The snow dogs are racing.

Iditarod!

The great dog sled race across Alaska has reached Mile 592 at Eagle Island, Alaska. Starting in Anchorage, the track travels 998 miles to its end in Nome. Musher Martin Buser was the first out of Eagle Island at 2:41 am this morning. The racers are called “Mushers” – likely because they are always yelling “Mush! Mush!” to their dogs to keep the sleds push push pushing through the Alaskan snow, slush and mush.

Martin is originally from Switzerland, has lived in Alaska for over 30 years and became a U.S. citizen in 2002. He and his wife and two sons hail from Big Lake, where Martin runs Happy Trails Kennel. Sled dogs are important to Martin, and he races to show that his dogs are the best at what they and he do best – mush. Martin Buser has completed 29 Iditarod’s and won four with his teams of dogs. The “team” is Martin Buser and his sled dogs. He starts with 16 dogs, and 6 must be on the towline at the finish line. An author once described Martin’s dogs as “eternal children.” That may explain why they work so well together and run so often to first. Good luck, Team.

In second place out of Eagle Lake this morning at 5:51 am was Aliy Zirkle. Aliy was born in New Hampshire. She moved to Alaska in 1990 where she went to work for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Aliy lists her occupation as “dog musher,” has finished 11 Iditarod’s, and was second last year. “Mush on, Aliy, this may be your year.”

The word “Iditarod” may derive from an Alaskan native word for “far distant place.” I think the mushers and their sled dogs would echo that feeling on the long and lonely march to Nome.

God speed and finish well.

Whatever the place,

You are winners.

Iditarod!

Grandpa Jim

Which dog is the biggest?

The English Mastiff is the largest breed in the world of dogs. A full-grown mastiff can tip the scales at 250 pounds (113 kilograms), and they regularly do, but they can be bigger — much bigger. Zorba, the English Mastiff, holds the Guinness World Record for canines at 343 pounds (156 kilograms). In November 1989 at eight-years old, little Zorba measured 8 feet, 3 inches (251 centimeters) long — without his tongue stuck out to lick you – and he was 37 inches high at the shoulder when on all fours. Of course, standing up, he was 8 feet 3 inches and could dunk a basketball. (I made the dunk part up, but I bet he could.) That is a lot of doggie. Zorba has gone to dog heaven, but he is still the longest and largest dog ever recorded. Thank, you Zorba, for setting the record for big dogs.

Which is the tiniest doggie?

Right now – and stay tuned because three other little dogs are in the race to grow and be smaller – but right now, Guinness says the smallest dog alive in the world is a long-haired female Chihuahua by the name of Boo Boo who is four inches tall and weighs two pounds. She is so small she drinks out of a plastic spoon and only weighed one ounce at birth (about four U.S. pennies).

And, the loudest is?

In a dazzling display of decibelic discordance, the German Shepherd Daz, guarding his home in England, woofed away at 108 decibels of dynamic diction scaring away robbers, postmen and cat burglars for miles around. The decibel (written dB) is the unit used to measure the intensity of sound, and sounds above 85 dB can cause hearing loss. At 108 dB, Daz’s bark is roughly equivalent to the blast of a car horn or a chain saw cutting down a tree out front. Daz himself is reported to be lovable and unaggressive, but when he lets loose with that diaphragmic display of sound, there is none like him. Aggressors grab their ears and run for cover when our nonaggressive pooch starts barking.

Most fur, please?

The heaviest amount of fur in the canine world belongs to the Komondor. Komondorox (that’s the plural) are large white-coated Hungarian guardian dogs. Their coat is long and thick and resembles dreadlocks or a mop. You will hear them called “mop dogs” because they look like mops on legs, their eyes covered with fur and a pleasant, endearing smile peaking through between those white dreadlocks. Komondorox are tough but friendly, having arrived with all that fur from Tibet to Hungary in about 1100 A.D. The Komondor breed has been declared a Hungarian national treasure, and that says a lot for a mop with dreadlocks.

Highest jumper and fastest runner, if you could?

