Friday, November 9, 2018

Back to School

Why am I doing this?  I don't know.  Good question.  I guess I wanted to do two things.  First, to keep my brain working.  And second, to learn a couple or three new things in my old age.

What am I doing?  I have taken advantage of an offer, from the VA, to those of us who are legally blind -- to take online courses for free at the Hadley School for the Blind -- headquartered in a Chicago suburb.  I am taking a course in fiction writing in literature.  It is rather taxing for this old brain.  But I am loving it.

But that is not the subject of this blog.  Having to replenish my gray matter only serves to bring back lots of long ago memories of high school and college.  What I am thinking is -- there is no reason for students not to make good grades nowadays; to gather information, research it and write it and submit it to a teacher on time, well thought out and neatly printed.  You have all the tools.

I recall, when I was a senior in high school -- we were required to write an autobiography.  I still have mine stored away on a shelf in my little office.  I look at it now and then.  I am amazed and a little ashamed at my lack of creativity and neatness.  But then, I say to myself, I was only about 16 or so and had little help writing about this little slice of my early life.  It is written in cursive (longhand) and with a fountain pen (no ball points back then).  There was no typewriter available in my family.  The lines are crooked and the language is a bit sophomorish.  I did use a clever title, I think.  "The Life That Jack Built."  That was pretty good.  I used lots of pictures.  That took up lots of space, making it a bit thicker with more pages.  One thing I can take pride in -- I created this assignment all by myself. No help from anyone. Good or bad -- it was all mine.

There were assignments in college which required some research.  I trotted off to the library and scanned the encyclopedia Britannica or Americana and translated it's esoteric little Times Roman type -- pencil in hand  -- notebook at the ready -- and copied only what I needed to get this paper finished.  By this time, I had available a typewriter -- an old Underwood, I recall.  However -- even though I knew how to bang away at the keys by touch (which I later used, probably, more than any other class I took in high school -- right now, for example) -- I was not a perfect typist.  What does that mean?  It causes many really filthy words to come out of one's mouth.  Because, you see, with each typo, one had to start all over.  There was no room for mistakes.  Thus the required profanity.  But with careful concentration,  perfection was eventually achieved!  

What am I getting at?  Kids --you have no excuses.  The world of computers and word processors and calculators is there for you.  No more encyclopedias -- no more typewriters -- make a mistake -- fix it immediately -- rearrange a sentence -- no problem -- need some information about the dynasties in China or the Roman empire -- check your phone, ipad or computer -- print it out.  You have the educational world by the tail -- so no excuses.

OK  so I am envious.  I wish I could have had these wonderful things back then.  And, yes, I am using all these devices in my little Hadley course.  And I love it! I wouldn't change a thing. But please don't forget how to put your calculators away and add numbers in your head. Or make change for $1.53 when someone gives you two bucks.  Radio and TV folks -- do a live commercial now and then -- it makes your brain work overtime when it goes out at 186,000 miles per second -- that is seven times around this earth of ours every second -- there is no getting it back -- it's gone --  no redo.  Perfection is required.

So what is my message?  Kiddos -- put down your machines once in a while -- don't let your brains atrophy  -- put yourself in a little mental jeopardy once in a while -- it gives you a helluva rush.

From the heart of Olaf Hart .....

Saturday, November 3, 2018

The Fishermen

Hernando Beach, Florida?  Never heard of it?  Well, let me tell you.  It is a little fishing town on the gulf just west of Wickee Wachee.  Never heard of that either?  Don't be ashamed.  I think that is just OK with the folks there. They don't like crowds much.

Well, that is where we gathered on that beautiful Florida morning -- ready to go catch some fish.
We were to board the "Thunder."  That is a small "Party" boat which will hold about twenty or so folks.  We know it is well equipped with enough fishing poles for everyone and enough life jackets stowed away so they could be snatched if needed -- but we knew they would never be needed -- and they were not.  Captain Cruz and his Mates ( there were two)  had the boat ready for us and we began to board.  Pelicans were squating along the way, waiting for what might be some fish cleanings later today. They were not disturbed by our presents.  One could probably pet them on the head like a pet dachshund dog, which they sort of resembled..  

It took a while.  Each man, with his backpack and cooler,  scooted along, down the precipitous narrow pier toward the boat -- then up a couple of steps and then down a couple of steps-- hands holding our arms --  by the two mates and the Captain -- and, finally, into the boat.  What a relief! We are not accustomed to getting into a boat. But -- We made it!

It is cool in Florida on this morning.  This was Halloween day, October 31st.  But the sun, which had been above the Eastern horizon and in a few minutes, was blazing and we knew we would not need our jackets for long.  But they felt good now. 

Finally -- we were all aboard and the motors were started and the boat began to chug out of the slip with it's dual Diesels stirring up the water.  What a smooth ride out through the beautiful and expensive mansions that lined the waterways, out through the canals.  That took about half an hour, at a slow speed,  in the glassy smooth water.  The Gulf of Mexico spread out ahead.  Markers of red and green gave the Captain his exact location, though he scarcely needed it.  He had been this way hundreds of times.  Then the open waters of the Gulf gave us some small waves and we heard the diesels rev up and the boat settled into a bow up smooth trim and  we were on our way to where the fish were just waiting for us.  

About two hours after we left the boat dock, were had long since left sight of land.  It was time to do what we came here to do.  It was time to fish.  Finally the  anchor was lowered and snugged in, the engines came to a halt and the silence was bliss.  The poles had been distributed and the bait had been issued and any instructions had been given, we got to our place along the deck and we were ready to catch the biggest fish in history.  Right?

We were told that there would be a prize for the biggest fish.  There would be another prize for the drawing (we each had a ticket with a number) for some give-away's.  All were in a festive mood.  It was about 10 AM.  Life was good and we all were a bunch of happy guys, ready to fish.

What a joy on this Fall day in Florida.  Fish were caught and men were shouting for help with their catches.  Mates were on the spot to help land and stow the keepers.  Men were shouting at each other across the boat.  The swells were rocking the boat back and forth.  Rocko shouted, in his New York dialect, "Whose rockin' da  boat ovah dare?  Cut it out."  Everyone laughed.  Doug was getting help from his grandson who came along with hm.  Willie yelled at the mate to help him with his catch. All of us were having a great time and the weather was perfect.  We were catching Grouper and Red Snapper and Grunts and lots of other fish I never heard of.  As the fishing got scarce, Captain Cruz moved us from place to place to renew the prospects.  Lines got tangled and hooks got stuck on the bottom but mates were there to help us out.  Time was on a fast track.  We grabbed our sandwiches and drinks as we moved from place to place, waiting for those diesels to stop so we could drop our lines once again with renewed optimism.  This time we would get the big one.  Our legs and arms were tired but that didn't matter -- we fished on, waiting for that nibble and waiting for the big one to grab our bait.

