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.