Evening of...

The eve that most folks stay up late.
I watched the ball drop once in the square, wondered at the late hour, and never saw a reason to repeat the performance.
This eve, I saw something else fall, and was pretty pumped about it, ice. Slow moving in a small town, but it happened, none the less. 2011 bodes well.

Weather or Not

Unchanging weather, to be followed, with time storms.

Weather Report

Drizzling, freezing, rain. Antidote: stay home. Listen to Bo Diddley, a man who hand makes his own guitars.

Septimius Felton

Nathaniel Hawthorne's last story, The Elixir of Life, concerns Septimius, who wants to live forever. Nathaniel didn't know this would be his last book, as he died while he was writing it. His wife and son finished up the manuscript after seven or eight years and it was then published after his death.
This story has some remarkable themes. In fact, although it is written over one hundred and fifty years ago, the character's desires and ambitions appear quite modern. The movie HIghlander comes to mind without the sword play. The joy for me was to see this great author, who ruminated over the moral crucible of the Puritans, deal with some possible downsides of living forever.
I don't think the Puritans had that in mind.

Not to be Condemned

When the family moved back to Keego Harbor in the late '50's, we were excited. Since we left the farm, this was our latest, new hometown. We even had our own house. There was a snag of course. The man renting our homestead wasn't paying the rent, or choosing to move either. What was a mother to do? Hope, of course, was never at a loss of ideas. So we moved into the condemned house directly across the street. Some of the amenities, i.e. water, heat, and electricity, were missing, but again, pragmatic problem solvers come up with new ideas. The house had a huge fireplace, and Cass Lake was only a hundred feet away. So, with winter glee, we began dismantling, and burning the house from the outside, while we chopped holes in the ice and carried water inside. City officials frowned on all of our efforts! In fact, they were so dismayed with our violations of ordinances, that they threatened to have us thrown into the street. Hope, never intimidated, or at a loss of ideas, simply stated that she would have the Pontiac Press on site taking pictures of the whole event. Twelve kids on the winter street, not a pretty sight, if you're a party official. In time, we moved across the street to our empty house. Another winter adventure with a happy conclusion.

Still Life

Post Solstice woke sunny and warm. With extra daylight on my hands, now seemed like a good time to create a still life. Not having the traditional fruit or wooden bowl, I decided to use the materials at hand.

No Time to Save

We are on the eve of the winter solstice. Tomorrow will be the shortest day of the year, and when it is over, the days will be getting longer. Not new news here, but for me, cause for celebration. There are no laws that will attempt to salvage the short daylight tomorrow and pretend that we are saving it for a different time, when it is more convenient. The natural law of diminishing winter daylight will be doing an about face. One more day and a wake up.

Advent

When ever this song would play, Hope and Wm T. would look at each other with that knowing look, and one would say "reminds me of...", but of course, rarely ever finish the sentence. We're close enough now to talk about it. It is indeed the season. To me, this song by Roy Orbison is special, so I am seizing this opportunity to enjoy it. My Christmas wish is that you enjoy it too!

Force be with You

On my last trip across the cold, wind swept Walmart parking lot, I encountered a bumper sticker that matched the weather. The tail gate of the pickup truck was lowered and on the back of the bed was a sticker that read, "Have a shitty day". Like a jolt from the biting cold, this proactive slap at humanity told me I wasn't as alone as I had assumed. Some free floating ill will must be embodied and walking around in the store. The type of person who writes viruses for computers in their spare time.
Being a bit of a recluse, I can understand not wanting to talk to everybody every day, but to generate negativity when you aren't physically present gives a whole new meaning to the term a negative person.

Procrastination Payoff

The Hindus say that life is the making and breaking of habits. The most efficient and effective method for me to achieve either of these ends in speech therapy was behavior modification. At last count it had 10 steps, but who's counting. Self conditioning does have its limits though. A missing component is some method to psyche yourself up when you are faced with difficult situations. In the reading of Dune, I discovered this litany that has proved very effective. See what you think.

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

After weeks of postponing my trip to the laundry mat, I finally went early Sunday morning after church. There wasn't a single customer there, and I had all of the machines to myself. Perhaps the raging snow storm kept them home, I'm not sure.

Wind Chill Factor

I don't think anything has ever been written that puts a face on the cold more than the first paragraph of Jack London's White Fang. Now that I have a carbon monoxide alarm for the fireplace, I can safely re-read it at my leisure.

"Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway. The trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they seemed to lean towards each other, black and ominous, in the fading light. A vast silence reigned over the land. The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible than any sadness- a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of the sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of infallibility. It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life. It was the Wild, the savage, frozen- hearted Northland Wild."

On second thought, Robert Service has been there too.

WZ Not

Pretty cold outside now and I still can't bring myself to go to the laundry mat. This leads me to the overwhelming question. What color shirt do you wear if your socks don't match? Instead of going to the mat, I believe I will celebrate Bobby Blue Bland this evening. That is what is cool about "Being in charge of celebrations". Owner-Operator picks time and place.

Game Changer

While in the barbershop last week, I stumbled upon the opportunity to watch a little television. The program was in mid stream. Four panelist were discussing the correctness of a football player caught on camera laughing while he was losing a game. Non of the folks on the panel could explain all the things that make people laugh, as hard as they tried.
Then, the scene switches to an interview of the said player almost yelling as he is explaining how dead serious he is about the game. Knute Rockne, the great Notre Dame coach, would take his teams, when they lost, "Back to the fundamentals". Is it the basic nature of games to bring us enjoyment, both in watching and playing?

Persistance of Memory

The kitchen door swings open as Joe, followed by his son Casey, enter. I am sitting on the couch of my little log house staring at the river, lost in reverie. "Tony", Joe yells as me across the room, "Your house is on fire!". "What?" I exclaim, a bit taken-a-back at the very thought. Joe and Casey, being clear sighted men of action, then grab the refrigerator that is trailing the scent of an electrical fire and take it into the yard. "Wow", I say, "Sure glad you two showed up today!"
Later when Joe needs me to spot a car, I take the opportunity to give him a ride in my newest, old Fiero. Joe, often times surrounded with the aura of knowing, finally says to me, "You know you have an exhaust leak in here, don't you"? "Actually I don't Joe, but it sure might explain these headaches I have been having."
When I moved into this house 20 years, it was in obvious need of chinking. You could see the outside in many places standing on the inside. I thought to myself, hey this isn't all bad. When I utilize my auxiliary kerosene heating system, if there happens to be any excess carbon monoxide, the fresh air blowing through the logs will keep it from being too concentrated and causing me health problems. Economy of Measure, nature's own fail-safe system.
For the month of November, I have been burning wood in the fireplace twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. My eyes have been growing tired, and those rare headaches are beginning to reappear.
In a flash, I suddenly remember. Paul fixed some of the cracks between the logs! Could it be that my fail-safe system is failing and carbon monoxide is building up? I better do a Bill Nye, the science guy, experiment. So... I'll be off looking for some new technology to check just that very fact.

Intensity Over Time

Since my days at the bat cave with MP and Wm T., I have felt that intensity trumps time. Don't know if I feel that way anymore, but it was an interesting concept at the time, so I ran with it. The following Rockabilly song by Roy Orbison from 1956 has rolled around my brain since then. I just discovered today that Roy died at 52. Not a very long time to be on the planet. See how it plays on you.

Heads Up

I wish I could have been there the first time. The curious human, probably in North America, picked some weeds out of the ground, lit them on fire and put them in their mouth. Then, looking for approval from his friends said, "This is exactly what I've been looking for to calm my nerves. I can see clearly now. Try one, they aren't habit forming".
Wm.T. related the following story to me years ago. As a young man during the depression, he left home looking for work. There was more than enough work on his parents farm, but the pay didn't have the same scale as a regular job. In other words, none. He left Carsonville to hitch-hike to Indiana. When he left, he had fifty cents in his pocket of which he spent half on a pack of Camels. I don't know how long the pack lasted, but it illustrated to me the strength of an iron clad habit.

Runaway Train

The first time I ran away from school, I was living in Lansing. A smarter nineteen year old would have run away on the spot and not hitchhiked to Pontiac to initiate the get away, but my plans weren't as thoughtful as they might have been. Plus I knew where the train station was located, so I had that going for me. The ticket lady said, "Where do you want to go?" Since I really had no destination in mind, I replied "You pick, I don't care". My desire to be dramatic elicited this response, "If you don't know, then I'm not going to sell you a ticket". A very practical lady. She must have dealt with teenagers before. Now, suddenly I was stopped in my tracks. In an effort to recover from my faux pas, I quickly came up with Kansas City and she responded with a ticket.
The train hadn't traveled very far when I suddenly saw this little white car flying by my window. The train then stopped. Nobody was hurt for the car had apparently been abandoned too close to the tracks. The journey then continued to Kansas City and I arrived in time to see Cleopatra with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.

