March Madness, The Big Dance and Bracket Bewilderment are all names for the NCAA Divison I Basketball Tournament. This is a very big deal. Some 85% of the annual revenues of the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) are attributable to this three-week event.

And, some 70 million brackets are filled out to commemorate the activities.

Wait a moment. What is a bracket?

Wikipedia defines a bracket as follows: “A bracket or tournament bracket is a tree design that represents the series of games played during a knockout tournament.” 

March Madness begins with 68 basketball teams.

In the First Four (an abbreviated play-in round), eight teams play for four spots in the big bracket. You lose, you’re out. That’s why it’s called a Knockout Tournament.

Next, those first four winners fit into the 64 teams in the First Round of The Big Dance. This is the true bracket (The Mighty 64!) and it looks something like four trees on their sides (two the left and two to the right) growing away from the center. Peruse the drawing below — a picture is worth a 1,000 words. Except, in the tournament, the teams are playing from the leaves, down the branches, to the trunks, and finally to the center on the ground. This is part of the wonderful confusion and complexity that is March Madness.

Remember, this is a single-elimination or knockout tournament. So, in the First Round, 64 teams are whittled to 32. Those 32 teams play in the Second Round, where they are carved into 16 teams. These 16 are referred to as the Sweet 16, and things are really getting exciting now. The Sweet 16 grapple and engage. After the hewing and hacking are done, 8 teams remain. These are the survivors, the Elite 8. Down their trees, these 8 fight until only 4 teams are left, the Final Four. Tree-to-tree, trunk-to-trunk, these 4 battle until 2 prevail, touch the solid ground, and advance to the arena of final testing. There, watched by all the teams and fans clinging to their branches above, the 2 wage mighty sport back and forth until the buzzer sounds and The #1, The National Champion, is crowned to the acclaim of all.

Now, that is sports at its best.

Before we leave this spectacle, let’s go back to the start and reflect. Before the first game of the First Four is played, some millions of fans will have guessed who is going to win each of the 67 games that comprise The Big Dance. To do this, they will fill out and submit a completed bracket. Entry is often free and there is at least $1,000,000 pledged to the individual who correctly calls the outcome of each game in advance.

This has never been done.

No one has ever predicted the outcome of all the games.

The odds of picking a perfect NCAA Tournament bracket have been calculated to be 1 in 9.2 quintillion or 1 in 2.4 trillion or 1 in 128 billion. The numbers speak for themselves. You are much more likely to be hit by lighting. Actually, you may be about a zillion or so times more likely to be hit by lightning than pick a perfect bracket. So, stay inside and don’t go outside to mail your bracket. You don’t have a chance of winning, but you have a relatively good chance of being hit by lightning.

Why?

There are just too many variables. It’s not just the number of teams and the number of games. That would simply be mathematics. It’s the players and fans, the arenas and banners, the mascots and cheerleaders, the heating and cooling, the popcorn and hot dogs, the sodas and slurpees — it’s all the truly amazing and completely unpredictable things involved in just one game. And, this isn’t one game, it’s 67 games played over a three-week period at varying locations spread across the country. All of this makes The Tournament a mad and bewildering dance of frenetic non-stop activity that defies all odds and exceeds all expectations.

It takes my breath away and it should.

It is far too much fun to waste filling out future slots on a static bracket.

Instead, watch the games themselves and add the winners after the contests are completed.

That way you will have a perfect bracket, perhaps a little too late to qualify for the $1,000,000, but who cares — being amused and mesmerized by the real thing is much better than musing the impenetrable.

Take a seat in the stands or lounge there on the couch.

Put away your pen and enjoy the games.

The Dance is about to begin.

I think it already has.

Grandpa Jim

On April 10, 1912, when she left Southhampton, England on her maiden voyage to New York, she was the largest ship afloat. The wealthiest people in the world and the poorest were aboard. Some 2,224 souls walked her decks, leaned over the railings, and marveled at her speed and beauty. She was the Titanic.

In the rain on April 18, 2012 at 9:30 pm, the RMS Carpathia docked at New York’s Pier 54. Watched by over 40,000, the surviving 710 passengers and crew walked down the gangplank and reached their intended destination. The rest never would. The cold waters of the North Atlantic claimed their lives as it did the broken parts of the ship thought unsinkable.

