprised by the content or the cursive. We shall see.
— Photo from Frank L. Palmeri
Santa steps down from a firetruck to greet Guilderland children.
I thought that when I carried a firefighter down a ladder during training from a second-story window without dropping him or falling, that that would be the highlight of my volunteer firefighting career.
Then, when I was crawling around on my belly, holding onto a tool connected to another firefighter, who was connected to a wall in a pitch black, smoke-filled room and successfully found and “saved” the simulated human body, I thought that would have to be the highlight of my career.
However, in both cases I was wrong. The highlight of my firefighting career to date has to be playing Santa for the Guilderland Fire Department’s annual Santa’s Ride. What a blast.
The Guilderland Fire Department does a “Santa’s Ride” every year. The town is large enough that there are actually two Santa’s Rides and two separate routes on the same day when we do this.
Even with two rides going on at the same time, it still is a solid four-hour commitment. That’s four solid hours of driving around in fire apparatus, handing out toys to kids and candy to adults, plus the hours of preparation before and the cleanup after. It’s a huge endeavor and I applaud the officers of GFD for making it go so smoothly.
I’ve never played Santa in my life before, but once you put on the costume, including the wig, beard, and hat, you just get right into it. Unfortunately, my red pants kept falling down all day.
I mean I’m not exactly svelte at this point, but next year I’ll use suspenders for sure. If I keep my diet clean until then, I’ll even stick a pillow under my shirt to give me that really authentic Santa look as well.
We had one vehicle as spotters ahead of us, while we rode in one of the firetrucks. When the spotters would see some kids or families, they’d radio us the location so we’d be prepared.
When we arrived, I’d get off the rig, offer some “ho ho hos,” and then reach into my big red bag to hand out an appropriate toy. We had dolls for girls, Matchbox cars for boys, and little stuffed animals with sewed-on eyes (no buttons) for infants. We even had coloring books and puzzles for older kids.
Sometimes I’d guess a kid’s age wrong. The water must be good here in Guilderland, as we have a couple of really tall 7-year-olds in town! But all in all, I have to hand it to the Guilderland Fire Department for making sure that every kid got something. How great is that?
I don’t know about you, but I’m a sucker for kids. I have four of my own and remembering those days when they were small is one of my favorite pastimes.
You should have seen the look in the little girls’ eyes when I handed them those dolls. The same with the little boys and the toy cars. To think that such simple gifts could spark such happiness; it doesn't get any better.
Here’s a tip: I’ve seen kids spend more time playing with the empty cardboard box that the toy came in than with the toy itself. Kids have amazing imaginations. They can make toys out of almost anything. Perhaps this year, consider spending less on toys and more on their college fund. Just a thought.
At one point during the ride, the officer instructed us to pull up in front of an ordinary looking house. He knocked on the door, went inside, and then a moment later indicated that we should join him. Turns out it was a group home.
They were not interested in any gifts, but they wanted to see Santa. I know there is controversy about group homes. Some people don’t want them in their neighborhood.
But when I went in there, there was nothing to dislike; in fact, I was extremely proud that this clean, quiet, unassuming home exists in Guilderland. There were some very disabled folks in there, being taken care of with great respect and decency by very concerned caregivers.
I went around and ho-ho-hoed everyone and wished them a safe and happy Christmas and New Year. I was able to get a bunch of smiles out of them, and if that’s not the greatest gift I’ve ever received, I don’t know what is. Really.
Let me take a moment right here to repeat something I say all the time: In my whole life, whenever I’ve volunteered for anything — anything ! — I’ve always gotten much more out of it than I’ve put into it. That is just the God’s honest truth.
At another point in the ride, we stopped into the dispatcher room at the police station. In case you don’t know, this is where your call goes when you dial 9-1-1. We in GFD use them heavily, but they are also key for police and EMS.
So we decided to drop in and give them thanks for another great year of service. When you’re in there, it looks like the command center for a spacecraft. So much technology.
There were two lovely female dispatchers working at the time. We thanked them but we could only stay for a minute, as some pretty serious police calls were coming in while we were there.