For a single jump by one dog, Cinderella May, a Holly Grey, cleared 68 inches (5 feet, 8 inches, or 172.7 centimeters) in the State of Missouri, U.S.A., on October 7, 2006. It was an official Guinness World Record. A Holly Grey is greyhound. The greyhound is also the fastest dog, attaining speeds up to 45 miles per hour (mph) chasing that fake rabbit around that dog track. Go, Cinderella!

And, of course, the most good natured?

This is a hard pick. So many dog breeds and individual dogs are easy going and great to be around. If you have a dog, he or she is the best for you. Some picks from the web are: 1) the Basset Hound, originally from France, is stated to be among the most good-natured and easy going of breeds, amiable with dogs, other pets and children; 2) the Bulldog, because it is very sturdy, not very energetic and will pretty much let kids walk all over it without complaining; 3) the Labrador Retriever for a family because Labs love to please, are playful, protective and caring, and train easily — being known as the canine Einstein’s; and for the single walking in the town park and hoping to meet someone special, the Lab has been documented to be the best dog to have if you’re looking for a date (remember that scene from the 1961 animated film 101 Dalmatians where Roger takes his dog Pongo for a walk in the park and they meet Anita and her dog Perdy — Wow, that was love at first sight, for dogs and humans alike); and finally at #4) my favorite, the Mutt, or mixed breed, just down the street at the local shelter, the bigger the better for kids, any size at all for all the rest of us, and remember (and this is the best piece of advice I saw on dogs) whatever dog you choose, everyone in the family needs to be the pack leader for that dog, every day, from day one, and that dog will be the best dog ever.

Bow Wow,

Grandpa Jim

“Grandpa, why don’t you have any music?”

“Katelyn, I have 200 CDs loaded on the server. Just scan through and pick one.”

“There is not one.”

“Meaning?”

“You need some new music?”

“Ok, suggestions?”

“Adele Skyfall.”

I just listened to the song on YouTube. Wow. Her name is not Adele Skyfall. Adele Laurie Blue Adkins is her name. She will be 25 on May 5^th. Adele is the English girl who wrote and sings the theme song for the 2012 James Bond movie Skyfall. For that, Adele won the U.S. Academy Award for Best Original Song. Over the past six years, her awards and outstanding achievements are too numerous to mention without numbing the senses. Suffice to say, she has more #1s than the Beatles. At age 24, she was placed at #5 on the list of the Greatest Women In Music, and Time Magazine acknowledged that she was one of the most influential people in the world.

Wow, and I never heard her name.

In 1964, I hid behind the couch in my parent’s living room and listened to the Beatle’s first 45 released in the United States. On the B side was the song, “I Want to Hold your Hand.” No one in Iowa had ever heard of the Beatles. I remember my Mom walked in and said, “I like that song.” She was always smarter than me. Mom Lorraine will be 94 in six days, March 10^th, exactly eight weeks before Adele turns 25, on May 5^th. They will be 69 years apart in years. I suspect they are much closer in their ways.

I like Skyfall, and I like Adele.

Katelyn’s right. I should add Adele to the server. Who cares if she is immensely popular and has turned music on its ear? I will like her anyway.

Katelyn reminds me of my Mom Lorraine. My Mom’s nickname was Corky. It could be my granddaughter’s too. They both love to listen to music and dance to music and neither really stops moving when they’re listening or dancing or doing all the rest that they do so well and never stop doing. I suspect Adele is the same.

I think they are all smarter and jumpier than me.

And, they each have great taste in music.

Listen and enjoy their songs.

I’m feeling jumpy too.

Hang loose,

Grandpa Jim

A mom and dad are being recruited to take a free sight-seeing trip around Mars.

The world’s first space tourist, Dennis Tito, is looking for volunteers for a 501-day free space adventure. With accommodations yet to be designed, the Earth couple will take off on January 5, 2018 for a 228-day half-arc fling around the sun. On August 21, 2018 they will wave and take pictures as they pass the Red Planet on the left.