Well, four o'clock was approaching and it was time to pull in the lines and call it a day.  Four hours flew by in the now hot Florida sunshine about 30 or so miles out in the Gulf of Mexico. The diesels fired up one last time and we were on our way back to Hernando Beach.  The mate was busy cleaning the fish we caught and distributing it in plastic bags to the catchers.  The awards were given out, a group of happy fishermen were lounging around, hanging on as the boat swung back and forth as we sped along in the smooth swells of the Gulf.  Most of us had caught at least a couple of fish.  We all had a great time.  We met new guys.  We had some good conversation.  We had plenty of time to talk on the way out and back.  We were tired but happy.  It was a good day.  We were helped back onto the dock, put our feet on solid land and said our good by's and agreed to do it again some day.  The sun was lowering itself into the western sky.  What a day!

Oh -- I failed to tell you one last thing.....  We are all blind.  We are all blinded veterans.  Most of us could not see what we caught -- or where we were -- or where we had been -- or where we were going.   But that did not matter to us.  We were all just a bunch of guys, fishing and having a great time.

From the heart of Olaf Hart .......

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Old time radio -- name dropper

No I wouldn't wish to go back to those days of old time radio broadcasts because you just can't pick and pluck out a bit of time in history without getting the whole deal.  I don't want to give up my cell phone or big screen TV and you wouldn't either.  But it is fun to reminisce and live those good ole days in your mind, isn't it?

Now the name dropping. Advanced Radio broadcasting class at Indiana State about the mid 50's or so. Our class was responsible for a daily radio show which was broadcast live on WBOW in Terre Haute.  It was a young kids show designed for after school listening.  Our class wrote all the scripts and performed the voices and did all the sound effects.  We were the whole show.  The characters included the Story Princess who set the stage for the adventures of all the animals in the woods.  There was Judge Owl who was the voice of reason and the main character. Then we created characters as we needed them for the story. Sammy Squirrel, Chippy Chipmonk, Rudy Rabbit and numerous others as long as the name was alliterate (same letter for each name). Then there was Sniffy Skunk who was the obligatory minority and often left out of the group for obvious reasons -- they thought he smelled bad but he really didn't.  Sniffy was often the hero and probably represented either an African american or Mexican american or who knows what else. The others were used according to their characteristics.  It made for some interesting ideas and scripts.

The class was small and very close and amiable. We set about each day to write a new script and rehearse and then wait for the station to, "Take you now to the Indiana State campus for the Story Princess"  And we were live -- no screw ups to retake -- no sir -- it was live radio.  

I frequently got the job of Judge Owl because of my deeper voice which I deepened even more for the part.  Jerry Baker (of Pacers sports and Indy 500 fame) shared that with me.  But probably our most famous celebrity was often the Story Princes.  She was a young lady named Marvella Bayh -- recently married to a lawyer in Terre Haute called Birch Bayh.  During these classes Marvella kept us up to date about Birch --- announcing his upcoming run for the U S Senate.  She also surprised us all one day when she announced she and Birch were going to have a baby -- we all suspected as much when she began to gain a little weight in the wrong place.  She said if it was a boy (we didn't know back then until it was born) It would be called by Birch's middle name -- Evans -- Which later became Evan). His name was actually Birch Evans Bayh the 3rd.  Yes I sat in a radio class years ago next to unborn Evan Bayh -- Governor and Senator from the Hoosier state.

But the point of this blog is not the name dropping -- it is the triggering of the imagination of those little kids who waited each day for their own little make-believe world of animals with which they could identify through their imagination.  It made them think!  Each one had his or her idea of what was going on in this make believe world with no pictures to spoil their thoughts.  We adults had long had the same experience especially on Sunday afternoon with The Thin Man and Fibber McGee and Molly.  Or "Who knows what lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows"...  Boy that bring back some memories.  Let us not forget Lum 'n Abner and their neighborhood "Jot 'em down" store.  

And after school we ran home so we could listen to Superman, Captain Midnight, Tom Mix and lots of other 15 minute kids radio shows, which pitched breakfast cereals other kid stuff at us while we dreamed about solving crimes and the wild west. We could be right there --  just by listening -- we didn't need a picture, did we? And don't forget the special message that could only be known with the code-breaker ring that could only be gotten with a box top from Ralston cereal and a quarter.  I'll bet one of those rings would be worth a fortune to a collector now-a- days.

Mom listened to the radio while she worked -- Ma Perkins, Stella Dallas, Dr. Malone, Mary Nobel in Backstage Wife and scores more all afternoon, every day.  Our mother's imaginations were going full blast and they could work while they listened -- no pictures to get in the way.  They made up their own pictures in their minds.

Yes we have forgotten how a kid's imagination is so important. And ours were sparked every day by listening to that old radio. I wonder how many famous authors or screen writers or musicians got their childhood imaginations tickled from listening to radio dramas?  Have we lost something really valuable?  What can I say???  Let's hear it for old time radio.....

From the heart of Olaf Hart .....

Monday, September 3, 2018

Music??

It is a lazy and sometimes rainy day here in Florida on this Labor Day Monday.  It nudged me into turning off the news and turning on my often times neglected DTV music channels.  I picked a "Jazz Vocal" channel and was immediately lulled into a melancholy state of mind.  And that prompted me to write another blog and share my experience.

Man oh man the music I am hearing is so great!  And there isn't much any more like it these days.  Let me hasten to say -- my grandson, Ben Harris, is a hip hop singer and I respect his talents.  He can grab a mike and spit out impromptu rhymes and rhythms like the professional he is.  I don't know how he does it.  But that musical genre has little or no melody and always includes the obligatory heavy bass that seems to rattle and vibrate the windows of the cars I pass sometimes -- sending that boom boom out to the world so as to try and convince everyone that this is the only music they should be exposed to. Rather like an itinerant preacher on the corner talking to no one in particular trying to convert the entire populace.  Apparently the louder the music the better it is. Go figure!

But I digress. (as I often do) Today I am pleased to have listened to some REAL "oldies".  I mean back a bunch of years -- through the 30's 40's and 50's -- maybe even further back -- sung by the likes of such greats as Peggy Lee, Ella, Sinatra, Billy Eckstine, Bobby Darren, June Christy, Sara Vaughn and -- anybody remember Chet Baker? (Trumpet and singer) -- well if you are older 'n 70 -- you could add a bunch more.  What a treat -- I need to change channels more often.

