Things That Make Me Go "Hmm" (Part 1)

Volumes could be filled with the things that puzzle me. Here are just a few.

Why is the nickname for Sylvester "Sly?" I mean, I understand not wanting to be "Syl," but this makes no sense to me.

Along those same lines, why is the nickname for William "Bill" or "Billy?" Will or Willie, I get. But Bill? Where'd the B come from?

Fashion; no matter how I look at it, it makes no sense. "These things weren't popular years ago, and they won't be popular years from now, but right now, you must have them!" I don't care if it's clothes or hair or home furnishings, this makes no sense. I understand the capitalism of it all, "Sell more stuff by creating false need, and making sure people replace things that aren't worn out," but I just cannot quite comprehend 1. why so many people go along with it, and 2. why so many people treat it as though it has any actual value.

Conviction by Consensus, the idea that, "Other people think this; therefore, I will think this." All the permutations of it, from fashion to mob mentality, just escape me. Again, intellectually, I can explain it. I understand the psychological and anthropological reasons, the fact that being part of a group makes survival easier and more likely. I understand that some people just do not trust their own judgement, but feel sure that majority opinion confers some kind of authority. After all, isn't that democracy in a nutshell - "We will do whatever the majority decides we should do."

Still, keep in mind that "majority" means "anything over half," so out of 100 people, 51 is a majority; that still leaves 49 dissenters, though, who are told that their idea has less value, just because there are fewer of them. I understand using this as a basis for a government, but not in using it to make decisions or form opinions about everyday life.

The older I get, the more I want to strike the phrase "most people" from anyone's vocabulary. "Most people like (blank)." "Most people will do (blank)." It's just infuriating. Have you sincerely polled all of the Earth's inhabitants? This is the adult version of a child's statement - "Everybody else (fill in the blank)." Unless you put some parameters on it - "most people who visit Rome for the first time," "most people who live in Chicago" - I just want to disregard whatever you have to say outright.

Even if you do designate your parameters, and your analysis is correct, why should that indicate any kind of desirability? Truly, why is something a good or bad idea just because a lot of people agree? Every single inventor, discoverer or pioneer did things that went against prevailing knowledge and opinion. Watching "The Imitation Game," I was struck by the fact that someone more likable and agreeable than Alan Turing would have caved to his peers. After all, these were honestly the best and brightest analysts available. They were smart, educated, informed and well intentioned. They told Turing that he was doing it wrong, wasting time, wasting money, costing lives, and he should just buckle down and do it like the others did. Yet, Turing was right. They were able to succeed only because he stubbornly refused to listen to majority opinion, and in doing so, he ended the war years earlier, and changed cryptography forever.

I understand, too, the desire to be like someone we admire, or to cultivate traits that seem desirable, but I just want to smack people who explain any part of their opinion or actions by saying, "Intelligent people think/do x." It makes me want to drip with sarcasm - "Do tell! Enlighten me! However do intelligent people think? I would so love a glimpse into that rarified world!" In actuality, folks, truly intelligent people form opinions and make decisions on their own, not as a group. And, they frequently disagree with one another.

Negativity, in almost any form, annoys me. I read a study that measured how readers rated the intelligence of review writers. Participants were given movie and book reviews written by the same person, expressing the same views, with just a few key words and phrases changed, to reflect either a positive, upbeat tone, or a negative one. By a huge margin, the participants said that the reviews using negative words were written by more intelligent writers. Anecdotally, I see this frequently. Be happy or positive about something, and people adjust their estimation of your IQ downward, but be rude, scathing and dissatisfied, and they'll think that you're a genius. It aggravates me.

Has no one noticed that any idiot can complain or find fault, and most of them do? It takes hard, relentless work to see the positive in any given situation. Many people are ill equipped, or simply don't expend the effort.

Ranch dressing; I'll eat it if there's nothing else available for my salad, but I don't really like it. I don't want it on my sliced veggies, my wings, my pizza, my chicken strips, or anything else. I'm always puzzled when I'm at a restaurant and they bring me copious amounts of ranch that I didn't order, or ask me if I want it when I haven't asked for it. It's not horrifying, but it's not amazing.

Fear of rodents and/or insects; I just can't quite imagine what harm people fear will befall them. Rodents are cute. Bugs can be lovely. Neither one frightens me. I do dislike the sensation of lots of little legs walking on me, but I also dislike having people stand too close to me or rub me too lightly, and that doesn't cause me to scream and run.