“Oh, Margie,” the husband will gasp, “I never thought we’d be this close.” “Franklin Delanore,” the wife replies with an affectionate hug, “I always knew you’d take me places.” They kiss, jump up and down, and shout with glee, “The neighbors will never beat this one.”

With luck, John Carter of Edgar Rice Burroughs’s fame, with Dejah Thoris, a Princess of Mars, at his side, will look up and spy Margie and Franklin Delanore flying through the skies and wave back from atop their eight-legged greater thoats, to the delight of our space adventurers with their faces pressed to the glass of the single porthole of their passing spaceship.

“Wow, Margie, that was an exciting flyby. Did you see John and Dejah down there? They did look good. Now, it’s just 273 days to get back home. I can’t wait until we are within range of decent cell phone tower so we can see what the pictures look like.”

Mr. Tito says he is sponsoring the trip to Mars just for the fun of it. Dennis started his engineering career at the U.S. National Aeronautics and Space Administration – known affectionately as NASA – made a bundle in investments, and paid the Russian Federal Space Agency $20,000,000.00 in 2001 to hop on a Soyuz space capsule for an eight-day stay on the International Space Station. Apparently that was great fun.

Off we go into the wild blue yonder
Climbing high into the sun

Minds of men fashioned a crate of thunder
Sent it high into the blue

Here’s a toast to the host
Of those who love the vastness of the sky

Off we go into the wild sky yonder
Keep the wings level and true

As a Sputnik kid, I grew up with the rhythm of that U.S. Air Force song echoing in my head, satellites being launched and men landing on the moon.

Those were exciting times.

They still are.

I wish the young couple well who find the golden ticket and win the free trip into the wild blue yonder in a crate of thunder to view the true vastness out there in the wild sky yonder.

The brochure says the sky is only blue until you break free of our planet and enter the black bright vastness of space, flying off in search of the red planet, a mysterious and enchanted domain found in the remembered words of ancient lore, spied by wanders in late-night dreams and inhabiting the pages of stories not written and yet to be told.

I know. It’s only one couple that will be selected for the trip. But, that’s this trip and this time.

The Dutch Company Mars One hopes to place people on the surface of the Red Planet in 2023 and establish a long-term colony soon thereafter. NASA is working on new habitation capsules and big-push rockets to race its own colonists to Barsoom, the land of John Carter, by the mid-2030’s.

As the erstwhile space explorer Alexander Pope once wrote while gazing into the night sky:

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;

Man never Is, but always To be blest:

The soul, uneasy and confin’d from home,

Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

One of the nice things about planets is that they have been around for a long time and are expected to be around for a long time to come.

So, don’t give up.

Get those applications in.

Search and find those golden tickets.

Your trip to the skies is there and waiting for you.

And then off you go into the wild blue yonder and the black brightness of space.

These are fun and exciting times for one and all.

Couples and singles will find a way.

To what awaits them all.

Keep dreaming,

Grandpa Jim

Friday Fast Flying For Fun Fantasy Firm-Held, Fulsome Fists Fighting Find Freedom’s Fewer Friend,

Which translated from the alliterative language of opening salutations means: Flash Fiction is in the fray and flashing on its way — to you.

A new short story of flash fiction should be published right here quite soon — I’m hoping hours or no longer than tomorrow noon, but maybe sooner soon.

In style, “flash fiction” is a made-up (fictional) story of extreme brevity. There is no set definition of how long the shortened beauty must be, and certainly no proscriptive of what content or costume in what length it must wear. This group of writers will say no longer than 1,000 words, the critics over there will go 2,500, and the masses of readers land somewhere between the two. Suffice to say, the fewer words the better, if you can get the meaning, and in reading find the content appealing — or at least that to draw a smile and corner a muffled laugh.

To change the subject from that of your near-awaited attention (the story of flash fiction you soon will see), Chapter 1 of the novel is still in the works and about through its first draft run. The question I face is one of serial publication here, starting with Chapter 1, before the rest of the book is done. To do or not to do? If I do, the first chapter may be rewritten as we move forward and the rest of the chapters develop to bring the story to fruition and its final fated scene. I am challenged by the challenges of this overall approach, or failure to approach, the thing until it all be completely done. Sometimes, uncertainty in the future is certainty in its present place. I believe I believe that, but you’ll have to wait and see.