It is just incredible to me that these dispatchers choose this kind of work and handle it so, so well. I’m impressed by their confidence, their capability, but mostly by their performance under pressure.
I’ve dealt with them at 3 a.m. many times on a fire call and they don’t miss a thing. We here in Guilderland are very well served by these dedicated professionals, without doubt.
During the ride, we stopped for kids and adults, of course, but we also stopped for dogs. Turns out one of our officers is a “dog whisperer.”
Why do I say that? Because he carried dog treats with him and quickly made friends with each and every dog we saw.
In fact, one dog was not a fan of me, or Santa, or both, as he barked relentlessly at me and only calmed down when our dog whisperer took over. I’m sure glad he was along for the ride! Santa doesn’t like getting barked at or bitten, haha.
After getting on and off the truck at least a hundred times, we finally made it back to the station, where a soup-tasting put on by the auxiliary awaited us. It was the perfect way to cap off what was a very satisfying yet tiring effort.
Thanks to the commissioners and officers of the Guilderland Fire Department for keeping the Santa’s Ride tradition going. It was great fun and I can’t wait for next year’s ride.
How about we get a couple of pints of Ben & Jerry’s “Cherry Garcia” and a bottle of “Skinny Girl” Merlot, then just curl up on the couch and watch a Hallmark movie. After a good cry, let’s spend four hours talking about our feelings and emotions. Doesn’t that sound like fun? Not!
How about we turn 65 and then go on Medicare, making what used to be simple and easy health-care coverage become something with endless paperwork, mailings, notices, deadlines, rules, complexity, and all this when we’re getting older and by any sane accounting it should become simpler, not more complex. Is this the way to run health care in the greatest country in the world? Not!
How about we lease the biggest and baddest off-road SUV, with state-of-the-art navigation, safety aids, and ground clearance so high we could picnic under there, but then never drive it anywhere except the mall because if we actually do take it off-road we might scratch it and then have trouble when the lease is over. Not!
How about the fuddie-duddies who delight in telling us how our occasional cigar, libation, or even diet soda are so bad for us when all we are trying to do is relax a little and not go crazy from all the stress with politics, aging, anti-human phone menu systems, and graffiti (or rather vandalism treated as art). Not!
How about we don’t take the trouble to register and vote, yet complain about everything all the time anyway. Complaining without voting? Not!
How about adding more and more “infotainment” options to cars and trucks, and then wonder why they veer all over the road as people do so much more than just drive. More doodads and gadgets on the dashboard? Not!
How about some new cars coming without an oil pan drain plug. The car will “let” you know when it needs an oil change, performed by the dealer with special equipment. Not being able to do your own oil changes if you so choose? Are you kidding me? Not!
How about overflowing hotels filled with migrants, paid for by our tax dollars, who sit around waiting for who knows what, while everywhere you go you see “Help Wanted” signs in all kinds of businesses. Paying for a potential workforce to sit around while stores can’t get help they so desperately need? Not!
How about resisting the urge to buy everything online so that local stores can succeed and pay taxes, but then find they don’t have what you want and, when they do have it, there is only one register open. Local stores not stepping up their game in response to the online shopping juggernaut? Not!
How about people still not getting opera, despite it being a timeless, multi-dimensional feast for the senses. It really is. Still thinking opera is boring, stodgy, and old? Not!
How about endlessly discussing what movies are on Netflix and what new show is on what new streaming app, but completely ignoring the wealth of diversity that is available at the local library? Carping about movies and TV shows while the entire world, literally, awaits you at the library? Not!
How about seven-dollar mocha hoka double latte espresso shot venti whatever coffees still being a thing? Paying seven dollars for coffee when you can get it at any convenience store for less than two bucks? Not!
How about that toothache coming in late Friday night, forcing you to spend the weekend in grueling pain. Can’t a toothache come during normal business hours for once? Ouch. Having to search for emergency dental care? Not!
How about living in the greatest age of human connectivity, when any person or any idea is just a mouse click or button press away, while loneliness and social isolation are at an all time high? Being isolated by choice or by circumstances and missing the joy of human companionship? Not!
