What novel or writer has influenced you the most?

 This question has been more difficult to formulate an answer to, than all the previous, because deciding on one book or author is like deciding which of your children is your favorite. I was immediately reminded of an Erma Bombeck column published in 1971, “I’ve always loved you best.” In 2006 I published Bombeck’s column on my blog; under the microscope (pciyrtpy.blogspot.com).

As I began to peruse my memory bank of the many books I’ve read, trying to decide which influenced me the most, I came to the realization that just as my life itself has multidimensional aspects, so too then does my reading. Therefore, one book, which devotes itself to environmental issues, might standout but would not be more important than say a favorite book and author dealing with hypnosis, or anesthesia, or writing, acting, singing, kayaking, or physical fitness overall.

Before I get more organized here with my thoughts, here’s an example of the diversity in reading material that influenced my life while serving in Vietnam: 1. The King James Bible (various authors.) 2. King Rat by James Clavell, 1962. and 3. Marine! The Life of Chesty Puller by Burke Davis, 1962.

I’ve forgotten when I first learned to read. Sorta like trying to remember when I started walking, but I suspect it was early on. I have a vague recollection of the Dick and Jane series of books and the catechism booklet I tried to memorize for Sunday School. Of course, I was surrounded by books in my growing up home and raised by avid reading parents. However, I don’t remember my parents ever reading stories to me like is so common today, that’s not to say that they didn’t, just that I have forgotten if they did.

During my school years, mom didn’t get up to fix my breakfast. That was my responsibility. Not that pouring cereal, milk and sugar into a bowl was a difficult task. I mention it only to relate the fact that this time of my day was always devoted to reading while eating my breakfast in the quiet of our kitchen while mom and dad slept.

Let’s start detailing my reading experience with novels of fiction since they were my escape from the stressful world of learning reading, writing and ‘rithmatic. In order of remembered importance: Edgar Rice Burroughs Tarzan series. “Roy Rockwood’s” Bomba the Jungle Boy series. And Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. Then came Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn (reread numerous times even in adulthood.) These stories fueled my fantasies and provided respite during my growing up struggles even into today. RLS’s Ivanhoe has been read many times also. In the same vein and not to be forgotten is Howard Pyle’s The Merry Adventures of Robinhood, and Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe.

Of course, I was introduced early on to the genre of science fiction by Jules Verne’s, 1870, Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea. Followed later in my life by Isaac Asimov’s Foundation Series. Which led into the fantasy genre with Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien.

Not a complete list, by any means, of my taste in fictional escapism but a sampler of my areas of interest. The list could easily include the authors; Diane Gabaldon, Ken Follett, Ian Flemming, and a few Stephen King novels. Perhaps I should include Shakespear here, whom I was introduced to in high school, but more about him when I get to books about writing and literature in general.

Next let’s make a transition of sorts from the realm of Fantasy and science fiction via King Arthur and the knights of the round table by Roger Lancelyn Green and Mary Stewart’s “The Crystal Cave;” one book in her trilogy dealing with Merlin the magician, to the clairvoyant Edgar Cayce. In the late 1960s my mother lent me a book, “The Sleeping Prophet,” by Thomas Sugrue. I was so intrigued and captivated by this biography of Edgar Cayce that I read 6 or more books either by or about Cayce. In addition, I read “Search for the girl with the Blue Eyes,” by Jess Stearn which is also predicated on our past lives communicating with our present lives. My fascination with this concept of regression and clairvoyance served as a transition/ motivator, some 10 years later, into becoming a hypnotist.

Reading for entertainment, escapism and enlightenment took a hiatus in the early 70s when I undertook intense study to become a nurse anesthetist. You may have surmised by the preceding list of literary preferences that I’m first and foremost a dreamer. To that end, I admit that academic pursuits in middle school and throughout high school came in a distant 3rd in my priorities. That, just to say, I had extremely poor study habits. Although I studied seriously enough in registered nurse school to graduate valedictorian of my class, I must confess that nursing school came fairly easy to me as a result of my hospital corpsman training in the Navy and Marine Corps. Fortune smiled broadly on me by leading me into the healthcare field.

