Manana (Peggy Lee, Dave Barbour)
The faucet, she is dripping, and the fence is falling down;
My pocket needs some money, so I can’t go into town;
My brother isn’t working and my sister doesn’t care;
The car, she needs a motor, so I can’t go anywhere.
Manana! Manana!. Manana is soon enough for me.
My mother’s always working, she’s working very hard;
But every time she looks for me, I’m sleeping in the yard;
My mother thinks I’m lazy, and maybe she is right;
I’ll go to work manana but I gotta sleep tonight!
Manana! Manana! Manana is soon enough for me.
Oh, once I had some money but I gave it to a friend;
He said he’d pay me double, it was only for a lend;
But he said a little later that the horse she was so slow,
Why he give the horse my money is something I don’t know!
Manana! Manana! Manana is soon enough for me.
My brother took a suitcase and he went away to school;
My father said he only learned to be a silly fool;
My father said that I should learn to make a chile pot,
But then I burned the house down, the chile was too hot!
Manana! Manana! Manana is soon enough for me.
The window she is broken and the rain is comin’ in;
If someone doesn’t fix it, I’ll be soaking to my skin;
But if we wait a day or two the rain may go away,
And we don’t need a window on such a sunny day!
Manana! Manana! Manana is soon enough for me! Oba! Oba!
Manana is good enough for me!
It’s Almost Tomorrow
Procrastination is the Great American Sin. Everybody will “get around to it” tomorrow. When you are young, it seems reasonable to assume you will get around to hitchhiking across the country or touring Europe or getting the band back together “tomorrow.” In most cases, tomorrow never comes. But we never cease to delude ourselves that down the road we’ll get around to them, all those wildly imagined subtropical vacations, Alaskan fishing trips and deeds of derring-do. Haven’t seen Ernie and Ethel in a couple of years, been meaning to drop in and catch up….they should be at Marty’s funeral next week. Comes the day, and turns out Ernie’s facile ticker got him a year ago and Ethel’s in a nursing home with the Alzheimer’s. The world is full of “if we’d only….” recriminations. Sad.
One of the less spoken of detriments of aging is the Inertia Problem. It’s easier to just stay in place. Might be nice to go out and see that new movie, but golly, it’s a twenty-five minute drive each way, and at night at that. Let’s just stay home, honey, and watch this NCIS episode for the twenty-fifth time.
There are health issues to consider, of course. Compromised night vision for driving is a stickler. There are hearing aid issues to be factored in. Some folks are a little wobbly on occasion. But more often the rut is merely psychological. It’s so much safer at home, right?
If there are zeroes, however, there are also heroes. Our neighbor and pal, Allen Morgan, kept on going as long as he could, ignoring the golden staircase until earlier this year at age 87 when his kidneys took a powder. Even then, Allen performed home dialysis three times daily and continued going to volleyball and softball games at UF until his legs could no longer carry him. If you invited him over for dinner, he’d find a way to come. Allen was no tough guy, he just wanted to participate in life to the end. Then there was this other fellow name of Albin Kisarewich. Despite being in his seventies, Albin thought it might be a good idea to hike the Appalachian Trail. Yeah, that Appalachian Trail. Everyone naturally told him he was crazy. Albin just smiled and thought that might be right.
The Appalachian Trail
The A.T. is a marked hiking trail in the eastern United States extending from Springer Mountain in northern Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine. The total length is roughly 2200 miles. The trail passes through the states of Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont and Maine and is maintained by 30 or so trail clubs and multiple partnerships. It is managed by the National Park Service and the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. The majority of the trail is in wilderness, although some portions traverse towns, roads and cross rivers. The Appalachian trail is famous for its many hikers, some of whom attempt to hike it in its entirety in one thru trip, the accomplishment a virtual Holy Grail for hikers. Others break it up into several lesser trips, returning on several occasions to the place they last finished, and continuing onward. The great majority begin in Georgia and hike North, although this is not true of everybody. There is rudimentary lodging along the trail, in some segments every 14 miles or so, approximately the average distance tallied daily by A.T. hikers.