How about the sheer drudgery of just maintaining a house: laundry (endless), dusting, paying bills, landscaping, fixing stuff, cooking, cleaning, mopping, and on and on. Where are the house-cleaning robots like in “The Jetsons” cartoon from my youth? We don’t have domestic robots yet? Not!
How about trying to schedule something with a medical professional and being told the next appointment is not in days or even weeks but months? Better not die in the meantime! Waiting so long for medical appointments? Not!
How about the old days, when Dad bought a new TV, connected the rabbit-ear antennas (two screws) and it just worked. Same with the toaster, vacuum cleaner, fridge, and everything else. Now everything has to be “installed” or “setup” and you better have an account and know your login and your wifi password, yada yada yada. They don’t even include printed manuals anymore! Having to be a tech wiz whether you like it or not? Not!
How about not even being close to having high-speed rail, like France and Japan have? This is the most fuel efficient way to move people over great distances. We’re overdue. Still having to wait for high-speed rail? Not!
How about taking all those Sunday dinners with parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins for granted and now wishing you could do it just one more time? I try not to dwell on my dear departed family members, but it’s hard not to sometimes, especially around the holidays. Getting sad and down because the circle of life never stops? Not!
How about a rare perfect summer day, with low humidity and clear skies where are all the kids are playing stick-ball, riding bikes, or just horsing around on the lawn? What’s that you say, they’re all in their rooms on their phones? Being a kid and not taking advantage of perfect summer weather? Not!
How about this column being entirely too negative, so let’s end on a joke: What did one hat say to the other? You stay here, I’ll go on ahead! Thinking I’m a comedian? Not!
Almost 100 years ago, Dr. Ralph C. Smedley had the idea of forming a club to train young boys and men in public speaking, social skills, and leadership.
Starting with a club at a YMCA in California, that initial idea turned into Toastmasters International, a program where men and women can learn to speak and listen better as well as develop leadership and confidence, with chapters and members all over the world.
In October TI celebrates its 100-year anniversary. They must be doing something right to have lasted so long and still be going strong.
I first became aware of TI about 30 years ago while walking around the office campus where I worked. There I saw a sign for an upcoming meeting.
All I knew about Toastmasters back then was that the “toast” referred to something the best man does at a wedding, not something you eat for breakfast. I attended that meeting and was immediately asked to participate in a debate.
I can’t remember what the topic was — I think it was gun rights — but I remember winning the debate and getting hooked. What fun, to be with courteous, thinking people where we could all learn, share, and grow with each other.
Over the next several months, I attended many other meetings of that TI club. A couple of speeches I heard really stood out.
One woman did a presentation complete with stunning pictures of her mountain-climbing in the Swiss Alps. Another lady did a presentation on curling, an Olympic sport, which is like bocce but with big “stones” (like giant hockey pucks) instead of balls and on ice instead of grass. She said curling was what got her through the long, cold winters.
Unfortunately, my wife and I had three small kids at the time. All the running around with music lessons, sports, and other after-school activities meant I couldn’t keep up with it. I hated dropping out but it just wasn’t possible to fit it in at that time.
Still, I never forgot how much I enjoyed my initial foray into the wonderful world of Toastmasters — so positive, uplifting, and motivating.
Then about six years ago I heard of a Toastmasters club starting in an agency I’m a member of, so I went to the kickoff meeting. Because my memories of that first TI club were so positive, I volunteered to be president of the new club.
Just like that, I was able to get the Toastmasters magic going again. Don’t think I use the word “magic” lightly here; the entire TI program is indeed magic in the transformation it can make when an enthusiastic participant commits to it.
It worked with me and I’ve seen it work in others time and time again. Dr. Smedley’s 100-year old idea was so sound it still resonates today. Amazing.
So what is Toastmasters, anyway? It’s a program where you practice getting better at public speaking, of course, but it’s also so much more.
