Rubber Duckies- What Were They Thinking?

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  By Joni Johnson (with a lot of help from Wikipedia)

Rubber Duckies took on new significance at the Manor when they were distributed on Rubber Ducky Day. January 13th is a holiday that’s dedicated to the rubber ducky and is aptly named National Rubber Ducky Day.

At the Manor, the Rubber Duckies arrived in all sorts of disguises.  Some wore the traditional yellow outfit with orange beak. But many represented a multitude of characters.  One of ours was a woodland duck and the second was a unicorn duck. Some people at the Manor found the gifts silly and childish and others loved them.

Duck Collection 1

I’ve been collecting ducks since 2003 when a hotel in San Francisco gifted each of its guests with a medium sized duck with their name imprinted on the front.  I thought it was cute as did my compatriots. I bought a few more during the year. And all of a sudden, I had a collection. It gave my

    Duck Collection 2

friends something to give me. Now I have about 50 different ducks that adorn the counters of my two bathrooms.  This does not even touch the 5,631 different ducks of Charlotte Lee,  who has the largest Rubber Duck Collection in the world.  Her name appears in the Guinness book of World Records. I couldn’t believe that the two ducks that appeared in my box were new to me, and so they have joined their compatriots.

All of a sudden, thanks to their hosts, many of the Manor ducks were involved in a variety of activities. People found them snow shoeing, ice boarding, swimming, and so much more.  Some ducks were so bad that they spent some of their time in jail.

Ducks in Jail- Naughty Ducks

Ducks on Snowshoes?

Species experiments

So is the Rubber ducky just a silly little toy for children or is it more?  It has engendered massive world wide Derby Duck Races with prizes over $1,000,000 a race. These are often used as a fundraising method for organizations.  I believe someone also suggested that we hold a derby race here in the spring.  In Aspen, Colorado, the derby now features 30000 ducks and takes place each August.  Other cities include Fort Wayne, Indiana; Knoxville, Tennessee; Halifax, Nova Scotia; Lumsden, Saskatchewan; and Estes Park, Colorado. There are races in Australia, Scotland, Germany and other countries.

The story that Queen Elizabeth has a rubber duck in her bathroom wearing an inflatable crown caused the sale of rubber ducks in England to increase by 80% for a period of time. In 2013, along with the game of chess, the rubber duck was inducted into the Toy Hall of Fame.

Sculptor Peter Ganine created a duck made of vinyl in the 1940’s, patented it, including the famous squeaker, and reproduced it as a floating toy.  More than 50 million were sold.  What started out as the birthday of the character Rubber Ducky from Sesame Street has now bloomed into a holiday that’s celebrated all over. In Sesame Street, Ernie’s favorite toy is his rubber duckie, and he sings about it in the song by that name. The song was recorded in 1970 and charted at number 16 on the Billboard Hot 100.

 

 

Scientists are studying them in global tidal currents.  In 1992, 28,800 Rubber Ducks were washed off a ship during a Pacific storm. About two-thirds were found three months later in Indonesia, Australia and South America.  Most were finally recovered by 2007 after having been through the Bering Strait, Greenland and/or Iceland.  Donovan Hohn wrote a book about their travels called Moby-Duck: The True Story of 28,000 Bath Toys Lost at Sea., available in paperback from Amazon for $18.

There’s a Rubber Duck Project in Pittsburgh that considers the rubber duck a symbol of happiness and childhood memories, giving comfort to people regardless of their nationality, age, and race, and without political distinction.

The University of London advises computer programming students to use a rubber duck to help them debug their code. If they attempt to explain the program out loud, line-by-line, to a rubber duck, they will often discover where a problem exists, and then they can resolve it. Clearly, the concept of Rubber Duck Debugging need not be confined to programming.

Personally, I find Rubber Duck Debugging to be quite useful when applied to my writing. If you are looking for some problem-solving help, perhaps you should try teaching rubber ducks!

In a 2006 article in The Journal of American Culture, Lotte Larsen Mayer writes, “Shared by adults and children in a symbiotic relationship, the irrepressibly ‘cute’ toy that fueled ‘duck mania’ brings pleasure and learning to children and leaves memories of childhood innocence and joy that are re-kindled in adulthood, promising fun as the duck reaches out to the inner child in all of us.”

Our Rubber Ducky experience at the Manor started small but grew and certainly has allowed us to reconnect with that wonderful inner child.  May we continue to do so because that is what keeps us young.

