Buckeye Season

It’s Buckeye Season, that time from Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, to the time when all of the leaves have crinkled off the trees and lay pulverized under feet and in the streets. Buckeyes on the trees and underfoot peek slyly out of their husks, begging to be gathered. And so we did gather them, and the gathering became our annual ritual.

“Ohio Buckeyes,” © J. Stephen Conn, CC BY-NC 2.0

The congregation I attended was housed in the Hebrew Institute of Pittsburgh, an edifice built in the 1950s, resembling an L-shaped, two-story junior high school. Classrooms bordered the exterior of each hallway, four long hallways. Only the first floor front hall, parallel to Forbes Avenue, was off limits because that one ran along the length of the auditorium where the prayer services were being held. My friends and I were inattentive at times to the lengthy prayer services that started around 8:30 a.m. and ended short of noon on a regular Shabbos, and even as late as 1:30 to 2:00 p.m. on the holidays themselves. The moment the officiant paused for “the speech,” kids fled the room. We knew some “cranky old man” would come out and shush us if we got too wild, so we fled outdoors or scattered to the other three hallways.

“Buckeyes Ready to Fall,” © Sean Benham, CC BY-ND 2.0

Across Forbes Avenue, and a bit past the corner, a large buckeye tree towered over the curb. Buckeyes are also known as horse chestnuts and are the state tree of Ohio. In September, timed perfectly for the holidays, the buckeyes ripened in their husks and dropped to the ground. The spiky husks could be manipulated with the sides or toes of our shiny holiday shoes to free the captive nuts. My fingers remember the prickles of the sharp pods I couldn’t avoid touching. In the mid-1960s our dresses were still relatively long, knee-length at least. That was enough fabric to fill with a good collection of shiny and slightly sticky buckeyes. Our skirts billowed with a mahogany, nut-brown, and coffee-colored fortune.

Buckeyes entertained us in myriad ways. Buckeye games could be played outdoors.”⁽¹⁾ Flicked like marbles, tossed at targets, and used to provoke other kids, buckeyes were all purpose fun. Once back in the building, the second floor above the forbidden hallway became a dark bowling alley. Those scavenged treasures caromed off the walls and skittered down the terrazzo floors. They rolled on the bathroom tiles. They were launched as missiles and stuffed down the unwary child’s shirt collar. My BFF even ventured into the sanctuary and lined them up on the edge of the platform where the adults led the services! I suppose she felt daring because her father was the President, so in her mind she could not possibly get in trouble.

But kids age and after a few years we no longer rolled buckeyes in the hallways and pelted our adversaries. We were too “mature” for those childish pursuits and we girls found better ways to avoid “the speech”… like flirting with boys. I still visited the buckeye tree, however, and always pocketed a few.

Even as a young adult, I visited the buckeye tree in the fall and selected a few beauties. They warmed in my palm and slid together in a satisfying way. They reminded me of those happy childhood activities, but I stayed in the prayer services, even through the dreaded “speech.” On Rosh Hashanah it is customary to symbolically cast off our sins by going to a body of water, reciting some verses, and sprinkling a few bread morsels into the water in the tashlich ritual. In those years, we collected our buckeyes and rolled them down the steep hill of Darlington Road in a tashlich-style ceremony. Gales of laughter and the sensation of our hearts lifting in frivolity followed the buckeyes down the asphalt. Their abandonment released our mirth and enhanced the holiday season.

Beautiful towering flowers in the spring yield shiny buckeyes in the fall. “Aesculus hippocastanum (Horse-chestnut),” © Plant Image Library, CC BY-SA 2.0

Another year I collected enough buckeyes to make long strings to decorate my home’s sukkah, the temporary outdoor dwelling we use for the eight-day Sukkos/Sukkot festival. Many people decorate their sukkas with fruit, gourds, and beautiful pictures. I took my drill and created an assembly line. Drill, string, push them down the cord, drill more. My sukkah boasted those happy strands of buckeyes for many years.

Even after I moved away from Pittsburgh to areas lacking buckeye trees, my friend remembered me during buckeye season. She mailed me a buckeye care package! I kept a few on my desk for a few years. In a burst of creativity last year, I used them in an art project celebrating nature which I donated to a charity auction. I hope the bidder was amazed and entertained by them as much as I was.