First we hear a nice musical intro -- then a great performance -- with lyrics that we all remember and can understand and love and a rhythm we can snap our fingers to.  Sinatra sitting in a bar at quarter to 3 in the morning having "One for his baby and one more for the road.  These foolish things,  Old Black Magic" -- Peggy Lee lamenting  "Is that all there is?"  Bobby Darren warning us not to trust ole Mack the Knife. And such great talents as Nat King Cole, Billy Holiday, Ray Charles --  I could go on and on but that would fill a book.  There were so many.  What happened to those great talents and songwriters -- the likes of  -- Kern -- Cole Porter and the Gershwin brothers -- just to name a few -- I know they died -- but is there no one to take their place?  Maybe no one could take their place.

Of course I would not ever wish to  rid us of rock n roll (which -- by the way -- was a code phrase for having sex -- LOL we fooled the white preachers didn't we?)  and I certainly would not wish to deprive each generation of their special music.  But I would love to have -- just once-- some of those huge speakers in my car and when I pulled up beside a car with the windows down and the rear window vibrating so hard it might burst -- and roll down my windows and blast away my music with  -- lets see -- maybe Ella  and her skat-singing jazz version of  "How high the Moon" and I would blast  the offending boom box laden car with -- dooby dooby doo --as only Ella could sing it, just as loud as the other car -- and see what kind of reaction I might get before I gave the offender a one finger salute and got the hell out of there. Well -- I can dream can't I?

I guess I am really acting like a white haired old man in his 80's  reminiscing about the past.  Well I AM a white haired old man in his 80's and I loved this afternoon -- reminiscing about the past and listening to MY music, patting my foot, singing along, and enjoying the hell out of it. It makes me feel great.  I should do this again soon.

From the heart of Olaf Hart.........

Wednesday, August 1, 2018

My Bad

When I screw up -- I want to correct myself.  I gave the responsibility of calling TV a "Vast Wasteland" way back in the 60's to poor ole Spiro Agnew.  He had enough problems and didn't need any more.  The "Vast Wasteland" speech was by Newton Minnow -- who was the Chairman of the FCC (Federal Communications Commission) -- the body that rides shotgun over the broadcasting business in the U S.  He was appointed by John Kennedy and became a friend of Bobby Kennedy.  The speech was given to the NAB (National Association of Broadcasters) national convention.  That organization is a self appointed organization of radio and TV station owners who created a list of do's and don'ts for themselves -- many of which were not particularly followed and especially not these days. Their NAB rules included such things that the FCC had no control over -- for example -- number of commercials per hour and restrictions on commercial content etc.  These NAB members were supposed to follow their own guidelines.

Anyway -- Minnow's speech was written as a challenge to the broadcasters to watch their own TV stations for an entire day and night with no break.  He admonished that they would find a "vast wasteland" -- hoping they would create some more interesting  and informative programs to fill this wasteland.  The speech was not well received by the public.  They accused Minnow of being a snooty liberal.  Public opinion suggested that most folks were happy with what they saw on TV -- their soap operas and game shows -- and just wanted to be entertained and Minnow should mind his own business.

My oh My -- how things have changed since the advent of cable TV and the repeal of the multi ownership rule.  Watch out Cable TV -- here comes TV on your computer or phone and ipad.  Talk about a vast wasteland!!

From the heart of Olaf Hart ......

Tuesday, July 31, 2018

A vast wasteland?

I think it might have been Spiro Agnew who used the phrase about  television way back in the past.  He called it a "Vast Wasteland".  Maybe he had something.

OK OK it is election time in Florida!  That means lots (I mean LOTS) of political TV commercials.  But I am not talking about quantity -- it is the Quality I want to address.

Lest you are not familiar with my background -- I have a couple of degrees in Mass Communications and many years of work in the Radio/TV business.  Over a period of more than 30 years, I have recorded or read live thousands of commercials and hundreds of newscasts on both radio and TV.  I am not bragging -- Those are my credentials  for this critical blog.

When I began my career back in the late 50's --  there were only two major female voices on national broadcasting -- Nancy Dickerson (Mother of John at CBS) and Pauline Fredricks of NBC.  That was about it.  Virtually all newscasters and announcers were men -- most with big deep voices.  Let me be clear -- I am not a chauvinist.  As manager of a small radio station in Crawfordsville, Indiana many years ago, I hired two women as DJ's -- not to read recipes and household hints -- but to play records and read the news just like their male counterparts.  That was unheard of back then. And they did a great job.  I love to hear good female talent.  But, as time moved onward, female newscasters and announcers became more and more a part of the broadcasting business -- and now women  are probably more numerous than men these days.  Understand -- I have nothing against a pretty face as long as it has some talent behind it.

I live in Ocala, Florida -- about an hour north of Orlando.  That is where we get our TV programming.  Orlando -- the home of Disney and all the great theme parks -- grew up very fast.  It is now a large metropolitan city.  They now have several TV stations on our satellite system from which to choose -- but they are all about the same.  Each one has a pretty face co anchor or two reporting the news.  I am convinced that the pretty face took precedents over the talent.  They are not bad -- just not the quality that a city of that size should have as their major news anchors.  They seem to "sing" the news with not much attention to what they are saying.  A few are good -- but most are in need of some coaching.  

But the commercials!!!  OMG.  You know what a "motormouth" is? Someone who talks faster than their brain can function.  It is easy to see what kind of business is making the big bucks -- just check the commercials on the local TV news shows.  Lawyers -- Car dealers and now politicians.  And they all think they are great TV personalities.  Or they get their sister-in-law or wife or whoever is the sexiest to do their commercials on TV.  That doesn't take much convincing does it?  "Ya wanna be on TV? -- I can make you a star, sweetie -- just do my commercial for me."  Or even worse -- they do their own commercials.  Heaven forbid!

Let me tell you something, folks.  People who sell cars or practice law are NOT good announcers -- nor are their kids or their girlfriends.   It takes a lot of natural talent to do that but most of all it takes years of study and practice and experience to be a good  TV pitchman (or woman).  They should, at least, take a look at what a good commercial looks like -- and there are a few on the networks or created by a good ad agency.   For God's sake -- get a professional writer to create and a good professional talent to represent you on TV!   And please stop trying to squeeze ten pounds into a five pound bag.  Be a good car salesman or a good lawyer or good politician (is that possible?) or whatever you do for a living -- and stop trying to be a TV announcer.  You are NOT good at that.  Leave the TV to the pros who do that for their livelihood.  They ARE good at that.

Oh -- by the way -- I am available ...LOL

From the heart of Olaf Hart.....




Thursday, July 19, 2018

The Weather

I must be running low on ideas -- but there is always the weather.