     Women read while men watch football

Even Ducks need water

Duck in Hawaii on infamous rug

January Library Display

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by Anne Newins

By this time of the year, I begin to develop cabin fever.  With no cure in sight, a selection of travel books might provide vicarious relief for me and perhaps for fellow sufferers.  A quick subject review of our in-house search engine revealed that the RVM library has at least 225 travel related books, proving that it is a popular genre.
But books cannot be simply labeled as “travel.”  They often are far more than simple accounts of places that people have visited or explored.  The best of them are studies of internal and moral exploration, coming of age tales, as well as physical challenges, which is why so many  have become literary classics.  Below is a sampling of the many books that will be displayed this month.
First, several Manor authors have written travel books, some more than one.  A few of them are:
Among the Maya Ruins, by Ann and Myron Sutton
Only in Iceland: a quirky chronicle, by Asifa Kanji
Two Women in Africa: the ultimate adventure, by J.R. (aka Jean) Dunham
There are a couple of humorous titles:
Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw: travel in search of Canada, by Will Ferguson
When You Look Like Your Passport Photo, it’s Time to Go Home, by Erma Bombeck
Bestsellers and classic fiction include:
The Bean Trees, by Barbara Kingsolver
The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek, by Kim Michele Richardson
The Giver of Stars, by JoJo Moyes
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, by Mark Twain
Finally, I can’t resist listing a few of my personal favorites:
Anything travel related by Bill Bryson
Anything travel related by Paul Theroux
Humboldt’s Cosmos:  Alexander von Humboldt and the Latin American Journey that changed the way we see the world, by Gerard Helferic
Kingbird Highway:  The biggest year in the life of an extreme birder, by Kenn Kaufman
The River of Doubt:  Theodore Roosevelts’s Darkest Journey, by Candace Millard
The RVM library volunteers wish you happy trails and a year full of good reading.

Romantic Valentine’s Day Entertainment Set

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NIT WIT NEWZ

 

 

(Nit Wit Newz is an unauthorized, often unreliable, on-line news source designed to keep Manor residents abreast of the inconsequential, trifling, and superficial events that dramatically shape and inform our everyday lives here at Rogue Valley Manor.)

 

ROMANTIC VALENTINE’S DAY ENTERTAINMENT SET

 

Manor Entertainment Committee inks famed romance poetess for extended engagement.

In month-long Valentine’s Day celebration, Gladys Hummingthorpe, to be on stage at Manor auditorium each weekday evening during February—the “Month of Love.”

Ms. Hummingthorpe will be reading selections from her book-length, epic poem, “Meet Me ‘Neath the Rose Arbor When Vesper Bells Ring.”

Incidental music by husband, Myron, on his 18th century Venetian lute, will accompany these rapturous, ninety minute recitations.

Early reservations recommended (ticket clamor certain to swell as February nears.).

To insure all residents are able to attend, please limit your reservations to just six performances during the month.

Should Covid protocols prevent in-person auditorium attendance in February, Ms. Hummingthorpe’s performances will be telecast live each evening on Channel 900.  Streaming will be available to accommodate your viewing schedule as well as your binge-watching pleasure.

Fill your February with love, wonder and awe.

Join the Hummingthorpes in a packed-month of enchanted evenings.

 

—A. Looney

Winter Wonderland

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photo collage by Reina LopezWinter Wonderland Dec 2021

I Got Covid for Christmas. . . !

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by Tom Conger

As is our custom, my kids, grandkids, and I converged in Seattle to spend the Christmastide with their stepdad at his lovely place in Issaquah. This time we all flew in—nine of us from different locations, all on separate flights, arriving just before a substantial snowstorm. They all stay at his home, and I with old friends in Bellevue, thus were only able to actually get together for a few hours on Christmas Eve plus some “quality time” the next day. Then off we all flew like the down of a thistle.

On December 28, I awoke with a very sore throat, mild headache, body aches, and a low-grade fever (101°). Inasmuch as I had spent 10 hours the prior day waiting for my (1-hour) flight back to Medford, then marching back & forth on the tarmac, in the rain, as the airline shuffled planes on us, eventually flying almost to MFR before diverting back to Portland because “a cargo door had not latched properly,” I figured I had the flu, or possibly strep throat. We had all been vaccinated, and the kids boostered, so thoughts of Covid were vague at best. But during the day, I learned that the kids’ had each tested positive before reporting back to work or school. And I suddenly found myself so sick I couldn’t even get out and get tested. Somehow, another day went by – lost forever, a blank. Or was it two days?

