Well, I'm back.
At least part time right now. I am behind at work, having missed a week, and it is final individual tax deadline coming up October 15th. But I will be doing what I can to restore the routine.
I don't want to be too maudlin, or dwell too long on this. so if you want to skip this one, I understand.
We buried my father Friday.
He was a great man, well loved and respected by his family, friends, those who had worked with him, and the many students he had taught and guided. I was very touched by the turnout and the outpouring of sympathy and support. At the school where he had been Principal for 22 years, Bridgeport High School, they flew the flag at half mast, and they had a moment of silence at Friday's football game. This was very impressive to me as he had not been Principal there since the early 80s.
I spoke at the funeral, as did my sister and her two children. The eulogies were filled with laughter and tears, and the affection and respect were clearly shown in everything, expressed verbally and non-verbally.
I read my story Six Weeks and Always, about the enduring love between my mother and father. It was very hard emotionally, but I got through it. i also said some other things, and I tried to speak extemporaneously, from the heart. I'm not sure I was completely clear or polished, but I think people understand what I was trying to say and the emotional impact behind it.
I wanted to make clear that most of what I have truly learned about Christianity and what it really means to be a Christian, I learned from my father. He led by a shining example of what it meant to have the light shining in you, and to shine that light on others. To love God, not by shouting Hosannas and holy Holies, but in quiet reflection, by how you conducted yourself and lived your life. You love God when you commune with nature and respect his creation. You love God when you pray to him and the only one who knows that you prayed is YOU.
He loved others, and although he had high moral standards for himself, he was very forgiving and accepting of you when you fell short or may have made mistakes. He was always kind and respectful to everyone. Despite the horrible physical declines and limitations he suffered in later life, he never turned bitter and mean. The aides who helped him at Independence Village would compete for the right to have him on their schedule, because he was so kind and friendly to them.
He believed the best way to show you are a Christian was in how you lived your life, and to spend every day trying to make this world a better place, that each act of helping others moved us closer to the Kingdom of heaven, here on Earth. He was a brilliant man, a mathematical genius, adept at organization and management, and he could have been whatever he wanted. He chose to devote his life to the education of young people. His specialty was math, and teaching to those to students who were not high achievers, who were often barely staying in school. His techniques brought out the best in them, and he had many of them legitimately getting the best grades of their lives.
My father suffered through a lot of physical declines in the last few years of his life. It was very hard watching this strong, hard-working man give up so much over the years. But through it all, he never lost touch with the essence of his character, with the brilliant light of his spirit and soul, which as he lost so much else, just shone through brighter and brighter.
And when possessions are gone, and physical strength slips away, when our damaged esophagus makes it difficult to even speak, what are we left with? The love that we have given others and the good that we have done.
My Dad may be gone, but his light and love continue to shine. It shines in the many students he taught and guided throughout the years. It shines in those who were able to work with him, and benefited from his kind leadership. It shines in those neighbors he had in the places that he and my mother lived. It shines in the churches he went to. It shines in the family he grew up with in Southern Michigan. It shines within my sister and me, and our spouses. It shines in the grandchildren, and it will shine in the great-grandchildren to come, and the generations after that.
We love you, Dad. Thanks for lighting our way, then....now...forever and always.
Until next time,
T. M. Strait
UPDATE:
It is now a year since my father passed. I would like to tell you that it hurts less. I can't. You do find a way to go on.
He still inhabits my heart. He still influences my soul. He is often, with my mother, in my dreams.
Whenever I accomplish something, whenever Benjamin achieves a goal or hits a milestone, my first instinct is still to reach for the phone and share it with them.
No, I'm not the type of person that has actual conversations with the departed. I'm either not fortunate enough or deluded enough, depending on your perspective. But that doesn't mean that they don't guide me, that their spirit and souls still don't have influence in my life. They do. Every day.
Every day, I see the positive ways my parents influenced me, the good things they have instilled in me. I see it in Benjamin, and my older boys, Greg and Doug. I see it in Alison, who knew and loved my parents. And I pray to see it in my future grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
I have posted several stories from the cherished legacy my father has left - over half a dozen volumes of family stories and reminiscences. I will do my best to repost those throughout the day, and I will redouble my efforts to put out new ones, at least one or two a month.
I am sentimental and sad and reflective today. But I have work, and I have play practice, and I have family and friends and pets to cherish. I will soldier on.
It's what my father would do.
Bless you all,
T. M. Strait
Monday, September 30, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Temporary Suspension
The Strait Line may be off for a little while.
My father, Eugene Everett Strait, died last night. The name of The Strait Line comes from him and the newsletter he had while Principal.
There are many stories related to him, that I have written over the years, and I will be posting them when I can them when I can.
For years now, I have watched my rock, my foundation diminish in physical strength, but never in mental or moral strength. And now, now that that the physical body has been left behind, his spirit, love and influence will continue to flourish. with me, Alison, my boys, my sister and her family, with Retta, with the hundreds of young lives he enriched and enhanced and inspired as Principal and teacher, with the friends he has met and the churches he has graced. I love you, Dad. Your rock, your foundation and strength, will always be with us.
I will be back on sometime sonn. I learned perseverance and determination from one of the best teachers there ever was.
Love
Tom Strait
My father, Eugene Everett Strait, died last night. The name of The Strait Line comes from him and the newsletter he had while Principal.
There are many stories related to him, that I have written over the years, and I will be posting them when I can them when I can.