So say tuned — as always I know you are attuned with ready will and waiting view. You never know what might happen and appear on this, the scene, to be seen, and in what form, time and place found, that it too may be viewed.

Though the words be long to this point in prose, the flash fiction will be short in its pose, and soon in words right here for you to hold.

Thank you and good waiting to us one and all,

Grandpa Jim

Pluto.

Pluto is a good planet and he just keeps coming back home – despite what the supposed experts would have us believe.

In the February 2013 issue of National Geographic, Astronomer Alan Stern goes on record rejecting the 2006 demotion of Pluto from planet to dwarf planet status.

Good for Alan.

Dr. Stern seems a space nut. He hails from St. Mark’s School just up Preston Road here in Dallas, spent time at the University of Texas in Austin and the University of Colorado in Boulder, collecting all the requisite degrees. He almost flew on the space shuttle. Teacher, researcher, businessman, he is now the lead scientist for the New Horizons mission to Pluto.

New Horizons is a robotic spacecraft that is reported to have left Earth at the greatest ever launch speed for a man-made object. (One wonders what non-man-made object has or should be leaving our planet at a faster speed – a suggestion is made below.) So, there is New Horizons zipping off across the solar system, already crossing the orbits of Mars, Jupiter, Saturn and Uranus. All things considered, it should fly by Pluto on July 14, 2015. Folks, that is a long way and a long time going for a brief one-day visit in outer space. One wonders why the speed racer can’t stay about a bit longer, take in the scenery at a more leisurely pace, and send a few more picture postcards back with funny little sayings below the photos of the sights.

When our Achilles-fast probe was launched, Pluto was classified as a planet. “No longer shall it be,” said the International Astronomical Union in 2006. “Pluto is a dog, and such it shall be – forever and a day, so we say.” And, with that, the IAU demoted poor, kind, persevering and robber-catching Pluto to a dwarf planet. The effrontery and canine-ill-disposed guile. How could they? Have they never read and rode with Mickey and Donald on an adventure with Pluto in pursuit of the crooks. To appreciate the system-wide concern the demotion has engendered, see the We-Love-You-Pluto-The-Planet blog post of September 13, 2012.

To his credit, Alan Stern has said, “No.” He is on record that New Horizons is off and flying to the ninth planet, to Pluto, and it is a planet. Pluto is not and will not be treated as an object of diminished status, despite the popular abuse of some scientists, whatever their individual and mad pursuits may be. (One might wonder if those more outspoken Pluto-demoters may not be the non-man-made objects that should be leaving our sphere at an even faster speed – Bon Voyage, we say, and off you go.)

New Horizons is the fastest and fleetest, and it will be the farthest reaching and seeing. With its own eyes and those of its scientists, the mission will recognize and establish Pluto for what is and has always been – the proven and peer companion of the other eight planets. To us, on this the third blue planet from our sun, Pluto is a dear friend who has never failed to encourage with his simple deeds and humble demeanor. We stand to the night skies, fists raised in solidarity, and state our belief that no matter how small and distant you may be, it is the heart that matters most. You, little Pluto have that, and you have ours.

Thank you, Dr. Alan Stern, for standing firm and holding your ground.

We are confident that Pluto will hold his – he always has.

Onward, we say to New Horizons – the sky is yours.

See you and the photographs in 2015.

A picture is worth a 1,000 words.

Won’t you agree?

Grandpa Jim

Is Easter early or late this year?

Early.

Why?

Good question. Easter can be early or late because it is not a fixed-date holiday.

Why not?