First Fall of Snow

I returned from the Flatlands brimming with Thanksgiving. The fire at the Outpost had gone out so the first order of business was to rebuild. It was still twilight, but the cold wind was howling, the white snow was swirling, and the dreaded temperature was dropping. Quickly, I built a warm, blazing, fire that mirrored my interior feeling of well being.

Question of Balance

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever




Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing."
John Keats

Upside/down-side

Our quiet little town has a really nice upside. I have never heard anyone honk their horn in over twenty years. No mistake is big enough to warrant rude attention. The traffic light can change from green to red, nobody moves, nobody complains.
The downside is that The Privacy Act is completely unknown in this area . The funeral home has a sign outside listing who is laid out inside. Seems really tacky and undignified to list a life with a sign post.



I bet you can guess what side I'm on.

Omission

Sometimes, in a day dream, I wish I was left handed. The French name for both the left and right hands carries a heavy connotation. Adroit, right handed: gauche left handed. That pretty much nails down the cultural bias. Every lefty I have known has stood out in my mind. I never met Jimi Hendrix, but he would fall into that category too.

Missing Skyline

Still working on the space-time-continuum, but I'm getting closer.

fifteen

A little experimentation left a whole in the time continuum. To remedy that pitfall, I am now shifting back to a shiny moment in '55.

Suetonius

Nigel Hamilton, British historian, has come out with a new book entitled, "American Caesars". This would strike most Americans as odd since we don't think of the United States as having an empire. Mr. Hamilton's premise is that outside of the U.S., many people have viewed us that way since the end of World War II. Before that war, the United States had roughly 17 military bases around the world, whereas now the number is over one thousand. The Romans didn't even compare to that scale.
The template for the book reaches back to a Roman historian, Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus, who wrote about the caesars of his time. One of Mr. Hamilton's ideas that made me laugh is that he compared both Richard Nixon and Lyndon Johnson to
Caligua. A new twist fit for thought! In his estimation, the four strongest caesars were FDR, Truman, Eisenhower, and JFK.
Mr. Hamilton believes that Bill Clinton was the smartest of all of these Presidents. I don't see the evidence for that idea, but it brings to mind what JFK had to say when the White House hosted a group of forty nine Nobel Prize recipients. "I think this is the most extraordinary collection of talent and of human knowledge that has ever been gathered together at the White House -- with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone."

End Game

Chardin's book, The Phenomenon of Man is a game changer of the first magnitude. Sir Julian Huxley describes it in these terms. "In the Phenomenon Of Man he has effected a threefold synthesis of the material and physical world with the world of mind and spirit; of the past with the future; and of variety with unity, the many with the one." Wow! Almost sounds like the description of a script from Star Trek, except that its foundation is solid science, not metaphysics. In fact, although I love science, the first part of the book is all pure science, and is a little tough sledding. I believe Chardin wrote the book in this manner because he is first a scientist and wanted to fortify his ideas on the "World without", and the "World within" on solid ground. "To think we must eat." Sounds Zen.
When a physicist describes entropy, my sense is that the world is going to "Wind down" and stop moving eventually. As Warren Zevon would say, "Not that pretty at all." A skull resides behind the flowers type of thinking. Chardin believes that mankind is taking the lead in evolution and this world is "Winding up" to be more and more exciting as time moves along. This makes the end game fascinating rather than a hum drum entropy forecast by some in the community.

Resurfaced

I finally found the source. "We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience." Pierre Teihard de Chardin.

BSG

I spend extended periods of time away from television and news. I like to think of it as a mild form of sensory deprivation to sanitize my thinking. It works pretty well for me, except that of course, I also miss really important events. Sometimes, I don't learn about these events for a long time. Creating my own social, temporal, and spatial anomalies, if you will. Tiannanmen Square was such an event.
The following video is totally incredible! A toast to the heart of the human spirit. Nobody knows who this man is, but you can be sure he didn't write a book about his appearance on global news, and how it changed his life.

Pied Piper

For about a month now, I have been on the trail of log trucks. Many are rolling through town, and I have seen some on the open road. The problem has been that I never have my iPod so I can't take video of them. I don't know why they are so attractive to me, but the lure is strong. In fact, for years now, when I would see one early in the morning on my way to work there was always a temptation to miss work and follow the truck. The one pattern that I did notice during this time was that if I were playing classic country and western, the impulse was especially hard to resist.
Yesterday, I really came close to the target. Two were heading out of town and I caught up with them in I-75. I quickly passed them, and headed up to the next overpass, thinking that I could get some pictures from the overpass. I luck would have it, they both pulled off on the same exit and headed the other way. Couldn't believe my luck, what are the odds of that, eh? Anyhow,
I'll keep you posted.