The RMS Titanic hit the iceberg at 11:40 pm on April 14, 2012. At 2:20 am on April 15, 2012, two hours and 40 minutes later, she was gone. No one knows for sure what happened before, during and following those two hours.

James Cameron filmed what he saw, wrote and drew before, during and after those two hours.

The movie “Titanic” was released in the US on December 19, 1997 and won eleven (11) Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Director for Cameron. It was the first film to reach the billion dollar mark. There is great historical and factual detail in the film. The Titanic was masterfully reconstructed and tragically lost. It looks and feels like the real thing, even though it is not. The story of the two young lovers is magically created and tragically ended. It looks and feels like it is real, though of course it cannot be. This is Hollywood. For both the ship and her lovers, there is much that is real and much that is not, but such a showing of both that we would never know or we would know somehow more than both show and life. This is the movies at their best.

And, the music. Such music.

Our audience was captivated, mesmerized, fantasized, hurt, saddened and entertained.

In 175 words, here is what they said, saw and felt of the 70th show to win the Oscar for Best Picture:

For a movie about one of the most famous sinkings of all time, “Titanic” is remarkable for being more than a ship’s tale; one viewer made the point well: “Romance or disaster, you make the call”; this is director, producer and film editor James Cameron’s masterpiece (he won Oscars in all three categories), and he wrote the story and sketched the picture that draws it all together; fascinatingly, the music was perhaps the most liked single item — this is a marvelous fantasy set to a gorgeous score with two pretty young actors (Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet); yes, it is a disaster but the romance sees past the expected to the not-so-expected; the cleverness of the presentation and the winsomeness of the action carry the audience through the horrific near-term to that last surprising drop into the sea; the viewers depart quite pleasantly entertained, which is perhaps the true role of Hollywood; for that, the film was awarded a 9.50 average rating, placing the show high at #6 of the first 70 Best Pictures.

The single word for the movie was: Unexpected. To be that when you are filming one of the most expected events in history is to say much indeed and to truly reflect beyond film to life itself.

Thank you for reading and enjoy the music before you depart.

Grandpa Jim

I’d forgotten the day but my friend remembered my search for the Best Chicken Fried Steak in Dallas and sent me the advertisement: “Norma’s Celebrates Texas Independence Day (March 2nd) With Home-Cooked Democracy.” And down the menu was listed the house specialty of the day:”REMEMBER THE ALAMO — A Norma’s Cafe Classic: Chicken Fried Steak smothered in cream gravy and served with 3 sides.”

It was then I did remember.

The Lone Star State may be 183 years old today, but today isn’t the day I remember or the one most Texans remember. The day we remember is March 6, 1836, and we remember that day with a sad smile and a raised hand that wipes away a tear.

* * *

The most popular tourist site in Texas is an old Spanish mission in San Antonio. It was never much to look at, and it’s not much of a site today: a sprawling complex with a few buildings and a chapel. The chapel has been restored, and the grounds are meticulously maintained, but the place is still not much to look at.

On March 6, 1836, 189 Texans died there.

In the early morning hours of that day, President General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna of the centralist government of Mexico ordered 1800 of his men to assault the Alamo Mission. Above his command station, a blood-red flag flew. The defenders had been declared “pirates.” As such, no quarter could be given. It would be a fight to the death.

Because some of the Alamo defenders were related to soldiers under his command, Santa Anna did excuse those relatives in the Mexican forces from joining in the attack. It was a small mercy.

The remaining Mexican soldiers and officers followed their orders. They attacked the mission from one side and were repulsed. Another attack was launched from the other side and was thrown back. Finally, a third attack of the combined forces was made. Overwhelming the defenders with their greater numbers, the Mexican soldiers breached the outlying walls. Uniformed attackers poured into the Mission compound, firing their rifles and stabbing with their bayonets.

Some weeks earlier, the Commanding Officer of the defenders, William B. Travis, had couriered an urgent message “To the People of Texas & All Americans in the World.” Perhaps the most famous part of that letter is this: “I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his honor & that of his country. VICTORY OR DEATH.”

Recognizing that attack was imminent and his forces could not prevail, on March 5th Colonel Travis gathered the defenders and explained their circumstances. The position was hopeless. The Colonel gave each the chance to escape or stay. At that time, Travis did not know that three days earlier, on March 2nd, the delegates to the Texas Convention in Washington on the Brazos had voted and declared independence from Mexico. The commander and the volunteers facing him were fighting for a new country, the Republic of Texas. Although they did not know Texas was a sovereign nation, those men knew who they were. They were Texans. The vast majority were from other states and other countries. Almost all the native-born Texans were of Mexican descent. Whatever their origins, they were one and all Texans. They were fighting for their homes, their families and freedom. Each made his own decision. They stayed.

