My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Posts Written By L Parker Brown

Unscrambling the Mystery of the Chirping Eggs

by on ·Food for Thought, General, Humor

When I was a child, I would listen with earnest to hear if my bowl of Rice Krispies would snap, crackle, and pop as the TV commercial claimed. As an adult, I’m still curious about usual sounds, and I find the stories associated with some of them amusing. For example, my cousin, Vanessa, told me about an interesting event a couple of days ago.

She said that her daughter, Destiny, removed a few raw eggs from the refrigerator and was preparing to boil them for breakfast when the eggs began making a chirping sound loud enough to be heard throughout the room. They both freaked out.

I’ve never heard chirping from previously refrigerated eggs like I told Vanessa, but hardly anything surprises me anymore. I had no reason to doubt her, so I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting for a dramatic finish to the story. I thought – if Vanessa tells me that they covered the eggs with a warm towel and within minutes little chicks hatched from them, I’ll tell her to video the chicks and contact CNN immediately. But alas, no such drama happened.

Her resourceful daughter consulted the ultimate practical problem solver, Google. It turns out that it is not uncommon for raw eggs to chirp when there is air escaping from them.

Still, that didn’t stop me from imagining what might have happened if those eggs had hatched. Although I wasn’t there with them, we all would have been jumping up and down and pulling out our hair as if we’d entered the Twilight Zone. That vision cracked me up. Pun intended.

News crews would be scrambling to get to their home, and after being assured that mother and daughter did not whisk up a tale, each station would try to be the first to break the story. No yolking. Another pun. (I couldn’t resist.)

I’ve yet to have first-hand experience with chirping eggs. (I don’t want to either.) But I’ve grown used to hearing various unusual sounds in my home. I wish that I could unhear some of them

There is a harmony of intermittent sounds that are unnerving and downright annoying. Most occur in the middle of the night.

I hear hammering on the metal pipes behind the wall and suspect that poltergeists are causing the disturbance. The wind blows the Venetian blinds through the open window and bangs them against the sill, waking me with a start. The random pop of a closed plastic water bottle on the nightstand, a running toilet, or leaky faucet – drip, drip, dripping are all nerve-wracking. But of all the annoying household noises  – groans, creaks, buzzing, gurgling, hissing, skittering, and humming there is one exasperating sound that beats the others.

It is the fantasy Gremlins that live inside my pillow. No matter how I punch, turn over, or fold my pillow, I can hear them. Think about the high-pitched squeal heard when an inflated balloon is loosely tied or the lip on a balloon is stretched, allowing the air to escape as the balloon deflates. That’s the sound I hear inside my pillow some nights. No, it isn’t Tinnitus. That’s been ruled out. When the pillow Gremlins get too annoying, I’ll put in earplugs or earbuds and let a book or music on my iPod lull me to sleep. I understand that feathery pillows are the worse noise makers, but mine is a memory pillow. Go figure.

Unexplainable noises are attributable to so many things. For example, I’ve learned that stray electrical signals caused by Smart TVs, electric wall clocks, and other devices can emit a low-frequency constant hum. But I don’t find any of those as interesting as chirping eggs.

So much for the things that scramble our nerves in the morning or go bump in the night.

0 Comments

The Rhythm of the Stroke

by on ·Journaling/Writing

People who think it is easy to write a book need a serious reality check. I am not trying to discourage aspiring authors, but seasoned writers like Steven King, Nora Roberts, or the late Toni Morrison, who have what I call the gift of the pen would likely agree with me. Quasi-authors, as I refer to those who lack the time or skill to write but are financially able to hire a ghostwriter might also agree. If anyone asks me – no one has, but I’ll say it anyway – I think it is akin to cheating to print a person’s name on the cover as the author when someone else wrote the book. Celebrities are notorious for hiring ghostwriters, and numerous ghostwriters don’t mind remaining anonymous as long as they get paid. So the celebrity gets credited as the author and reaps the benefits from publication, the ghostwriter gets paid, and everybody is happy. Well, that is unless a ghostwriter decides to sue like Courtney Love’s ghostwriter did.