Song

Echos of Joe and Brian, back from the war, enjoying life and dancing to this song on the south side of Pontiac.

Log Truck Lure

Many near misses, but with the initiation of a little ground work, I detected patterns to set the snare, close to the liar.

Moe and Hangman

Black Swan Green by David Mitchell is a novel about growing up in England. Jason, the main character, is an adolescent. One of the "non-characters" in the book is an entity called Hangman who exists inside Jason. The other characters see Hangman only in its manifestation as Jason's speech impediment, but Jason knows him on a much more intimate level. Stuttering, for Jason is the steering wheel of his life.
Moe is a person I knew in Texas. His accent is so much a part of his persona that I added Jersey to his name in an attempt to add the necessary texture to his dialogue. Once Moe and I talked about stuttering since in was a big part of both of our lives.
He related this story. When he was young, this was probably during the 30's, his dad sent him daily to the corner store to buy cigarettes. One day, the store owner wanted Moe to come out and say the exact name of the brand. The Hangman wasn't about to allow this to happen. The store owner wasn't going to have it any other way. So... young Moe ran out the door and grabbed a brick from the gutter and spun it through the plate glass window. No brand cigarettes. Jersey Moe's counsel, "People with the same problem shouldn't hang around together." I can see how group therapy might present special difficulties for the speech pathologist.

Hyperbole

Eggs again. While boiling my Extra large eggs, I glance over at the shelf to the Extra virgin olive oil and wonder. Why do things have to be promoted to an extra slice of reality, larger than ordinary? The eggs aren't Extra large, and is it possible to be Extra virgin? Well, to be sure, I am baffled. Gresham's Law, pops into my head (bad currency drive out good) and that makes me wonder if the same analysis could be applied to language. Does poor language drive out better language?
My cast iron cooking pot on the stove came without exaggerated claims. None of the literature said it was Extra heavy cast iron, or Extra ugly in appearance. It all came together for me with an expression a friend of mine used constantly. "It don't make no never mind." I have picked up that expression and use it constantly for it fits so many situations.

Sunrise Celebration

Are you a bit baffled because you don't actually see the sun? Well, let me detail this further. It is a sunrise in the thumb, Michigan's thumb. Unlike FDR's Sunrise At Campabello, this refers to a relatively obscure trailer park. You don't see any mobile homes, as were not in the mobile home park, instead we are in the city park.

Sometimes, it is good to declare a festival of heat and light because we are warm and can see through the prevailing darkness. Such was the occasion with this sunrise, conscious that we are in charge of celebrations. The Captain below is dancing to his own tune.

Novel Idea

Another great book from Dee's List is Molly Fox's Birthday by the Irish writer, Deirdre Madden. The book wasn't in the Roscommon library, but they borrowed it from a library in Esacanaba, a town in the Upper Peninsula. It was paperback, but had a nice texture. I like to hold a book for awhile before I read it, and this one had a nice feel to it even though it wasn't hard cover. The novel takes place all in one day. The narrator, a playwright, is staying in Molly's house and with the use of flashbacks, and a few visitors, she reminisces about herself and her relationships with a few of her very good friends. She tells the reader at one point, " I am aware that what I am saying here doesn't tally with what I said to Molly when she asked about this, but that's easily explained: I was lying." The story rings true even though it is fiction.

I took the book back in two days (one of my quirks, is that I hate to borrow things) and found that I was missing the book the same day I returned it. What to do? Sunday, the next day, the library was closed, but the Wi-Fi was still live through the walls of the building. I pulled out my handy Kindle and proceeded to download this book from the "cloud", while I was sitting in my car. What a rush, it took less than sixty seconds. So, I sat there, like Little Jack Horner, very pleased with myself and a novel idea.

Zones of Time

While at Pioneer Village, I had a very nice conversation with Louis that flashed out schema buried in my mind for over fifty years. He told me that one of the reasons he moved from Florida to Alabama was that he wanted, "People to think that I talked fast." Wow! I thought to myself, I wanted to move to Alabama from Michigan to learn to talk slower. We had exact opposite goals with parallel strategies to achieve them.