For years now, I have watched my rock, my foundation diminish in physical strength, but never in mental or moral strength. And now, now that that the physical body has been left behind, his spirit, love and influence will continue to flourish. with me, Alison, my boys, my sister and her family, with Retta, with the hundreds of young lives he enriched and enhanced and inspired as Principal and teacher, with the friends he has met and the churches he has graced. I love you, Dad. Your rock, your foundation and strength, will always be with us.
I will be back on sometime sonn. I learned perseverance and determination from one of the best teachers there ever was.
Love
Tom Strait
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Laying the Blame for Obamacare: Saturday Political Soap Box 73
Blame Bismarck.
The German Chancellor first proposed and adopted national health care in 1883. Yes, it goes that far back.
Blame Jesus Christ, and every other major religion that teach humane values. Because of their soft-headed nature, they won't let us abandon people in need (although some practitioners of these faiths have seemed to have forgotten this bedrock principle).
Blame Teddy Roosevelt. He first proposed a national, more universal health care system in the United States, at the dawn of the 20th century. It of course went nowhere.
Blame second cousin Franklin Roosevelt. He of that nasty New Deal, that lifted the elderly out of abandonment and destitution, that began to form the safety net that helped preserve this country, and we escaped the chaos of communism and fascism that consumed the rest of the world. The great unachieved part of the New Deal? Universal health care. Even FDR couldn't accomplish it.
Blame Harry Truman. He pushed hard to put in place this missing part of the New Deal, but he was not able to affect change.
Blame Lyndon Johnson. The Great Society accomplished Medicare, so at least the elderly had some protection, and Medicaid for the very, very poor. Of course, many states strip away at Medicaid as best they can, because God forbid that one of the no good "others" should get benefits from it.
Blame Richard Nixon. He and Teddy Kennedy were just a breath away from a compromise on universal health care when it all fell apart.
Blame Bill and Hilary Clinton, for promoting a system to bring us closer to universal health care, that failed and almost destroyed his Presidency. The failed push for this program led to the rise of Gingrich and The Republican Revolution of 1994. He did help put in place SCHIP to help provide health coverage to those pesky poor kids. I mean really, my conservative Georgia friends, don't you just hate Peachcare, Georgia's SCHIP and all it stands for? I am sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that all my conservative friends who are bad-mouthing Obamacare, have gotten their kids off Peachcare and told their other conservative friends to do the same.
All this led to the so-called unmitigated disaster that is Obamacare. Why, the whole idea that everyone should be covered, even with pre-conditions, even when you change jobs, even when you are in college to be still covered by your family and up to 26 as you get your feet started in a career, that insurance companies should spend money on your health care instead of excess overhead, that families should not go bankrupt caring for a loved one, that access to preventative care should be improved (especially for women), that policies should be uncapped? Why, the audacity of such thoughts!
Despite adopting a plan that was basically Bob Dole's plan in the 90s blended with Romneycare, the Republicans squallered and objected.
Despite being passed and signed into law, they cried and complained, and screamed it was unconstitutional.
Despite the Supreme Court affirming the law, Republicans would not let up. Petulant and angry, they would defund the law! They would risk a government shutdown just to show the world how toddler-like they could be!
Despite the state exchanges lowering rates in states that are cooperating, despite early signs the the rate of health care cost increases is slowing, despite the protections that are already in place, despite the fact that the individual components of health care poll well even if the law as a whole (when called Obamacare) does not, despite everything, they continue to try to take it away and start us over. With no substitute plan in place.
They will not stop there. If they succeed, they will attack SCHIP, Medicaid, Medicare and Social Security. Safety net? We don't need no stinking safety net!
Take us back, they cry!
Take us back to before that no good Bismarck!
Goodbye the great religions of the world!
Hello Dickensian nightmare!
The German Chancellor first proposed and adopted national health care in 1883. Yes, it goes that far back.
Blame Jesus Christ, and every other major religion that teach humane values. Because of their soft-headed nature, they won't let us abandon people in need (although some practitioners of these faiths have seemed to have forgotten this bedrock principle).
Blame Teddy Roosevelt. He first proposed a national, more universal health care system in the United States, at the dawn of the 20th century. It of course went nowhere.
Blame second cousin Franklin Roosevelt. He of that nasty New Deal, that lifted the elderly out of abandonment and destitution, that began to form the safety net that helped preserve this country, and we escaped the chaos of communism and fascism that consumed the rest of the world. The great unachieved part of the New Deal? Universal health care. Even FDR couldn't accomplish it.
Blame Harry Truman. He pushed hard to put in place this missing part of the New Deal, but he was not able to affect change.
Blame Lyndon Johnson. The Great Society accomplished Medicare, so at least the elderly had some protection, and Medicaid for the very, very poor. Of course, many states strip away at Medicaid as best they can, because God forbid that one of the no good "others" should get benefits from it.
Blame Richard Nixon. He and Teddy Kennedy were just a breath away from a compromise on universal health care when it all fell apart.
Blame Bill and Hilary Clinton, for promoting a system to bring us closer to universal health care, that failed and almost destroyed his Presidency. The failed push for this program led to the rise of Gingrich and The Republican Revolution of 1994. He did help put in place SCHIP to help provide health coverage to those pesky poor kids. I mean really, my conservative Georgia friends, don't you just hate Peachcare, Georgia's SCHIP and all it stands for? I am sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that all my conservative friends who are bad-mouthing Obamacare, have gotten their kids off Peachcare and told their other conservative friends to do the same.
All this led to the so-called unmitigated disaster that is Obamacare. Why, the whole idea that everyone should be covered, even with pre-conditions, even when you change jobs, even when you are in college to be still covered by your family and up to 26 as you get your feet started in a career, that insurance companies should spend money on your health care instead of excess overhead, that families should not go bankrupt caring for a loved one, that access to preventative care should be improved (especially for women), that policies should be uncapped? Why, the audacity of such thoughts!
