Know Anyone in Tunbridge Likes to Laff? This Friday!

Come and go as you please from 6-7:30 for reading, signing, plus pizza & childcare thanks to goddess librarian, Mariah. Bring your book or get one there for cash or check!

Yo, Will the People of the Land Please Nicen Up?

It has been on ongoing observation, since COVID, just how rude Americans have become. From workplace conversations to articles everywhere, people are asking, “What the heck is going on?” People hide behind the shield of social media to act horribly. Parents and students both often treat teachers poorly; many schools don’t back teachers up.  Nurses are quitting due to hostile patients.  Who could ever work in customer service or airports, the way those poor people are treated? There are 27 theories, including David Brooks’ in the The Atlantic recently.

My own guess is this rude irritability stems from frustration with just about everything: money, politics, wars, weather, disasters, understaffing, social media, homelessness, inhumane prisons, lazy workers just dialing it in, supply chain issues, gas prices, grocery prices, price gouging. How about low-paying jobs plus overpriced housing squeezing workers? Might that make one short-tempered? Ticks ruining our outdoors, COVID ruining our plans anew, floods ruining Vermont’s rivers, overwhelm and loneliness ruining our moods. 

Technology keeps changing so we cannot possibly keep up with it, while the Customer Service we need (a human, please!), to make techy things work, goes ever faster down the flusher. And don’t get me going on the impending A-I Armageddon (call me alarmist). I’m sure you have your own ranklers. You’d have to be living entirely off the grid to not notice. Or on another planet.

David Brooks has a much-quoted theory: “The most important story about why Americans have become sad and alienated and rude, I believe, is also the simplest: We inhabit a society in which people are no longer trained in how to treat others with kindness and consideration.”

Of all the triggers, this is to me the gloomiest. The others are enormously complicated and out of our control. But basic human kindness can and must be taught – and learned!

Personally, I have found flight attendants to be far less pleasant, possibly due to ongoing abuse by rude travelers. I’ve noticed little kids being less friendly, maybe due to hours on devices, with masking during their critical developmental years, plus a long stretch of limited interaction with people outside their families. When I meet a friendly child, I’m overjoyed! How’d that kid make it through, I wonder?

Happily, the crime rate has recently dropped. And I’ve been on flights where passengers were remarkably kind to each other despite painful delays – special kudos to the Young People who were very polite indeed. Maybe they’re used to all this adversity?

Those tidbits aside: Come on people. Teach your children well. And, okay, maybe your elders didn’t teach you to be nice, but isn’t it common sense to treat others as you wish to be treated? Teach down! Learn up! Teach up, if you have to.

One role model: Chip Milnor. If you missed it, read Maryellen Apelquist’s lovely paean to Chip on the front page of the August 17th White River Valley Herald. It’s moving in part because Chip is so missed, gone too soon, and in part because his type is so rare these days, it seems. Someone who went routinely out of his way to help others, with no need for accolades, and enjoyed, I suspect, every minute of doing so.  

Chips are an otherworldly breed who inspire awe. One idea for the rest of us: go out of your way to feel good and to relax – in order to be able to be nice. Try it. Make an effort to calm yourself, have fun. Do whatever it takes. Me, I get in water. Sleep. Amuse self. Feel good … to be nice.

My tiny, grass-roots initiative is to spread laffs. Laughter is good for what ails our knockout planet. Make time for your clever friends and shows! Might I suggest taking a posse to “Theater Camp” – our audience was hooting. A blend of Christopher Guest, Ru Paul, and The Office. Perverse premise, lines well delivered, with solid pacing. Go laugh!

In closing, a funny story. I have a friend who’s noticing the first physical limitations of aging. He’s 40-something. That’s when it starts. For the first time in public, he used the steps on the back of his pickup truck. As he fairly skipped up them to impress a boy watching him, the kid said dryly, “I’ve never seen anyone have to use those.”

I’m not certain what my friend thought yet didn’t say in response, but I am sure it was rich. Reminds me of the old gem The Russians Are Coming, The Russians are Coming, when Carl Reiner’s son waxes bratty. A ripsnorter worth renting, if outdated.

Go get yourself the last days of summer. Good laffs to you, good moods, good niceness, and good (Labor) Day.

Ann Aikens has published a darkly humorous book of advice, A Young Woman’s Guide to Life: A Cautionary Tale, available at Vermont shops and Amazon. She has written her Upper Valley Girl column since 1996. List of shops, email signup for events, and more of her writing at annaikens.com.

It’s All Happening at Once: NBC + Monarchs

Night Blooming Cereus blows…3 days from now? Hard to predict.

Meanwhile, the Monarch caterpillar eggs in the ground at the base of the milkweed plants somehow survived Vermont’s flooding. The fuzzy guy is young; the juicy fatty is ready to TRANSFORM. Decided not to bring inside this year. I always miss its cocoon spinning no matter how closely I watch the thing. But it does keep them from getting eaten by birds, so I may change my mind.

But in general: aren’t things happening at once? It’s a bit much, no?

Similes, Extremes, and the Strength of Hercules

When I’m not eating like a hog, moving like a sloth, sweating like a horse, and smelling like a goat, I’m swimming like an otter, laughing like a hyena, sleeping like a log, and smelling like a rose. Or some mixed-up combination thereof. It’s all extremes lately.