Buckeye season is a state of mind requiring only some buckeyes, or even photos of buckeyes, to evoke the pleasantness. These nuts are poisonous to humans so don’t eat them! But oh! they’ve nourished my soul for years. My BFF and I still play buckeye games and talk buckeye talk. Fifty years have passed since we filled our skirts with the brown treasures. That old tree is gone, but when I go back to Pittsburgh, I know the location of another one to visit. Today we laugh together about rolling buckeyes during prayer services, and it keeps us young and silly. I’m looking forward to celebrating buckeye season for a long time. We’re never too old for fun!

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^{1. Buckeyes in the UK have been used for the game of conkers. “Roald Dahl was a big conker fan.” https://www.projectbritain.com/conkers.html, accessed October 1, 2020. ↩}

Yarn Follies

Cats and knitters* share a mystical superpower: they can suss out yarn anywhere, whether hidden behind walls of lead or at the bottom of a bargain basement sales bin. This attraction to long fibrous materials harks back to sunnier days when hanks of yarn grew on trees and children fell asleep when put to bed. Or maybe it’s a throwback to the days when we needed to hunt wool in the wild, tracking the crafty little fibers, and capturing them before they could get away and warn the others.

Caught in the act. © JustHavingFun

Cats think everything is a toy … or the enemy. They approach a ball of yarn with stealth worthy of a World War I infantry patrol. Their whiskers twitch and hindquarters shiver before pouncing on the unwary acrylic. Their victories depend upon how much yarn there is to unravel or chase around the room. Cats know when the babysitter’s bag contains mixed skeins or all the same yarn. Then they go for whatever is most convenient, closest to the mouth of the bag, not digging for the most rare or costliest fibers. The cat wages war on string from racial memory, an animalistic urge without sense or reason.

Vanquishing the enemy. © JustHavingFun

Exploiting her superpower to the max, the knitter, however honed her yarn sense, will seek out the hand-dyed, single lot, rarest fibers. Her war is personal: acquire the most you can and die happy. Today, yak, alpaca, angora, merino, silk, and bamboo replace yesterday’s limited choices of Wintuk and Sayelle. The size of her stash trumpets victory. Prizes won at the Battle of Rhinebeck and war trophies from the Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival campaign embolden the warrior’s stashing efforts. She with the most yarn WINS!

With different types of approaches, cats and knitters acquire their desires by stealth, persistence, and sheer dumb desire.

Yarn. Ya gotta have it.

* “Knitters” includes crocheters, too.

Sock Earrings

Love socks? Love knitting socks? Love comfy, cozy toes? Here’s a small tribute to warm tootsies! These little earrings boast a heavenly blue dangle. Maybe I need to knit blue socks….

Sock earrings. © JustHavingFun

Orange Holiday

The night glows with a just-past-full moon and jack o’lantern fairy lights festoon doorways and rooftops. The haunting season flourishes in the suburban area around my home. Or, as I like to call it, the Orange Holiday season.

The decoration mania surprises me, but not too much; after all, the “holiday stores” have been open since September. Blowsy fake cobwebs, oversized spiders with glowing green eyes, lookalike headstones planted in lawns—this is my America. In the suburbs, skeletons walk, pumpkins grin, a big ol’ spider hovers, and a tree posing as an owl supervises this nighttime array. Ceramic faux pumpkins laughed while I wrangled a tugging dog. One house even had a “laser show” with green ghosts flying around on the brickwork. Yes, flying. It moved! These are not Martha Stewart’s tasteful decorations; most of the ones I see are plastic, with LEDs, and reside in the dictionary under the word “tacky.”

Halloween yard decorations. © JustHavingFun

To stop a thief, light a light-Duquesne Light © Pittsburgh Press

Now this may not look so odd to you, but this display startled me. I was walking the dog down a sparsely lit side road and had forgotten to bring a flashlight. Peering ahead to prevent tripping over broken sidewalk, I noted which houses were completely dark and eerie. [An aside: Indoctrinated by the 1970s advertising campaign, “To Stop a Thief, Light a Light” promoted by Duquesne Light, dark houses look menacing to me, awaiting Bad Things To Happen. Note Chilly Billy on the same page.]