Good question. Easter has no fixed date because it is a “moveable feast.” In religious circles, a moveable feast is a holy day whose date moves on the calendar of days. The date for Easter is calculated each year to be the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox, with “vernal” meaning springtime and “equinox” meaning equal day and night. So, when the buds start bursting on the trees and the wild flowers start blooming in the fields, you know spring has sprung. Next, check the morning paper for when the hours of daylight and the hours of night are as close together as they get, equal, the equinox. That night, wait until the sun has set, go outside and look up at the night sky. Do this each night until you spy the full moon. It can be a little tricky to determine when the moon is actually full, but do your best. Ok, there it is. Now, look at the next Sunday on the calendar hanging in the garage. Bingo, there it is, the next Sunday is Easter — right on schedule. Now, go out and buy the dye for the eggs, the baskets for the candy and a new outfit for yourself and everyone else. This should all work fine if your church is using the Gregorian calendar, but if your religious affiliation uses the Julian calendar, it is a bit more complicated. Be sure you have the calendar for your particular denomination in the garage and double check the date there.

Ok, I see the date for this year on the calendar. It is March 31^st, right?

Right, if you are a member of a Gregorian-based religion. It would be May 5^th if you are a Julian person looking at a Gregorian calendar.

Can we just stick with my calendar? I got it at the mall, and it says March 31^st for Easter.

Sure, stick with it – I always go by the mall calendar myself.

Is March 31^st early or late for Easter?

I was wondering when you get back to that. March 31^st is early.

How early?

Good question.

Do you have to say “good question” every time I ask a question?

Good question. Sorry, no. I don’t have to say “good question.” What was your question?

How early is Easter this year?

Good question.

Do you want to be here for Easter?

Huh. Oh, I get it. It’s a bad habit, I know. Why do you have that baseball bat in your hands?

Good question.

I get it. Right, back to Easter.

For your sake, I suggest you proceed quickly.

Yes. The earliest date for a Gregorian-based Easter is March 23rd. For the 250 years from 1875 in the past to 2124 in the future, Easter occurs in March only 55 of those years, or about 20% of the time – 1 out of every 5 years. In that time period, March 31^st has 9 Easters, exceeded only by March 29^th, with 10 Easters.

Good. Now, tell me about April.

April is the most popular month for Easter, with April 4^th and April 17^th being the most popular dates having 11 occurrences each over the 250-year period. Almost 80% of the time Easter is in April, with the latest date for Easter being April 25. So, the time from the earliest possible Easter (March 23^rd) to the latest (April 25^th) is 33 days. For some that may seem a very long time to wait for a hollow chocolate bunny to arrive on a bed of shredded plastic straw, but remember Easter is early this year and so are the candied eggs and marsh-mellowed chicks.

But, that’s not what Easter is really all about, candy and eggs, early or late, is it?

Good . . . point. You are making a very interesting and, I think, important . . . inquiry.

Thanks, and will I see you there, at Easter, I mean?

I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Hope to see you too,

Grandpa Jim

Hoecakes, Johnnycakes, Cornpone and Hushpuppies

“Don’t mess with my Johnnycakes, you sneaking ole’ cornpone of a Grandpappy. You can have a hushpuppy. Now, get on out of the kitchen before I take this spatula to ya’. Can’t get no peace ‘round here these days. Get going quick there. Land of Goshen, what’s a body to do.”

Long before Columbus, Native Americans were growing and grinding corn, adding a bit of water and a pinch of salt, and forming a cake which was fried over an open fire. With the arrival of the Europeans to the Atlantic shores, indentured servants seeking a new life cleared the land and worked the fields to repay their passage and earn their freedom. Those workers were hungry. One day, a kind-hearted Indian offered a worker a cake of fried cornmeal. Before you could say “Algonguian,” those field hands were mixing up the corn mush themselves and frying the paddies up on the blades of their hoes. Well, a certain foreman was watching. That boss man on his fancy horse laughed at the hoecake a certain field hand by the name of Johnny was having for lunch. Now that Johnny was a smart one — he could tell one end of a hoecake handle from the other, and then some. Johnny added a pinch of sugar to his cakes and he reached up and offered one to the overseer. The smile back earned Johnny light duty in the cook tent and the early repayment of his debt. The Johnnycake was born to move west and south with the pioneering families to the culinary delight of a new and growing nation.