Louis didn't mention snow in Florida as a reason for moving, but it sure was a motivator for me. Winter snows often blocked the roads and families would be snowbound for weeks until a bulldozer or grader would open a path. One of the beauties of an elementary education is that you can learn about geography and climate while you practice day dreaming.

I mentioned to Louis that I saw a sergeant standing out in the road dressed in Union blue, and it surprised me a bit. "Oh", he said, "We have reenactments here all of the time. The only problem is that we can't find enough volunteers to play the Yankees."

Road Post

On October 8th, in Pioneer Village, located in Troy Alabama, a little known tourist uncovered a link with Hank's dad. Louis, curator of the General Store, then confirmed the speculation.

Good Grief, Charlie Brown

Pat said to me some years back that we are spirits learning to become human. The idea for me was revolutionary, game changer. We are not prisoners in these forms that provide locomotion, but are inside these shells to learn to control the levers to become human. On the job training!

When Martin Luther King died some years back and some folks took to the street burning houses and rioting, it was clear that they did not know the man. His non-violent spirit, from whatever vantage point it had at the time, was disappointed with the violent spirit manifested here.

On the human side, it seems to me that grief works to purge the Spirit of the heavy pots and pans of daily living acquired by merely being human. Good grief might set us on the path of, "...Not so much seek to be consoled, as to console: To be understood, as to understand: To be loved, as to love." Francis of Assisi

Non-Directive Counseling

Joe and I are having a talk at the dining room table when the phone rings. When I get up to answer it, Joe shifts his gaze to the porch window so as not to pay attention to my call. The phone has an extra long extension cord (marvel of that technological age) that allows me to walk from room to room pacing, and still carry on the conversation. The call was a long one, and as it continued, I notice my blood pressure is rising because my face is getting quite warm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Joe reach around to the desk behind him.

Silence!

Stunned, I look into the dining room and there sits Joe with a pair of scissors in his hand and a serene expression on his face. He has severed the extension cord, and the baffled look on my face elicits this explanation. "There is no problem too big to run away from."

Moe

In 1975, Carol, Colleen and I moved to Houston. We made it down there in a '58 converted bread truck. It was a bit unconventional, but a fine ride none the less. We lived in this motor home until we rented a townhouse north of Houston.

While I'm in the parking lot of my new job, a Labor Force van pulls up. Out troops about ten pretty ragged looking individuals. The lead character is a very stocky man with a number of scars on his face. He makes a sweeping bow to an empty parking lot and thrusts his arms up in the double peace sign which mimics the manner of the then current President, Richard Nixon. The accent is unmistakable New Jersey, but sounds more like a gangster from a movie. Moe makes his pronouncement. "There will be no comments to the press at this time."

Socrates

Know thyself. 'aye 'tis a good plan. Though as Dylan said, "I'm not the same person in the morning as I am in the afternoon." One of the values of writing is that it can be documented, both morning and afternoon. Figure out exactly what you want to do, write it down, and then change it at the last minute. For as has been said, "The heart has reason, that reason does not know." So... I have to say the sympathetic magic charm wasn't as strong as I thought it might be, but the Sky hasn't fallen either.

Changelings

Upon the recommendation of my good friend, Dee, I read Stolen Child by Keith Donahue. Had I found the book in the library earlier, it would have stayed right there, untouched by these hands. Many have said it, but Bo Diddley said it best in a song, "You can't judge a book by its cover". I can judge a book by its title though, and that one would have said don't touch. As so often happens with me, I was totally wrong. This is exactly the book I had been looking for, but was unaware. For the longest time now, I have been wondering how the changelings system worked. I could understand the substitution, but what about the child who had been changed out?

This novel fills in the missing pieces. It all makes sense after you catch the narrative from both sides.

William T., who prided himself on being, "A practical man", told me more than once that his life changed when he plowed up the faery ring on the farm. Bo Diddley would say, "Don't mess with the dancing ring." Farmers, singers, and dancers, hear the same tune because they know to how to listen.

Sympathetic Magic

Things have been slow here in Roscommon, so I decided to play the game of Auto Roulette. I didn't need a car, but the question of need isn't one of the fundamental requirements to play. Brother Mike had been talking about getting a Malibu, and that conversation planted the seed in my own brain. I walked into the car dealership and told the salesman that I wanted to test drive a Chevrolet. He looked at me for a full, silent minute and replied, "We sell Buicks here." He did find a used one in the lot so off I headed to the interstate to give it a test.

