Solving the Puzzle

A typical crossword puzzle.

Every once in a while I catch a segment of a radio program on National Public Radio that feature a “Puzzle Master” named Will Short. I’m not sure where else Mr. Short might appear with his puzzles, but I’m sure placing his name in a Google search can solve that puzzle. If you’re wondering why I didn’t do this for you that puzzle, too, can be solved by looking for the diminutive italicized print at the end of this blog. In these segments a phone-in contestant tries to solve the puzzle Mr. Short poses over the airwaves. Those players fortunate enough to decipher enough of the problems win a prize—the latest compilation of Mr. Short’s puzzles.

Growing up the most popular form of puzzle was the crossword puzzle. These brainteasers designed to challenge
the developing mind appeared in the original primary school newspaper, The Weekly Reader. Their other location was inside the Green Sheet, a four-page insert containing comics and other important features printed on green paper inside the Milwaukee Journal. Children whose parents moved beyond Priscilla’s Pop, Family Circus and Pogo and attempted to use their minds to ponder what letters fit in seven across or eleven down were more likely to accept the challenge of unraveling the riddles life sets in their path than those whose parents threw out the paper once they laughed at Ziggy for once again doing something even more ridiculous than the idiotic things they did.

Current progress toward completion
of this 550 piece puzzle.

A new form of puzzle using numbers in place of words came into my world sometime during the past quarter century. It is called Sudoku and consists of nine 3X3 boxes arranged in a tic-tac-to fashion. Supplied with a certain group of numbers, the objective is to fill in the empty boxes with numbers so that each box, row and column contains every number from 1 to 9. Although my mathematical processing skills lag behind my verbal processing, I find the challenge fascinating. So much so, that up to this point in time I have avoided taking on these puzzles even once. While some challenges promote a sense of well being others prove addictive. In a thoroughly satirical move I have chosen to let you decide which is which (answers may vary depending on the age, intellectual skills and birth order of each participating reader).

What the puzzle will look like when complete.

For many of us, however, the word puzzle connotes a particular form. Yes, that’s right, the one where a bunch of pieces are jumbled and the player attempts to put them back in the right order to form a design or picture. Again, looking back the ones we solved as children were mounted on boards with an imprint of the outlines of each piece, making it simpler for the child to match the shape of the piece with the marks on the board. Often referred to as jigsaw puzzles because the curvy contours of the pieces appear to have been cut by such a tool, versions for the young are limited to between six and fifty fragments. For the rest of us, the manufacturers of these conundrums present photographs shattered into 137,468,205 shapes to arrange in proper order without a board.

At this point, some readers are nodding their heads but wondering what event motivated this topic. Well, you know the line in the Bob Seeger song, “Take those old records off the shelf”? Well, even if you don’t, I decided to pull an old puzzle—probably 20 years or more—off the shelf. It’s a 550-piece photograph of four young men with somber faces and mop-top hairdos wearing black suits and ties. The picture is iconic in its portrayal of a band whose music lives on long after half of them are dead, but the shroud of darkness in their attire and the blurred background make this puzzle as difficult to solve as the legacy that bears their name, The Beatles.  

What Happened to Making New Year’s Resolutions?

My brain developing a resolution.

When I was attempting to decide what to have for a snack on New Year’s Eve I happened to remark I planned to make better choices this year to drop a few pounds. Without any subtlety, my wife a-truly-caring-compassionate-stand-by-your-side-no-matter-how-ridiculous-you-make-me-look-only-criticize-to-help-you-improve-partner-for-life said, “How cliché.” My normal response, as any truthful husband can attest, would be to render a “Just you wait and see,” defense. For some odd reason, my reflexes possibly compromised by the lack of sleep the previous couple of nights and a rather tasty IPA at dinner, I said nothing and began to reflect on my tremendous lack of success in the world of New Year’s resolutions.

Gaining some clarity.

One of the greatest barometers I have found for measuring the quality of commitment to New Year’s resolutions is the February 28^th attendance at my health club. Having been a member of a health club for the past 25 years, eight of which have been at the facility I currently use three times a week. It used to be five times a week, but when I joined a yoga studio sixteen months I cut it back to three. One constant among the three clubs to which I have belonged is the fluctuation in membership, or more accurately attendance, at these clubs between early January and late February.

Locker rooms fill with unfamiliar faces, many cling to every word offered by the personal trainer providing the three complimentary sessions that come with the special January enrollment. Other grimaces harbor a slight familiarity; like they may have used the elliptical next to you a year ago or dropped a weight they were trying to get on a bar somewhere near your toes around January 2010.  If the affordable care act truly wanted to become affordable they might offer incentives to individuals who paid for a year membership in January and made routine visits to their health clubs in March through December. Cost of locker room maintenance may increase, but coronaries may fall.

An epiphany. 