Johnny joined the migration. Some years later, Grandpappy Johnny was making lunch for his fellow travelers. He’d just mixed up a batch of Johnnycake batter when he noticed Grandmammy’s big ole’ cast iron frying pan hanging from the side of the wagon. They were part of a wagon train heading down Louisiana way and they had quite a few mouths to feed. Well, that Johnny was always a thinker. He grabbed that big old pan and poured in the whole mess of cake mix. Grandmammy turned, saw, took up her rolling pin and was headin’ over to give Grandpappy a what-ya-think-ya-doin’-fore-I-crack-yer-skull, when she stopped and watched. Johnny cooked up that whole big batch of corn-pour-pan quick as a wink, flipped ‘er over on big rock and cut up pieces enough for everyone to enjoy – with a big dollop of fresh butter each. That whole train of folks was lickin’ their lips and saying that corn-pour-pan was the best yet. Johnny – seeing the rolling pin in Grandmammy’s arms — said right quick to one and to all that it was Grandmammy’s idea and wasn’t she the smartest to come up with the new “cornpone” way to cook them cakes for a crowd. Johnny always had a way of mixing things up, but cornpone sounded better than corn-pour-pan to all there present, and it was easier to say. Grandmammy, she got this big grin on her face, and she walked over and gave Grandpappy a kiss right in front of everyone and called him her little cornpone. The name stuck and ever after folksy Grandpappy Johnny was poked and called you old cornpone.

Before long, Johnnycakes and cornpone had become the stable fare of meals served in fields, on trips and even in fancy parlors and restaurants. The lowly cake and pone were everywhere – especially after Grandpappy’s new idea of adding a little bakin’ soda so the cake and pone would rise a bit and be a tad lighter. The rough and ready dish had become gentrified. Befitting its wider acceptance, the cake and pone were called simply cornbread, and Johnny and his folksy cornpone ways faded from the general memory.

For his part, Johnny was quite content to be forgotten and let the new bakeries do the work of feeding a nation now reaching to connect the coasts. Besides, he was busy enough as the proprietor of a stylish, popular and successful restaurant of his own in the booming river town of New Orleans. He still liked to experiment. It was his blood. He just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Sitting watching Grandmammy at the stove there with the pan of hot grease for the fish, with that bowl of his new sweet rising cornbread mixed up in his lap, he just had to take a bit of the mix, roll it in a ball, and throw it into the grease – when Grandmammy’s back was turned. She heard the sizzle, popped around and was about to pop Grandpappy when she stopped. That ball was floating in that hot grease, looking so crunchy and golden brown. She couldn’t resist. Grandmammy took her spoon and flipped that fried ball to cool on a towel. She carefully lifted the still-warm sphere to her lips, took a bite and chewed slowly. Grandpappy was about to say something, when Grandmammy gave a contented sigh, pointed that big spoon at him, and said with a smile, “Hush Pappy.”

That night at dinner, the new balled and deep-fried cornbread was a success as an accompaniment to the fried fish and other seafood dishes that were Grandmammy’s specialties. The customers loved the taste and the shape. Many dined with their pet canine friends at their feet, and the patrons could not resist tossing the deep-fried cornbread balls to their little puppies and saying at the same time, “Hush puppy.” To which, Grandmammy laughed, because she knew the name was really “Hush Pappy,” but Grandmammy was just as smart as Grandpappy, and they both knew the customer is always right.

A meal with cornbread is a meal with fun. Don’t forget the Johnnycake, or a big slice of cornpone, or some of those newfangled hushpuppies for yourself and your friends — two-footed and four-footed alike.

And, thank you Grandmammy, for letting Grandpappy keep on experimenting.

He is one smart old cornpone,

Grandpa Jim

My granddaughter Katelyn is 8.

Today, I had lunch with her at her school. The mascot of the school is a Bronco, a wild half-tamed horse. A Bronco is very fast. A tortoise is a turtle. A turtle is not fast. In a race, who should win ?