In a week’s time we have such highs and lows, no? One day it’s a crazy-good 4th of July; days later, disaster strikes. If, in Vermont, you haven’t suffered serious flood damage, you know people who have. Flooding and dam issues continue. It has us on pins and needles, drinking like fish. Our daily lives seem full of extremes.

Maybe this is partly due to COVID. We’re now positively overjoyed, in a way we weren’t prior, at simply sharing a sunset or religious service or dancing together. A party is a big deal. Dining out? Thrilling! Contrarily, with people being more forthcoming these days, we hear sad personal news like never before (diseases, suicides, overdoses). Throw in endless televised news with upsetting global stories and there is much to fret about. The highs are higher and lows more frequent, like a screwy rollercoaster.

The weather is reflecting the extremes inside us, or causing them. Both?  Initially, I dug the mad dash to close car windows for daily cloudbursts. Now it seems silly that I’d planned to stand out in the biblical downpours and get soaked.  Fun as a kid. Now: rain is scary.

Before the flood, I wrote: “How do wild animals feel about such rain? Do they just run with it? Or are the birds like, come on already, quit raining, we gotta  f l y. The fish hate droughts, but do they enjoy chronic turbulence? I envision little fish banging into rocks, mystified. Is that what divorce is like? Nothing makes any sense any more, and you’re just tossed around, blind, lost?”

Now it seems unlikely any fish survived Vermont’s waste-filled rivers. Riverside songbirds have taken off, their cover washed away.

There’s not a hell of a lot we can do for these floods except build wiser, use less fossil energy, monitor rainfall better, and help each other dig out. With terrible timing I had a bike crash right before the flood, so I can’t get that hopeful feeling you get from helping others; I can’t lift my own head. Fit as a fiddle after the Irene Flood, it was easy to roll up sleeves and dig in. The Bucket Brigade marched by in their Wellies, waders, and shorts, bailing out basements gratis. We cheered! Our young, Superhuman Heroes! Nothing beats in-person neighbors helping neighbors. Sign up at vermont.gov/volunteer.

Friend Sassy and I were discussing how, decades ago, we just felt more safe. Then I see a sign, “WARNING: Windows can be hazardous.” For God’s sake, what isn’t? We constantly learn of new hazards, with dread. Like: Do not go in brown, churning water. There is no oxygen in such water, and humans have no buoyancy as a result. A life preserver does no good; you will sink like granite. As I’m afraid did the fish.

Weather disasters, ticks, shootings, marauding bots … who feels safe? The good news is that humans default, mostly, to trust. (See Malcolm Gladwell’s dark book Talking to Strangers.) Turns out we mostly try to envision a safe world. We trust.

Electrical storms, now there we can take action. Lightning can mess you UP. Fuse your vertebrae, destroy your bone health or hearing … avoid! If you can hear thunder, you can be struck by lightning. Lightning can strike from 10 miles away. Do not go in a shower or tub during a storm. Or on a landline. Or by a window (hazardous!). Hide in bed. I do.

A friend said about The Flood, “Not sure what the damn message is.”  I have no answer. Some questions remain ever unanswered (“What’s that smell?”), others answered eventually (“It was the O-rings”). Undeserved misfortune is simply part of life, no? In Vermont we try for tiny carbon footprints. California blows us away in electric vehicles, but Vermont buys local, promotes rideshares, and wastes little. And gets punished anyway.

For now, we’re like blindfolded rats in a maze, operating on some combo of memory, ESP, and science – to repair and rebuild. Then, as humans do, buoyed by the LIFT of helping each other and an inclination towards trust, we will bounce back. Soon we’ll run like the wind, baying like hounds, having the time of our lives. Strong as an ox, maybe a blue ox. Maybe sooner than we think. 

May you rise like a Phoenix, with strength like Hercules’, helpers lifting you like angels, and your worries vanishing like a mist. Please enjoy, as able, a Good Day.

Night Blooming Cereus 2023

As I’d vibed, the NBC is going to bloom when I’m out of town. Drats! The good news is it’s VERY tiny right now, 1/16th of an inch. I’ve never caught one this early. She always takes longer to blow than I anticipate, so it’s possible I can send pix upon my return.

This is the first year time in years there are 2 blooms. The 2nd one (not pictured) is even tinier. So I remain hopeful! If I gave you a plant, look for the above. Careful, they’re wicked fragile. If you’d like a plant, let me know!

And If This Doesn’t Make Ya Nervous

…when your name is on it, you’re very confident indeed.

Tonight at Kimball Public Library in Randolph! Please, God, make somebody attend.

If You Want to Give a Writer a Gift

No, not the peony or candle or the cylindrical packaging ~ the fountain pen, Silly.

Yes, those other things make a nice gift, but a writer digs a good pen. This is from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Makes you want to WRITE. Its beautiful pattern is by the founder of the Arts and Crafts movement, William Morris.

And it’s heavy. You know something is well made when it’s heavy.

THANK YOU for Getting My Book these Aws Stats!

Thanks so much for participating in or forwarding my free eBook “sale”!

By doing so, you kicked me up to the top of 3 categories, so when people searched that category over the 4th, my book showed up as at left. And many “strangers” are now reading it.

I beat out some heavy hitters, THX!