A friend called. “Are you OK?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

“NO!”

“OK. But I’m going to call every day to make sure you’re alright.”

“Just let me go back to bed.”

And so she did. Every day. I had to d-r-a-g myself out of bed to answer the phone.

One day, I just couldn’t make the effort when the phone rang. Mistake. The troops arrived in the form of Bob. Muttering imprecations and holding on to the walls for support, I wobbled slowly and carefully to the front door. Blearily, I motioned for him to go away through the screen door, and I staggered back to bed.

On New Year’s Eve, I dragged self out of bed and drove to the Fred Meyer parking lot, where I heard drive-by testing was being done. Once I finally located the test site (reportedly “amply signed”—there were no signs whatsoever) and drove around until I found what appeared to be the end of the line, it was obvious that, at the rate the line was moving, there were several days’ worth of cars waiting to be tested. I drove home and took a nap.

Next day (New year’s Day) I learned that Valley Immediate Care was offering test with no wait, so drove to the VIC facility at Barnett & Ellendale, and received prompt service—and equally prompt results: I had Covid. These tidings were promptly relayed to Melissa Preston and Belle at the front desk.

The report forms did not identify which strain/variant of the infection I had. And by then my temperature had returned to 98.6°. But I was far from “cured.” The sore throat had dissipated with the fever, but several MD friends had suggested Mucinex, to relieve any congestion I might be experiencing (had an occasional little hack—what I’d call a “nervous cough”); so, when dear friend Nancy called from her PT session and asked if there was anything I needed from the Manor Mart, I requested Mucinex. Seemed to get some relief from that OTC Rx, and eventually consumed the entire packet plus about half of a refill.

By then, symptoms were mostly a relentless sense of fatigue—no energy whatsoever—and I found myself dozing off repeatedly. As I was mostly just lying in bed reading, the spontaneous naps were facilitated. This did not seem to interfere with night-time slumber, so I figured there was no harm in nodding off at will. But it was damned annoying. I kept having to reread to figure out where I had been before I dropped off.

But time was passing. It had been over two weeks since the symptoms had first appeared and I had tested positive. During this interim my neighbor Cleve, who had gathered my mail while I was out of town, was also fielding items from my box in the Manor; this help was greatly appreciated. Hope you have a neighbor who would do likewise.

Slowly I began to notice that I was feeling less ”foggy” with each passing day, and was able to perform small household chores. I could fix myself something to eat and wash up afterwards without needing to lie down and rest afterwards. I was still not taking my accustomed daily walks, especially as I like to go early in the day—but it’s been cold out…! Some brilliant soul suggested I walk later in the day. 

My medical service is at the VA clinic in White City, and they did not receive their booster serum until December, my shot scheduled for 1/18. By last Tuesday, I was feeling as close to normal as I could recall, and the booster itself had no side effects. I now face the ordeal of getting back onto my walk regimen—am going to have to start slowly, and adjust the to time frame to the afternoon, at least until we get out of the 20s in the mornings.

Other than that, there’s not much advice I can offer: if you somehow get exposed, and actually contract the infection, there’s little you can do other than rest—and keep isolated from others = easy in the independent cottages, but more of a task in the towers. Malama pono!

Book Review: Owls of the Eastern Ice

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by Bonnie Tollefson

 

Editor’s note: this review was originally released with authorship mistakenly attributed to Jan Hines.  The Complement apologizes to Bonnie, Jan, and our readers for the error.

Subtitled: A Quest to Find and Save the World’s Largest Owl, by Jonathan C. Slaght, Center Point Large Print, 2020