Before you answer, let’s look at that number 8 again.

Eight is a very interesting number. If you turn 8 on its side, it’s the symbol for infinity – this symbol ∞. See, it’s a side-wise 8.

Infinity and its symbol, ∞, refer to and look like something without any limit. Start anywhere on the side-wise 8 or infinity symbol ∞ and start going, and you’ll come back to where you started, and just keep going, and going, and going, forever. That’s infinity, no end. Our word infinity comes from the Greek word apeiros, which mean endless.

Back to that race between the tortoise and the Bronco, do you think it could go on forever, be endless, be infinite?

Zeno thought so.

Zeno of Elea was a Greek philosopher who lived in southern Italy about 2,500 hundred years ago. He’s best known for his paradoxes, Zeno’s paradoxes.

A paradox is a statement that seems absurd (untrue), but it may express a possible truth. The word paradox is composed of “para” for contrary and “dox” for opinions. Where contrary opinions both seem to be true, you have a paradox.

Zeno was very good at paradoxes. Perhaps his most famous is “Achilles and the Tortoise.” Now, Achilles is a famous Greek hero of the Trojan wars, and he was very strong and a very quick runner. Here is what Zeno said about a very quick runner like Achilles:

“In a race, the quickest runner can never overtake the slowest, since the pursuer must first reach the point where the pursued started, so that the slower will always hold the lead.”

That’s absurd, we say loudly. It’s simply untrue. The faster runner always wins the race. I saw it on TV. How can you say that, Mr. Zeno? It’s a paradox. I hold a contrary opinion.

And, here is what Zeno would say to you.

I’ll give you Achilles for your team’s runner – we’ll call your team the Bronco Team. From the Trojan Wars, you know Achilles is fast. I’ll take the tortoise for my team – the Zeno Team. All I ask, for the Zeno Team, is that you, the Bronco Team, give our turtle, the tortoise, a head start of 100 yards. Agreed?

Sure, why not, this will be over in a blink, a cake walk.

The gun goes off. The turtle takes his time and finally reaches the 100-yard mark. Our Achilles takes off like a hare, a very fast rabbit, and reaches that 100-yard mark in no time at all. But wait, the slow tortoise has now advanced a little farther down the race track. No problem, our hare-like Achilles zips to the spot. But wait, the turtle is now a little farther ahead. “I’ll catch him,” our rabbit-fast Achilles shouts and races to where the tortoise just was. But, the turtle is not there. He’s moved a little more ahead. And so it goes on and on to infinity. There are an infinite number of points Achilles must reach where the tortoise has already been. In this very logical and ordered way of looking at this race, Achilles never overtakes the tortoise.

“In real life, it is not so!” you yell. “It’s not true.”

Maybe there is more than one truth here, and they just appear to be contradictory.

In real life, Achilles and the Bronco Team win. High fives all around to the Bronco Team members!!! We won!!!!

But wait, in the real life of mathematics (numbers) and perhaps philosophy (fundamentals), the Zeno Team also wins, because, in mathematics, once you start at Point A and start dividing the distance in half from Point A to Point B, you can keep dividing the next half in half forever, for infinity. Those halves get infinitesimally smaller as you go, but, in concept, at least, you never stop dividing, and you never reach Point B – mathematically speaking.

I think that was Zeno’s point: If you look at the same race differently, you can get different results, both of which are true. Of course, the real life hare beats the tortoise, unless he takes a nap, which is what happened in Aesop’s Fable of “The Tortoise and the Hare” – that’s the real life race perspective. But, just as “of course,” in mathematical parlance, the tortoise with the lead can never be overtaken by hare – the tortoise wins.

Zeno was a smart guy. He figured out that sometimes you have to confuse people with two truths to help them see that both are true. That’s a true paradox.

And that’s what happens when you have lunch with a bunch of 8-year old Broncos.

Will wonders never cease?

Hope not,

Grandpa Jim

“Real Cowboys Never Ate Yogurt” was written across the back of the bright orange T-shirt below a sandy beach where a cowgirl napped, her hat pulled over her face, resting beneath a palm tree under a yellow moon and twinkling stars.