While exercising and dieting may top the list of resolutions people make at New Year’s, they are not the only goals they set as they unwrap a new calendar. With the economy finally starting to show signs of improvement a number might declare their intent to find their ideal job and make what they are worth—yeah, like that’s going to happen; remember this is satire at its worst. A few may even get the notion this is the year of their entrepreneurial prowess and explore getting a small business loan to open that nose hair and follicle removal store they’ve always dreamed of owning. Or, one might plan to write the great American novel. Oh, wait; I already did that. Well, the goal might be to get it published, and not by some do-it-yourself-so-you-can-pretend-to-be-an-author-outfit.

Maybe, all you really want to accomplish in the New Year is to improve your relationship with your spouse, parent, sibling, child or friend. Perhaps, this is the year to finally put together the puzzle in the box you’ve had for a decade, or fix a broken chair, plant a garden, clean a garage, take an extra vacation or listen to some vinyl records.

No matter how cliché, the question isn’t whether to make the resolution; the question is will the resolution remain filled with good intentions or be kept.

Ending the Year On a Good Note

As the year draws to a close it’s time to reflect on the people, places and events that made a difference in our lives the past twelve months. Watching all the specials on television, the internet, or even twitter, one realizes the people who made a difference in the world were the new pope, Edward Snowden, and of course Kim, Kanye and Baby North. Fortunately, in the blogosphere we have more serious concerns, like whether the Mario Brothers will go the way of the Jonases. (no that’s not a typo—don’t be so 20^th Century; besides last century it was “keeping up with” not “go the way of”…get with the program, remember this is satire)

Deb's brother Rick and his grandson,
Isaac--our great-nephew.

My year started a little late when I moved my blog back to BlogSpot and added two new readers. Some of you may have thought I might be upset because I missed my goal of an increase of three, but I stick with the adage that says it’s the quality, not the quantity that counts (all right, so a few things from the 20^th Century are worth keeping) When I started on Valentine’s Day by proposing a new direction in gifts for your lover, it was encouraging to receive such an exuberant response from a large volume of followers.

Besides adding new readers, who immediately become friends for life (wait, don’t hit the link in your browser, you know things pick up after the first couple paragraphs), we made three trips to visit the most important people in our lives: family and friends.

Deb holding her wine glass and cousin
Temmie from Philadelphia.

In spring we flew across the continent to spend time with Deb’s brother on the water in Tampa. Naturally, he decided to undertake a six-month renovation of his home just before we arrived. We did travel the bay in his boat a couple times, but he shipped us off to his daughter and son-in-law to sleep. We drove to Savannah to see the cousin who grew up around the corner from me. While there, we discovered the bugs they call “no see-ums” in Florida are called sand gnats further north. The difference wasn’t so much the name as the fine screens they use in Florida to keep them away were missing, so no matter what you call them we received true southern hospitality—a free skin removal treatment—in Georgia.

In summer we drove up to the Silicon Valley to attend the bat mitzvah of my cousin’s daughter. A lovely affair attended by cousins as far away as Phoenix and Philadelphia, and held in a hillside synagogue with the reception at the University Club on the Stanford campus. The next day we discovered my cousin’s brother and his three sons, fellow Southern Californians who do not drive or use the phone on the Jewish Sabbath, were staying in the room across the hall at our hotel.  Luckily, Deb and I planned a week at Lake Tahoe to recover from the pandemonium.

Deb and her sisters.

Fall found us in the leaf changing Midwest. Besides my daughter, son-in-law and oodles of friends in Milwaukee, we saw my three sisters-in-law, their husbands, a niece and her family (visiting from Florida), two friends in their new coffee shop in Door County, and old neighbors living outside Minneapolis. Stuck with summer, winter or spring breaks during our years of teaching, it was nice to relive not only the crunch of leaves under foot, which accompanies autumn colors, but also the chill in the clear Midwestern air—what we in Orange County call winter.

So, from all of us here at Hi Oh Silver we wish you a happy, healthy and prosperous new year. By the way, the good note is fa.

Why I’m a True Costconian

 My first experience with big box stores took place growing up in the sixties in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  A store opened up that featured exclusive membership for government employees. In fact, it was called GEX for government exchange. For a small annual fee my parents, one a federal employee working as a dietician at the VA and the other a municipal employee working for as a firefighter for MFD, became members. I don’t remember much about it, except it was immense. In an era before compact cars and pocket size phones, bigger was always better.

Get 3 times as much for $4.99
and it tastes as good or better than the others.

To compete J.C. Penney and Dayton-Hudson opened Treasure Island and Target, large stores without a membership fee and open to everyone. Even Kohl’s, at the time the largest grocery chain in Milwaukee, got into the big box business. Along came the Marts: K-Mart, Wal-Mart, Stein-Mart, Tall-Mart, Short-Mart, Smart-Mart, Not-So-Smart-Mart, and the race was on.

When my parents retired to California, they kept talking about a store called Price Club.  By the time we moved to California, Costco bought Price Club. My parents took us through the place they continued to call Price Club and we became members of Costco.

Now, there are several reasons I am a bona fide Costco consumer. First, their employees are truly friendly and helpful. If you can’t locate what you’re looking for, or want to exchange something for the one with the other ingredient or checks rather than stripes, they don’t just tell you where to find it, they hustle over to the spot and grab it for you. They even return the item you grabbed by mistake, and they do it with a smile. Not one of those phony, “my-boss-told-me-I-always-have-to-wear-a-smile-or-get-fired” smiles, but the same one they wear whenever they’re happy. I think it has something to do with the fact they are paid a living wage, but that’s a discussion for another time.