In his hilarious book, A Walk In the Woods, author Bill Bryson delineates his travels along the Trail in the company of his good friend, “Stephen Katz.” Though dreadfully out of shape and totally unprepared for such a challenge, Bryson and Katz fare much better than expected in their quest and the reportage paints a good picture of what life is like on a day to day basis. Particularly memorable is Bryson’s depiction of the wetness of the experience, its effect on the human body and soul. The magnitude of the task is enormous and Bill Bryson portrays it well. If you’ve sampled any of the writer’s other books and found them humorous but unfulfilling, give this one a chance. It is truly a gem. Siobhan laughs out loud at nothing. People on the plane were staring at her in curiosity as she regularly collapsed in laughter during this one.
View from the Appalachian Trail in Maine
The Ballad Of Albin Kisarewich
Siobhan and I first met Albin and his wife, Gerry, at Ward Theisen’s place on 115th Avenue in Fairfield. Ward and Albin were a weird parlay, Ward the crusty old curmudgeon, Albin the sweetest guy on the street. They remained friends, perhaps because Albin’s sunny disposition was impervious to the slings and arrows of the Theisen armory. In another lifetime, Albin had been a commercial pilot, some say a near professional level tennis player. Now, he was a horse breeder like Ward, who delighted in telling him everything he was doing wrong. Albin just smiled and kept on doing it.
Now, it turns out Albin Kisarewich had this hidden ambition. Unbeknownst to just about everyone, Albin had long possessed a desire to navigate the Appalachian Trail. Now in his seventies, that didn’t seem particularly likely. Then, to put an exclamation point on the sentence, Albin suffered a massive heart attack requiring a long recovery period. I know from my own experience, the doctors prefer you don’t rush right back into the ring after these things happen. You are not allowed to move too quickly, to carry much weight, all progress is incremental. Grandiose notions of future epic feats are discouraged. You have had a heart attack. Now, things are different.
Albin was sufficiently bummed by the experience but he was one tough customer. He wasn’t giving up on the Appalachian Trail dream. And maybe that long-imagined quest hastened his recovery, who knows? Time passed and Albin healed. Finally, he was ready to take on the task. His wife, Gerry, worried but supported his dream. And so Albin was off, ready to tackle the monster, fearless of the quest, celebrating the moment. Being the pollyanna optimists that we are, we would love to tell you that Albin roared over hill and dale, dispatched rivers, tamed high hills and made it to Mt. Katahdin in jig time. But Albin did not. What Albin did was break his leg. On the first day. Oy vey. This would surely be the End of the Story. Right?
The Empire Strikes Back
We’re not sure what kind of conversations took place in the Kisarewich household after Albin’s miserable stroke of bad luck but it’s hard to imagine his wife supporting another effort, let alone encouraging it. Godammit, Albin, enough is enough! A perfectly reasonable reaction. But time passed and Albin recovered, none the worse for wear. He told Gerry he wanted to make one final attempt at the Appalachian Trail. We’re not absolutely certain what she said, but she didn’t throw him out of the house. Albin slowly worked his way back into shape, not so easy to do in one’s mid-seventies, and headed back to the starting line. This time, things went better. With just one significant interval, Albin made it all the way to the hills of Vermont before cashing in his chips. “Come and get me,” he finally bade his wife, “these mountains are beating me to death.”
Now, some people might be so calloused as to note that Albin Kisarewich didn’t actually complete his task, did not finish his hike to the very end of the Appalachian Trail and is not enshrined in the Great Book of Thru-Hikers which resides somewhere in the mists. We say Who Cares? He’s a hero in our book. Who better exemplifies the nobility of the human spirit, old guy courage, grit and determination? Nobody we know. So the next time you’re a little intimidated by a half-hour drive or a two-hundred yard walk or some other meager adversity, dwell for a moment on the deeds of Albin Kisarewich. And be ashamed. Be very ashamed.