Anesthesia school, on the other hand was, and remains the biggest learning challenge of my life and my desire to be successful drove me into the books with a fervor never before or since to be demonstrated by me. I lived, breathed and slept anesthesia literature. I won’t list any of the texts that I poured over on my way to graduating valedictorian of my anesthesia class, but if I must provide a definitive answer to your question, “What novel or writer has influenced you the most? ” I would say, Dripps/Eckenhoff/Vandam: Introduction to Anesthesia. I know, it’s not a novel but it was the door to the longest portion of my life thus far.

Move along now to the late 70s, I’m employed as a CRNA (certified registered nurse anesthetist) by my hometown hospital. A fellow CRNA asked me if I would be interested in attending a conference on hypnosis as an opportunity to earn required continuing education credits. I replied that I didn’t believe in that hocus pocus malarky and was wondering how such a conference ever got approved by our parent association, AANA. As a way to convince me otherwise he told of an anesthesia school classmate of his who was currently working only as a hypnotist in Philadelphia, Pa. and not doing anesthesia at all. My friend showed me the course curriculum in hypnosis that his friend had given to him. As I read it over my concept/bias was challenged and I thought, “this is just a course in verbology and semantics that has been significantly researched as a way to use one’s own mind and thoughts to bring about behavioral change. I was intrigued enough to take a trip down to our local library and borrow some books on hypnosis. After reading these books I became a believer and agreed to sign up for the course. I let my friend borrow the library books that I had read. A week or so later when I inquired of my friend whether he had sent in his registration, I had already submitted my own, he said no, he decided he wasn’t going to go. Flabbergasted, since it was his idea for us to go initially, I asked him to explain. He said something like; “after I read those books you borrowed from the library, I realized that hypnosis was all about talking to the patient. I went into anesthesia so I wouldn’t have to talk to patients!” I went; three different times over three years and to different courses as a matter of fact. And I incorporated hypnosis into my practice quite successfully.

We’re talking books here Bob!! Right. I have read and utilized numerous books on, about, relating to hypnosis over 40 years. The two most influential books in this genre, for me, are “Hypnotherapy,” by Dave Elman and “Neuro-linguistic programing” by Bandler and Grinder. (Erikson’s literature relating to hypnosis was and is invaluable.) actually, Bandler and Grinder had 2 books out; I’m referring to “Frogs into Princes: Neuro Linguistic Programing.”

Attempting to stay somewhat chronological here, or not, I’ll go back to 1972. While stationed at Fort Campbell Kentucky, in the U.S. Army as a CRNA I continued my lifelong habit of visiting libraries. On one such occasion while aimlessly browsing I picked up a magazine titled Organic Gardening and farming by Robert Rodale. Bingo, hook line and sinker, I was an instant, and remain to this day an organic gardener. Believe me, you do not have enough years left in your life to read all the books, pamphlets, magazines and gardening related literature that I have consumed. In conjunction I also stumbled across Rachel Carson’s “Silent Spring.” Again, I became an advocate of sustainable lifestyle committed to making as little negative impact on my postage stamp area of planet earth as possible. Another book you may want to read, if this Organic, sustainable living lifestyle appeals to you, is “Living the Good Life how to Live Sanely and Simply in a troubled World.” I can’t say this book was “influential”, but it was sure a pleasure to read again and again. A more recent novel I finished that will steep you into the heart of that 60s generational desire to save the planet, read Richard Power’s “The Overstory.” I recommend this story to the highest degree I can; I actually told my physical therapy aide at the time that this is the greatest book I’ve ever read. Upon reflection that may be a little overboard but still, I loved that story. And if you really get interested in that time, culture and lifestyle then James Michner’s “The Drifters” is a must read.

I know I said I’d stick to chronological format but the next two areas I want to cover will diverge because I want to deal with war last.