Fear of snakes; fear of venom makes sense, but fear of any snake? Why?

Extreme germaphobia; come on, trust your immune system. I was at a weekend event at a high school, and took an available opportunity to nap; the only place quiet enough was the school library, where I could nap on the floor. My son wrinkled his nose and said, "Oh, yeah, Mom, that's real sanitary." My response: "Our ancestors lived through the Middle Ages. I think I can handle a frequently cleaned library floor."

Driving fast; I am not an adrenaline junkie. I dislike the physical sensation of speed. I dislike knowing that speed increases danger. Things that are fender benders at 25 are fatal at 85. I'm generally not in a hurry, either. Impatience is just an exercise in misery.

I do not enjoy large (or steep) roller coasters, anything that drops from a height, or other adrenaline rush rides; see above.

High heels are of the devil, I'm sure. Not in a "you shameless hussy" kind of way, just in an "I'm not a masochist, I don't want to be in pain" way. I read where an actress was quoted as saying, "Who cares about comfort on the red carpet? It's about looking fabulous." She does indeed look more fabulous than I do, but I care about comfort. Call me a hedonist, but I can't imagine why anyone would choose to wear something that hurt.

Have Fun Stormin' the Castle

Everyone has something in particular that they like to do when they travel. Some people get excited about the food; some get excited about the shopping. I get excited about the photographs that I can take.

When we planned a trip that would take us to Europe for a week, people asked, "What do you want to see?" At first, I just said, "Whatever is there." Then I started thinking, and we started buying things like train tickets, and I amended my answer; "I want to see a castle."

I've grown up in the American West; we get all excited if something is 100 or 150 years old. Our entire nation is just over 200. When my niece spent a year abroad in France, she lived in an ordinary neighborhood in an ordinary town, and her home was over 400 years old, with stone walls. The thought made me swoon.

At our first stop, Madeira, there was no castle. The island was gorgeous, and I didn't miss the opportunity to see a castle.

Our second stop was Gibralter. I was excited about the rock, the monkeys, the view across the channel to Africa. But there, sitting on the hill, was a castle.

See it? Don't worry, we got closer.

Technically, it's a medieval fortress. Still, on only my second day in Europe, I got to cross a "must do" off my list.

It became apparent that castles were not scarce the morning we arrived in Barcelona. This was the view from the deck of our ship:

Well, then!

This is Montjuic Castle, first built in 1640. We didn't go inside, but we did get a closer view.

 We saw plenty of palace-like buildings in Paris. Even if we hadn't, who cares? It's Paris!

We hit the castle jackpot in Germany.

After looking, exhaustively, at flights to take us home, we'd discovered that the least expensive flight left on a Thursday from Frankfurt, so we arranged to arrive in Frankfurt on Tuesday night. That left all of Wednesday for an adventure. We were without a car (we'd arrived by train), so we looked into tour companies, and settled on a tour that would pick us up from, and deliver us back to, our hotel. We were scheduled to go down the Rhine in a tour boat, on a stretch of river that was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site and has the highest concentration of castles in Europe. We all charged our camera batteries in anticipation.

Unfortunately, the Rhine was flooding. It was the highest water level in over 300 years. Virtually all river traffic was halted.

This is a staircase that goes down to the waterfront sidewalk. The water levels were, if I recall, 15 to 20 feet above normal here.

Many of the docks were themselves underwater. Some peeked out, but you wouldn't want to dock there.

The tour company had a contingency plan. We would still get many of the usual elements of the tour - lunch at a cafe, a visit to a local monument, a ride down the mountainside in a chair lift reminiscent of a ski lift - but instead of sailing past numerous castles, we'd get to tour the grounds and interior of one.

It was an absolutely picture perfect example of a castle - suits of armor, a ballroom, towers... just gorgeous.

There's me and my husband.

Here's the view from across the river.

Isn't that storybook perfect?

What was more astonishing to me, though, were the number of other castles in the area, castles not included as part of the tour. They were just sitting there, a part of the normal scenery.

I mean, they're just everyday buildings. Here's another view from across the river, showing the next castle just a bend in the river away.

Do you see that? Here's a closer look.

They're within sight of each other, some of these castles. Holy cow! I mean, even if it was centuries ago, I could easily walk or ride between them!

So, we have a new plan on the back burner. Some day, we'll go back to Germany. We'll drive the Romantic Road, we'll float down the Rhine, and we'll photograph more castles.