Jeri and I were sitting in our screened in lanai -- all dressed in our jackets and sweaters trying to keep warm.  Oh --  I failed to mention -- that was last January and it was in the 40's.  That is cold here in Florida.  Our teeth were chattering and we were shivering.  We went inside to get warm.

We agreed, back then,  that there would be a time in the near future when we would have nice hot weather and we would probably complain about that, too.  We were right -- here it is.  And so it goes.

We failed to forecast, last January, that, along with the warm weather, would come something else that mother nature foists upon us in the summer here in Florida -- and that is RAIN.  Oh don't get me wrong -- we need rain -- lots of rain for all the lush greenery and tall palm trees and lawns abounding in nice green grass.  Now, Florida is known for its summer rain showers.  But it has rained every day here in the sunshine state for the past two months.  Our nice screened-in lanai is all wet and dreary and messy.  Our comfortable swing-set is not able to accommodate us.  We want to sit and relax and have a glass of wine and talk about the past but IT IS SOGGY WET.  And things are getting muddy and moldy!  The grass is growing so fast. We need to mow our lawn every other day, it seems.  

Now and then the sun comes out and begins to dry things off a bit and we get all excited about that.  Maybe a day without rain.  Maybe we can have dinner in our lanai and hear the birds and enjoy the warm Florida breeze -- but NO.  We hear thunder.  That rumble has become a normal part of our day -- and, shortly thereafter,  here comes the rain -- again -- and spoils our fresco dinner plans.  We just can't be satisfied, can we? Yes, I am complaining!

But here is what I know for sure.  There will be a day when our dry lawn begins to turn brown and we will need to use our irrigation system to water the grass. And the powers that be will tell us that we can only water on Sunday and Thursday because a drought is coming and the water levels are getting low.  And I think you already know what we will say.  "Remember last summer when it rained every day?"  And we will say that won't we? And I know also that next January we will sit in our lanai and shiver and recall "last summer" when it was in the 90's and we had to go inside to get cool. And we will probably forget that it rained everyday.  And we will hope that it doesn't freeze and kill our plants tonight.

Nothing seems to please us does it?  Well it is humid and in the 90's today --  again. I need to leave my nice cool office and go out and check the mail.  Well, Hell -- I hear thunder --  I better grab the umbrella -- it's raining -- again.

From the heart of Olaf Hart .....

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

4th of July

July 4th was special when I was growing up.  Our house was located enough up above Milligan Park that we could see the fireworks from our street .  We would gather some chairs and sit in the street (it was a dead end street with a street light which mysteriously burned out before the show started) and patiently wait for the show to begin at the park.   We would grade the various aerial bombs by cost.  A little one would be $5 and a really great one would cost $25 in our late 1940's kid's rating system.  We had no idea what they really cost -- but it was fun to speculate.

Some time in my history Dad began to play at the park in the old POSofA band.  That was great because we  got to go to the park for free and see the fireworks up close.  Later I played in the same band and got to set right on the field up close and personal.  Ah the past.  So many memories of 4th of July fun.  It has always been a great day for me -- even while I was in the Air Force Band -- we played for this special day -- lots of patriotic songs and marches to celebrate our independence.

Maybe I just did not listen or maybe I didn't understand about why we celebrate this holiday.  I know I was taught the reason for this special day in our country's history -- but it apparently didn't soak in.  All I knew was it was the day our forefathers, especially Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin, drew up a document that told England we were going to separate ourselves from them and that was it.  It was signed on July 4th 1776. It was called the Declaration of Independence. 

As I have grown older and wanted to know more about things -- I have read many books about those days after July 4th 1776.  Those great men from the 13 colonies put their lives on the line -- in the face of losing their lives -- for the cause of independence for this new country.  This day all those years ago was just the beginning.  After the king of England got the word that HIS  13 colonies wanted to try an experiment with a whole new form of government -- and wanted to go it alone with no help or interference (or taxation) from England -- he went bonkers!  He was going to lose part of the great British Empire and lose tax money.  He immediately sent soldiers and ships and his navy -- the best in the world -- to put down this rebellion and stupid notion that his colonies could make it on their own and let everyone live free.

That was the whole idea of this new country -- to let everyone have a say in the decisions of the government and to live free to do what ever they wished with no cast system or class system -- all equal and independent with their own goals and wishes and with no state religion -- and able to speak  freely without punishment of any kind. (Yes their were slaves and that would be dealt with many years later -- but it WAS dealt with).  This was unheard of!  No King?  No upper ruling class?  It just couldn't be done!

As we know -- these men, these colonists, unselfishly got themselves into a helluva war.  It was called the Revolusionary War. There were no anesthetics -- not much medicine.  Those little lead balls caused lots of problems when they hit someone. The cannon balls blew men apart and shrapnel ripped off legs and arms. They had no uniforms to speak of.  They were not trained -- just mostly farmers and store keepers etc -- but they fought and fought and fought again.  They often froze in the Winter as then fought without coats or even shoes.  General George Washington was their leader and he was a Civil Engineer with the stars of a General thrust upon him.  He led with honor and valor -- often leading the troops into harms way.  He was shot at numerous times but kept on urging his little army into battle day after week after month. The British army was far far better than our ran-tag soldiers -- but we never quit.  Out numbered at every battle -- we outsmarted those redcoats time and time again.  We lost thousands of young men and boys in battle after battle.  the King -- sitting in his nice warm castle in England -- kept sending more and more troops and ships and guns -- but in spite being outnumbered and of our huge losses --  George Washington's Patriots kept on fighting -- month after month -- from the forests behind the trees and hills -- they kept fighting for the cause they knew was right -- freedom from the tyranny of the British Monarchy.  Yes they had some help from France and also the Native Indians -- but our little army fought for over two years after that little document our forefathers sighed back in 1776 that began -- WE THE PEOPLE !  And we won!  England gave up and let us have our experiment in government -- our stupid notion that everyone could participate and grow and be successful -- regardless of their station in life. And each State could operate independently and still remain United as a country. And we are still here, aren't we?  Look what it precipitated -- the greatest country the world has ever known.

Happy Birthday United state of America.

From the heart of Olaf Hart .....

Sunday, July 1, 2018

Anguish Languish

Anguish Languish is a homophonic language created by Howard Chance to show how ridiculous the English Language can be.  It uses real words that sound similar to the intended words -- but are not the correct word.  So Anguish Languish are two real words that sound like English Language but are not.  His famous nursery rhymes were published in the 50's.  Example:  Ladle rat rotten hut.  You figure it out.