Writing, since you’re this far into this novel I want to tell a little anecdote relating to my career and an avocation.
In 7th or 8th grade we were administered a series of aptitude test with the purpose of directing our curriculum courses, in our high school years, towards areas of interest/competence. When my mother received a communication from the school with the results of my testing and read me the results I was not pleased. It said that my test results indicated that I would make a good journalist or nurse. I’ll save that story for another time, using it here as a semi-comical way of segueing into my writing avocation.

In May of 2006 I started blogging as a way to hone my writing skills and perhaps launch me onto a path to write a memoir/novel about me and my great-grandfather’s wartime experiences. At that time blogging was just a precursor for today’s Facebook; people of common interests coming together and sharing their commonality by writing, submitting and critiquing each other’s submissions. As an offshoot of that endeavor, I was lured into the world of poetry and poetry writing. Any success I may be credited with as pertains to my blog writing can be attributed to suggestions of two authors; “The Ode Less Traveled,” by Stephen Fry, and Stephen King’s, “On Writing: A memoir of the craft.” Since the word memoir popped up here, I’ll plug Mary Karr’s “The Art of Memoir.” and while we’re here she also wrote a personal 3 volume memoir: “the Liar’s Club,” “Cherry,” and “Lit.”
A superb novel about writing is, again, James Michner’s “The Novel.”

If I list a book here, be assured I’ve read it a least once and it made a profound impact on me.

I’m almost done, I promise. Before I get to war literature, here’s a list of influential writers and perhaps an example of their writing in no particular order, that had profound influence on the way I’ve come to interpret my world:1. George Orwell’s “1984.”
2. John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath.”
3. Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol
4. Edgar Allen Poe
5. Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s “The Little Prince.”
6. Ernest Hemmingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea.”
7. Dan Brown’s “The Da Vinci Code.”
8. Umberto Eco’s “The Name of the Rose.”
9. Herman Melville’s “Moby Dick.”
10. Susan Glaspell’s “Trifles” and “A Jury of her Peers.”
11. Cheryl Strayed’s “Wild.”
12.James Fenimore Cooper’s “The Last of the Mohicans.”

The most profound influence, if only short lived, on my life was and is the Viet Nam War. If you want to know about war, read Stephen Crane’s “The Red Badge of Courage.” The way to experience the Viet Nam war without having been there or even if you have is to read Tim O’Briens’s “The things they carried.” and Fred Tomasello Jr.’s “Walking Wounded. A Memoir of a Combat Veteran.”

This is an infinitesimally small sliver of a list of books I’ve read. Suffice it to say that if I finish a book, and it’s rare that I don’t, it has influenced how I view and interact with my world. Even if its value was but to carry me away and rest my soul.

And Shakespear? Well leave it as this; I’m a thespian at heart and all 

http://inspire.intentexperiment.com

Check it out;
i found it very calming.

MEME pg. 123 line 6,7, & 8

Grandmas defy description. They really do. They occupy such a unique place in the life of a child. They can shed the yoke of responsibilty, relax, and enjoy their grandcildren in a way that was not possible when they were raising their own children. And they can glow in the realization that here is their seed of life that will harvest generations to come.

The Best of Bombeck
by Erma Bombeck

2008:
It Begins!

A happy New Year! Grant that I
May bring no tear to any eye
When this New Year in time shall end
Let it be said I've played the friend,
Have lived and loved and labored here,
And made of it a happy year.
~Edgar Guest










To each and everyone who comes upon these words, whether a casual next blog clicker, a regular blog commenter, a family member, a friend, an acquaintance, a seeker of Google images; Erma Bombeck's Best loved child, or Grandpa Walton's Christmas wish.....

I extend my wish for you to experience a Happy New year. Whether your year lasts for only a moment or ,God willing, a full 365 days, Make it the best that you can. Try and try again, that's all you can ask of yourself.

As for me, I'm thankful that I've been granted the years I've had. Anything more is a bonus.

I have a loving wife with whom I celebrated a forty year wed anniversary in July.