Pliny the Elder, the Roman naturalist who died in the eruption that destroyed Pompeii, Italy on August 25, 79 A.D., said it best: Certain “barbarous nations” know how “to thicken the milk into a substance with an agreeable acidity.” That’s yogurt, an agreeably thickened milk dish. The treat goes back maybe 4,000 years. The dish is mentioned in writings — even before those of the venerable Pliny — in India and Iran around 500 B.C. No one knows how milk was first cultured into yogurt. It is a mystery steeped in the folds and swirls of time. We suspect that the first serving may have surprised someone lifting a goat skin bag of milk for a refreshing drink only to find that the milk had spontaneously fermented with wild bacteria into a new and interesting concoction. We’ll never know who had that first taste, but after that, did it ever catch on.

The word “yogurt” is Turkish in origin and goes back to the 11^th Century where it appears in texts describing the ingestion of the now popular fermented milk by nomadic tribesman. You can see those wild horsemen racing over the steppes, goat skin bags of milk bouncing on the backs of their shaggy horses, making yogurt to share back at the camp with the evening meal. Those were the yogurt days of yore.

In 1919, a small yogurt business named Danone started in Barcelona, Spain. In 1933, some folks in Prague, Czech Republic figured out how to add fruit jam to yogurt. Unsweetened yogurt appeared in the United States in the early 1900’s, where in the 1950’s the milk preparation began to be viewed by Americans as a health food. Marketing kicked in, Danone became Dannon with fruit and jam mixed together, and more fruited and jammed yogurts from all over the world joined the rush to populate the shelves of grocers and reach the mouths of U.S. consumers. No more bouncing saddle bags of curdling milk, you can select from 17 varieties of yogurt at the local 7-Eleven and wash your curdled snack down with a Slurpee.

Enter frozen custard and the question of cowboy preference.

In 1919, frozen custard was invented by two ice cream vendors in Coney Island, New York, a location long associated with the American hot dog. Frozen custard itself is an ice cream to which more egg yolks have been added. The resulting mixture is whisked into a meringue, much of the air is removed and then it is frozen in a new and chillier way. From this process, the frozen custard is thicker, creamier, smoother and colder than traditional ice cream.

Frozen custard was introduced to the wider public at the 1933 World’s Fair in Chicago, Illinois. The Midwesterners loved it and raced home to make their own. Today, Milwaukee, Wisconsin has more frozen custard shops than any place on the planet, and the city is known as the Unofficial Frozen Custard Capital of the World.

Oh, another thing, frozen custard is usually prepared at the location where it is sold. Unlike yogurt and regular ice cream, you generally can’t get the stuff at supermarkets or through the mail. So, you see, frozen custard is something of a specialty dessert, which is not readily available over the counter or by special delivery. The dispensaries of the delight can be reached only by search-and-find efforts, and the delectable has its origins in America where it was first associated with the very American hot dog.

I think we can begin to see why the rugged individualism, hearty appetite and dreamy demeanor of the American cowboy might be associated by a smart marketer with the difficulty and delight of frozen custard versus the ready availability of curdled milk under a strange name that can be found on any old shelf.

Remember, I’m not prejudiced. I like them both and consume much more curdled yogurt than frozen custard. But, when I want a special treat, I put on my hat and boots, wander down the street and turn the corner to “Wild About Harry’s.”

Since 1996, Harry has been serving frozen custard made right there, alongside his specialty hot dogs. That frozen custard is from his mother’s recipe. Out front near the door, a giant hot dog in a bun stands on the sidewalk. The smiling face and white-gloved hands welcome folks in for a dog and dessert. For a good time now, the humble location has been a gathering place for folks from around the city and beyond. Who knows from where? When you sit down with that triple dip and look over the cup, you may even see a real cowboy. Smile and I bet you’ll get a smile back.

Oh, by the way, that orange T-shirt – it says “Wild About Harry’s” on the top.

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry.

See you around,

Grandpa Jim