Why the reference?  Because I can not spell very well.  I am probably the worse speller I have ever known. And I blame it in part on the English Language.The general attitude among good spellers about bad spellers is that -- they are low class (what ever that means) -- they are not well educated --  they are lazy -- they have a low IQ -- and a few other low blows.  But I am none of these.  So why do I have such a problem with the entanglement of all these lovely little letters to conform to what the dictionary believes to be the proper arrangement to spell a certain word?  Why can't I spell?

During my freshman year of college at Indiana State, myself and three or four other guys (Are guys worse spellers than women?)  were faced with the possibility of flunking freshman English because we all flunked the required spelling tests.  Oh yes -- we all knew how to diagram a sentence and how to tell a noun from a verb.  We were good English students -- but we had "cantspellitis."  So the Professor -- bless his heart -- with considerable exasperation, wrote ten or twelve words on the blackboard (no whiteboards back then) and told our little group to "Memorize these damn words!"  He erased the words and told us in no uncertain terms to "Write the damn words down before you forget them!"  We did and we all passed freshman English.

OK.  Back to this ridiculous, complicated English Language.  Lets start with the alphabet. B is a good example.  Bee(honey)  --Bea (Aunt Bea) -- Be(still) -- Beebe(gun) -- spelling Bee.  Maybe you can think of some more.  How about C?  See(eyes) -- Sea (ocean) -- Seesaw (teeter totter) -- Si' (Senior).  And that is just a couple of letters. Homonyms are pretty confusing.  Read(today)  read(yesterday).  Bass(fish), bass(guitar). Refuse(won't do it), refuse(trash), re-fuse (put in new fuses).  Hundreds more -- you know the drill.  It must be a real chore to learn English with all the various different sounds for just one letter.  It's tough to speak, let alone spell the Kings English we had thrust upon us.  No wonder I can't spell.

I realize that most of my career has been "reading" commercials or news on radio or TV and not caring or needing to be concerned about spelling. After all, it wasn't a newspaper.  As long as it sounded OK, I could spit out the words like a motor mouth whether they were spelled correctly or not.  But it seems that we have all come back to writing to each other these days on phones and computers rather than speaking so much  So I better get my act together and get with the program.  What were some of the rules?  E before I  or was it I before E-- then what? -- I can't remember.  I do know this.  I know the best invention so far in this 21st century is one I use numerous times each day and many times on this blog -- I couldn't do without it! It is called the spell checker!

From the heart of Olaf Hart ....

Saturday, June 23, 2018

Are We There Yet?

Way back in my memory it seems to have started with a pig.  Not a real pig -- but a big ceramic pig -- A really big piggy bank.  The purpose of this pig was to gather dimes.  And it worked.  As the months rolled by, dad and mom would empty their pockets of all change and deposit all the dimes in this pig. Those little dimes are heavy. It got heavier and heavier.  This swine depository was our vacation money.  Sometime before the appointed departure day, we would open up the pig (he had a small removable hole in his tummy) and count the dimes.  We were always surprised at the amount accumulated -- I don't know how much -- but it seemed like a lot to me.  That paid for our vacation.

We were not dirt poor but we didn't have much if any discretionary income.  So my parents in their wisdom saved their dimes so we could have a proper vacation every year.  The chosen location was always Ideal Beach (later Indiana Beach) at Lake Shaffer near Monticello, Indiana.  Let me tell you about this cabin we rented for a week at the ridiculous rate of $10  -- not a day  -- but $10 a week!  The cabin  -- which was lined up in a row with several identical cabins -- all tucked in together -- had a central kitchen area with a table and chairs. There were two bedrooms walled off with nothing but drab heavy curtains -- no walls.  A screened in front porch completed the little structure.  It was not heated  -- it had running cold water with a sink and a two burner gas cooking stove and an ice box -- NOT a refrigerator -- an ICE box  -- which was supplied with ice by an ice man each day.  There was NO bathroom -- a big central building housed crude rest rooms -- for the use of all the cabins -- one for men and one for women -- with a shower room with water heated by a big black, sun-heated tank on the roof.  It was usually cold water. That little cabin was our home for the week.  Oh yes -- along with the cabin came a row boat with oars.  Dad rented a little outboard motor from a guy at home who had such items for rent for a small fee.  It came with a gas can which one could fill for probably less than a dollar back then.  We did this routine for a number of years -- we even rented the same cabin every year -- I think it was number 27.  Maybe my folks were superstitious!

Almost as much as the actual experience of those vacations was the anticipation.  The day came when we loaded up the old 36 Chevy with all our stuff -- we waved good bye to all our neighbors and headed north toward our haven for a week.  We were so excited!  As we whizzed along a few miles from town -- I thought we would never get there and I asked the traditional eternal question every kid has asked his parents a hundred times -- "Are we there yet?" Dad told me to be patient.

We finally arrived.  We had prepared for this annual event for months in advance.  Mom and Dad made out a menu so we could buy exactly what we needed and nothing more -- no wasted food.  We could not eat out at a restaurant -- couldn't afford that.  But we did splurge and brought along our own Pepsi Cola (it was bigger than Cokes) and beer by the case.  My sister Susie and I saved our pennies and had our own little stash for some of the pleasures of that Shaffer Lake resort -- especially the salt water taffy made by the Sering family, who went from Crawfordsville to the resort each summer to their little booth to make and sell their wonderful taffy.  They would draw a crowd when Mr. Sering would pull and slap the taffy together with his strong hands and arms from a hook on the wall. How he could make that candy talk back to him.  It was probably not good for our teeth but it was so chewy and delilcious!  We didn't care.

Then there was the big wooden classic Chris Craft motor boat called the "Wahoo IV"  Susie and I did not yet understand Roman numerals and so it was known to us (to this day) -- not by its real name -- the Wahoo 4 -- but as the "Wahoo Ivy".  We budgeted our little pool of funds for one ride on that boat -- what a thrill!  The owner of that boat also had a miniature golf course which cost a dime and a free game if you sunk the last hole in one shot.  There were arcades and rides and the toboggan water sled and the roof garden, where an ice cold coke in a bottle was a nickle -- it was a wonderland for a couple of kids for a whole week. 

While other folks had a big powerful boat to cruise around the lake -- we had our little row boat with the dinky little outboard motor.  But that was OK -- we would follow the big boats around and "Ride the waves" from their wake -- the bigger the better.  Once an a while someone would come by on water skis -- and we had our own show right there on the lake and we would cheer for the skier as they came by.  We didn't need Cypress Gardens! We just loved to lay around in that little boat and get as tan as we could.  One special night we would get into or little rowboat and row out beside the lakeside dance hall -- Susie and I got to stay up  for this late night adventure.  The live band would play and we could see the reflected colored lights shimmering on the lake. and the dancers and the music as it surfed out over the lake.  It was magic.