Despite adopting a plan that was basically Bob Dole's plan in the 90s blended with Romneycare, the Republicans squallered and objected.
Despite being passed and signed into law, they cried and complained, and screamed it was unconstitutional.
Despite the Supreme Court affirming the law, Republicans would not let up. Petulant and angry, they would defund the law! They would risk a government shutdown just to show the world how toddler-like they could be!
Despite the state exchanges lowering rates in states that are cooperating, despite early signs the the rate of health care cost increases is slowing, despite the protections that are already in place, despite the fact that the individual components of health care poll well even if the law as a whole (when called Obamacare) does not, despite everything, they continue to try to take it away and start us over. With no substitute plan in place.
They will not stop there. If they succeed, they will attack SCHIP, Medicaid, Medicare and Social Security. Safety net? We don't need no stinking safety net!
Take us back, they cry!
Take us back to before that no good Bismarck!
Goodbye the great religions of the world!
Hello Dickensian nightmare!
Friday, September 20, 2013
Contemplations at the Honey Dew Stoop
Maybe she should be doing something
else. Or at least something more.
She liked working at the Honey
Dew. She really did. Sometimes, it could be frustrating. Some treated her like a servant, and left
little if any tip, but most were kind and jovial. There were many regulars she looked forward
to. The Honey Dew Lunch Bunch was loud and self important, but they treated her
well, tipped generously and smiled at her a lot. And there was Adam Garnett, her inexplicable,
going nowhere big crush. Soulful short and chunky Adam, with the beautiful
sweet face, and the undying infatuation with Racine Steel, even with Racine pregnant with Bobby
Ray's child. She should set aside that
foolishness once and for all. She would
think her obsession was over, and then Adam would come in on a Saturday, and
his blue eyes would melt her all over again.
Reggie Crowley and his rude boys
were not pleasant, although she did her best to stay upbeat with them. They were foul-mouthed and unkempt, even
though Reggie was one of the richest men in town, owning the paper mill and
all. They only tipped a pittance, and
many times not at all, but she could handle that, what with the many good
customers to balance them off. One time
Reggie's youngest, Freddy, patted her on the behind, but thankfully the owner,
Grace Donnelly, put a stop to that. She
didn't give a whit whether they were Crowley 's
or not, she wasn't going to have that kind of crap in her establishment. Bless Grace!
She didn't pay well, but she was a kind soul, caring and easy to work
for. Grace was close to three hundred
pounds, and not very tall, but she could be quite the dynamo.
Dotty Mathers would send her food
back several times before she was happy with it, and would not tip at all. And she wanted to stay as far downwind from
Dotty's political and religious opinions as possible. She just didn't want to get involved with that
with people. She liked to keep her
political opinions to herself, and her faith was between her and God. She had heard recent rumors that Dotty might
run for Congress. She didn't know what
to make of that. She thought politicians should at least listen to their
constituents once in awhile. Dotty
didn't seem like much of a listener.
She liked that her day began early,
by 6 AM at the latest, and was wrapped by 2, and she had the rest of the day to
herself. This morning it was a few
minutes after 5 AM, and she sat on the back porch waiting for Grace to come and
open up.
Her problem was, what was she
really doing with her life? About a half
year graduated from high school, and all she had done was start working full time
at the Honey Dew. Shouldn't she be doing
more? Maybe she should be trying to
achieve more. Her friend, Tabby Steel
(yes, she was friends with the sister of her rival- such is life in a small
town), was going to start next fall at South Georgia . Maybe she should consider that, too. South Georgia
was out of reach - her and her mother just didn't have those kinds of
resources, and her grades from high school were not going to win her any
scholarships. Perhaps, however, OTC (Okefenokee Technical College
She didn't know. She just felt down, unsatisfied and drifting
to nowhere. In a way, the whole town
felt that way. Without Bobby Ray, the
football team lost the first round of the state playoffs, a 35 to 7 whooping by
Jeff Davis County Crowley .
So she sat on the back stoop and
thought. Is this what she wanted to do the rest of her life? Work as a waitress, live with her Mom, pine
for a boy who looked like through her as if she wasn't there? She kind of liked Crowley , she didn't have the big Jones to
move somewhere else. Big cities didn't
light up her fancy. She wasn't deluded
enough to want to be an actress, or model, or reality star. But she felt like she should be reaching
for...something more.
She wished she could talk it over
with her elderly friend, Rachel Compton.
But Rachel had passed away just a couple of weeks ago, at her 105th
birthday party, expiring face first into her birthday cake. She had loved talking to her. Even as Rachel's speech became more limited
and slurred, she still understood everything she said. She knew from what others were telling her
not many could. But they had not learned
to read Rachel's non-verbal cues as well as she could. Most people didn't listen well. Most people didn't pay attention as well as
she did. She didn't feel like she was
bragging when she said this. It was just
a fact. It made it difficult in the
restaurant sometimes, almost if she was Sooki Stackhouse from True Blood, and
could read everybody's thoughts. Of
course, she couldn't but she could pick up a lot.
She knew Racine Steel was pregnant
before anyone else, just by her movements and gestures.
She knew that the Reggie Crowley
clan was up to no good, and were figuring out ways to end around the regulators
and environmentalists, that Reggie Crowley was not happy with his accountants,
and would cringe whenever Houston Graves and Gariton Hollander would come in.
She recognized that Christie Delco
Hollander was cheating big time with Rondy Strickland, even if everyone else in
town seemed oblivious to it.