It helps you develop listening skills (God gave you two ears and only one mouth for a reason, haha); promotes mentoring; facilitates networking; and, above all else, improves one’s overall social skills, confidence, and leadership.
Truly, had I known about TI when I first entered the workforce, I would have become a much better leader and achieved much more success. That is a fact.
I’ve been writing this column for over 20 years. The way it works is I think of a topic, and then try hard to come up with an opening sentence. Once I get the first sentence, the next thousand words just flow out.
The point is, I’m very confident in using the written word to communicate. In fact, it’s my preferred method of communication.
Speaking in public does not come easy or naturally to me. Yet, from working with TI all these years, something that was dreaded — speaking publicly in front of others — has become something I actually enjoy doing (though I still have to work hard to keep improving). Toastmasters really does work.
Toastmasters’ meetings follow a scripted format, which is both comforting and efficient. At a typical meeting, there will be several speeches, followed by evaluations of those speeches.
There is also a free-flowing “Table Topics” exercise, where anyone is welcome to give a one- to two-minute talk on a random topic that the Table Topics Master gets to pick out. The speeches and table-topics talks are always great, because people try so hard to do them well.
Occasionally, the speeches will bring you to tears, like the one I heard recently from a lady who managed to get out of the second tower just after the first tower was hit during the 9/11 terrorist attack on the World Trade Center. I literally held my breath as she described her experience.
It was all I could do to keep from crying. That’s how truly powerful some heartfelt speeches from our fellow Toastmasters members — our friends and neighbors — can be.
At a Toastmasters’ meeting, newcomers are always greeted and made to feel welcome. TI is a no judgment zone: We welcome everyone.
The only thing we insist on is that you want to improve yourself as a speaker, listener, leader, and mentor. Those are our goals, and we want to help you achieve them as well.
Here is the official TI Mission statement: “We empower individuals to become more effective communicators and leaders.” The core values at TI are beautiful in their simplicity and power: Integrity, Respect, Service, and Excellence. Just fantastic.
One thing that is unique to Toastmasters is the “ah counter.” This is where we count your use of filler words when speaking, words or phrases like “ah,” “um,” “so,” and “you know.”
We don’t do this to embarrass you; on the contrary, many speakers, including myself, use these words without ever realizing we’re doing it. The hope is that by tracking the use of filler words, one can become aware of it and work to reduce it.
Still, I’ve heard more than one person say they felt self-conscious with this aspect of Toastmasters (“I don’t want someone counting my ums!”). The best is when you improve your speaking so much that you’re not using these words anymore. That’s really huge, and totally doable.
I’ve met some truly great folks in Toastmasters. I’ve seen people who were holding onto the lectern for dear life during their first speech because they were so nervous and now have become so confident and eloquent speaking in front of others that it can only be described as a miracle.
Every time I do a speech, I’m just amazed at how far I’ve come as well. I still need to work on those listening skills, however, as my long-suffering wife will attest to. That’s one big reason I stay involved with Toastmasters. There is always room to improve, plus it’s just plain fun!
I’m going to be starting a Guilderland Toastmasters club soon. We’ll meet at the library. The library has beautiful meeting rooms complete with audio/video support so we can do hybrid in-person/zoom meetings.
If you want to improve your public speaking, listening, and leadership skills or, more importantly, if you just want to have fun, please consider joining. We’d love to have a group of about 20 folks to start out with.
Please contact me and let me know your preferred meeting day and time for a monthly meeting; call me or contact me through the library. For more information on TI, see toastmasters.org. There’s a lot of information there, so be sure to have a full cup of coffee ready to go.
My hometown of Guilderland has beautiful parks, thriving businesses, lovely neighborhoods, and a vibrant community, but one thing it doesn’t have is a local Toastmasters club. Let’s change that now!
Enterprise file photo — Michael Koff
Ghost bike: A bicycle painted entirely white was installed on Washington Avenue Extension, near the main entrance to Crossgates Commons, where bicyclist Roger Sawyer, 31, of Guilderland died in October 2017 after being struck by an SUV.