Susie and I had a little sister back then  -- Mary Ellen.  I need to mention her.  Unfortunately she was born with such fair skin she simply could not be in the sun for any time.  She came only once and had to be taken back home.  From then on, she stayed with our grand parents and had a wonderful time being spoiled.  Emmy -- as she became know from her initials -- died a few years ago from lung cancer.  RIP little Emmy. 


No, we didn't have much money -- and some neighbors and family thought it rather extravagant of our parents to spend money we couldn't afford every year on a vacation. BUT -- Hey folks -- I am in my 80's and I am still remembering with so much pleasure those days at Lake Shaffer.  I treasure those memories --- wouldn't trade those vacations for any new car or better house or anything ever.  Thanks mom and dad -- wherever you are.

From the heart of Olaf Hart ...


Monday, June 18, 2018

Here comes the Sun

I have been waiting for days to write this blog.  My favorite day of the year is coming!  First -- a little history....

Stonehenge -- as you probably know  - is an ancient site in Scotland where the Druid are thought to have practiced their religious cult.  But it has an interesting structure.  By standing at a certain point, one can tell where the sun is and when it passes certain latitudes each year.  This was apparently  of the utmost importance to them.

Machu Picchu is an ancient Mayan city in the mountains of Peru where they survived centuries ago.  Among the structures there is a site where the Mayans could foretell the position of the sun at any time.  I have read -- some of the great pyramids in Egypt are built so the sun will shine down a shaft at certain special times of the year.

I have visited the ancient site of Chichen Itza and climbed the famous chopped off pyramid called El Castillo.  That is a Mayan ruin in the jungle near the Mexican city of Cancun on the Yucatan Peninsula.  Although that climb was a heart stopping experience -- the most interesting thing I found while visiting this ancient site was  their tower and circle of cog-like rock formations with which they could tell at any moment in tine where the moon and Venus were located in the sky with respect to the Earth.  This tower also told these progressive people where the sun was and when it passed the various latitudes on the earth's surface.

Now stay with me ---  These three sites determined that on a certain day each year the sun's rays  passed over the equator on its trip from the Tropic of Capricorn in the south and toward the Tropic of Cancer in the north where the sun seemed to  stop and began to return to compete the cycle again.  They knew this centuries ago.

Most of the folks on this earth thought that the sun moved about and would stay a little longer until a certain day when it began to move away  -- then it would seem to slowly leave us.  They were afraid it wouldn't come back. So, after lots of prayers to various Gods and various ceremonies and dances and even human sacrifices -- the sun (which they worshiped) would decided to return and do the whole thing again year after year. (It is thought that the approximate  date upon which we celebrate Christmas might have been chosen because of this cycle of the sun's winter solstice December 21st).  It was only a few years ago that our brilliant religious leaders admitted that maybe the earth was doing the moving and not the sun.  I think the Mayans and maybe the Druids already knew that centuries ago.

Stay with me ---  Some years ago -- I was privileged to go with some friends down to Baja California in Mexico to a fishing village called Rancho Buena Vista and fish for big Marlin in the Sea of Cortez.  It was in late June.  As we traveled from the Cabo Airport to our destination, we passed a huge sign beside the road near the entrance to the village which stated in huge letters  TROPIC  OF CANCER  with a line across the road.  We stopped and I took a picture.   

One day during our trip, we took a day off from fishing and I found myself strolling along the beach all alone -- having a cold beer.  It was June 21st and it was exactly noon and it was hot.  There was a strange aura all about me.  I saw a discarded beer can on the beach and an old abandoned boat.  But something was wrong -- not wrong but different.  Then it came to me.  It was noon on June 21st and I was standing directly on the Tropic of Cancer.  The sun was as directly over head as it would ever be anywhere on the earth and  there were NO SHADOWS. The beer can and the boat had no shadows.  I looked at my feet.  I was standing entirely on my own shadow.  It was weird!  I had my camera and tried to take a picture but I couldn't capture that strange world where no shadows existed.  I will never forget it. 

I always think of that experience as we approach the summer solstice or the longest day of the year -- June 21st.  I love this long day of sunshine --  I wonder if anyone is going to stand on their shadow on the Tropic of Cancer? -- Yes, I know the sun doesn't go anywhere -- the earth does all the moving.  But I certainly understand why it doesn't seem that way.  I will just go along with tradition -- I'm easy.

From the heart of Olaf Hart......

Saturday, June 16, 2018

Fathers Day

This is Fathers Day weekend -- designed, I am sure, to create spending and help the revenue of retailers.  But -- I am a free marketeer -- so that's OK with me.  But it is a day we celebrate fathers ( and grandpa's etc.)

My dad wasn't perfect -- I will tell you that right off the bat.  But who is?  My dad was not a machinist -- although he was a good one and that is how he earned his living.  He was not a lot of things he professed to be.  So what was he?  He was a MUSICIAN -- a trombone player.  That is why he did those other things to get to his real love -- to play his horn and lead his band of fellow musicians.  I am always reminded of Dan Fogelberg's song "Leader of the Band".  Some words are such a perfect description of my relationship with my dad.  "He gave a gift to me I know I never can repay --  His blood runs through my instrument and his song is in my soul". Dan, thanks for those words -- you must have had a dad like mine.  I know for sure Dad and I could read each other's mind when we were playing a gig together.  We were in the zone. We just didn't need words.  WELL Enough of this maudlin stuff.

Dad was not a virtuoso on the trombone -- but he was good enough to satisfy his hundreds of followers at the American Legion, The Eagles, The Moose, The Elks and hundreds of other venues in his short lifetime.  He instictively knew what to play for the crowd who was paying the bill.  He could sense their mood and modify the music to fit it.  He was a master at that.  And it worked!

I started playing the trombone in the 5th grade once a week -- learning the SYB book one note at at a time.  When I was able to play a few notes dad started teaching me how to play a little melody -- by ear.  As time went on -- we would sit  around -- sometimes in the back yard on a blanket -- and he would play and I would copy what he played.  Then one fine day -- I remember it well -- he told me to play a song (Whispering) and he would play the same song but with something different -- that is called improvising or a better word is "Jammin'".  That  started me on a trip with scores of bands through college and the Air Force Band and as a semi professional musician, that I continue on to this day.

Dad left us far to early -- he was 51 when I got that awful call from a Park Ranger at Raccoon  Lake  -- giving my mother the phone for that sentence that has burned into my heart ever since -- "Daddy's Dead.  He died of a heart attack!"

But, like I said, no more sad thoughts on this fathers day.  Dad had a gig the next weekend and rather than cancel it -- I played in his place.  It was what he would have wanted and it was what I wanted.  People came and we celebrated his life.  His Theme song was "Just One More Chance."  I must admit -- It was pretty difficult to play that theme song for the last time -- but time and life goes on.  And so it did.