The houses that were lit loomed out of the darkness. Nearing the end of the block, the dog lunged for a car, yanking me closer to the Halloween house. He paused to sniff and I paused to click. How could I not? Ceramic faux pumpkins laughed while I wrangled the tugging dog. Will they attract many more trick or treaters banging at their door on October 31st?

What is this fetish to decorate the house exterior? If all the decor is outside, does one feel more festive inside? Why? You can’t see it if you are not outside!

If you don’t go the plastic or ceramic route, you can always carve your own pumpkins. (With all the pumpkins purchased, does anyone eat them or the seeds?) Have you noticed there are now professional pumpkin carving master tool sets for sale? This is a thing! “Sick of buying new pumpkin carving tools every year — only for them to break yet again?” the article asks. I didn’t know. I’m terribly behind the times, especially what is now “in” for the Orange Holiday. The dog does not care.

Halloween ceramic jack o’lanterns. © JustHavingFun

Soon the Orange Holiday will pass. If I recall correctly from walking the dog this way last year, this particular home will be ready for the “Red & Green” holiday soon, decked with rows of jolly candy canes lining the walk. We mark our seasons by the colors of the holidays. More on that observation later.

Happy Halloween!

Dance with Spikes

I saw these men’s shoes that reminded me of a bulldog’s collar a few weeks ago at Mondawmin Mall. Stores at this shopping center cater to a primarily African-American clientele. Even taking differences in culture into account, aren’t these shoes a bit… extreme? Are they the product of fun and delight or an abominable show of déclassé style?

Spiky shoes. Ouch! © JustHavingFun

Whoa! I thought. Who would wear that? Spikes and pyramids spangle a black glitter background. These shoes look mean! Or… something. I don’t know how to interpret them! Through my middle-aged white-lady eyes, they are hideous and mysterious, ostentatious and camp. They made me laugh. They shout c’mon! Let’s go!! 

I guess I’m not the “going” type.

There’s no accounting for tastes in fashion. Call me a fuddy-duddy but I believe young men’s underwear should be on the inside of one’s pants, contrary to the popular (amongst some) “sagging” style. Likewise, I’m still shy about visible bra straps and form-hugging fabrics that show EVERY bump.

Still, I had to go into the store and photograph this display. While there were similarly spangled women’s stiletto-heeled pumps across the aisle (women’s shoes having been torturous and outrageous for a long time)*, these male styles boggled my mind.

New Arrivals; Ready to Party! © JustHavingFun

I like a good amount of glitz however, and I’m always up for a celebration! So when I went inside the store, I saw that the bulldog collar shoes had cousins that were ready to party! The multi-colored glittery ones, third from the left, attracted my eye. Any guy wearing these shoes has to know how to have fun, F-U-N! Now I’m ready! Let’s go!! I want to dance with Mr. Sparkly Toes.

Have you seen any “extreme” fashions lately that have captured your imagination? Let me know in the comments.

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*(I have some real strong opinions on women’s footwear, but they are for another time.)

Opal

I love to look at collections of gems and minerals. It makes me feel … happy! Who would have known that there is hidden brilliance in rocks? One type of rock shows it’s secret nature if broken in a way to reveal inner structures: opal. I’m intrigued by these mysterious internal fires. Opals seem alive in a way that other stones are not.

What the word “opal” brings to my mind is:

• iridescence
• opalescence (rhymes)
• dichroism (bringing out my inner nerd)
• glittering hues (the poet in me)
• Coober Pedy (Australia!)
• the elusive Black Opal (intrigue & adventure)
• Opal, the character on All My Children (brassy soap opera women?)

Opals are relatively delicate, geologically classified as being an amorphous mineraloid, not having a regular crystalline matrix. They have their own history and lore. Their fire ranges in color from red to violet, and the background ranges from a milky color to black (rare).

Opal is a hydrated amorphous form of silica (SiO ·nH₂O); its water content may range from 3 to 21% by weight, but is usually between 6 and 10%.