She knew that Dotty Mathers was
filled with an all-consuming hatred and anger that she could barely control,
and it wasn't because of the liberals in Washington, or what she wailed at as
that atheist obstetrician, Dr. Mala Jhadau (she was Hindu, not atheist, but
Dotty didn't know the difference), or even her dissatisfaction with Congressman
Stan Winston. No, she was angry because
the son she had loved all her life was gay, and she couldn't deal with her
swirling, contradictory feelings.
Oh, she so wanted to talk to Rachel
Compton again. And not as her brother,
Cokie Goodkind, the Ghost Squad leader, would.
She wanted her back for real. She
could help her. She could listen like no
one else could, give her feedback, help her right her course.
And then it struck her. She knew where she wanted to do. She knew where she wanted to head. She might need OTC after all. Because she was going to become a CNA
(Certified Nursing Assistant), or maybe even an LPN (Licensed Practical Nurse). She would learn and go back to
places like the Crowley
Baptist Retirement
Village
The door unlocked and quickly
opened. She had been leaning against the
door, and fell in to the Honey Dew. But
it was okay now.
Franny Goodkind knew where she was
going.
Ripping Good Yarns: Monday Fall TV Lineup 2013
What's on TV this fall? Well, Rippers, let's check out with Monday night!
The most exciting returning show for the Strait household is Castle, the series about a mystery who gets to hang with a police homicide unit, featuring the intelligent beauty of Kate Beckett (Stana Katic). Alison and I are huge Nathan Fillion fans (albeit our reasons may differ slightly), and we look forward to this season, as we find out how Beckett will deal with and Castle's proposal. Yes, it's just a TV show, BUT, I don't see why they can't have both. Why she can't start a career in Washington and they be married, or engaged. Why? I'll give you a hint...Castle is RICH, very RICH. He can buy a damn jet and be in Washington lickety-split. also, he can write from ANYWHERE. He's not tied to NYC. But, of course, that's probably not what's going to happen. She'll probably take the job and find out it doesn't work out for some reason. We will see. This is Castle's fifth year on the fall schedule.
The most intriguing new show on Mondays is The Blacklist. James Spader as an unrepentant criminal genius now working to solve crimes? I'm on board! Also of great interest is Hostages. It's limited to 14 episodes, which is a good thing, because that lends it to more novelistic approach. It seems like a stretch of a relatively finite plot, but I'm willing to give it a try. What they would do for a second season is beyond me.
Other new shows on Monday include Sleepy Hollow that is about a character (or characters) from that time waking up in today's world. It sounds like it's a Washington Irving mash-up, combined with CW style teen/young adult appeal. I missed the premiere but I might stream at some point, if the buzz about is good
Two new comedies are We Are Men, a male bonding comedy that stars Jerry O'Connell (Sliders) and Tony Shalhoub (Monk), and Mom, a spitfire daughter (Anna Faris) comes back home to live with her spitfire Mom (Allison Janney). Coming later in the fall, after some episodes of Bones, is Almost Human, a show set in the future centered around a cop partnered with an android. I am really looking forward to this show as it done by the people who did Fringe, my favorite show of the last few years.
CBS has a couple of returning crude comedies that I don't watch but may be your cup of tea. How I Met Your Mother is in it's 9th season, and is now officially the world's longest explanation to one event. 2 Broke Girls starts season number 3.
Other returning shows include Bones for it's 9th fall season, Hart of Dixie for season 2, and Beauty and the Beast, also for it's second season. These may be fine shows but I've never seen them.
That wraps up Monday! Hope to get to Tuesday in a day or two as we continue to role through the week. Whether you watch one show or no show, a few or a dozen, stay kind and tolerant, Rippers! More to come!
Thursday, September 19, 2013
The Missing Volley
I had to shut the door
I could not cope any more
But I did not know
I could not know
That you would never knock
That my clutching fear
Of not being near
Of not being wanted
Would leave me haunted
That you would never speak
I thought I might be greeted
With an open heart entreated
Not the darkness of abyss
The firmness of your diss
That you would not respond
I reached out in high anxiety
I kneeled in sincere piety
I left the next step up to you
And what did you do?
You answered me with ................
..................................
................................
...............................
Silence.
I could not cope any more
But I did not know
I could not know
That you would never knock
That my clutching fear
Of not being near
Of not being wanted
Would leave me haunted
That you would never speak
I thought I might be greeted
With an open heart entreated
Not the darkness of abyss
The firmness of your diss
That you would not respond
I reached out in high anxiety
I kneeled in sincere piety
I left the next step up to you
And what did you do?
You answered me with ................
..................................
................................
...............................
Silence.
My Sister Carol Strait Behind the Desert Gate
 |
| My mother is at a loss. How did she get in there? How do we get her back out?
Twice we made the trek. Twice we made our way to the west coast where my Dad had National Science Scholarships at major universities, the first in 1959 at the University of Oregon, and then in 1964 at Stanford.
We did not fly. We drove. Across country, from Michigan in our Ford Station Wagon. We would take the southern route on the way out, seeing relatives in Texas, Then we went across Arizona and the desert. We would briefly hit what stops we could, but never stay very long. I remember going by the Grand Canyon and barely getting out of the car.
Why we stopped at this monument in the middle of the desert, I'm not sure. The first time on the journey, we were only four (me) and three (my sister), so they probably had to make frequent stops to accommodate us.
At this particular stop, my sister Carol, while none of us were looking, somehow found herself inside the iron fence of this monument. We don't know how she got in there. But it was time to go and she wouldn't come out. If any of us tried to grab her to help her get out, she would squirm away. She was crying a storm, and we were at a complete loss as to what to do.