The first thing I learned from this book was – Don’t make life decisions while hiking in the blazing sun in a bug infested bog – you could end up spending years freezing off valuable body parts. That is what Jonathan Slaght did. He had fallen in love with the Primorye region of Russia. For those of you as deficient as I am regarding Russian geography, that is the area to the East of Siberia. It is bordered by China, North Korea and the Sea of Japan. Jonathan spent 3 years there during his time in the Peace Corps and also did a Masters project for the University of Minnesota on the effect of logging in the area on songbirds. As he was trying to decide on a subject for his doctoral dissertation, it came down to aiding the conservation efforts for two birds – the hooded crane and the fish owl. Since that hot buggy bog was prime hooded crane habitat he decided to study the fish owl. Never heard of a fish owl? It is the largest of the owl family being over two feet tall with a six foot wingspan and scruffy brown feathers that blend very well into their forested habitat. Their primary food source is fish and frogs so their hearing is not as good as other owls. The easiest time to locate them is February when they leave their distinctive tracks on the side of rivers and make their eerie duet calls during mating. These facts led Slaght to spend five winters in the forests of the Primorye as he located nest trees, studying habitat, and captured live owls. He took measurements, finally discovered how to tell apart the male and female (it’s more white tail feathers), banded birds and, on a few owls, placed expensive GPS transmitters to determine flight patterns. In spite of bears, tigers, and temperatures well below 0, Slaght and his Russian research assistants were able to work out a conservation plan for loggers and others to protect this owl found only in Russia and northern Japan.

The book is available thru the Jackson County Public Library and as Large Print from the RVM Library.

The Organ Recital

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by Asifa Kanji

Organ recitals are torturing me. Who is wailing this time – my kidneys, my appendix? A sharp pain in my groin has me thrashing to the point of wanting to be put down, like an old horse who has seen better days.

Call 911. I trounced that thought in a trice.

Shoot me first. I would rather die in my own bed. In the ER, they would open up my body’s Pandora’s Box, bringing to light all that I didn’t know was broken. This would be the beginning of serving a life sentence of pills and pricks, medical probes, and compartmentalized boxes filled with little tablets. I lie there in a kind of rigor mortis, fearing that any movement will awaken the havoc-wreaking devil in my body. Slowly, the wave of pain subsides.

What if? What if I have cancer? What if?

It can’t be. See, the pain has gone. It was just gas. I have been full of it lately. I review everything I have eaten in the last 48 hours. Nothing unusual comes to mind.

This is the third episode in as many months, the voice from inside pipes up.

Yeah, so – look, I’m all better now. It is nothing.

Maybe if I tell myself enough times that it is nothing, my body will get the message and it will be nothing.

Are you sure you are ready to die? It is that same voice from inside, nagging.

Fear of illness devours me, chewing up my independence, my youth, my very being. Doctors will feed me with fickle hope and potions, drawing out my life, just because they can. I had sworn that I would let the cancer, or whatever disease, take me down. No treatment, just painkillers, I repeated over and over to my husband, my friends and my family. I have witnessed modern medicine do everything in its power to beat death as though letting people die is a failure. Please support me when I say I do not want treatment, I wrote in my living will. Now I wonder if this pain is death’s calling card.

This morning, the bleeding from my colon stopped. The violent tummy cramps stopped. I am nursing a cup of hot tea as I sway in my hammock. The wind chimes are singing a gentle, Zen melody. The song fades into quietness and then picks up again with the morning breeze. The grass and the trees smell so fresh, looking clean and bright after yesterday’s rain. They are enjoying the sun as much as I am. As for the hills, they are crowned with huge messy dollops of clouds, spilling carelessly down their sides. Oh what a beautiful morning. I cannot help having that wonderful feeling that everything is going my way.

I want to live. I want to be healthy. I want to write, especially my mum’s story, a legacy I want to leave behind for my nephews. I want to kayak in Antarctica, and camp out at Machu Picchu. If I am diagnosed with something big, maybe . . . Maybe I will seek treatment to heal my body. How quickly my principles are crushed when they bang against reality! For the first time I am beginning to believe that we are programmed to want to live, to survive, until death takes us. This is a new experience for me. I always thought I’d have the courage to say, “This is it!” and allow myself to die. I wasn’t going to be like my mother, my uncle, like so many of my relatives who just lingered – every caregiver’s nightmare. I always wondered why they didn’t stop their treatment. I certainly did not see them enjoy anything that I would call quality of life. In fact it was the opposite. They were dependent on me to take care of them and to advocate for them. That was not the journey I wanted to take. But now I see how hope seduces me, but, but . . . fear is knocking ever so loudly, wanting to be heard. I listen.