Though I’m fascinated by geology, that sounds so clinical and dry. I want to shout, “Oh! What G-d has wrought capturing light in solid rock, freezing color in momentary flashes!”

Now, how fun is this? And I don’t even have any opal jewelry!!!!!

Photo credits: Opals at Field Museum, Chicago, Illinois. By: “Vilseskogen” on Flickr. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Small Red Hand

Small Red Hand. ©Batya7, JustHavingFun

Early one morning I drove to the medical lab to have my blood drawn. A small red hand lay on the curb in the parking lot. Its brilliant color caught my eye in the early morning sun contrasting vividly with the concrete. I paused and knelt to examine it.

Few others would stop to look at detritus on the ground, but I’m a scavenger. I believe that there are things in this world seemingly with no purpose except for that which only I can see in them. Found items, scrounged items, trash-picked items—they excite me. That which was once scorned calls to me. I have the “flea market gene,” and it activates itself when I pass thrift stores. Perhaps it can become “art.” I want to collect it but refrain. The “decluttering” gene kicked in and sense returned to me.

Still I wondered. Where did it come from? An action figure? Superman doesn’t wear gloves and Spiderman’s hands have webs on them. Batman’s gloves are black and Robin’s are green. Did the child cry when he realized his toy’s hand was amputated? How did it come to be precisely here, in this location, in the parking lot of a medical building? Perhaps the wind lofted it here, a particularly strong gust I’d imagine. Only a half inch long, it looked forlorn, abandoned, and incongruous in its strong color.

Brake Pad on Asphalt. ©Batya7, JustHavingFun

I noticed the texture of the concrete it lay upon: coarse whitish rock fragments embedded in a sandy matrix. Nearby upon the asphalt rested a rusty brake pad, or so I thought then. Now I’m not so sure what it is. A smear of yellow paint limned one edge. The asphalt appeared chunkier than the concrete of the curb, almost sticky. In the strong morning light, deep valleys crowded its surface—deep from the perspective of an ant or a microbe, that is. Were I the size of the red-handed toy, I’d have no trouble walking over that knurled surface though. I’d have sat on the brake pad using it as a bench and admired the view.

I snapped some pictures then went inside for my blood test, forgetting the little red hand and the rusted piece of steel, my odd trip into a land where a red toy hand pointed the direction of my travels. That two-minute pause gave me a moment to think about something different than usual and I cherished it. And here, six months later as I reviewed my old photos, I was brought back to that sunlit morning, the air crisp, and possibilities beckoning.

Purim Costume?

It’s only Tu B’Shvat time, but I’m primed; Purim is coming. I need to think ahead already.

Goodwill provides me with much inspiration. Looking for “normal clothes,” I saw these items separately at Goodwill and immediately thought “PURIM COSTUME!”

Now, I am a white White woman with pinkish skin tones. Chartreuse, acid green, safety yellow—these just are NOT my colors (white girl problems). Certain combinations, however, tickle my funny bone, and the ironic laughter burbles over. This chance combination illustrates my point of view in lush colors.

This chartreuse skirt, acid green paisley top & tropical print scarf combo with sparkly sneakers screams Purim at me. © JustHavingFun

Purim fun. © JustHavingFun

The Jewish holiday of Purim occurs a month before Passover. It is recorded in the Book of Esther, Megillat Esther. Purim commemorates our people being saved from annihilation in ancient Persia by the hand of Haman, minister of King Ahashueros/Achashveros.  The megillah is read in public, and it is customary to make noise when Haman’s name is mentioned to “blot him out.” We celebrate by bringing gifts of food to our friends and neighbors, having a feast, and rejoicing.  Children dress in costume, and many adults do, too.

Pink Purim © JustHavingFun

I don’t do full costumes. I think when I was a kid I had a Queen Esther costume like all girls in that era. One year I made a red fake fur hat and trimmed it with jingle bells, shaking it when Haman’s name. That got me a headache. Other years I wore a rainbow wig for jolliness—paired with totally clashing clothing. Last year I found an outrageous sequined overblouse and hot pink skirt. Paired with stripey socks, that was a wonderfully inspiring bit of frivolity.

So on second thought, I may just go back to Goodwill and see if these items are still available. We all need some hilarity in our lives.