There is little glory in the aftermath of battle. The bodies are collected and buried . . . or burned. Many fell that chilly winter day in the new State of Texas. All the defenders lay on the cold ground. They were joined by many young Mexican soldiers who knew little of why they had fought. Brave men died that day – on both sides.

On April 21st, at the Battle of San Jacinto near present-day Houston, General Sam Houston and his army took General Santa Anna and his army by surprise and defeated the invaders in 18 short minutes. No red flag flew that day. When the captured General presented himself before Sam Houston, Santa Anna asked that the Texans “be generous to the vanquished.” General Houston was. The captured General and his troops were allowed to return to their homes. In granting mercy, Houston did reply to the Mexican Commander, “You should have remembered that at the Alamo.”

“Remember the Alamo” is a cry that echoes still over the old Spanish mission in San Antonio. The buildings themselves may not be much to look at, even with the tender care they receive, but they do not go unnoticed. The blood of brave men stained the soil here. The visitors remember and they come. They come because men did not leave that mission. They stayed, they fought, and they died for what they believed.

Remember the Alamo.

* * *

I will still go out for that chicken fried steak tonight. When I do, I’ll stand a bit taller and smile more kindly to most everyone, because I do remember that men stayed at their posts and gave their lives that Texas would live today.

I would not forget that.

Thank you,

Grandpa Jim

In Africa, a dazzle (herd) of zebras race across the open Serengeti. The drops of rain fall away, off their striped coats, as the buzz (cloud) of horseflies veer away without making a landing. Beside the dazzle, a frazzle (fleet) of electric cars bounce happily along, not one interfering with the fun frolic of another.

How is it that a frazzle of zebras, a buzz of horseflies and a dazzle of electric cars can coexist compatibly on the wide plains of the Serengeti?

The answer may reside in the stripes on those horses and in the eyes of those horseflies.

To understand this better, consider the age-old question, “Why do zebras have stripes?”

Some say the stripes provide camouflage in the high grasses of the Serengeti hiding the zebras from the hungry lions. No. Others say the stripes on the coats of the running animals dazzle and distract the predators leaping in hungry chase. No. It has been suggested that because each zebra has lines unique to that animal, the markings are their names and how they are recognized among themselves. Nice try, but No, again. Then, the engineers speculate the alternating black-and-white lines differentially moderate the flow of air across the animal’s skin producing a cooling effect in the warm climes of the African continent. Creative, but, sorry, No. No, No, No and No.

Okay, what is the answer?

Horseflies have insect eyes. Those eyes are compound eyes composed of many small eyes. Think of a bulging checkerboard in a round and rounded space. All those mini-eyes are great for seeing all over and pinpointing just the right approach to land on an unsuspecting critter’s back. Now, think of an airplane making a precise landing on a wonderfully wide and clear landing field. That’s what the fly’s eyes should see. Next, paint that landing strip with bright, white-and-black, zig-zagging lines of no obvious pattern, and don’t tell our fly-plane or its control-tower-eyes what’s been done. You can hear the tower shouting, “Avert! Avert! Don’t land here. Veer off! Try somewhere else.” The scientific studies have demonstrated that horsefly eyes do not like landings on zebra-striped coats. There are just too many options for even the many-sensored eyes of the flies to process effectively. The result is that the painted horses gallop and the bulging-eyed flies buzz safely together without annoying interaction across the open plain of the Serengeti.

Wow, but what about the cars?

Remember, the cars are driverless. And, how do you drive a driverless car? With many, many eyes. Carmakers call those eyes sensors. Newer cars have them all over. In this, those man-made car sensors resemble the compound insect eyes of our horseflies — which, as we saw above, work great, unless you introduce a confusion factor. A zig-zag pattern with no clear mathematical or algorhithmical organization would be a wonderfully challenging confusion factor. So, I’m proposing our emerging electrical car manufacturers take advantage of the new knowledge of how zebras and horseflies avoid unwanted collisions by testing a frazzle (fleet) of swift driverless cars on the Serengeti next to a racing dazzle (herd) of zebras beneath a surrounding buzz (cloud) of horseflies.