I fear my husband’s love for me will drive him to do everything possible to fix me, yes even bind me with duct tape or lubricate me with WD40. I fear that he will do so much for me that it would disable me and undermine my own fight to live. I fear we will go from being friends and lovers to patient and caregiver. I fear friends will turn into advisors, and in their need to heal me, they will infantilize me. I will become the person that my friends do for, rather than simply enjoy being with. There is nothing like illness to bring the good Samaritan out of everyone, paying their karmic dues forward, fervently hoping the same fate won’t befall them. Most of all, I fear the whispers, labeling me as the sick one. It would render me worthless, like I had had a lobotomy.

I remember well when David cracked his hip and was temporarily wheelchair bound. People would talk to him loudly and deliberately, using their kindergarten vocabulary, or would address their remarks to me (the wheel chair pusher) as though David needed to be pushed around because he was too stupid to walk, talk or think.

I have not told David or anyone about the bleeding. He would be terribly concerned, as would I if the situation were reversed. The difference is, I am struggling with myself and don’t have the energy to deal with his emotions. I am not ready to do the obvious, like see a doctor. So why should I put him through the panic?

Am I a fool? I could nip this in the bud with a checkup. The thought of having instruments shoved up every orifice, especially the ones at the lower end, makes me shudder like a sail in storm. What if they do find something serious? Maybe I should stop depriving myself of triple dark chocolate ice cream and freshly baked apple pie a la mode. After all I have done for my body, taking it for walks, feeding it nothing but the best, yet it is shedding my health, memory, energy like it were getting rid of bad debts. What the hell, I should just say yes to red wine, deep fried chicken, forget the salads, and die happily ever after. But I know death doesn’t come that easily. Fear and anger are holding hands again.

Skip treatment. Avoid the medical quagmire. Fall asleep in the snow, the voice goads me. You are lucky, there’s loads of snow up there, and it will soon be over.

Yes but. . . I want to have a going away party – you know, a wake while I am awake.

Forget that, my brain says, you are giving up a hell of an opportunity to go while the going is good.

S T O P it! screams the other voice at my brain’s tireless commitment of sending me to hell on a bullet train.

Oh, maleficent brain, be quiet and let me think about how I might handle a dire diagnosis. Let me dance with fear for a while. Let it lead me and teach me. I beg to differ with FDR. I don’t believe that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself, or that to fear is to lack courage or faith or love. It is only when I give my fears a voice that the seeds of hope and love are born. Finding out just exactly what it is I fear that I am able to come up with solutions. But having a conversation with fear is like talking to a belligerent teenager. I have to show compassion, empathy and give it space to come out and talk to me.

Becoming a helpless invalid is a real fear that is exacerbated by people’s well meaning and loving intentions. So how do I keep my dignity and self worth? How do I not become a victim, or fall into the trap of becoming a professional invalid? How do I avoid talking incessantly about all that hurts? Organ Recitals, a friend calls them.

I do not wish to bring attention to all that ails me. I don’t need a peanut gallery clapping their hands every time I am able to poop. I am both fickle and strong in mind, and have a tendency to design my life as I go. Should I be diagnosed with a major illness, throwing me into the briar patch, I have no clue how I will cope. But dear ones, should you choose to journey with me as caregivers, I have put together some thoughts on how you can support me, and help allay my fears and maybe yours. Knowing what to say or do in the face of death or illness is really tough.

So my dear friends and family, here is how to support me, should I seriously fall ill:

Tell me that life sucks, and HOLD the advice. I most likely know what is good for me. I need someone to listen, while I think out aloud and air my anger and my fears, tilling my own soil to plant hope.

Make me laugh. Do things that will make me forget for a moment that my body is falling apart.

Hold my hand, look me in the eyes and tell me that you love me. That will give me the strength I need.

If I can’t do it myself, paint my toenails in wild colors; give me a foot massage. Touch me. Hold me.

Sit and eat dark chocolate or sip a glass of good red wine with me.

Don’t greet me with, “how are you doing?” Instead start the conversation with the mundane. It’s a lovely day, or my god the traffic was awful. Took me twenty minutes to find parking or whatever else is on your mind. Ask me what I would like to do or hear about.

Don’t assume that just because I’m sick, I should be protected from whatever is going on in your life. Tell me your hurts, your pains, your frustrations, even if it has to do with me. Let us process and cry and laugh together. Most likely my brain is still intact. Tell me, because that makes me feel included rather than isolated.

Even if I need help eating or wiping my bottom, it does not equate to brain failure. Allow me to do things for myself, however awkward or painful it may seem to you. I promise I will ask for help, should I need it. Don’t be afraid to tell me “No” if I am pushing your limits.