In my four year old mind, I thought....well, that's it. This is where my sister is going to live now. We would just visit her when we came through in the future. Of course we would need to leave her some food....
Food! That was it! Somebody, either myself or my parents, offered her a treat, a candy bar or something like that (the details are lost to the fog of time). Her eyes lit up, and she suddenly slid through those bars, like a buttered rat with collapsible bones.
I have more memories of our trips west, but this was one that sticks to my mind, and was one of the earliest events I remember. This and the car my sister brought to life in Eugene, Oregon (see the story Echoes of '59) are what stand out in my young mind.
I am glad she didn't stay behind the desert gate.
|
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Ripping Good Yarns: Sunday TV Lineup Fall 2013
It's back! Beginning my nightly review of Fall TV! A very crowded night, particularly when you throw in offerings from cable. As usual, since Ripping Good Yarns focuses on fictional storytelling, I will have comment, good or bad, about the reality programs on Sunday.
On prime time broadcast TV, the three series watched most faithfully at our house are Once Upon A Time, in it's third season, The Mentalist, in it's sixth fall season and Revenge in it's sophomore season. Once Upon A time has been great fun, and is almost Lost-like in it's back and forth structure. It ended with great changes to Storyville, and some characters being separated. Where it will go this season is any body's guess. The show could get a lot better or a lot worse. We shall see. The Mentalist has two major things going for it; one is the Red John story-line which helps increase it's status as a Ripping good Yarn, and the character Cho, whose stoic understatements makes him one of my favorite characters on TV. In a bizarre way, he reminds me of Mr. Spock. The Red John storyline promises to wrap up with the season premiere. so that might reduce the appeal of the program after that. Revenge is a show we picked up through streaming and are now caught up. It is at its best when it maximizes it's intrigue and unpredictability. It is at its worst when it emphasizes its soap opera elements or secondary love interests. I question Revenge's potential quality this year, as they have changed showrunners this year and have promised to be "less complicated". Sorry, Charlie, Rippers don't pick up shows because they are "less complicated'.
The only new show on Sunday is Betrayal, a show centered on two married people who are cheating on each other, and whom you presumably will be cheering for. This show will get a pass at the Strait household.
I do not believe there are any other new shows on Sunday.
Returning are The Good Wife in it's fifth fall season (is the premise that she's married to a Senator or something?) There are the four animated comedies on Fox; The Simpsons (24th season!), Bob's Burgers (2nd season), Family Guy (9th season) and American Dad (9th season). The animated characters age slower and have fewer salary demands.
But then we get to the cable shows. Showtime's Homeland, which won the Emmy for best series. Don't get me started on the difference between short-form and long-form series. On HBO there is Boardwalk Empire, an outstanding shows that I watch. But the biggest treat is AMC's The Walking Dead Don't let the title fool you. This is the best show on basic cable. It is character driven, with great stories and writing.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Charlotte's Web Starts Spinning This Saturday!
 |
| Charlotte's Web starts this Saturday at 7 PM. at The Flying Dragon |
 |
| A great play with all ages of children learning and having a great time. |
 |
| The Flying Dragoneers hard at work getting this great play ready. |
Come help us kick off our storybook season with the classic children's story, "Charlotte's Web." A wonderful cast of children will be portraying Charlotte, Wilbur, Fern, and all of their friends. You don't want to miss this show!
Performances will be held on Saturday, September 21st (7:00 PM), Sunday, September 22nd (3:00 PM), Saturday, September 28th (7:00 PM), & Sunday, September 29th (3:00 PM).
Admission is $8 for ages 13 & up & $5 for ages 6-12. Ages 5 & under are admitted for free.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Personal Separation and Other Monday Musings
In someways, it was not a difficult weekend. There were not too many demands on our time, and even if we did not accomplish a lot, we did get to spend time together.
In other ways, it was a difficult weekend. I had to make a more clearly marked separation from someone. It is not something I wanted to do, but for the sake of my family, and the long term benefit of everyone, I felt it was the only thing I could do. But that does not make any easier to do what I had to do.
Because despite it's necessity, I know what it's like to be cut off. I know what it's like to have something disintegrate, and fell the desperation that there is nothing you can do about it. To have a huge hole in your heart, and realize that anything you try to do to reach out and mend things will only make things worse. That you can't even communicate how much you are hurt.
It has made me self-conscious in all my relationships outside my immediate family. Every unanswered message, every expression I make, every interaction I have, I now question what I am doing. My mind is clouded by the guilt of what I have done, and I see my own relationships through that prism.
The curtain of shyness that I have mentioned before in other posts is starting to descend again. I find it increasingly difficult to reach out and interact.
And yet. It is theater time this weekend, with Charlotte's Web starting this Saturday, and I have volunteered to help. And so help I must, even though I prefer to withdraw. Benjamin is contributing to the play with a small part. He plays a lead character's father, and it is amazing to see how much he's grown. Just a few months ago, we were noticing he was a s tall as his mother. Now he will soon pass my height. His voice is changing. The young boy is turning into a teenager.
I helped him get a new pair of pants. We went to the men's shop, not the boys. He needed them for Cotillion, which he started up again yesterday. His class is composed of about a dozen girls and him. He has also started an acting class that is also all female except for him. When I was his age, I should have had such problems!
We watched the movie Les Miserables at long last this weekend. I thought it was good, but I think it touched Alison emotionally more deeply than it did me. I might have known too much about what was coming. What I did not expect is that the singing was non-stop, almost like an opera. I prefer to hear some dialogue now and then, and although the music wasn't bad, its constancy kind of wore me out. And I think the grinding poverty contrasted with the luxury class kind of went over the heads of most of my conservative friends who have seen it, like it did with The Great Gatsby. Oh, well.