That’s all, folks….
The faucet, she is dripping, and the fence is falling down;
My pocket needs some money, so I can’t go into town;
My brother isn’t working and my sister doesn’t care;
The car, she needs a motor, so I can’t go anywhere.
Manana! Manana!. Manana is soon enough for me.
My mother’s always working, she’s working very hard;
But every time she looks for me, I’m sleeping in the yard;
My mother thinks I’m lazy, and maybe she is right;
I’ll go to work manana but I gotta sleep tonight!
Manana! Manana! Manana is soon enough for me.
Oh, once I had some money but I gave it to a friend;
He said he’d pay me double, it was only for a lend;
But he said a little later that the horse she was so slow,
Why he give the horse my money is something I don’t know!
Manana! Manana! Manana is soon enough for me.
My brother took a suitcase and he went away to school;
My father said he only learned to be a silly fool;
My father said that I should learn to make a chile pot,
But then I burned the house down, the chile was too hot!
Manana! Manana! Manana is soon enough for me.
The window she is broken and the rain is comin’ in;
If someone doesn’t fix it, I’ll be soaking to my skin;
But if we wait a day or two the rain may go away,
And we don’t need a window on such a sunny day!
Manana! Manana! Manana is soon enough for me! Oba! Oba!
Manana is good enough for me!
It’s Almost Tomorrow
Procrastination is the Great American Sin. Everybody will “get around to it” tomorrow. When you are young, it seems reasonable to assume you will get around to hitchhiking across the country or touring Europe or getting the band back together “tomorrow.” In most cases, tomorrow never comes. But we never cease to delude ourselves that down the road we’ll get around to them, all those wildly imagined subtropical vacations, Alaskan fishing trips and deeds of derring-do. Haven’t seen Ernie and Ethel in a couple of years, been meaning to drop in and catch up….they should be at Marty’s funeral next week. Comes the day, and turns out Ernie’s facile ticker got him a year ago and Ethel’s in a nursing home with the Alzheimer’s. The world is full of “if we’d only….” recriminations. Sad.
One of the less spoken of detriments of aging is the Inertia Problem. It’s easier to just stay in place. Might be nice to go out and see that new movie, but golly, it’s a twenty-five minute drive each way, and at night at that. Let’s just stay home, honey, and watch this NCIS episode for the twenty-fifth time.
There are health issues to consider, of course. Compromised night vision for driving is a stickler. There are hearing aid issues to be factored in. Some folks are a little wobbly on occasion. But more often the rut is merely psychological. It’s so much safer at home, right?
If there are zeroes, however, there are also heroes. Our neighbor and pal, Allen Morgan, kept on going as long as he could, ignoring the golden staircase until earlier this year at age 87 when his kidneys took a powder. Even then, Allen performed home dialysis three times daily and continued going to volleyball and softball games at UF until his legs could no longer carry him. If you invited him over for dinner, he’d find a way to come. Allen was no tough guy, he just wanted to participate in life to the end. Then there was this other fellow name of Albin Kisarewich. Despite being in his seventies, Albin thought it might be a good idea to hike the Appalachian Trail. Yeah, that Appalachian Trail. Everyone naturally told him he was crazy. Albin just smiled and thought that might be right.
The Appalachian Trail
The A.T. is a marked hiking trail in the eastern United States extending from Springer Mountain in northern Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine. The total length is roughly 2200 miles. The trail passes through the states of Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont and Maine and is maintained by 30 or so trail clubs and multiple partnerships. It is managed by the National Park Service and the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. The majority of the trail is in wilderness, although some portions traverse towns, roads and cross rivers. The Appalachian trail is famous for its many hikers, some of whom attempt to hike it in its entirety in one thru trip, the accomplishment a virtual Holy Grail for hikers. Others break it up into several lesser trips, returning on several occasions to the place they last finished, and continuing onward. The great majority begin in Georgia and hike North, although this is not true of everybody. There is rudimentary lodging along the trail, in some segments every 14 miles or so, approximately the average distance tallied daily by A.T. hikers.