When I got back to the lot the salesman, all smiles asked, "What did you think?" Trying to be kind for what was a rather non descript trip, I replied, "Well, its not a Grand Prix". Erasing his flashing frown, he replied, "I can get that for you!"

Indeed he did, but my temptation level to buy was still pretty low for the car color was a purple, plum, burgundy, black with some brown thrown in for good measure color. The test ride tipped me over! This was a 2007 but it was still true, "We build excitement!" To escape unscathed, I had to employ the dreaded 24 hour rule. "I don't buy anything until I think about it 24 hours." This isn't actually my rule at all, but I had to come up with something quick so that I could get away without buying.

It was still raining when I got back to town, so I motored over to the hometown dealer to see what he had. Couldn't believe my luck. He had a black Grand Prix. Now I was in trouble because it was exactly what I wanted. The test drive was in the rain so it wasn't all that it might have been. This enabled me to employ the strategy of Quintus Fabius Maximus. He was the Roman general who fought the Carthaginians in the Second Punic War by delaying every battle. Another chance, for another delay, but my sales resistance was weakening. How long could I delay? As I was leaving the building my mind was racing. The last ditch effort had to be magic or I was snared. Quickly, I took two pictures of the car with my phone camera. Some of effects of sympathetic magic are contained in the Law of Similarity. The magician infers that he can produce any effect he desires merely by imitating it. Could I keep myself from buying the car by merely taking a picture of it? As a novice in this field, I am not sure how long the charm will last.

Visiting Rights

I love fifth graders! They are firmly grounded in the concrete, but initiate raids into the abstract. What is more, if a number of them are contained in a classroom, they will make you laugh every day. Often, they're just like little human beings.

Coming of Age

When I was about fourteen years old, Buddy Holly was electrifying am radio waves with incredible energy. Hank Williams led the pack in country music, Elvis took the crown for rock and roll, but Buddy combined both kinds of music in one genre. My difficulty was that I had no way to listen to him at home. After saving up a few dollars, I took the bus into Pontiac to go shopping at the Salvation Army. My thrift instincts proved true for I found an old, steel desktop radio for five dollars.

Upon my return home, I realized my new purchase had one major flaw. To be able to listen to the radio, I had to hang on to the antennae wire. A far cry for the remote controls that we are familiar with today. That meant that I could never be more than a foot away from the radio to hear it. At night, after lights out, I would sneak the radio under the covers, hang on to the antennae, and drift into pure bliss.

Buddy Holly's music influenced many more groups besides just the Beatles and Rolling Stones. Before he died at twenty-two, Buddy had already toured on three continents. Needless to say, "Say it anyway", the man was worth whatever effort it took to listen to him. When the music industry made the shift from analogue to digital, the majority of Rockabilly didn't make the transition. What to do?

My daughter Colleen gave me a priceless gift. A complete boxed set of all Buddy Holly's songs on long playing records. Transforming this music to a digital format is both grueling and time consuming. Luckily, I was able to procrastinate for twenty five years. Yesterday marked the coming of age for the task is completed and I am now able to hear Buddy from any distance.

Retro Echo

Today, Paul and Randy were working on a fence, expending a lot of energy with a measured sense of success. Pretty pleased with himself, Paul who is both happy and excited, called to Erin in the house, "We"re Done!". Erin responded in her deep voice, "Who says?". They both broke out laughing at the echo of Wm. T. You were never done unless you had an inspection. Rarely was the inspection accompanied with words. Not given to verbose pronouncements, Wm T. replaced, "That is one decision you won't have to make" with "Who says?" Economy of measure dancing all the way.

impedimentum

Skipping along on the Skiff Trail, I ran into an (obstacle) in the form of one brown bottle. It had such a catchy title, I tried one. It only takes one of these to change your day!

Temporis Causa

Denise and I ( on the spur of the moment ) took a skiff trip, in the manner of the ancient Celts.

Rather than an actual boat, we chose a pickup to carry our provisions. This turned out to be a wise choice, for in three days, we covered a lot of ground. Terrain wasn't the goal, but the situation provided a surplus of happy visits.

Farm-Aid

Aqua et ignis

The Romans called it the necessary things of life (water & fire). The Zen expression would be, "Chop wood, carry water". Wm T. would voice this sentiment as, "Getting back to the fundamentals."