Don’t feel sorry for me as it is a part of my journey. Painful experiences are like the thorny stems of rosebushes – they hold sweet smelling rosebuds, just waiting to bloom. Let us together not allow ourselves to bleed to death from the pricks of the thorns.

Let us see the illness that has befallen, not as an end, but as a new opportunity to live life in ways we haven’t before. Surely that is a more fun ride to go on.

My worst fear is that our relationship will change to one of caregiver, and the lump that needs looking after. When I am no longer able to care for myself, hire someone to come in to help. Please continue to go out and participate in life as fully as you can, for that is the energy I want you to bring and share with me. In that way, we’ll continue to enjoy each other and continue to build on the relationship we have enjoyed for so many years, even though life has taken a turn and suddenly we find ourselves on a different path.

There is so much written about caregivers and the sustenance they need. Avail yourself of that, but most of all realize that you cannot fix things for me, and that you are not in charge. Don’t waste energy in believing that if you could just get things sorted out properly and get all of the right people lined up, you could make everything better. It will be easier for both of us if you let me figure out how to deal with my illness or condition, and allow me to do it my way.

In return, I promise to also be there for you. I will try to remember that this is not just my journey, but for us to walk together, hand in hand . . . . until death do us part. May we have the courage to be there for each other, without taking away from each other’s life’s joys and pains.

Review Site for RPG Manual

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Purpose

This is a prototype site for development of an RPG Operations and Information Manual

It’s purpose is to present working drafts that can be used as they are being further refined and integrated.

In the early stages of the project changes will be frequent, so users should recheck the source frequently.

Comments can be submitted by using the “Reply” function at the end of the article, or by emailing rpgrvm@gmail.com

Project information

Manual Outline      View/Download PDF
(initial draft 02/03/22)

Standards and Design   View/Download PDF
Author/Editor statement on Manual design, rational, and procedures
(initial draft 02/03/22)

———————————————————————————————

Content section — COORDINATOR NETWORKS

RPG Coordinator Networks   View Page
Summary description of structure, function and coordinator activities

Neighborhood and Floor Coordinator Responsibilities   View/Download PDF
Summary description of activities expected of local coordinators
(primary document, initial draft 02/03/22)

Coordinator Qualifications    View/Download PDF
List of abilities considered necessary for coordinators to function effectively
(secondary document, initial draft 02/03/22)

Coordinator Backups    View/Download PDF
Discussion of need for personnel backups and approaches to obtaining them
(secondary document, initial draft  02/03/22)

Preparation Resources (tentative title)    View/Download PDF
Summary description of basic preparedness measures
(cross link CN/IN primary incomplete initial draft 02/03/22)

 

What’s New in December

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*-Do you want to get a personal email notification of a new Complement issue or new material?   Email us at openinforvm@gmail.com and we will put you on the mailing list

Past articles are all on display;  If there is a “Load More” link at the bottom of the page, clicking it will bring up the older articles. 

If there is something you missed in the November issue, just click the link

 

And in this month’s Complement:

NEWS & VIEWS

The Herrons’ Peace Corps Adventure in Belize….. and The Gambia, by Joni Johnson
      – A double-header Peace Corps experience

Russy and Anita – As Young As The Peace Corps, by Joni Johnson
      – A view from the very beginning

Surviving Winter: Driving on Ice and Snow, by Joni Johnson
      – How-to videos for brushing up slippery-surface skills

The RVM Campus Snow Route, by Bob Buddemeier
     – Now that you know how to drive in snow, this is where to drive

         in Big, Borrowed, or Both

3550:  the Portland Mirabella quarterly magazine (most recent issue)

Mirabella Monthly, Newsletter of the Seattle Mirabella (December issue)

 

ARTS & INFO 

Holidays at the Manor, by Connie Kent
      – Outcroppings of seasonal spirit

Fuzz — a book review, by Anne Newins
      – Stories of collisions between humans and other species

RVM December-March Event & Entertainment Schedule

December Library Display, by Anne Newins
       – There’s no book like a snow book

Elf Mischief, by Connie Kent
       – Not soft and fluffy!