Whew. All you have to do is add the rain. You now have our opening scene: Zebras, flies and cars zipping, soaring and quietly roaring under the bright African sun.

Let’s add a poem and a song for even more fun.

NO GREATER JOY A ZEBRA HAS

THAN AN ELECTRIC CAR TO AVOID

THAT LIKE FLIES HAVE GNAT’S EYES

WHICH OPEN WIDE IN SURPRISE

WHEN STRIPES THEY TOO ENCOUNTER

TO FLAIL, FLOUNDER AND RECOUNTER

BOUNCING HAPPILY AWAY AT THEIR SIDES

SAFELY CONFUSED BY SUCH A WONDROUS SIGHT

Now the song. it’s an old favorite. Notice the eyes. Could those be electric horsemen?

Thanks for stopping by.

See you soon.

Again.

Grandpa Jim

“Into each life some rain must fall.”

Who wrote it, when and why?

The great American Poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) penned the line in 1842 in the last stanza of his poem “The Rainy Day.” What does it mean? The last line of the poem says it well: “Some days may be dark and dreary.” But, not all. Three lines up, Henry reminds us: “Behind the clouds is the sun still shining.” I like that. Yes, there may be difficult days, challenging times and even at times seemingly insurmountable obstacles, but always remember, there is hope waiting there behind the clouds that can seem so dark.

I hope there was for the muskrat.

Muskrats are curious and unusual animals. Smaller than beavers, they look like beavers. The tail is bit different. They spend most of their lives in the water in homes somewhat like beaver homes. I guess they smell somewhat musky (whatever that means) and I don’t think they look like rats, which are a distant and not welcome relative. So, that may explain the name “muskrat.” All I know is that I shouldn’t have done it. I’m afraid I was one day almost the rain that fell on a friendly muskrat.

At early morning men’s meeting today, I said, “I dreamed about muskrats last night.”

To my astonishment, the fellow standing next to me quipped, “You know I trapped muskrats when I was a boy in Illinois. They paid me $2 a fur.”

I winced and responded, “I know. It was the money. That’s why I almost did it. I mean I was just a boy in Iowa and my friend talked me into buying the trap and hiking to the river and wading into the weeds and setting that trap. The next day . . . oh, it was horrible.”

“What?”

“I caught one.”

“What did you do? Did you skin it?

“No. I couldn’t. I mean it looked right at me. I let it go.”

“Captain and Tennille” know what I mean. Both were young musicians working for other artists when, in 1974, Captain Daryl Dragon and Toni Tenille formed their own group. (The two were married in 1975, reportedly on Valentine’s Day.) The couple and their music took off like a rocket. In 1976, they released their fifth Gold Record (over 500,000 sold) and the name of that hit song is: “Muskrat Love.” It went to the top of the charts and stayed there for weeks. Who would have thought that a romantic song about two muskrats named Susie and Sam would break from the dreary day into the shining sun? Tenille, Captain and Longfellow would. Captain was so excited he even added the sounds of the muskrats talking muzzle to muzzle. Here’s what they’re saying to each other in the song:

“Nibbling on bacon, chewing on cheese
Sam says to Suzie, Honey, would you please be my Mrs.
Suzie says yes with her kisses”

Now, there’s a Valentine’s Day song. Give it a listen. You know, maybe that’s why I dreamed of that muskrat last night. It does sound like him in the song.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and yours wherever you may be.

Grandpa Jim

I didn’t do anything wrong.

I got up, like usual on this day of the week, at 5:30 am, and went to my early-morning meeting. It was dark and the temperature was 72 degrees Fahrenheit (about 22 degrees Celsius). I mean it was a nice morning. Right? Wrong. This is Texas, remember.

When I walked out the door two hours later at 7:30 am, I stopped and shivered. I got into my car, turned the ignition key, and read on the display 41 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius). That is a 31 Fahrenheit-degree (17 Celsius-degree) drop in just two hours. Brrrrrr. And in the morning it’s supposed to be 25 degrees Fahrenheit (-4 degrees Celsius) from a high of 75 degrees Fahrenheit (about 24 degrees Celsius) a day ago. That’s a 50 Fahrenheit-degree (29 Celsius-degree) drop. Double Brrrrr Brrrrrrrrr.