Three decades ago, I was offered the opportunity to ghostwrite a book. My mother even encouraged me to do it, but I didn’t take it seriously. Mistake. Big mistake. The book that I will not name was eventually published. Gosh darn!

According to an NPR article, So You Need a Celebrity Book. Who Ya Gonna Call? Ghostwriters, Madeleine Morel, a literary agent, estimates that at least 60 percent of the books on the nonfiction bestsellers list right now are ghostwritten.

Everybody has a story to tell, and many folks want their story told and sold in book form. It doesn’t matter if it’s a hardcover, an e-book, or an audible version as long as the book brings a financial return; who cares? Unfortunately, wishing and hoping won’t write it for you. It is probably easier for a beginning fisherman (or woman) to land a 30-pound bluefish with a lightweight pole than for a novice to write a book.

Because I persevered, I published my first book six years ago now I am working on a second. And speaking only for those who, like me, are fresh out of the gate, I’ll be among the first to tell you that writing a book doesn’t get any easier the more you do it. Unless you have someplace to seclude yourself away from all disturbances, interruptions will be your first nemesis. The phone, the doorbell, noises outside your window, the television playing in the background, and anyone who lives with you could be a potential interrupter to your train of thought.

Another thing I would tell would-be authors. Writing a book is more than typing words on paper. If you are going to produce a publishable product, then writing, researching, and editing is essential before you even think about sending your book to print.

My other nemeses are procrastination and its sister, writer’s block. When I am in their grip, my mind immediately flashes back to a poem that someone wrote in my high school autograph book at the end of my senior year — “Can’t think. Brain numb. Inspiration won’t come. Bad ink. Worse pen. Best wishes. Amen”

During unproductive times, I call on my muse to motivate me, or being the music lover I am; I hum a few lines from a song to stimulate my writing gene. Lately, I’ve been reiterating, “Get the rhythm of the stroke,” to encourage myself to avoid procrastinating and get with it. That is a phrase from the song Aqua Boogie, released in the late seventies by Parliament. Aqua Boogie was the short title for Aqua Boogie: A Psychoalphadiscobetabioaquadoloop. Whew! That’s a mouthful to say and a brain teaser to write.

Well, enough journaling. It’s time to get back to the rhythm of the stroke on the keyboard and work on the book.

0 Comments

Extolling the Joy of Friendship

by on ·Aging, Friendship, School Days

Last night I received a wonderful surprise. I could have done a happy dance, but my bad knee wasn’t having it. The surprise was a phone call from my long-time best friend, Loretta. We are septuagenarians now, but we’ve known each other since we were young teenagers. Yeah, that long ago.

We have the same first name, although she nicknamed me Retsie when we were in high school. Nevertheless,  we called each other Sis back then, and still do. In our yesteryears, I knew her family members, and she knew mine. We have shared memories from our high school years, like the time when she and I got called to the principal’s office for circulating a petition demanding that students be allowed to wear sneakers to school (or tennis shoes as they were frequently called back then). That’s right, as shy as I was, that was my initial baby step toward social activism.

Loretta and I had a third “sister” in our clique while in high school, Valerie. I knew Valerie years before I met Loretta. Our friendship went back to grade school. It was through Valerie that I met another life-long friend, Phillip. Phil, as we call him, was a real-life friend before he became one of my Facebook friends.

Sadly, Valerie died in 2004. Anyone who has lost a close friend will know what I mean when I say it is like losing a family member. Over time, our losses may get easier. We learn to live with them, but the space a dear person held in our heart remains forever vacant.

After graduating from high school, time, distance, and life-stage transitions separated our trio, but Loretta, Valeria, and I remained in touch through phone calls and Christmas cards. On at least one or two occasions, I babysat Loretta’s children before having children of my own.

Valerie and I lost contact for a few years but reconnected in 2001. During that time, she persuaded me to attend our 35th high school reunion. I was happy that we spent that time together. Sadly, Valerie died of breast cancer the week before Christmas, 2004.