I am so easily entertained. I crack myself up!

Cling

Link to the daily prompt

Cling peaches

“Canned Fruit” by Rennett Stowe, used under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Don’t cry little fleshlings as you are destined for greatness:
No longer to cleave to that hard, unmoving pit inside your sunny heart.
Slide around my bowl, float in the spoon, and submit to my teeth

Cling wrap

“Saran Wrap, 1961” by Allen, used under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Who would have known you’d stay faithful
when others failed their trials? When the task became urgent
you succeeded in keeping together the good
and excluding the bad. Alas you are expendable and flimsy,
your success being your downfall.

Cling on (sorry!)

furrowed brow and coarse glances
alien guttural growls of a foreign race
an enemy turned ally, warriors
united against a common enemy

“Funny Pictures Cat Has Static Cling” by Kevin Jarrett, used under CC BY 2.0

Static cling

A spark, a shock, a cat winding around my calves, you
Plaster skirts to hose in an unflattering way. Dry air? Feet dragged across nylon
Rugs? I beg you reveal your origin. Clothes dryer inheritance? Evidence:
Socks hide in sleeves and wrinkles create hills and valleys
Like landscape artifacts as seen from space across my contorted torso.

Now picture this…

Joe Klingon walks across the room and flicks a metal switch. Zap! Static electricity shocks him! His dessert, a small packet jacketed in cling wrap — held against his uniform blouse (which was oddly bunched up from static cling) — jumps from his hand and flies across the room spreading the sunny yellow cling peaches to the carpet. He ironically roared, “Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam!”⁽¹⁾

“Klingons” by Michael Buonaccorsi, used under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

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^{1. Translation: “Today is a good day to die.” See: http://www.babylon-software.com/definition/Heghlu’meH_QaQ_jajvam/English. (Retrieved 12 January 2017.) ↩}

Dragon Boats

Dragon boats returning to dock. © Just Having Fun

You can see just about every kind of festival in New York City. My home at the northern end of Manhattan is rarely more than an hour and a half by subway from every locale in the five boroughs. Since I’m heat exhaustion prone and sun sensitive I don’t venture out too much in the summer. This past weekend was an exception. We went to New York’s “Hong Kong Dragon Boat Festival” in Flushing Meadows, Queens, on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, August 9th.

“Unisphere” by Nick, used under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

“Citi Field (Mets vs Rockies Game 4)” by Mith Huang, used under CC BY 2.0

I had only ever been to Flushing Meadows-Corona Park as a small girl, to attend the 1964 World’s Fair, but knew its location because of the famous Unisphere globe which is still standing (and visible from the highway), and of course, Citi Field, the contemporary home of the New York Mets. I was anxious to see even a small portion of it and enjoy what New Yorkers seem to enjoy: crowds.

Dragon Boat Festivals, originating in China, have reportedly been around for over 2,000 years. Dragon boat racing comprises a portion of the festivities. The fair this past weekend sported a splendid number of people enjoying the day, strolling amongst the tents, eating, and watching the races on the lake.  Team sponsorship advertisements and race sponsors abounded including banks, health care providers, travel agencies, Chinese media, and insurers to name a few. Oars and paddles festooned the team tents as similarly-clad team members wandered around on their business in colorful packs.

I thought all the racing team participants would be Chinese, or at least Asian, but there were male and female athletes of a wide variety of ethnicities. Most, however, seemed to be on the youthful side. I can understand why: it is keen physical work! Ten paired oarsmen (oarspeople?) rowed to the accompaniment of a drummer who sat in the prow, facing the rowers, keeping time. Another person stood in the stern with a long oar (for stabilization?). It was difficult to examine the boats from my vantage point, but they appeared to be the same model, with a dragon’s head as a figurehead, and different paint combinations. It was lovely to watch, but the races themselves were very short in duration.

I looked for freebies hoping to snag an umbrella to ward off the hot sun and obtained some Kozy Shack rice pudding (Kof-K kosher) samples instead. I count that as success, too! Next time I’ll bring a camp chair and umbrella to further enjoy the sights and smells of a friendly summer festival.

Waiting for the Race to Start. © Just Having Fun