What did I do wrong? I watched Phil and he said. . . .

Phil is the groundhog who lives in the town of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, USA. Well, on February 2nd since 1887, he’s been pulled from his den to predict the weather. If he says he saw his shadow, that means six more weeks of winter. If he doesn’t see his shadow, that means an early spring. I checked. Phil saw his shadow. It’s on the Internet. You can check. That means an early spring, right? What happened?

My wife said she drove by the school down the street and the daffodils were blooming. I looked out the window and the quince bush has gorgeous orange blossoms. On the Esplanade, the first wildflowers of Texas are beginning to peak out. What happened to the temperature.

Texas happened.

I’m a northern boy, grew up in the USA State of Iowa. When I was a boy, I’d walk out across the snow-covered fields to do kid stuff when the temperature was -20 degrees Fahrenheit (about -29 degrees Celsius). I’m used to cold.

I’m not used to Texas swing. And I am not referring to Texas Music like that of The Light Crust Doughboys — they are still a favorite. Texas Western Swing is country music. I am referring to the radical, unexpected and generally unsettlingly wild swings in temperature in Texas.

It’s one thing to be a groundhog up North, and I admire Punxsutawney Phil for his persistence. The locals say the same Phil has been predicting the weather for 136 years. That’s staying power. In Texas, he would have left for more predictable climes years go. Today, Texas Phil would be sitting on a beach, with a cold beverage with a little umbrella in it, and he’d be predicting the next warm wave. It’s one thing to predict the weather; it’s another to have unprdictable weather.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Texas. But, well, the weather here is unpredictable.

This year, I’m afraid the Phil up there got it wrong for down here.

I’ll put on a heavy coat, gloves and my stocking cap.

In Texas, the weather is bound to change.

Maybe, some Texas swing?

While we wait?

Now that did warm my mood.

Could be it was only a temporary setback.

Maybe Phil is right and we will have an early spring.

Grandpa Jim

PS: If you’d like to hear more from Phil himself, check out the interview he did for us right here at Uncle Joe Stories some years ago. Just click on his name: Phil.

I heard it on the radio: “Today is Chicken Fried Steak Day.” It was October 26th and I was hungry, but I never did enjoy the dish that day. My taste buds remembered their loss and I set out to correct my gastronomic mistake.

Chicken Fried Steak is not chicken. That’s one thing we have to get straight at the outset. Chicken Fried Steak is a flat steak that is cooked like fried chicken. In the Cowboy Days in West Texas, it was not the tenderest cut of beef that was used. All the easy-chewing steak had already been eaten up. So, the Chef of the Chuck Wagon took the tougher cuts, gave them a good pounding with a heavy mallet, breaded the flattened and tenderized results, and fried up those steaks for the hunger cowpokes waiting around the campfire with their forks and knives in the air. They loved those breaded steaks: “More over here, Cookie,” they’d yell, “and pass the salt and pepper. Mmmmmmm, good.” Chicken Fried Steak was born that day on the Staked Planes, the Llano Estacado, of the Texas Panhandle.

No one knows the date of that original campfire meal, probably in the 1800s. We do know that in 1911, Jimmy Don Perkins was working as a short-order cook in a cafe in Lamesa, Texas. Lamesa is just south of Lubbock in the Llano Estacado. Well, it’s said that Jimmy Don confused two separate orders, one for chicken and one for fried steak, and created chicken fried steak. It might be, but what may not be remembered is that Jimmy Don could also have been a part-time wrangler who had already experienced a good chuck-wagon chicken fried steak. Now, maybe, he just saw those two orders and cooked what he knew was best for the customers. (One forgets that in Texas, what other’s might view as apocrypha is often seen as history.) In any event, those customers took a bite of that chicken fried steak, with the white gravy and mashed potatoes, and they just loved it and they kept coming back for more.

It wasn’t long after that Lamesa became known as the home of chicken fried steak. Still, something was lacking. In Texas we take our steaks seriously and something needed to be done to set the record straight. This was remedied in 2011 when the Texas Legislature in Austin issued an official Resolution, which states in part:

“WHEREAS, This signature dish occupies a special place in the culinary culture of the Lone Star State, and Texas Chicken Fried Steak Day provides a welcome opportunity to pay homage to that shared legacy; therefore, be it

“RESOLVED, That the House of Representatives of the 82nd Texas Legislature hereby recognize October 26, 2011, as Texas Chicken Fried Steak Day and extends sincere best wishes to all who are taking part in this unique occasion.”