I start work again. I feel ill prepared for the type of interactions it will demand. But guilt or not, descending curtain and all, work waits for no man. Unless you don't have to work for a living. But that's a whole other topic.
Until next time,
T. M. Strait
In other ways, it was a difficult weekend. I had to make a more clearly marked separation from someone. It is not something I wanted to do, but for the sake of my family, and the long term benefit of everyone, I felt it was the only thing I could do. But that does not make any easier to do what I had to do.
Because despite it's necessity, I know what it's like to be cut off. I know what it's like to have something disintegrate, and fell the desperation that there is nothing you can do about it. To have a huge hole in your heart, and realize that anything you try to do to reach out and mend things will only make things worse. That you can't even communicate how much you are hurt.
It has made me self-conscious in all my relationships outside my immediate family. Every unanswered message, every expression I make, every interaction I have, I now question what I am doing. My mind is clouded by the guilt of what I have done, and I see my own relationships through that prism.
The curtain of shyness that I have mentioned before in other posts is starting to descend again. I find it increasingly difficult to reach out and interact.
And yet. It is theater time this weekend, with Charlotte's Web starting this Saturday, and I have volunteered to help. And so help I must, even though I prefer to withdraw. Benjamin is contributing to the play with a small part. He plays a lead character's father, and it is amazing to see how much he's grown. Just a few months ago, we were noticing he was a s tall as his mother. Now he will soon pass my height. His voice is changing. The young boy is turning into a teenager.
I helped him get a new pair of pants. We went to the men's shop, not the boys. He needed them for Cotillion, which he started up again yesterday. His class is composed of about a dozen girls and him. He has also started an acting class that is also all female except for him. When I was his age, I should have had such problems!
We watched the movie Les Miserables at long last this weekend. I thought it was good, but I think it touched Alison emotionally more deeply than it did me. I might have known too much about what was coming. What I did not expect is that the singing was non-stop, almost like an opera. I prefer to hear some dialogue now and then, and although the music wasn't bad, its constancy kind of wore me out. And I think the grinding poverty contrasted with the luxury class kind of went over the heads of most of my conservative friends who have seen it, like it did with The Great Gatsby. Oh, well.
I start work again. I feel ill prepared for the type of interactions it will demand. But guilt or not, descending curtain and all, work waits for no man. Unless you don't have to work for a living. But that's a whole other topic.
Until next time,
T. M. Strait
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Ripping Good Yarns: OCD Book Selection Part Dos!
Well, last time was son incredibly popular (NOT), I thought...what the heck! Let's do it again!
What do I read next?
Book lovers have their own different methods for determining that. Some may go to the library and pick something they fancy. Some may peruse ebook titles anddownload something new. Some go to a great local bookseller, like Waycross' fabulous Read Me Again Books, and pick out something that looks good, or they're advised to based on a knowing clerk's evaluation of their interests. Others hear about books from their friends, and want to read them so they can share. Others see a movie and then want to follow up with a book.
A handful may have actually bought a few books ahead, and pick out the one they are most interested in at the time they peruse their collection.
I, of course, do none of those things. My selection method is individual to me, and I don't necessarily recommend it to anybody else. It is something I enjoy, and have a great deal of fun doing, but I don't expect anyone to emulate it. In fact, many of you will think it is down right weird.
Well, to each his own.
Nevertheless, I have received inquiries as to how I pick so and so book, or why I haven't started so and so book, so I thought some explanation was in order.
I have a notebook where I list every book I have purchased to be read. I purchase quite a bit, because I love books, and nothing gives me greater pleasure (outside of the usual family and God exceptions) than getting new books. But I do get them at a faster clip than what I can read.
As I select a book to read, it gets crossed off the list. Currently, I have 66 books on the list to read. This includes graphic novels and some science fiction magazines. I select 10 books to read from the list, and read them in the order that they were selected.
I have dice as an app on my iPhone. I roll a number, 2 through 12, start at the beginning of the list, and count down that number of unread books on my list.
I have a rolled a 7.
The first thing I will read is the August 1951 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. It's from only it's second of publication, a magazine that continues to this day, and I get part of the new ones on my Kindle each month. This issues features stories by Arthur C. Clarke and Charles Dickens!
My next roll is also 7.
The second thing I will read is the graphic novel Bayou Vol. 2 by Jeremy Love. It is a fantast story set in the swamps of Louisiana. It was originally an online digital comic, and this a compilation of that. The first volume was very well written and illustrated, and I have hopes this one will be the same.
My next roll is 6.
The third book is The Peddler by Richard S. Prather. It is a book from the Hard Case Crime series, presenting both new classic crime and noir thrillers. Stephen King has done two of the books in this series, The Colorado Kid and Joyland. This should be a classic as it was first published in 1952.
My next roll is 4.
The fourth book is The Autocracy of Mr. Parham by H. G. Wells. I collect as many of H. G. Well's books as I can find, in as early of editions as I can afford, This one was written in and published in 1930, and that is the year of the edition I have. I'm not quite sure what it is about, except Mr. Parham attends a seance, and there is a section of five chapters entitled The Second World War. 1930, mind you!
My next roll is 11.
The fifth book is a graphic novel entitled Wonderland by Raven Gregory. It is another retelling of the Alice In Wonderland story.
My next roll is 7.
The sixth selection is a a graphic novel Catwoman Vol. 2: Dollhouse by Judd Winick and Adriana Melo. It is from DC's New 52 series started two years ago, and represents like their umpteenth version of Catwoman.
My next roll is 9.