In his hilarious book, A Walk In the Woods, author Bill Bryson delineates his travels along the Trail in the company of his good friend, “Stephen Katz.” Though dreadfully out of shape and totally unprepared for such a challenge, Bryson and Katz fare much better than expected in their quest and the reportage paints a good picture of what life is like on a day to day basis. Particularly memorable is Bryson’s depiction of the wetness of the experience, its effect on the human body and soul. The magnitude of the task is enormous and Bill Bryson portrays it well. If you’ve sampled any of the writer’s other books and found them humorous but unfulfilling, give this one a chance. It is truly a gem. Siobhan laughs out loud at nothing. People on the plane were staring at her in curiosity as she regularly collapsed in laughter during this one.
View from the Appalachian Trail in Maine
The Ballad Of Albin Kisarewich
Siobhan and I first met Albin and his wife, Gerry, at Ward Theisen’s place on 115th Avenue in Fairfield. Ward and Albin were a weird parlay, Ward the crusty old curmudgeon, Albin the sweetest guy on the street. They remained friends, perhaps because Albin’s sunny disposition was impervious to the slings and arrows of the Theisen armory. In another lifetime, Albin had been a commercial pilot, some say a near professional level tennis player. Now, he was a horse breeder like Ward, who delighted in telling him everything he was doing wrong. Albin just smiled and kept on doing it.
Now, it turns out Albin Kisarewich had this hidden ambition. Unbeknownst to just about everyone, Albin had long possessed a desire to navigate the Appalachian Trail. Now in his seventies, that didn’t seem particularly likely. Then, to put an exclamation point on the sentence, Albin suffered a massive heart attack requiring a long recovery period. I know from my own experience, the doctors prefer you don’t rush right back into the ring after these things happen. You are not allowed to move too quickly, to carry much weight, all progress is incremental. Grandiose notions of future epic feats are discouraged. You have had a heart attack. Now, things are different.
Albin was sufficiently bummed by the experience but he was one tough customer. He wasn’t giving up on the Appalachian Trail dream. And maybe that long-imagined quest hastened his recovery, who knows? Time passed and Albin healed. Finally, he was ready to take on the task. His wife, Gerry, worried but supported his dream. And so Albin was off, ready to tackle the monster, fearless of the quest, celebrating the moment. Being the pollyanna optimists that we are, we would love to tell you that Albin roared over hill and dale, dispatched rivers, tamed high hills and made it to Mt. Katahdin in jig time. But Albin did not. What Albin did was break his leg. On the first day. Oy vey. This would surely be the End of the Story. Right?
The Empire Strikes Back
We’re not sure what kind of conversations took place in the Kisarewich household after Albin’s miserable stroke of bad luck but it’s hard to imagine his wife supporting another effort, let alone encouraging it. Godammit, Albin, enough is enough! A perfectly reasonable reaction. But time passed and Albin recovered, none the worse for wear. He told Gerry he wanted to make one final attempt at the Appalachian Trail. We’re not absolutely certain what she said, but she didn’t throw him out of the house. Albin slowly worked his way back into shape, not so easy to do in one’s mid-seventies, and headed back to the starting line. This time, things went better. With just one significant interval, Albin made it all the way to the hills of Vermont before cashing in his chips. “Come and get me,” he finally bade his wife, “these mountains are beating me to death.”
Now, some people might be so calloused as to note that Albin Kisarewich didn’t actually complete his task, did not finish his hike to the very end of the Appalachian Trail and is not enshrined in the Great Book of Thru-Hikers which resides somewhere in the mists. We say Who Cares? He’s a hero in our book. Who better exemplifies the nobility of the human spirit, old guy courage, grit and determination? Nobody we know. So the next time you’re a little intimidated by a half-hour drive or a two-hundred yard walk or some other meager adversity, dwell for a moment on the deeds of Albin Kisarewich. And be ashamed. Be very ashamed.
That’s all, folks….