Brands we trust--3 lbs for the price of 1 or 2.

Second, they put quality first. A bargain is not a bargain if the product is going to fall apart the second or third time you use or wear it, or if it is going to spoil before you get it home. For this reason, Costco has always chosen to carry top of the line merchandise. Whether it’s names like Calvin Klein and Tommy Hilfiger, Jack Daniels and Gray Goose, or Ocean Spray and M&M, they are always brands people trust to give them value for their hard earned dollars.

True Blue--jeans with double stitching, brass brads,
seven belt loops and long lasting denim.

Third, they created their own brand that carries the highest standard in the retail industry. So, I know when I buy Kirkland Signature Kettle Brand Krinkle Cut Potato Chips with Sea Salt they are every bit as crunchy and tasty as the major brands that sell a package a third the size for the same price. This quality extends to the denim and stitching of their five pocket jeans that at fourteen dollars cost half to a third as much as Levi’s, Lee or Wrangler, and the never need ironing seven button dress shirts that I’d never consider purchasing at seventy dollars from Arrow, Gant or Van Heusen but own several at $17.99 bearing the Kirkland Signature tag.

Finally, while there have been times when I have found I might have saved a few pennies at a competitor, at least 8, if not 9 times out of 10, Costco has the best price. A couple times the per pound cost of a produce item was less elsewhere, but whether it would have tasted as good is definitely in question. Still, in the rare instance when I have spent more than I might have somewhere else I remain a true Costconian because their promise of high quality makes me believe I am getting the best bang for my buck.

Pain on the Brain

A finger gets slammed in a door. A knee scrapes along a sidewalk. The blade nicks a chin or ankle. Or, like me, without the proper bend in the knees, the lower back responds to the hand picking up the dumbbell off the rack. Maybe the manufacturers of these weights that fit in your hands knew what was likely to happen when they named them dumbbells. Like me, you think it is the finger, knee, chin, ankle or back that feels the hurt. Again, the manufacturers of those trillion dollars worth of pills from Tylenol to Vicodin know where the pain lies. It’s in the brain. That’s why for those who result to this form of relief they provide drugs to block signals to the brain. This also may explain the popularity of zombies in books and movies—brain-dead beings feel no pain.

A dumbbell--greener and lighter than the one at the gym,
but no smarter.

The Monday before Thanksgiving I reached down to pick up the thirty pound weight with my right hand and a muscle above my left buttock decided either it had not been properly warmed or was too tired to stretch with enough elasticity to make the lift without first signaling my brain. My brain responded with a slight jolt to the top of the head that may have stimulated tear ducts to secrete a few drops and vocal chords to emit a slight utterance. Gathering from the lack of response from other members of the gym, it can be assumed these blended in with the more virile sweat and grunts of those whose backs remained spasm free.

Pool Vac Robot
Poor fellow was caught on thick leaves.

For two weeks I toughed it out and stuck to my daily routine of either working out at the gym or attending a yoga class. While I was more cautious with each lift, I never lightened the load, and I found taking a little longer with each stretch loosened the muscle and provided greater flexibility. I was determined to make it to my regularly scheduled monthly adjustment at the chiropractor, and avoid an emergency run. Then, the Santa Anas blew last Monday. These winds swirl off the mountains from the East bringing warm air and a ton of leaves that swoop to the bottom of my pool clogging up the small robot whose job it is to vacuum up debris. Naturally, it stalled and not only did I have to rescue it, but shovel the heavy soaked leaves off the bottom with a net on the end of a long pole. Even with plenty of bend in the knees, the muscles in the back are stretched beyond capacity—and it doesn’t require a brain to figure this out, but you can be sure the brain will let you know.

Long handled net--good for getting leaves
at bottom of pool--not good for back.

Somehow, I managed to get enough sleep that night, but when I attempted my usual stretches in yoga class Tuesday morning one of those utterances escaped my lips. A few of those in the class were alarmed. A little massage helped, but I sat up in a chair to get whatever sleep I was able to muster that night, stayed in my pajamas and robe the entire day on Wednesday, and slept on the floor last night.

Today, I went to my regularly scheduled monthly adjustment at my chiropractor. He said it had been quite awhile since I had this problem. His comments made me recall when I first injured that particular muscle. It occurred twenty years ago coming out of the water on a slalom ski behind my brother-in-law’s boat. Again, it’s a matter of the proper bend in the knees. Deaf deer in the Wisconsin woods heard the utterance that echoed across the water, fifty miles to the north.  A short while later an emergency room doctor gave me my only prescription for Vicodin. All it did was make me nauseous. My brain was not to be blocked.

Over the years the injury has recurred numerous times. Ice, heat, massage and the proper stretch and adjustments help, but mostly it takes time. Meanwhile, I’ll try to do what I’m learning to do in yoga; shut off my brain.