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 .....
Friday, November 9, 2018
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 .......
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 .......
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