Our Children our a testimony that sometimes you get it right even though sometimes you make mistakes. They are our legacy and We couldn't be more proud of them and for each of their accomplishments.

I have a brother and sister who love me more than I deserve. But I accept that love and cherish it!

I have a shipload of friends who tolerate my idiosyncrasies, and support me over and over.

All of my patients in the past year recovered uneventfully from my invasive anesthetic interventions.

My friend Leigh continues to support my attempts to enjoy the physicality of life. We entered and completed the 90 mile Adirondack Classic Canoe race.

We were able once again to travel to France for two weeks. New friendships were forged and old ones renewed. It was a superb experience.

Two stays at the B&B at 10 Fitch in Auburn, NY, were escapes that refreshed and renewed our spirits as well as stimulating our senses both physical and gustatory. The first stay was a gift from our Children. The second a mother's day get together with 2 of our 3 children and their companions.

D. had a wonderful and rewarding trip to Spain with 2 girlfriends and they successfully tested their physical and mental resolve by completing a 75 mile portion of the Camino.

I was able to hone my prose and poetry skills through participation in Sunday Scribblings, Poetry Thursday, One Deep Breath, and Writer's Island. Wherein I met a wonderfully supportive group of fellow writers.

One of many moments of gentle humor, I penned this poem in May

June, July and August on the Shores of the mighty St. Lawrence River.

A great Father's day weekend.

Joined the Shameless Lions Writing circle, and adopted the lion: Zaccharias

I purchased, read, enjoyed and sent a copy to my grand-daughter, the Book Faeries of Dreamdark. Blackbringer by Laini Taylor. Laini is co-host of Sunday Scribblings.

Celebrated the 4th of July, reveled in the glorious profusion that is our flower and vegetable gardens and enjoyed hazy, lazy, crazy days of summer along the banks of our river.

Said good-bye to Poetry Thursday! :((

Visits from Carolyn, Chris and Cassandra, moon eclipse, and a Perseid shower gave points to remember in Aug.

A September birthday in France

October brought an auspicious birthday for D., and a story of heroism for our middle child.

November saw a contribution to the Shameless Lions Collective story, Thanksgiving week in Texas with family including grand-daughters, a belated birthday party with pinata extended to a mtg in San Antonio,

The crown of the year was Christmas.


2007 had it's ups and downs just like every year but on balance I think it was a year to be thankful for.

We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day. ~Edith Lovejoy Pierce

#190 - Beauty

Tell us what you think about beauty. Is it really in the eye of the beholder? Is it all around us, or only there if you look for it? What does beauty look like? What does is sound like? Feel like? Tell us what beauty means to you
“For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it.”
Ivan Panin quotes