Many years ago, an energetic young lady — a budding entrepreneur with a growing business — was killed while riding her bicycle early one morning by the University at Albany uptown campus on Western Avenue.
The story resonated locally for a long time. A bright flame extinguished at such a young age. I used to drive right by the corner where it happened every day during my commute to and from work.
Not long after the accident, a white bicycle appeared on the corner where the accident occurred. It was chained to a road sign, and adorned with flowers and floral garlands.
Clearly someone wanted to memorialize this lady’s life, in a very public way. I’ve since learned that bicycles installed at accident scenes are called ghost bikes. I’m not sure I like the idea.
I know the folks who install these memorials are suffering from the intense grief caused by the loss of a loved one. That’s understandable.
But let’s look at it from another perspective. Once a ghost bike gets installed, everyone who walks, rides, or drives past it gets reminded of a horrible tragedy.
In my case, I had to think about that girl’s death twice a day for months if not years. Is that mentally healthy for those of us forced to look at it? How can it be?
OK, Frank, stop being such a whiner. Find another way to get to work. For me that would have been Washington Avenue Extension, right past Walmart and Home Depot.
So I switched to that route, even though I would have preferred staying on Western Avenue. Not long after, another bicyclist was killed right at the entrance to those stores. Can you guess what happened next?
Another ghost bike appeared there, right where I got to see it, again, twice a day. I like being reminded of lots of things: my beautiful wife, my wonderful kids and grandkids, terrific motorcycle rides, etc. One thing I don’t like being reminded of is horrible traffic accidents.
Inevitably, whoever installs the ghost bike, over time, either loses interest in maintaining it or can’t keep up with the maintenance for some reason. What maintenance you ask? Keeping up the flowers and decorations, for one.
But the bicycle tires soon go flat, and then the steel parts start to rust. Before you know it, the bicycle looks like crap. Then, one day, it’s gone. Is that the way to properly memorialize someone? By letting their memorial get all rotted out until it has to be removed because it’s such an eyesore?
My cousin lives on a busy corner in Maspeth, Queens. It’s a very tight and congested neighborhood, but all the houses are well maintained.
One time, there was a car accident right on the corner in front of her house. People died.
Not long after, the victims’ families started having Saturday night prayer services right on the corner. They’d pray, sing, and leave candles and flowers. This went on for, if you can believe it, years, before it finally stopped.
Can you imagine having a weekly memorial service right in front of your living room window for such a long time? What are people thinking?
We all grieve differently. I think about my deceased parents every single day, yet I don’t run around in a funk. I know I don’t visit the cemetery as often as I should. But they are in my mind constantly.
I’ll bet, if you could ask them, they would say to go ahead and keep on living, trying to do good things and be a responsible husband, parent, and neighbor. To try to be happy. And to remember them.
The last thing they would want is some kind of public shrine. They would be livid if I did something like that.
My father was a veteran, so both my parents are buried in the Gerald Solomon National Cemetery in Saratoga. When you go there, you can’t help but feel awed and reverent for how our brave men and women who have served our country are memorialized.
The place is beautiful, serene, and well maintained. This is how you remember people: in a proper cemetery, where they can rest in peace. Not with a rusting bicycle or makeshift shrine at an accident scene.
Some people like to take their dear departed’s ashes and spread them in a meaningful place. Oceans and mountains seem to be very popular for this kind of remembrance.
I’ve always said I want to be cremated, and then have my ashes put in the gas tank of my motorcycle while one of my buddies rides my bike up scenic Route 30 in the Adirondacks. But with my luck, I’d just clog the fuel filter and cause a breakdown, haha.
I’m seeing accident shrines more and more these days. On the highways, on the back roads, etc. Sometimes it’s flowers, or it may be a sign, or something else from the deceased person’s life.
I hope this trend doesn’t go much further. Churches and cemeteries are great places to mourn. Out on a blind curve in the middle of nowhere? Not so much.
I don’t like seeing more and more ghost bikes and roadside shrines in my travels. I like it better when we grieve in appropriate places, or just in our minds.