Language

Back on the farm, in the summer of 1954, I heard this strange sequence of sounds. It was as if an animal were trying to sing, but hadn't mastered the language to create the necessary lyrics. So I quietly tip-toed up the stairs to see what my little brother Shawn was doing. The creaky steps must have telegraphed my move as he was focused on the doorway as I peaked around. He was standing in his playpen, one hand hanging on the rail to hold himself up, and the other clutching an empty plastic baby bottle which he was shaking vigorously. Ear to ear was the biggest grin I had ever seen. Pure animal joy spread across the face beneath the curly black hair.

My brother Mike had taught him to make this loud popping sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The moment we made eye contact, Shawn commenced this loud popping like a dolphin with a amplifier. Fresh deck, new deal, out of the pen, a new day was dawning!

Spelling

Butch had dyslexia, which caused him a host of trouble in the classroom, but it certainly didn't interfere with his ability to attract girls. One of my tasks as his younger brother was to read the notes that these girls would send. In one of these letters, a girl complained that her friends thought that she was a "hor". Since I had never seen this word before, I assumed it must be street slang for horrible. It became necessary for me to interpret as best I could to arrive at some meaning. So I said to Butch, "This girl isn't a very good speller, apparently her friends think she is horrible!". Butch just smiled there, sitting in his chair, and said, "Keep reading". This reminds me of one of his expressions, but I haven't a clue as to its origin. "You can lead a horse to water, but if it's a pencil, it has to be lead."

For CQ

Perhaps, along with Robin Williams, Gary Larson is the funniest cat out there!

Curious Cows

These cows all ran over to the fence together when one of them noticed that I had a camera. Is that where herd mentality originated?

Festival of Hope

Denise, Erin and I arrived on time in spite of the fact that the GPS blocked out the whole town of Port Hope, and told us in a firm, polite voice to make a u turn. So, "Needless to say, say it anyway", we continued north. Our ace in the hole was the fact that the grocery store owner knew, beyond this particular blackout zone, was the Port Hope lighthouse.

Nolo Contendere

As fighter pilots love to say, "We have a visual." My first recollection of my brother Butch is in a school setting. The two of us standing outside the building, in front of its three entry doors. This imposing building is brick and glass, straight up as far as the eye could see, at least three stories. I 'm baffled as to why we are outside, as the learning is taking place inside the building. But here we are.

I'm in first grade, Butch is already in second, still maintaining his early lead. While we are standing there I notice that two of the three doors are wired shut from the outside . Then in a blur, all the glass sections of the doors are filled with faces. Pained expressions fill all but the lower ones. The doors won't open, and everyone is piling backup the stairs. Invisible power holds sway here. . The fire drill is reenacted to a successful conclusion, after the wire is removed, and Butch and I are too.

Not a Vacuum

"Believe it or not, not withstanding your lot, the lot that you got, stands for you." Loudon Wainwright III penned this truth years ago. Counterpoint to Bacon's, "Nature hates a vacuum."

Cleaned my garage today torn between these truths and opted for a half truth. If I used my shop vacuum, then it would be at least half clean, ipso facto.

Technical Assistant

When I retired a year ago, I attempted to examine my habits and decide which ones to keep, modify or add. My explosion of free time felt like living childhood over again without the direction of parents. One of the first habits to go was wearing a wrist watch. No need to know the time, if it didn't matter what time it was.

Then I started splitting wood. That changed everything. If you have a grueling job, add thousands of insects, in addition to heavy humidity, ceasing operations becomes your focal point. It turned out I didn't know when to quit. As Huxley wrote, "Time Must Have a Stop."

Lucky for me, I knew where to find my much needed technical assistant. Strapping that watch on my wrist again felt like I had just discovered the wheel.

Fog In

In July '62, I had just graduated from high school, and ready to hit the road with my new freedom.

West coast USA was the goal with the lure of the Seattle World's Fair thrown in for a specific target. My friend Chris and I were hitchhiking, but we had the luxury of one hundred dollars in Travelers Checks stashed for backup. We each had a suitcase with a blanket so that we could sleep in fields along the way. No sense trying to camp if you don't have camping gear.

We got to the World's Fair with time to spare. One phone exhibit, ATT allowed anyone in line to make a phone call for three minutes to anywhere in the United States free! Not inclined to long lines, I declined the opportunity. Besides that, Phones had limited utility anyway.

While coming back to Michigan along route 101, the coastal California highway, Chris and I ran into a snag of sorts. We were walking along the road, the surf was pounding on the rocks below, and to the right, the mountain climbed straight up. Not much room to maneuver. The one thing that we did have for consolation in our imagination was the dense fog that amplified the surf hitting the rock below.