The last time that Loretta and I saw each other was at Valerie’s funeral. We vowed then to maintain closer contact, but our life journeys intervened again. About ten years ago, I misplaced Loretta’s phone number and lost touch with her. Still, I thought of her often and prayed that she was well and that we would reconnect.

When cell phones became popular, I wasn’t one of those people who gave up my landline and I kept the same number for over 40 years. Fortunately, Loretta, kept that number, too, and the answer to my prayer came when she called me last night. Reunited, we reminisced, laughed, and carried on like high schoolers. We also plan to get together in the near future.

Anyone who has a lifelong best friend understands the joy of growing together over the years with someone who knows you almost as well as you know yourself. What beats having a close friend who knows your early history? High School. Dating and boyfriends. Marriages. Children. Divorces. Some friendships are short-lived; others last a lifetime. But, there is nothing like having a lifelong best friend and confidant with whom you can have candid conversations and who knows your thoughts on most issues even before you express them. A friend who understands your moods, who shares your low spells and the high points. A friend who knows your flaws and accepts your imperfections without being judgmental. A friend who, after a disagreement, has no problem saying, “I’m sorry” or “I was wrong.” A friend who moves on without carrying grudges. I have and have had friends like that.

Unfortunately, like most people my age, I mourn the loss of many dear friends – male and female – who have preceded me in death, and I appreciate every day that I can spend time with those friends who are still around.

As author Edna Buchanon says, “Friends are the family we choose for ourselves.”

0 Comments

Entertaining Deep Thoughts

by on ·Food for Thought, Opinion, The Way I See It

“Quiet people have the loudest minds.” Stephen Hawking.

I read somewhere that the typical Pisces is extremely introspective. Don’t I know it. My brain seems to always be on hyperdrive, even when I’m sleeping in dreamland.

I contemplate everything. It baffles me that people spend hundreds of dollars on cut-out jeans simply because they are fashionable. And I wonder why birthdays are counted in years instead of days; especially since a day can sometimes seem like a lifetime. I humorously consider that someone who turns 50 on their birthday would be 18250 days old. Then, I imagine trying to fit those figures on a line on a form with only enough space for three digits.

Often my philosophy wavers between believing in predestination and the idea that we are all autonomous beings fueled by self-determination.

Some people ascribe to the doctrine that a Higher Power foreordains everything and that the script of our life is assigned when we are born. As we age, we think that we can control our destiny when we may not. What if we only believe that we have free will because part of the master plan is to let us think that we do?

Consider the epigraph The Appointment in Samarra. Are we always where we are supposed to be at any given time?

Another example. Say that a man is running late for an appointment. He rushes out of the building and anxiously tries to flag a taxi. A cab stops a couple of feet away from him. As he begins walking toward it, another man who had just approached the scene rudely rushes past the first man and hurries into the cab. The driver pulls off and proceeds on the green light into the intersection and is broadsided by a box truck that has run the light. Both the cab driver and passenger are badly injured. Was it predestination that the man from who the cab was stolen avoided the accident?

If someone commits suicide, was it predestined that the person would die that way, or was their free will, their intent to take control, the determining factor in when and how death would occur? Relevant to death, was euthanasia proponent Dr. Jack Kevorkian, an assigned architect of good or a force of evil? Everything is relative, isn’t it?

Do things unfurl in life the way they are supposed to, or is everything happenstance? Are our hopes, dreams, and plans already inbred or assigned to us before we are born, and do we merely follow the script once we are here?

I frequently consider how our thoughts, words, and actions, good or bad, sometimes have extensive reach. The things we say or do can benefit or harm others, often without our knowledge, subsequently a domino effect.

In these contemporary times, it seems that everything and everyone is interrelated far and wide. For example, random hookups that result in childbirths, artificial inseminations, and surrogacies make blood ties far-reaching. Consequently, brothers and sisters, cousins, and other blood relatives can unknowingly develop a physical or sexual love connection without knowing that they are related.