The seventh book is Surfacing by Margaret Atwood, an extraordinary writer wh ohas one of her books listed on Entertainment Weekly's list of greatest novels of all time (The Handmaid's Tale). This is only her second novel done in 1972, and is a psychological thriller set in Northern Quebec. Oooo la la!
My next roll is 3.
The eighth book is the second part of the Days of Infamy series, End of the Beginning by Harry Turtledove, an alternate history where at the start of world War II, Japan has successfully invaded and occupied Hawaii.
My next roll is 10
The ninth book is Gone But Not Forgotten by Phillip Margolin, a suspense crime thriller. I obtained it from Alison's mother, Rose Aldridge, when she was clearing out some books. It's free!
My final roll is 7.
The final selection is Sleep No More by Greg Iles, suspense thriller that I just see the description "imagine if Rebecca was written by a man." Hmmm. Well,, I'll let you know!
Quite a variety this time. But still no Stephen King yet, of which I'm about three books behind. Oh, well! Maybe next draw!
Huzzah!
Until the next ten,
T. M. Strait
What do I read next?
Book lovers have their own different methods for determining that. Some may go to the library and pick something they fancy. Some may peruse ebook titles anddownload something new. Some go to a great local bookseller, like Waycross' fabulous Read Me Again Books, and pick out something that looks good, or they're advised to based on a knowing clerk's evaluation of their interests. Others hear about books from their friends, and want to read them so they can share. Others see a movie and then want to follow up with a book.
A handful may have actually bought a few books ahead, and pick out the one they are most interested in at the time they peruse their collection.
I, of course, do none of those things. My selection method is individual to me, and I don't necessarily recommend it to anybody else. It is something I enjoy, and have a great deal of fun doing, but I don't expect anyone to emulate it. In fact, many of you will think it is down right weird.
Well, to each his own.
Nevertheless, I have received inquiries as to how I pick so and so book, or why I haven't started so and so book, so I thought some explanation was in order.
I have a notebook where I list every book I have purchased to be read. I purchase quite a bit, because I love books, and nothing gives me greater pleasure (outside of the usual family and God exceptions) than getting new books. But I do get them at a faster clip than what I can read.
As I select a book to read, it gets crossed off the list. Currently, I have 66 books on the list to read. This includes graphic novels and some science fiction magazines. I select 10 books to read from the list, and read them in the order that they were selected.
I have dice as an app on my iPhone. I roll a number, 2 through 12, start at the beginning of the list, and count down that number of unread books on my list.
I have a rolled a 7.
The first thing I will read is the August 1951 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. It's from only it's second of publication, a magazine that continues to this day, and I get part of the new ones on my Kindle each month. This issues features stories by Arthur C. Clarke and Charles Dickens!
My next roll is also 7.
The second thing I will read is the graphic novel Bayou Vol. 2 by Jeremy Love. It is a fantast story set in the swamps of Louisiana. It was originally an online digital comic, and this a compilation of that. The first volume was very well written and illustrated, and I have hopes this one will be the same.
My next roll is 6.
The third book is The Peddler by Richard S. Prather. It is a book from the Hard Case Crime series, presenting both new classic crime and noir thrillers. Stephen King has done two of the books in this series, The Colorado Kid and Joyland. This should be a classic as it was first published in 1952.
My next roll is 4.
The fourth book is The Autocracy of Mr. Parham by H. G. Wells. I collect as many of H. G. Well's books as I can find, in as early of editions as I can afford, This one was written in and published in 1930, and that is the year of the edition I have. I'm not quite sure what it is about, except Mr. Parham attends a seance, and there is a section of five chapters entitled The Second World War. 1930, mind you!
My next roll is 11.
The fifth book is a graphic novel entitled Wonderland by Raven Gregory. It is another retelling of the Alice In Wonderland story.
My next roll is 7.
The sixth selection is a a graphic novel Catwoman Vol. 2: Dollhouse by Judd Winick and Adriana Melo. It is from DC's New 52 series started two years ago, and represents like their umpteenth version of Catwoman.
My next roll is 9.
The seventh book is Surfacing by Margaret Atwood, an extraordinary writer wh ohas one of her books listed on Entertainment Weekly's list of greatest novels of all time (The Handmaid's Tale). This is only her second novel done in 1972, and is a psychological thriller set in Northern Quebec. Oooo la la!
My next roll is 3.
The eighth book is the second part of the Days of Infamy series, End of the Beginning by Harry Turtledove, an alternate history where at the start of world War II, Japan has successfully invaded and occupied Hawaii.
My next roll is 10
The ninth book is Gone But Not Forgotten by Phillip Margolin, a suspense crime thriller. I obtained it from Alison's mother, Rose Aldridge, when she was clearing out some books. It's free!
My final roll is 7.
The final selection is Sleep No More by Greg Iles, suspense thriller that I just see the description "imagine if Rebecca was written by a man." Hmmm. Well,, I'll let you know!
Quite a variety this time. But still no Stephen King yet, of which I'm about three books behind. Oh, well! Maybe next draw!
Huzzah!
Until the next ten,
T. M. Strait
Jimmy Cracked Lawn and I Don't Care
It's been two weeks. I really should mow the lawn today.
But I'm not going to.
It's not so long that it can't go another week. It's not so long that I would lose a pet in the tall grasses. It's not so long that I wouldn't see a snake or gator before it was too late.
I don't mow on weekdays. I have precious few hours after I get home from work and/or activities such as theater or Writer's Guild, that I am not going to spend them mowing the yard.
I mow on Saturday mornings. And if it rains, why, I'll just wait another week. Rarely, I will mow with the atheists on Sunday morning.