Since then, October 26 has been celebrated as Texas Chicken Fried Steak Day, and Lamesa hosts an annual celebration to remember the origins of the dish and to partake in, as the Texas Legislature has affirmed,

“that exceptional dish that elevates the hearty flavor of beef to new heights by coating it in batter and breading and frying it until the ingredients are melted into a blissful union.”

Well said and will met. I have now met together with my good friend at four local Dallas restaurants to sample this unique Texas dish: “Republic — Texas Tavern,” “Babes Chicken Dinner House,” “Cindi’s New York Delicatessen, Restaurant and Bakery,” and “Street’s Fine Chicken.” These are all outstanding establishments and each prepares a commendable version of the signature Texas dish. Each is slightly different and all are delightfully delicious.

The list of local kitchens goes on and on. Perhaps, I will even make the trip to Lamesa and sample the fare at the adopted home of this Cowboy original. Maybe, I’ll pass by the in-town storefronts and drive out, with my good friend at my side, over the long Staked Plains, the sky painted in the bright and fading colors of the setting sun, search out the lonely outline of a single chuck wagon, stop and ask if they might have an extra plate or two to share with some happy travelers.

Folks are friendly in Texas. I’m sure they won’t mind. If you’re out that way, stop by and join us. Could there be anything better than chicken fried steak around an open Texas campfire.

“More over here, Cookie. Some extra gravy, too, please. It’s so, so good.”

And, it is

Grandpa Jim

We were sitting in a Chinese restaurant in Dallas, Texas, when the person next to me asked, “What should I order? I don’t often eat Chinese.”

Without thinking, I blurted, “Moo Goo Gai Pan. Try it. It’s a traditional American-Chinese dish.”

“Moo goo gai pan” derives from the Cantonese words “mohgu” (button mushrooms) and “gai pin” (sliced or cubed chicken). You can hear moo goo gai pan in mohgu gai pin. The dish is a simple stir-fry of chicken, mushrooms and other vegetables in a light white sauce. Very nice, not complicated and a good introduction to Americanized Chinese food for the uninitiated seeking to expand their taste buds to new regions, without the long flight to Guangzhou.

Guangzhou, also known a Canton, is situated on the Pearl River in southern China about 75 miles (120 kilometers) upstream from Hong Kong. Canton is a thriving port, a busy manufacturing center and a global commercial destination with a population of over fourteen million residents. There have always been folks moving into and out of Canton. The Cantonese emigrants are the ones who introduced the world to Cantonese cuisine. In fact, most Chinese restaurants in America began by serving Cantonese dishes, among them, moo goo gai pan.

“How do you like it?” I asked.

“It’s good. Different, but good,” my table-mate responded. “I should try more Chinese dishes.”

“You should,” I responded enthusiastically. “This is just a drop in the bucket.”

“Huh?” the individual questioned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s an idiom.”

An idiom is a group of words having a meaning not deducible from the individual words. I meant to tell the person beside me that this is one of many, the first of a large number of Cantonese dishes you can try and enjoy. The phrase I used is an ancient one. About 2,500 years ago, “a drop in the bucket” was written into the Book of Isaiah, the first book of the Major Prophets in the Old Testament. There, and today, it has the added inference of not only being smaller in relationship to a greater whole, but also of being insignificant or unimportant or trivial. I certainly didn’t mean any of those. I realized I had better correct myself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean this wasn’t an important dish. I meant this is one of many wonderful dishes from Canton. Sorry again, I probably used the wrong idiom.”

My meal-sharer gave me an odd look. “What’s an idiom and where is Canton? I thought we were eating Chinese and you liked moo goo gai pan.”

“We are and I do.” I punched this web site into my handheld and handed the other diner my phone. “Please read this,” I said. “It will explain everything.”

Whew, that was close. But, how did I know to write this post before I went to dinner?

The Internet is truly amazing and so is Cantonese food.

Here or in China, try some and enjoy.

Grandpa Jim

The flu bug has attacked!!

The doctor confirmed it. With a swab stick stuck quickly and not pleasantly deep in the back of the nose, analyzed and retrieved, our physician announced: “You have the Type A Infulenza.”

But, what is “influenza” and where did it come from, anyway?