It's a great plan.

Mine! Mine!

Years ago, we had the good fortune to have our niece and nephew live with us. No one was happier than my own children, who considered the entire time to be an extended sleepover party.

One day, several neighbor children were over playing with the 9, 8, 7 and 4 year olds in our household. At one point, I had to announce, "OK, everybody who doesn't live here has to head home. My kids need to get ready for dinner."

My 7 year old, who never heard a statement with which she couldn't quibble, said, "Well, Jeremy and Sarah aren't really yours."

"Of course they are," I said. "They're my nephew and my niece."

This subject had apparently been a topic of discussion among the children, because my 9 year old nephew elbowed my 7 year old daughter in the ribs and said, "See? I told you."

I never claimed to be their parent, but that certainly didn't mean that they weren't mine.

I tend to use possessive words about kids in my Girl Scout troops, Cub Scout dens, theater classes, debate team - there's lots of kids that I'm unrelated to that I claim as "mine." Even years later, I'll refer to them that way. One of my Scouts is now serving a church mission, ten years after I was his leader, and I still call him "my Scout."

Sitting in the coach's lounge at a debate tournament a couple of years ago, I was called to the door by someone saying, "Your kid needs you."

"Which one?" I asked. I received a strange look in return.

"The only one that's - actually yours."

"You mean, the one that I actually gave birth to?"

"Yeah. That's the one."

Well, I had to ask. They're all "my kids."

Years ago, a friend's mother asked her, "Why do Sharon's children call you "Auntie'?" Her answer: "I don't know. I guess it's kind of her way of making the whole world part of one big family."

For the record, the world is indeed one big family. I admire cultures in which all elders are referred to as "Auntie" and "Uncle." I belong to a church in which we refer to each other, even people we've never met, as "Brother" or "Sister."

I also like to lay claim to those people that I want in my life.

There was a time when this friend with the puzzled mother was the person that I loved best in all the world. She made adolescence bearable; no small feat. I never imagined a reality in which she wasn't an aunt to my children.

Not too many years ago, I introduced another childhood best friend at the sandwich shop where we'd taken him for lunch. The ladies behind the counter know and recognize us, and this time we'd brought someone new with us. "This is my brother," I said. "Nice to meet you!" the ladies said. He lived within walking distance of the shop; I hoped that if he came back, they'd remember him (and treat him the way they treat us.)

When we sat down to eat, he said, "So, I'm your brother?"

"You know that. You always have been," I said. He first called me his sister when we were both still teens. My kids have called him "Uncle" since they could speak. That's more than half our lifetimes ago.

"Yeah," he said. "I know. I'm just surprised that you still claim me in public," and winked.

I was delighted to see how my adult son viewed some of these relationships. When I was a kid, there were people who told me that all childhood friends, including those from high school, would necessarily fall out of each other's lives. There was nothing permanent about them, I was assured. Now, of course, I've been out of high school for over 30 years, and most of my friends are still here, in my life. I don't even think that we're exceptions.

I was telling my youngest kids some story or other about something that happened in high school, describing how the adults at the school often underestimated the loyalty between the kids in the theater department. Prone to bickering among ourselves, we closed ranks around even the kids who annoyed us if we perceived a threat from outside of the group.

My son (a university psychology student) said, "I don't know why that surprised them. That's classic family behavior."

"That's the thing. They didn't see us as a family."

My son gave me a look, and said, "Mom. Two words: Uncle Tony."

My son has grown up in a reality in which a number of those theater friends are called "Aunt" and "Uncle." Even the ones without the formal titles hold a special place in the family. It was nice for me to know that my children had no question as to who could be our family.

My son does, though, rib me when I talk about my granddaughter. "You don't have a granddaughter," he'll say. This is only biologically true. I used to reply, "Ask her mother. She'll tell you." Now that the little princess in question is old enough to have her own opinions, I say, "Ask her. She'll tell you." (Sometimes I add, "Uncle Alex.")

I know that it's sometimes confusing for people. I might mention, for instance, my niece Linda, and leave people who know my family puzzled. "Is that Lynne's daughter, or June's?" The answer, which I always give when asked, is, "She's my friend Michelle's daughter. I've always been her aunt."

We recently discovered the perfect word for these "family by choice" relatives - they are bonus relatives. It's a fantastic description. It almost denotes receiving them as a gift, which they are.

Often, though, I only need the one word - "mine."