More Plurals

All the talk of plurals the other day got me thinking about plurals for human groups. Failing to find a good catalogue of them, I thought that I would offer some of my own.

A single painter is fine but a brush of painters is always better. But, we should not overlook a crack of plumbers, a board of carpenters, and a wall of bricklayers.

Who can resist a pot of chefs or a swish of florists?

If you have ever been around a farmer then you know that when you get several together what you have is a subsidy of farmers.

I was once a part of a lecture of professors. But, not anymore. Now I would like to be a part of a neurosis of novelists. Most of us wanted to be part of a blast of astronauts when we were kids.

Most of us deal with a nightmare of in-laws at some point.

Professionally, there is a fret of guitarists, a buzz of barbers, a deal of realtors, a collection of preachers, and a treatment of nurses.

Then there is an investigation of defense contractors, a campaign of politicians, a profit of bankers, a lemon of car dealers, an intoxication of drunks, and an indictment of lawyers.

Fresh Wind

I am on the bone pile for the job in Chattanooga. It is maddening not to even make the interview round. It is maddening and humbling and hurtful. I wonder if I will ever work again. If I were asked to write the perfect job description for me, it would be the job in Chattanooga. Well, shucks! During a particularly painful family dinner on Sunday, a nephew gave me a job announcement for the executive director of the Lagrange Symphony Orchestra. What? I thought about it and did two things today: first, I bought a season ticket to the LSO; and, second, I hand delivered an application packet this afternoon. Now the question is, do I really want to do this? The simple answer is, I don’t know. What I do know is that I see the balance in my banking accounts declining and there is no income. Maybe I don’t recognize retirement when I see it and if this is it, I don’t like it.

I feel a “fresh wind blowing against the empire” as Grace Slick sang. I know in my bones that I am not done. It may turn out that I am exactly what the Lagrange Symphony needs. Or, there is something I have yet to identify waiting for me. I have prayed earnestly for meaning and I have no doubt that something will appear. I just have to have patience. I do believe, as the Baptists, that you have to put wings to your prayers. It is not enough to just pray. You have to take responsibility and do something. I honestly believe that God will ask, what did you do for yourself? I don’t want to be the one who says, “I waited on you.”

Plurals

Ever have something that is generally useless, even mundane, but genuinely entertains you? Here is one that entertains me – plurals of animals. Here are some of my favorites.

A colony of ants is not surprising but a shrewdness of apes is. A pace of asses must be somehow related to a congress of baboons. A cete of badgers sounds Greek to me. Alabama anglers long for a shoal of bass while hunters in other regions seek out a sleuth of bears. A colony of beavers make sense but you have to wonder who came up with a grist of bees, a volery of birds, and a troop of bison. I am not familiar with a sounder of boars but know a bit about an army of caterpillars, a rain of cats and dogs, a peep of chickens, and a bed of clams. What fun! There is a rag of colts, a flink of cows, a siege of cranes, an orchestra of crickets, and a murder of crows. Imagine, a rag, a siege, a murder and what is a flink? I like a dole of doves, a brace of ducks, and a knot of eels. Who could not like a convocation of eagles? How regal does that sound? For the pure imagery of plurals, consider a parade of elephants, a gang of elks, a cast of falcons, a business of ferrets. I have never been around ferrets but I gather they are busy little critters. I like a charm of finches, a leash of foxes, and a cloud of gnats (not that I like a cloud of gnats but I do like the words). There is a tribe of goats (that must smell awful!), a band of gorillas, a cluster of grasshoppers, and a kettle of hawks. Some plurals are downright perplexing. How do you come up with a prickle of hedgehogs or a drift of hogs, a harras of horses, a husk of jack rabbits, a smack of jellyfish, or a mob of kangaroos? Some make sense, though, such as a cry of hounds, a hover of hummingbirds, an exaltation of larks, and leap of leopards. Everybody knows about a pride of lions but few have heard of a tiding of magpies, a sort of mallards, a stud of mares, a richness of martens, or a labor of moles. It wasn’t until I got interested in plurals that I learned of a barren of mules, a watch of nightingales, a parliament of owls, a yoke of oxen, a company of parrots, a ostentation of peacocks (although that seems reasonable). How poetic is a bouquet of pheasants, a congregation of plovers, an aurora of polar bears, a bevy of quails, or a conspiracy of raven?. Some plurals are so descriptive that they leap to your mind when you see more multiples – a crash of rhinoceroses, a harem of seals, a stench of skunks, a cornucopia of slugs, a slither of snakes, and a murmuration of starlings. And, finally, to close this out, consider the pure beauty of a ballet of swans.

Motorized Gift

My dear brother gave me an early gift in observation of my sexagenary. You have to know that Tinker has a motor fetish. His idea is that if something can be motorized, it can be improved. If he had his way about it, he would have motorized brow moppers for the chronically worried. He would put motors on his chickens if he thought it might improve egg production. His fascination does not extend to electronics. The cyberworld is a black hole to him and that includes cell phones and email and Google. But, he trusts motors. Pistons, alternators, belts, gaskets, the stuff of an industrialized America give him confidence and the sense of accomplishing more than a man could hope without help. The gift Tinker gave me is a Black & Decker Alligator. It is a combination chain saw and limb loppers. It is a heck of a tool. I unveiled it today in an early engagement with the Privet. True to its billing, the Alligator went through Privet like a rich Republican at an aged widow’s foreclosure sale; or, a feeling Democrat at a cocktail fundraiser for iceberg-deprived polar bears. Here are a couple of pictures of the Alligator.