Bicycling is a great way to get and stay in shape. It’s so much fun, and it can even be a way to go green and commute. But bicycling is very, very dangerous.
One of my best friends was Mark Fiato, who owned Taco Pronto on Western Avenue. He was killed in the prime of his life on a bicycle. I think about him and the three beautiful daughters he left behind all the time.
How come something so good for us and the environment has to be so dangerous? I’d love to see dedicated bicycle lanes all over the place. One thing we can all do is refuse to text, watch movies, or drink while driving. The stakes are too high to do anything less.
My wife is big into grief. What I mean is she has seen a lot of her friends, as well as her mother, pass away. She genuinely mourns deeply for these folks.
Fortunately, she found a great group to help her, called Grief Share, which can be found at www.griefshare.org/. I’ve talked to her friends who participate in it, and they all love it.
One widow told me it was like finally finding the right way to remember her dear departed husband. Again, I don’t grieve like most people — I choose to move on with fond memories — but if you are suffering from the loss of a loved one, give Grief Share a try. I have heard nothing but good things about it.
Ghost bikes and roadside shrines are well intentioned, but there are better ways of remembering our loved ones. How about donating that bicycle to a needy kid instead? I’m sure your dear departed loved one would be very happy if you did something that nice in his or her memory.
One time, I got stuck in a doctor’s office with a paucity of reading materials while I endured the inevitable wait to be seen. So I picked up a bridal magazine. Beggars can’t be choosy, haha.
The well-worn magazine was as thick as a catalog. Upon scanning this beast, I realized that everything was about The Dress. It was endless advertisements for dresses, then articles about dresses, then more articles on what goes well with dresses.
Considering all the other topics a potential bride should care about — like marrying the right person — I found this emphasis on only one aspect of marriage to be a little questionable at best and quite distracting at worst. There is much more to getting married than choosing the right dress, obviously.
The reason I bring this up is because, since I started learning to play guitar a few years ago, I look at a lot of guitar magazines. If someone who knew nothing about guitars picked up a guitar magazine, they would think it’s all about The Guitar.
Just like in bridal magazines with The Dress, in guitar magazines it’s pages and pages (though not nearly as many as bridal magazines) of ads for guitars, then articles about guitars, and then articles and ads of what goes well with guitars.
It’s like, if you see a picture of Lindsay Buckingham holding a certain guitar, they want you to think if you buy it you’ll sound like him on one of his many Fleetwood Mac hits. Trust me, it doesn't work that way.
I can’t speak for what brides need besides The Dress, but, after playing guitar now for several years, I can speak for what anyone interested in playing guitar really needs in order to do well on this most versatile and fun instrument.
If you’re retired like me and have a little extra time on your hands, here are 10 things you need to get in order to start playing guitar (wish I’d had this list when I started):
—1. A guitar.
You can get a decent acoustic guitar for around $200. Go to a music store, try out a bunch, and get the one that feels good in your hands. We’re all different sizes and shapes, so take time to find one that fits you.
Sit on a stool or a chair with no arms, thighs parallel to the ground, and put the guitar on your lap. Throw your arm over it and hug it to your chest. It should just feel right.
If it doesn’t, try another one. If you’d like to try an electric guitar, go ahead, but realize then you also need an amplifier and cable. My advice for a beginner would be to start with a simple acoustic guitar, just because you don’t have to worry about electronics when you’re first starting.
Also, even new guitars can benefit from a “setup.” This usually involves lighter strings and some critical adjustments that can make even a low price point guitar sound and, more importantly, feel like a much more expensive one;
— 2. A tuner.
I can show you in two minutes how to tune a guitar to itself, but at some point you’re going to be playing with others, so you need to learn how to properly tune a guitar. You can get a clip-on guitar tuner for $15, or you can use an app on your phone.
No matter how you do it, learning to tune your guitar is essential. Guitars are made of wood, which expands and contracts depending on humidity, so tuning correctly and frequently is a fact of life if you want to play guitar;
— 3. A strap.