The word “influenza” is Italian for “influence.” The idiomatic context is that of influencing on a grand or cosmic or “epidemic” scale. In 1743, it appears people got really sick in Europe from a fever that had started in Italy and spread. This spreading fever was referred to as “influenza di catarro,” meaning an “outbreak of the catarrhal fever.” The Italians had apparently been using “influenza” to describe their grand colds and fevers since around 1504, but that 1743 epidemic was apparently a doozy, got everyone’s attention, and popularized the use of term “influenza” to describe an epidemic outbreak of a very bad and dangerous cold.

“Flu,” of course, is just a short form of “influenza.” I don’t know if the Italians every used “flu” in the 16th through 18th centuries, but that is what we commonly call influenza today.

But, where did it come from, really?

Well, the Italians thought influenza came from the sky. It began out there somewhere, among the distant stars. We think we know today that flu comes from viruses. We also think that the flu viruses originally came from birds and pigs and were transmitted to humans. We humans pass the viruses around and between ourselves when we cough and touch. Very nasty stuff, those viruses.

But, is that really all the story.

And, what, on earth, is a virus?

The short answer for “virus” is, “No one really knows?”

Let’s look at the longer answer. A virus looks somewhat like a living cell, but it has no brain (no nucleus), it can’t grow on its own, and it can’t make its own energy. To replicate and make more of itself, the virus must invade one of your cells and trick your cell’s machinery into making a bunch of new look-alike viruses. Now all those new viruses (none with a brain) escape your first cell (likely with very real damage to that cell) and attack more of your other living cells. The virus, now viruses, is on a roll and is using you to make more look-alike viruses. Your body does not like this and attacks back. Now you are sick from your damaged cells and all your defensive efforts. The process goes on-and-on and can cascade into a full-fledged, all-out war. Now, you are even sicker. Most bodies win and you recover. Unfortunately, it is estimated that some 300,000 to 500,000 people world-wide die each year from the flu and related causes.

All this hurt, damage and pain because of something without a brain.

We have no real answer. In 1938, Jonas Salk helped to develop the first flu vaccine, but this is not a cure. The flu shot lets your body recognize certain flu virus from dead viruses in the vaccine. This gives your body a headstart to prepare to fight back if and when the virus attacks. Wonderful stuff, the flu shot, but not the full answer to the “virus problem.”

What is the answer to the “virus problem”? The answer may be built into the structure of the virus itself. The virus has no real brain. Perhaps the answer is: Find the brain and you can stop the viruses at their source. Maybe, somewhere, there is a master cell, with a brain, that designs the viruses to do their work without individual brains.

Find the brain. Stop the virus.

I like that. The problem is we don’t know where that master design cell resides. It could be in the birds and pigs from which we believe the viruses were first transmitted to humans. Or, it could be somewhere else.

Back to those Italians, one of the more ancient meanings of the origin-word “influenza” is a visitation or influence from the stars. Could it be that the origin of the flu virus is somehow extraterrestrial? This sounds a bit like science fiction, but sometimes the old stories can have a very modern and successful application.

Whatever the answer is, it is not “Run for your lives!” We cannot escape the viruses among us, and flu shots are only a temporary and partial response. If a spacecraft can land on the dark side of the moon, perhaps there is a hidden side of the “virus problem” that has yet to be explored.

Until then, we’ll take our medications, rest, drink plenty of fluids and wait for the battles to stop and our cells to declare victory.

Still, it would be comforting to know where those pesky viruses really did come from and maybe stop them at their source.

Who knows?

Grandpa Jim

Post Script: What about another approach? Maybe, someone could put a nucleus, a brain, into a virus. Maybe too, that someone could program the new virus brain so the new virus would be the “Smart Virus.” Mr. Smart would tell the other viruses to “Get out of town.” And, they would, to some other place or planet or galaxy. Maybe, that was how we got them in the first place. Perhaps, with viruses, fair is fair and far is better — really far, far away. Say, how about the “Gosh I’m Lost” Galaxy in the “Too Far From Here” Constellation? It would be a road trip, but they are viruses (without brains), and besides, we have had them long enough. Don’t you think?

Stay tuned, a new ChildTell Story is on the way.

This one does have an African connection.

There is a dog and a bear and more.

What more depends on weather.

Whether the lost is found.

Check back soon.

A new story.

For you.

Grandpa Jim