So -- Dad -- you would be over 101 now. You wouldn't like being stiff and sore and unable to get around like you did when you died -- But --  You would love watching football as you loved to do.  They have instant replay so good now that it is unbelievable. And the TV sets are enormous and they hang on the wall and you can carry them with one hand!  And , Dad, you can use a phone in your car while your are driving -- and that same phone -- which is a little  thing -- can give all sorts of information to settle arguments -- which you loved to start, I recall. You were never at a lack of an opinion.  Well, hell, Dad, There are so damn many things that are so different  -- we have computers that run everything now -- cars are about to drive themselves -- Oh one more thing -- the girls at the beach wear such tiny little bathing suits -- I KNOW that would get you all excited.  I don't have time to tell you all the latest stuff that we have now that you didn't even dream of back in the 60's when you left us.  Life has certainly changed a lot.  It would blow your mind.

But I am guessing -- although I don't know for sure -- that you already know about those things.  Well, anyway -- Happy fathers day, Dad.  I need to play a few notes to warm up the old trombone  I have a gig tomorrow at the VFW.  I know you will be there helping me out when I start to hit a wrong note.  You always are.  I love you dad.....  Thanks for everything.

From the Heart of Olaf Hart.....

Monday, June 11, 2018

Let a couple of kids work it out

Big news.  Trump and Kim (is everyone in Korea named Kim?) are about to sit down or walk around or otherwise get together on an earth shattering matter.  I hope they can work it out.

It brought back a thought from my distant past -- actually when I was about 10 or so.  My dear friend Kevin lived across from me on a dead end street that had no outlet and hardly any traffic.  Well -- there was a matter of difference between his parents and my parents -- something about parking a a mobile home at the end of the street which might have been onto their property just a mite.  Kevin,s parents refused to allow this and our mobile home had to be moved. The fight was on.  Kevin and I refused to talk to each other and even threw a few rocks across the street into each other's yard.  And that went on for about two days until we realized that it wasn't working out too well for us.  So we rather clandestinely became friends again -- but didn't say much to our parents -- they were not ready to get over it.  But without verbalizing it -- we apparently become the adults in this stupid disagreement.  It didn't take much -- just this ability to overlook our differences and get along with each other and with life.  Just two little boys being the grown ups and  being realistic.

This episode in my life was quite incidental and quite short lived and had nothing to do with our life long friendship (we are both in our middle 80's now and still friends).  But for some reason it poked its way into my long term memory and came to the surface today as I thought of this world affecting conference the US President and the North Korean head and the conversations upon which they are about to embark.

Maybe they should let Kevin and me help them out.  We knew how to end that disagreement crap pretty fast didn't we, Kev?

From the Heart of Olaf Hart....

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

D Day

I heard on the news it was the anniversary of the Invasion of Normandy by our soldiers -- D-Day --  which pretty much ended the German part of WW II.  Japan took a while and a couple of really big bombs.  Those were some brave guys and what a sacrifice they made on D-Day.  But they weren't the only people that sacrificed.  World War II was fought by us all.  I was about 6 when it started and about 10 when it ended -- so my view was from the eyes of a little boy growing up.

After Roosevelt's startling radio announcement on that Sunday morning -- December 7, 1941 -- Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor and we were suddenly in a war  -- Uncle Ned was 18 and immediately enlisted in the army.  We kept up by way of V-Mail letters from him -- copied and censored with blacked out lines -- but we all gathered around when one arrived. It was an event. He went from training to North Africa and then to the Anzio beachead in Italy.  He came home after the war.  His body was unscathed but his memory was not.  I am sure he relived the war more that we will ever know.

However, there were lots of guys who were not qualified to go into the army (or navy etc.) Maybe they were too old or had special skills needed back home.  My Dad (Uncle Ned's brother) was one of those guys.  He tried to enlist but was rejected because he had a defense job at Allison Engineering in Indianapolis.  They made big airplane engines. He was on the night shift -- working from midnight til 8 am -- seven days a week.  We had to be quiet while he slept in the daytime. He and several other men drove to work every evening in a car that that could not be replaced on tires that could not be replaced with gas that was rationed.  

I really remember the rationing.  Each family had a book with stamps to be used for food -- especially sugar and coffee that were rationed.  There were no candy bars or bubble gum.  There was no Christmas candy or fudge.  But we all knew it was for a good cause. I must admit that the black market was live and well.  We got 5 pounds of sugar out of some guy's trunk one night and used it to make some fudge that evening.  That was really special.  I recall there was NO anti war protesting that I remember.  Everyone was behind the war effort.  No one would dare speak out against the war.  We were all patriots.   The boys learned to draw pictures of "TOJO" -- who ever that was -- not very complimentary -- with short hair and big teeth and slanted eyes.  That was our little propaganda contribution.  And Hitler was called the "one armed paper hanger!" -- referring to his "Hiel Hitler" salute.  I didn't understand -- but laughed about it anyway.  We mimicked the salute and did a Bronx cheer as we spit out the noise.

My grandpa was a neighborhood Civil Defense leader and had a hat and flashlight.  We had to practice closing our curtains and turning off all the lights so enemy airplanes could not see  us.  Fortunately, there were never any enemy planes but we didn't know that and we were ready.

Each of the many homes with someone who was serving placed a flag in the window.  We had one for Uncle Ned. If the loved one was still alive, the star was blue but the gold stars were displayed for those who would not be coming home.  Some homes had two or three stars on their little flag. There were far to many gold stars in the neighborhood.  We passed those homes with reverence.

It all seems like a dream now.  It is unbelievable that over night we made jeeps and trucks and airplanes and ships, instead of cars.  And we gave up our gas and tires for the war.  We lived on rationed food for four years.  The radio gave us news reports on the war.  But we could get war news by going downtown to the local newspaper (Journal-Review) and checking on their front window where they would tape up bulletins for the public to read.

Yes the government did some questionable things.  Japanese Americans were gathered up in California and sent away to internment camps to get them away from the west coast. The governmen thought there might be Japanese spies helping them bomb California.  There was plenty of food and shelter in these camps -- but they were confined somewhere in the boon docks, and couldn't go home for many months.  The past is 20/20 and that was probably wrong -- but we were scared.  And who knows what that confining might have salvaged.  They were eventually compensated for their confinement. Japanese Americans later proved themselves by enlisting in the army and fighting bravely for their country.  