Sit with your guitar on a chair with no arms or a stool, thighs parallel to the floor. Once you are comfortable, attach a strap to your guitar, such that when you stand up, the guitar is in the exact same position on your body as when you are sitting down. Doing this will make the transition from playing while sitting to playing while standing much, much easier.
Newer guitar straps have a self-locking feature. If your strap doesn’t, spend a couple of bucks on some strap locks. Having a guitar fall out of your hands while playing is never fun;
— 4. A music stand.
What do these five famous musicians have in common: Eric Clapton, The Beatles, Taylor Swift, Elvis Presley, and Jimmy Page? Despite being master song writers, none of them — not one — knows how to read or write music. They have someone else transcribe it for them.
Don’t be like them. I mean it. If you know the first seven letters of the alphabet and you can count to four, you can learn to read and write music. So get a good music stand and use it when you practice from books, sheet music, or “guitar tab.” You will never regret learning even just the basics of reading and writing music;
— 5. A metronome.
Music is all about rhythm. Without rhythm, there is no music. A metronome lets you develop your sense of rhythm such that you can play with others and keep “the beat.”
Say you’re working on a new chord change or a new piece of music. You set the metronome to something slow, like 40 BPM (Beats Per Minute). The metronome will then emit a beep 40 times per minute, and you can then count and play one-two-three or one-two-three-four or whatever the music calls for.
Once you get that, increase the BPM little by little until you can play it at the speed it calls for or that you want. If you talk to any real musician, they will tell you that using a metronome consistently is key to learning to keep to the beat and play with others. You can find them for around 20 bucks or as an app on your phone;
— 6. A lesson book.
Yes you can bounce around YouTube and find everyone and their sister giving guitar lessons, but a good beginning guitar lesson book is something you can really use well to get better and better at playing guitar.
I’d recommend a group lesson first, like those offered in adult continuing-education courses, and then a good book to work with as you keep practicing. In fact, if you take private lessons, the teacher will often recommend a good book to work with.
Here’s a tip: Whatever book you get, take it to an office-supply store and spend a few bucks to have a spiral binding put in. This will allow the book to lie flat on your music stand, which is a huge help;
— 7. A guitar case.
Sooner or later, you’re going to want to take your guitar on the road. Don’t even think about just throwing it in the back seat or the trunk. Get a good case so it’s protected when you travel.
They come in all price ranges and materials. Shop around and get a good one. Your guitar will thank you very much;
— 8. A guitar stand.
Get a guitar stand to keep your guitar safely stored while not in use. Put it in a place in your house where you’ll see it every day. The more you see it, the more likely you are to pick it up and start practicing or playing.
Big tip: Try to touch the guitar for at least five minutes every day. You will not believe how much consistency helps with learning to play;
— 9. Fingernail maintenance.
If you want to play guitar, accept the fact that you now have fingernail maintenance to worry about. The fingernails on your fretting hand need to be kept short. This allows you to use just the tips of your fingers to fret the notes, which is key to getting a clean, buzz-free sound.
On your picking hand, you want to grow out your nails so you can use them to pick the strings. “Fingerpicking” an acoustic guitar is one of the great joys in life. The price for that joy is near constant fingernail trimming, filing, and cleaning. Artists do have to suffer for their art, haha; and
— 10. Picks.
A pick, or plectrum, is a little piece of plastic shaped like a slice of pie that you use to pick the strings. They come in all kinds of materials and various thicknesses. How can a beginner possibly choose the right one? Get an assortment, they don’t cost much, and find one that is not too soft, not too hard, and feels good to you.
Fun fact: The great Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top uses a good old American quarter to play his many hits. Just find a pick that works for you.
These 10 things are what you need if you want to learn to play the guitar. There is of course one more thing you need — lots of practice — and we’ll talk about that some other time.
If you are interested in learning to play guitar, consider the Guilderland Guitar Group. We meet on the first Wednesday of the month at the Guilderland Public Library in one of the community rooms. There is a lot of competition for these rooms, so the time unfortunately can vary, but we try for 7 p.m. most months. All are welcome, it’s a lot of fun, so stop by, and get your groove on.