Occasionally, I entertain the idea that we, all of humankind, are on a universal chessboard. Depending on our social and economic status in life, we are the kings, queens, bishops, rooks, and pawns that provide entertainment for the omnipotent powers that be.

Sometimes I am inclined to agree with Shakespeare. Were he alive to paraphrase a line that he gave to Hamlet, he might say of my perpetual curiosity, “The lady doth overthink too much, methinks.”

4 Comments

A Time to Laugh

by on ·Religion, The Way I See It

People joke about God having a sense of humor. I’ve done it, too. But, something happened to convince me that not only does God have a sense of humor, He sometimes uses humor to shake us up.

This morning – I am saying my a.m. prayers and have progressed to “hallowed be Thy name” when my mind begins to wander. Should I have Hazelnut or Arabica Dark Roast coffee with breakfast? Unfortunately, it is not unusual for my thoughts to stray when I’m saying my prayers. The Lord knows that I sometimes have the attention span of a two-year-old with ADD. I force myself to refocus and get back to the business at hand. I apologize to the Lord and start over as I always do whenever my prayer is interrupted.

“Our Father…” I get as far as “Thy will be done,” seconds before my cell phone pings on the nightstand beside the bed, indicating that I have a text message. I ignore the phone and apologize again for the interruption before restarting the prayer.

As I ask God to “Give us this day,” a loud, horn-honking car alarm goes off outside my bedroom window. Son of a biscuit eater, I think, then add Sorry, Lord.

I begin again and manage to finish praying without any more interruptions. And then the strangest thing happens. I turn on the TV to watch the news while making my bed. The set is tuned to the channel it was on when I turned it off last night. Grey’s Anatomy is on. Then comes the kicker.

Dr. Miranda Bailey (one of Grey’s key characters) stands before an altar holding glowing candles in the chapel. She stretches her arms to her sides, raises her head toward heaven, and begins to pray. She says, “Lord,” but before she can utter another word, a coworker arrives by her side and begins chattering. Although the intrusion is brief, Dr. Bailey’s frustration is evident. When the coworker leaves, Bailey turns back toward the altar and is about to resume her prayer.

“Lord,” she says again. Then she is interrupted by the phone inside the pocket of her smock. She pulls out the phone, glares at it, and sighs in frustration as the show goes to a commercial.

I am a little bit rattled by the parallel between what I just saw and my earlier experience while trying to finish my prayer. I pick up the remote control and change the channel while thinking how strange it was that the TV happened to be on that station and showing that particular scene. I don’t believe in coincidences. Surely, God was jesting, about my apologizing for the interruptions. In addition to wrath, mercy, and love, He does have a sense of humor.

Religion – like politics – is a touchy subject. Many people refrain from discussing those two topics because the conversation can turn from an interesting discussion to a nasty argument before you can say Hail Mary.

I am not a religious person, nor am I an atheist. I am spiritual. People who don’t understand my philosophy would likely label me a Christian atheist, but I reject that label.

Sometimes, when discussing the subject, I use the words religious and spiritual interchangeably because it’s easier and less time-consuming than explaining my viewpoint. As I see it, religion is a detailed tradition of organized beliefs and regulated practices shared by a like-minded community and often led and controlled by a person or person(s) who consider themselves called or appointed by God.

Being spiritual is having a one-on-one relationship with God or whatever one chooses to call the Supreme Being. Therefore, I do not feel compelled to have an intermediary or middle person – another imperfect mortal –interpret, explain, or orchestrate their understanding of the Higher Power to attempt to drive me to think their way.

People who claim to be spiritual instead of religious are not necessarily agnostic or atheist. On the contrary, many of us are God-fearing Christians. We just don’t want to be affiliated with religious institutions and groupthink that impacts people’s free will and common sense—shades of Jim Jones, David Koresh’s Branch Davidians, and Heaven’s Gate. And we do believe in prayer.

As author Stan Toler says, “You don’t necessarily need a great sense of humor to get God’s punch lines. You just need a great sense of faith.”

Amen.

0 Comments