It is a dandy. It does exactly as Tinker expected. It makes easier work of Privet eradication. But, therein is the reason that I don’t want to use it often. Making easy work of brush clearing is not an objective for me. More, it is not even desired. These few acres are my gymnasium. It has been years since I have worked as hard as I have since taking up the sword against the Privet. I have not perspired as much or drank as much water – I emphasize, water – since playing football in high school. The result is that I have added a little muscle to my aging frame, rendered some lard off my fat ass, and have the clinical evidence of improved health. I do appreciate Tinker’s gift. I will absolutely use it, especially when he is around. But the gift is in the effort.

Hard Lesson

I received a hard lesson from Mother Nature today. Before heading off to Bob from Coffeyville’s wedding, I cut and put the sunflower heads into a five gallon bucket. Knowing that I would not have time to shell them for their seeds, I put the bucket in the washhouse to keep it out of the elements. Today, I settled in to shell the seeds from the flowers. To my disappointment, the week spent in a bucket in a dark washhouse produced sunflowers that were molded and rotting. Instead of the two gallons of seeds I expected from my little crop, I managed to pick out about a quart of seeds. Good thing I am not relying on the sunflowers for survival. What irritates me is that I knew better. I knew that the flowers had to dry but I cut corners and Nature smacked me upside the head. It was richly deserved.

I just finished Tony Shadid’s Night Draws Near. He is the best writer I have read on Iraq. This book is all about lives of everyday Iraqis. It is chilling. I knew these people. Tony begins a story and I inevitably finish it for him. I do not remember ever meeting an Iraqi that did not have a story of personal loss. I remember the chairman of the Taji Qada council pleading with me to help him find his brother who disappeared in 2006. Try as I did, I never found him. It was the cloud under which Lazem Abbass operated on a daily basis. I cannot imagine what it would be like to wake up every day wondering if my brother was alive and, if so, where he was. Estimates are that over 100,000 Iraqis died between 2003 and now for reasons directly tied to the war. The overwhelming majority of them were innocents. Blown up by an explosion in a market or by truck bombs guided toward some public building. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time is deadly in Baghdad. I remember the Abu Graib Qada council not having a quorum for months because of the fear of assassination. Tell me the last time a city councilmember in your town feared for his/her life by attending a meeting.

A couple of my academic buddies are upset with me for my post regarding my version of President Obama’s speech on Iraq. It breaks my heart to disappoint my buds. But, to have written anything different would have been to pander. I like President Obama. I think he is over his head and lacks the maturity and sobriety to be president but I like his idealism. I am absolutely convinced that he is clueless regarding Iraq and Afghanistan, just as I am convinced that most Americans are unaware of the threat posed by radical Islam. Regardless, I am not writing a polemic. I am just writing. Enjoy the stuff I write that agrees with your world view and dismiss that which does not. Far be it from me to try to convince anybody of anything.

Autumn's Here

Autumn arrived a few minutes ago. The steady and depressing descent into winter begins. In anticipation, I stocked up on Vitamin D. A friend of mine told me that it helps with Seasonal Affective Disorder, SAD for short. It plagues me. Every year about this time, I can feel it start. I withdraw. By mid-winter, I am sullen, depressed and desperate. My friend went on to advise that in addition to taking Vit D, I need to eat right, drink less, and get plenty of exercise. This is the year that I beat SAD. I have a sufficient supply of flannel shirts and long underwear for outdoor activities. I’ve told the guy who owns the liquor store where I shop not to be offended if I make fewer visits until spring. There is plenty of privet to be prosecuted. And, I have flexibility. That is important since I might need an emergency trip or two to the beach. If you note that I am slipping under the surface, it will not hurt my feelings if you shout an email at me. Now, I know SAD is a made-to-order Oprah disease. And, trust me, I am embarrassed that I have it. My original plan was to move to the Gulf for a couple of months this winter. That would be easy since I have the Airstream. But, honestly, like I am moving to the beach for two months on account of my mental condition, leaving The Old Goat and Tinker here to take care of the place and each other. How selfish is that? If I had a real job that required me to move, that would be different. Moving because I am depressed is just too silly to admit. This is the winter that I sail through, chin up, jackass-eating-briars grin on my face, and content with where and whom I am. Now, if you will excuse me, I am popping a handful of Vit D then doing a few dozen push-ups.

Return from the Midwest

I arrived home this afternoon after a week in the Midwest. Bob from Coffeyville married Sweet Melissa.. As weddings go, this was strictly top drawer. I was happy to have been invited. Along the way, I got a chance to spend a little time with my little girl – she’s attending the University of Missouri. Great to see her. She seems genuinely happy and is doing well in her classes. She finishes in December. After that, who knows? Show me a man who isn’t wrapped around his daughter’s finger and you’ll have one miserable guy. I admit it. She’s been the light in my life since the moment she was born. (I’ll never forget in the delivery room, some misguided nurse gave my daughter the once over and announced she was an 8, on a 9 scale. I objected vociferously. She’s perfect! )

Spent some time with Big Boy and Queen Bee. Big Boy and I plotted a golf adventure that was sniffed out and crushed in seconds by QB. Guess we will have to play it legitimately.

I buzzed around WitchWoman so much that she took to swatting me.

I did not, however, have enough time to do all that I planned. I missed seeing a couple of my former students who remain dear to me. I did not visit the academic department where I spent my career. Shucks. It just slipped my mind. I did, however, visit with the guy who the president of the university when it was for real. It was a great pleasure to talk and laugh with a fellow for whom I have deep respect.

Otherwise, it was an indulgent week with spirits flowing freely, all sorts of back-slapping, and outrageous lying the order of the day.

Before leaving, Tinker and I worked out the details of me taking care of the livestock while he enjoys a few days of R&R on the Gulf. The place is under my wing until Friday.

Fact is, I am back. Privet, beware. Hostilities commence early Wednesday morning.