Doing a Google image search for the word beauty left me flat: ten pages, 210 images of which 201 of them were cookie cutter images of women’s faces. You know the same faces you see in fashion magazines such as Allure, Vogue, Fashion and Cosmopolitan. They all look pretty much the same with only slight variations. It’s as if the gurus of fashion have decided on what beauty is and there you have it; take it or leave it.
Well for all that, I’ll leave it, thank you very much. Those women are attractive enough I suppose but they don’t stand out from one another and so their image of beauty has become mundane for me.
Two hundred and one out of two hundred and ten images leave nine images that weren’t of the female face. There was one male face, if not ugly, then extremely homely and used as a poster to illustrate the cliché: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder: maybe not! The remaining images: three landscapes, four objects of nature, i.e. dog, bird, flower etc... And one was of a print of a written Chinese character.
In a nut shell; according to Google Image, beauty is relegated to the female face.
If you are one to define beauty by a fuller image of the female form you might want to do an image search of the word pulchritude. There in you will find a greater variety of form and will certainly see something to peak your appreciation of the female form and perhaps you’ll relegate it to the place in your mind reserved for things of beauty.
The female form and countenance have a place in my mind that’s reserved for beauty but it must share that space with a wide variety of things which I find beautiful.
To me, beauty is a stimulus; a sensory stimulus that gives rise, inside of me, of pleasurable feelings : calm, awe, peace and tranquility. Things that bring comfort and pleasure to my mind, beautiful things include a vast array if sensory stimuli. Music, nearly all forms of music are, to me beautiful. Some are discordant and unpleasing to me, but I don’t listen to them. There is beauty in the love call of the loon, the caws of the crow and the scolding of the Blue jay. The warbling of the Baltimore oriole nesting amid the apple trees in the spring causes me to cease all and listen. I find beauty in landscapes, seascapes, sun rises and sunsets, in rain storms and snow falling, there is beauty in food; preparation and presentation. I enjoy flowers and ferns and gardens and weeds, forest and lakes, spiders and their webs, paintings and sculptures and well made wooden furniture and patina worn floors. Spring breezes caressing my skin are a beautiful sensation as is the splash of river water coming over the hull of a kayak. The moon and the stars mesmerize and fill me with awe they are so beautiful. The profusion of fall, resplendent in all her fancy dresses is a show stopper every year. The smell of dry leaves burning brings the beauty of my childhood flooding back. Split rail fences, stone fences, and picket fences are things of beauty. Grandpa Walton telling us his perceptions of Christmas is a beautiful oration. Erma Bombeck’s favorite child column is an essay of beauty that has spanned four generations and will endure even longer.
Let’s not forget babies and puppies, kittens and trees, mittens and bees, horses and goats and bottles of wine. My oh my, things of beauty are multitude. Oh, have I even mentioned the female form or face?
Faces, yes faces; I like old craggy faces creased and lined with age and wisdom, tragedy and pain. Old faces are the best. Following close behind are old books and castles and churches and antique tables and heirlooms of every sort and old coats that still fit and, and, and well darn it, there is just so much that is beautiful. It seems a shame to believe that only the young female face defines beauty.
Oh yes let’s not ignore women. Without heart, a women’s beauty is only skin deep. If she has heart, then her beauty is soul deep and will last forever.

We returned from France yesterday, 9 hours later than scheduled and sans luggage...thank-you Air Canada, NOT!

And that's all I'll say about that. We had a spectacular time for two weeks in belle France and that is what I prefer to tell you about.

We are still suffering from jet lag so I'll ease into posting again over the next few days as I get back to a readjusted circadian rhythm.

There weren't too many chores awaiting our return, but a tour through the garden revealed scads of Roma tomatoes needing attention, which D. is currently cooking down into sauce. There was also a second crop of raspberries needing picking and D. did that also. No baggage yet so no laundry to do, it's on it's way and should be here soon...today. The driver called from Ottawa to get exact directions to our home.

This is our fourth trip to France. Each trip is special in it's own unique way. Our first time was a three week vacation prompted by the fact that our no. 3 child was going to be living in Paris for a year while working for his French company. With free lodging, who could pass up that opportunity? In fact we went twice that year, once in the spring and again in the fall.

The third trip was special in that it was our first time on our own in a country where English was not the prominent language.

This trip was highlighted by the fact that we planned to meet two people whom we had met through online blogging, as well as revisit the "City of Light," Paris, and take in the South of France. When I say the South of France, I mean the Provence region as opposed to the Southwest of France, where we have visited twice before.

Meeting on-line friends in person is sort-of like going on a blind date. You're never sure how it's going to turn out. In this case it could not have turned out better. Not only did we meet two exceptionally wonderful people and there spouses, through each of them we met two other bloggers who were equally delightful people. I will introduce you to Di. and Melanie as I relay our excursion to you at the points at which we met them.

On Oct 3rd, 2006, I posted about an 1971 Erma Bombeck column
titled; I've Always Loved You Best. The feelings described therein apply to our experiences with France and the people who have befriended us there.

Each trip to France has offered something new to make it special. This trip created new friendships with wonderful people, each different in their way. Each, truly exceptional, down to earth (salt of the earth as the saying goes), folks who are all that they portray themselves to be on their blogs and so much more.