And in recent years, there has been a lot of talk about the necessity of dropping such a devestating bomb twice on the two Japanese cities -- destroying them completely and killing and maiming hundreds of citizens.  Well - this old guy thinks it was a necessary act -- saving the lives of hundreds or thousands of American lives and as many or more Japanese.  After Germany surrendered -- Japan would not give up.  Those A-bombs were necessary -- nuff said.

Uncle Ned left as a boy but came home from the war a full-grown man.  He and thousands of other men were sent home after fighting a terrible war and winning a great victory.  Thousands of men did not come home. I tried to stay up to see Uncle Ned's return but it was late and I fell asleep.  I was shaken awake and opened my eyes to see this big smile on Uncle Ned's face.  I cried and wrapped my arms around his big healthy body.  He still had on his uniform with medals and a patch that attracted my attention.  When I asked him about it -- he said "That's my Ruptured Duck". I will always remember that night.  It was a glorious night for the family.

Darlington, Indiana had a movie theater and the side of the building was solid bricks.  The owner's son -- John Marshall -- climbed up on a ladder and painted in huge white letters "VJ  DAY  AUG 14 1945"  --  That message remained for decades.  No one wished to paint over it.

Yes the greatest war ever fought was over and we won and the world was happy once again.  Both Germany and Japan came out pretty well, I think.  They are both our buddies now.  But I can't forget.  It was a war we all sacrificed and fought in own way.  Even little boys fought the war.

That's it from the heart of Olaf Hart

Monday, June 4, 2018

Camping out with the Boy Scouts

It was about this time each year when the matter of Camp Rotary came up.  This wonderful Boy Scout Camp (girls used it, too) was located in the boon docks at the edge of Bal Hinch.  It ran from the entry gate all the way down to Sugar Creek.  I have no idea how many acres it contained but when I was a lad, it seemed like hundreds of acres.  I would guess, maybe 60 or so.  After we attained our full tenderfoot scout rank --we were no longer "Cub Scouts" -- If we had the small fee, we could go to Camp Rotary for a week or maybe even two weeks in the Summer.  There we were awakened by a real bugle call from a real player.  I remember John Marshall was the bugler.  I don't know who woke him up.  Anyway --  let me tell you a little about this wonderful camp, in case you never got the experience of going there.

There was a swimming pool of sorts.  It was a dammed up creek supplied by a spring which filled it with water about 30 degrees cold -- well, not quite that cold but it felt like it.  There were wooden flat floors over which were pitched old army tents which housed eight boys each with four bunk beds.  If it rained, we got wet!  Yes, a few boys cried the first night or two from homesickness but we got them over that pretty fast.  Each tent had a name -- mine was Pine Tree Patrol.  We were in competition with the other tents (patrols) for various events.  We had string burning contests and fire building contests and water boiling contests and all sorts of dangerous events (sarcasm intended).  We made up skits and learned to march in step and had a flag.  Sounds like my basic training in the USAF.  No wonder I got through that so well.

That bugle call meant get your butt out of bed and go to the mess hall -- but first -- get your wash pan off the nail hung on the back of the building -- and wash your hands and face in cold water.  Then, what a breakfast!  Oatmeal and eggs and toast and hot chocolate. (My grandmother was the cook).  

Then it was the teaching of skills.  Make a fire with only two matches or with no matches and friction or flint -- Identify various trees and plants (poison ivy? and poison oak?)  -- learn how to use a knife properly  -- how to pitch a tent and ditch a tent .  We learned to tool leather and make lanyards. There were so many things I learned that I still use today.   

Each meal was eaten in the chow hall and was wrought with tradition with younger scouts catering to the older scouts with more rank.  We could look to the day we were the older scouts and so it went as the years passed.

There was an outside chapel with logs for seats.  No special religion  -- no preacher -- just a nice peaceful interlude on Sunday morning. 

We learned to swim and save lives in that freezing pool.  We learned to canoe in Sugar Creek.  And then there was that night I went out to earn a special camping badge.  All alone with a few bits of food an my knife and shovel and little pup tent and a blanket -- I stayed out in the woods. You can't imagine how many sounds there are in the woods until you are all alone. That's right -- at the ripe old age of 12 or 13, we learned how to make it on our own for one long day and night.  I thought the sun would NEVER come up!

Well so much for reminiscing about Camp Rotary.  I just wonder how it is now.  I'll bet they have a nice warm pool and stay in a shelter and don't worry about the rain.  You think they really go out and camp all night alone?  I hope so -- but I doubt it!

That's it from Olaf Hart

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Keeping up to date

I just looked at my old blog.  My God, it has been 8 years since I posted anything.  Well, we need to fix that.

Since I am legally blind (no, don't pity me -- I am doing just fine, thank you) I get to down load and listen to a library of many hundreds of books of all sorts and from a myriad of authors and subjects.  Thank you VA!  And also think you Dr. Walter Trenschel.  Dr. T (as we call him) is the resident Psychologist at the VA Hospital in West Palm Beach Florida.  He creates a support group by phone for those of us who want to help ourselves by helping other blind vets.  This group has gotten me rather well acquainted with Dr. T.  He has led me into some subjects I did not know existed.  Things like "Hermetic Teachings" and "Noetics".  But somehow I found myself into Quantum Physics -- looking at things that are so small we can't imagine; and looking at some of the newer quantum theories.  I must admit that most of these subjects are way over my head but they are very interesting. And a little spooky (as Einstein put it). I need to read the "Dummies" version just to understand the basics.

For example, I have learned that an electron can be in two places at the same time (super position). And when you try to measure something as small as a quantum, it changes just because it is being measured.  And entanglement is really complicated -- causing a particle to spin and react by reverse spinning another particle millions of light years away (can we go faster than light?)  Whoa -- lets slow down a little here.  Why would anyone but a brainy physicist want to know all this stuff?  What I am leading to is the next level of computers -- called Quantum Computers.  They use all this stuff.  Once they are invented, they will attain unbelievable speeds unheard of today -- millions of times faster.

Now I want to back up a little -- as folks my age like to do.  I mean I want to go way way back a little -- back to the bible.  That's pretty far back.  Genesis tells us that when Noah was ordered to build his ark, he was told to build it 200 cubits long, 50 cubits wide and 30 cubits high.  We are told that a cubit was the measuring unit of that time and was the distance from the elbow to the middle finger or about 20 inches.  Why am I telling you this? What does it have to do with quantum computers.  You won't believe this -- |The unit of measure of a quantum computer is a "bit"  just like any computer. BUT--  a quantum computer has "quantised" the measurement into a quantum bit -- Q - BIT  or qubit.  Does that sound familiar? Qubit -- cubit?

Now don't tell this old guy that things don't come around -- just like Einstein said -- "The whole universe is one big circle.

That is it from the Heart of Olaf Hart.