Nit-Wit Newz: Medford to Paris — by Rail, by A. Looney
      – World-class recreation at RVM

Our Holiday Poem to You,
     – A sentimental poem for a sentimental season
     

PREPARE

The RVM Campus Snow Route (map): SNOW ROUTES-022411

The following two articles are cross-listed with the News and Views section

Surviving Winter: Driving on Ice and Snow, by Joni Johnson
      – How-to videos for brushing up slippery-surface skills

The RVM Campus Snow Route, by Bob Buddemeier
     – Now that you know how to drive in snow, this is where to drive

 

Billiards at RVM

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by Tim Miller

BILLIARDS (aka POOL) AT ROGUE VALLEY MANOR

Gosh, it sure is a lot of fun to play Billiards here at Rogue Valley Manor!

Well, here’s my story and how I got involved.

I arrived at the Manor a little over a year ago; so many fun things to do here…tennis, pickleball, bocce ball, golf, lawn bowling, table tennis, line dancing, exercise classes and soooo many board games and other activities. All designed to keep us healthy and happy!

What else to try out? As I was visiting the Manor downstairs, I came across some folks playing Billiards.

I remember in my youth playing “pool” and some hit and miss pool at other times in my life. In fact, we had a pool table in our attic for few years. It was nice, but boring. I seldom had anyone to play with.

Just before arriving at RVM, I was playing pool quite a bit where we lived at the Eagle Crest Resort.

I said to myself “what the heck.” Let’s start playing pool again. So much fun and good folks to help me along, thanks to Dan, Butch, Rita and Diane. Very soon I started researching and practicing pool again.

Now I go down and play pool any old time I like. Who cares if it’s rainy, too hot outside or 5am in the morning? The tables are always available. And, WOW, what great tables. I feel like I am playing in a very luxurious Country Club. The tables are the highest quality and they were just refurbished to “like new”.

I can remember as a kid playing on a table in the back room of my barber shop. The table was ancient and I think it even had bumps on it, and it sort of leaned to one side.

Sometimes it’s just a lot of fun to go down and play a solo game by myself or maybe just practice a little (I can sure use the practice). The other day I called a friend I hadn’t seen in a while and we are going to get together soon and play some Billiards. Maybe we will contact a couple of other players listed on RVM Billiard website and play some team Billiards.

After playing for a few months in the “Ole RVM Billiard Parlor,” pretty soon I was playing a fairly decent game again. No expert, but I was having fun and feeling a certain degree of proficiency. I have always enjoyed my passion for sports by sharing (instructing) with others whatever expertise I had learned (Judo, Tennis, Boating and Pickleball). Living in a Senior community…Billiards was the ideal place to start lessons in Billiards.

Beginner Billiard Lessons have started at Rogue Valley Manor! Over the next few months, we had about 20 students complete the 2-hour Beginner Session (learning the fundamentals). Interestingly, 14 of these 20 students were women. The great thing about pool is that the male has NO physical advantage. There have even been a few students who wanted to take their lessons a step further…6 of them are now enrolled in an advanced pool mentoring program (3 ladies & 2 men).

In a couple of months, we will have open enrollment of our next Beginner Lessons…watch for it on MyRVM. STAY TUNED!

For more information about Billiards at RVM, contact:

Dan Curtis (X6899) dbcurtis@gmail.com Co-chairperson for our Billiards community; or

Butch Findley (X6161) bf6695@gmail.com Co-chairperson for our Billiards community; or

Tim Miller (6891) tennistim2@gmail.com Instructor

Visit our Website at: RVM Billiards

Interesting History of Billiards

It evolved from a lawn game similar to the croquet played some-time during the 15th century in Northern Europe. Play moved indoors to a wooden table with green cloth to simulate grass, and a simple border was placed around the edges. Initially, the balls on the table were hit with a mallet. Later the “pool cue’” evolved which allowed more precision hitting.

The term “poolroom” now means a place where pool is played, but in the 19th century a poolroom was a betting parlor for horse racing. Pool tables were installed so patrons could pass time between races. The two became connected in the public mind, but the unsavory connotation of “poolroom” came from the betting that took place there, not from billiards.

In the 1920’s, the poolroom was an environment in which men gathered to loiter, smoke, fight, bet, and play. The rooms of today bear no resemblance to those of the earlier times. Until very recently, billiards was completely dominated by men. In the past, it was very difficult for a woman to develop billiard skills because male players, her family, and friends usually did not support her efforts. These situations have changed…women are now accepted as equals with men in Billiards today.

“Billiards” is an all-inclusive term. It includes any game played on a billiard table, with or without pockets. These various games include snooker, pocket pool, etc.