Stay tuned for pics and stories of our fulfilling journey:
I have a few metro tickets and some Euro in my pocket, I guess I'll have to go back to France next year!


I don't know how "they" found out when we'd be arriving in Paris, but find out they did and 10's of thousands of Paris teenagers greeted us shortly after we got to our hotel with a fantabulous "Techno" parade down the Blvd. Beaumarchais that lasted for a couple of hours and was thoroughly entertaining. The "bass" was a tad heavy and I put my arms over my heart to protect it! ;) This is a glimpse for Sasha.

Verbosity

Have you ever come to the page with nothing to say, but said it anyway? 

Of course lately my visits to the page have been as scarce as hens teeth.  The reason is not that I have nothing to say, shucks I have plenty to say.  I've got tons and tons of answers to most of the worlds problems.  Just ask me I can go on for pages expounding on my views.

Actually, of late, I feel like I'm in a museless state; not thinking anything I might say is really worth saying, or more than likely, I've already written about it some where in this blog over the past 5 years or so, and am loath to repeat myself: why should art imitate truth.

I have no pearls of wisdom or whispers of gossip to impart to my adoring fans.  When you refrain from posting regularly and simultaneously stop visiting and commenting on other blogs the cadre of adoring fans dwindles to a few hangers ons, family and lurkers. 

A few days ago I mentioned that there was an increase in the visits to my blog from folks interested in a picture of a pileated woodpecker I had posted for a wordless Wednesday.  Well, that interest has not dissipated.  When I was an active participating blogger my site meter hits averaged out to around 40 hits a day.  For close to a month now my average daily hits have been in the high seventies.  That's a doubling of hits at a time when my participation in the blog world has been at it's lowest level.  I searched the blog sphere for some clue to the avid interest in pileated woodpeckers and can find none.  I continue to get the seasonal hits form Korea looking for Thomas Hardy writings and a regular searching for Erma Bombeck's "I loved you most" essay.  Both of which I wrote about in the past.  But if this wood pecker search persists it will out pace any previous posting under the microscope.

I'm not always verbose:  I can be concise an when I have something to say.   No unnecessary adjectives, just the facts mam just the facts.  When I have nothing to say I can say it on and on.

This Erma Bombeck column, originally appeared in 1971, Titled:
I've Always Loved You Best

I dedicate this post to my children and to a fellow blogger: http://jellyheadrambles.blogspot.com/

It is normal for children to want assurance that they are loved. Having all the warmth of the former Berlin Wall, I have always admired women who can reach out to pat their children and not have them flinch.

Feeling more comfortable on paper, I wrote this for each of my children.

To the first born......
I've always loved you best because you were our first miracle. You were the genesis of a marriage, the fulfillment of young love, the promise of our infinity.

You sustained us through the hamburger years. The first apartment furnished in Early Poverty... our first mode of transportation (1955 feet)... the 7-inch TV set we paid on for 36 months.

You wore new, had unused grandparents and more clothes than a Barbie doll. You were the "original model" for unsure parents trying to work the bugs out. You got the strained lamb, open pins and three-hour naps.

You were the beginning.

To the middle child...
I've always loved you the best because you drew the dumb spot in the family and it made you stronger for it.

You cried less, had more patience, wore faded and never in your life did anything "first," but it only made you more special. You are the one we relaxed with and realized a dog could kiss you and you wouldn't get sick. You could cross the street by yourself long before you were old enough to get married, and the world wouldn't come to an end if you went to bed with dirty feet.

You were the continuance.

To the baby...
I've always loved you the best because endings generally are sad and you are such a joy. You readily accepted milk stained bibs. The lower bunk. The cracked baseball bat. The baby book, barren but for a recipe for graham pie crust that someone jammed between the pages.

You are the one we held onto so tightly. For, you see, you are the link with the past that gives a reason to tommorow. You darken our hair, quicken our steps, square our shoulders, restore our vision, and give us humor that security and maturity can't give us.

When your hairline takes on the shape of Lake Erie and your children tower over you, you will still be "the baby."

You were the culmination.