We are walking, talking, hoping while moving down the road, but the prospects did not look good at this point. Content in our ignorance and armed with the ability to whistle in the dark, we continue to move down the road thinking that this might last all night. We were seeing America, why rush anyway?

Then, a new element appears behind us, slow moving lights. This seems unnatural. A car trailing two walkers. We know we are close to Big Sur, but not sure how far away it might be.

This continues for awhile, but the car never passes. Then we come upon a small inn nestled on the mountain. Chris decides this is our shot in the dark and we are determined to take it. We go inside, but it is hard to hang loose and pretend we're looking for casual coffee.

A Swiss immigrant, who happens to be the cook, befriends us. He is working here hoping to make a break through into mime. Neither Chris or I ever ran across any mimes in Keego, but we take him at his word, since he is the only one talking to us. When his shift is finished, he drives us further up the mountain in his old '39 Chevy and feeds us bread and cheese. We decline the wine as we don't view ourselves as continental just yet. We're working on it, but it probably means that we have to turn eighteen to be qualified. Next morning, the sky was clear as we traveled down the mountain, and we were on the road again.

Odds and Eggs

Scurrying around searching in three cookbooks, I am attempting to find the recipe to boil eggs. Doesn't seem like it would be that hard of a task, but I've used three cookbooks before and one of the recipes turned out well. I would love to find that one again! Paul, working on the red checkered dining room table, is intently slamming thousands of tunes into his new laptop. In frustration with the endless search, I interrupt Paul. "Paul, how do you boil eggs?" He takes the question in stride, turns half way around, with an over the shoulder answer, "Boil 'em 'til one cracks."

This is the missing piece of information! Google in the next room. If I had only thought to ask earlier, quicker results could have been mine. Thirty minutes later, my fine brown eggs are looking good but still not cracking. Confident, I invoke the statute of limitations, and turn off the burner. Best boiled eggs I ever had, and they lasted for days.

Not red and white

Jan's house is up for sale now for the fifth year. To date, not a soul has ventured to check it out.

Brother Paul was completing some restoration work on January's ceiling. It looked pretty ragged from a regular viewer's point of view, even I knew something had to be repaired.

While Paul is on the job, he discovers a round oak table with classic bronze gears. Apparently, this classic table came from the Outpost. He is trying to convince me to take it back home so that it is saved from St. Vincent de Paul. In fact, he is pleading with me. "I'll restore it, this oak will shine, let me do it!" I say, "Ok, ok.... apparently, you have strong feelings in this matter."

When my wood-splitting task is done for the day, I head for Houghton Lake to look for a plastic, red and white checkered tablecloth to cover my table. The concept here is to re-enact a picnic in the kitchen everyday. It seems that even with the vast resources of Walmart, I am years too late. In the end, I stumble upon a black and red plastic tablecloth and am quite happy to pick it up for a song.

First Generation

Bill in his earlier days. Perhaps when he was still boxing. Firm 1G foundation.

Fishing Trip

My jaw dropped as he said it. "Archie, I want you to go down to Kmart and buy some gold fish." It was snowing outside the Bat Cave. Wm T. and I were roommates in Pontiac. This rather odd arrangement occurred as Hope thought it would be good for the family. Bill and I had just spent the afternoon at the kitchen table discussing "God, & Man & Law" along with a few beers to solidify the mix. The alcohol had convinced me that we had achieved parity. I was only nineteen, but I was paying half the rent and doing the other things dictated for my share.

William T. was taking a drag off his cigarette and glancing at the floor as he inhaled. With rhetorical flourish that continued the speculative nature of our earlier conversations, I said, "What if I don't do it?" Without even looking up, he said in a supremely calm voice, "Honey, I'll dazzle you with footwork." Instantly, my mind reeled back to the proper balance of father and son, and I replied with enthusiasm, "Yes, Sir!" . This predated Nike's famous dictum, "Just do it."

Hung Jury

In mulling over my acceptance reaction to jury duty, I am struck by several discordant notes in the "summons". It is riddled with threats. Phrases like, "contempt of court", "show cause", "mandatory" along with the final stinger, "appropriate dress is required". What is "appropriate dress" in Crawford County where protective service is the number one employer? Wm T. used to say, "You can't hang a man for his judgement", but I believe it happens everyday. The system doesn't even know me, yet they are treating me like a would be criminal. It seems they should meet me first before making that judgement. Our country has only four percent of the world's population, yet we have twenty-four percent of that population in jail. Perhaps something in our core culture needs to be examined and modified in our pursuit of "Justice."