The neighborhood we moved to is a little bit more upscale than where we were before, and many of the people who live around have highly manicured lawns, and well kept plants and flowers. But there are few who mow even less frequently than me, with grass grown fairly high, some sveldt high. So I figure if hit that middle ground, I am fairly safe from my neighbor's wrath.
We have a good number of shrubs and plants and flowers, that I don't really know what they are or a clue as how to take care of them. I suppose at some point, I might have to trim them or something. Fortunately, Alison's father and his wife do know about these things. so either they will tell me when I need to do something, or better yet, come in and do it when I'm not looking.
My Dad was a yard person, a hangover I think from managing a farm in his younger days. He never asked for my help, and when I did try (probably my Mother sending me out to do SOMETHING), he would give me little to do, and if I wasn't doing it right, he would just take the job back. My father is a wonderful man, but not really a great delegater when it came to yard work or household tasks. I did take over the lawn mowing by late junior high/high school. Like as I do now, we had a push mower.
Mowing isn't all bad. The routine physical exercise allows me to think, and sometimes to come up with creative ideas. I came up with the whole recourse of my life towards doing business and accounting as a career while doing yard work. Okay, that might not be the best example of positive creative thought.
There are some people who get great joy out of yard work, like my father, and Alison's father. More power to them. They only time it upsets me is when people of that ilk think that people who DON'T do that are lazy. Investing in a yard that takes a lot of work to maintain is a choice, not a requirement. What looks like a necessary chore to some may look like artificially created busy work to someone else.
Okay, let me check the yard again and see if I really have to do it yet.
Nah. I'll pass.
But I'm not going to.
It's not so long that it can't go another week. It's not so long that I would lose a pet in the tall grasses. It's not so long that I wouldn't see a snake or gator before it was too late.
I don't mow on weekdays. I have precious few hours after I get home from work and/or activities such as theater or Writer's Guild, that I am not going to spend them mowing the yard.
I mow on Saturday mornings. And if it rains, why, I'll just wait another week. Rarely, I will mow with the atheists on Sunday morning.
The neighborhood we moved to is a little bit more upscale than where we were before, and many of the people who live around have highly manicured lawns, and well kept plants and flowers. But there are few who mow even less frequently than me, with grass grown fairly high, some sveldt high. So I figure if hit that middle ground, I am fairly safe from my neighbor's wrath.
We have a good number of shrubs and plants and flowers, that I don't really know what they are or a clue as how to take care of them. I suppose at some point, I might have to trim them or something. Fortunately, Alison's father and his wife do know about these things. so either they will tell me when I need to do something, or better yet, come in and do it when I'm not looking.
My Dad was a yard person, a hangover I think from managing a farm in his younger days. He never asked for my help, and when I did try (probably my Mother sending me out to do SOMETHING), he would give me little to do, and if I wasn't doing it right, he would just take the job back. My father is a wonderful man, but not really a great delegater when it came to yard work or household tasks. I did take over the lawn mowing by late junior high/high school. Like as I do now, we had a push mower.
Mowing isn't all bad. The routine physical exercise allows me to think, and sometimes to come up with creative ideas. I came up with the whole recourse of my life towards doing business and accounting as a career while doing yard work. Okay, that might not be the best example of positive creative thought.
There are some people who get great joy out of yard work, like my father, and Alison's father. More power to them. They only time it upsets me is when people of that ilk think that people who DON'T do that are lazy. Investing in a yard that takes a lot of work to maintain is a choice, not a requirement. What looks like a necessary chore to some may look like artificially created busy work to someone else.
Okay, let me check the yard again and see if I really have to do it yet.
Nah. I'll pass.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Living at Swamp's Edge with Kayak Kelly
Very little of Dixon County Dixon 's
southeast edge. And at the edge of that
is the tin roofed cabin of Kayak Kelly.
Kayak Kelly Mavis, a broad
shouldered, white bearded man in his mid-sixties, lived there by himself, at
the edge of the swamp that he had grown to love. He was a retired biology teacher, having
taught 33 years at Dixon High School (actually the first ten years at Crowley High School
Kayak Kelly grew up in Michigan , near Owosso , and
came south after college, marrying a Georgia
girl he had met at Michigan
State
He took many beautiful pictures of
the swamp, some of which were displayed at the Okefenokee Heritage
Center
This morning he was planning to go
out with a mission in mind. For the last
few weeks, he was looking for something special, something unique. Something that might help stop the Compton Park
project that threatened to eat up what little swamp there was in Dixon County
He had seen it once, and catalogued
it in his notebooks. But something
recorded in his books would not be enough to create an injunction against the
developers. No, he needed to find it
again. A dahoon holly, but one like he
had never seen before. It was a large
evergreen shrub, almost more treelike.
It was bearing stone fruit, or drupes, when he saw it two falls
ago. And the fruit was blue. Not pale blue, or dark blue, or navy blue,
but a bright royal blue, a color he had not seen in the swamp before. As if some Technicolor wizard was playing
games with the film, trying to create an other worldly feel.
He needed to find it again and get
a sample he could present. He wanted to
have the contents of it analyzed, to see what unique properties it may have,
that might explain its color or if it possessed any other interesting
attributes.
So he took off, once again into the
swamp that started just behind his cabin, armed with a camera and a sample bag,
ready to save the swamp. Forrest Compton
and his bank, Andy Caldwell and his good 'n' greedy State Farm hands, Houston Graves and his
calculating ways, even Reggie Crowley and his all consuming and polluting paper
mill; ol' Kayak Kelly would find a way to stop them all.
On he travelled past the cypress
trees, winding his way on the waterways in his small kayak, past floating peat
mats and tree islands. He saw black gum
and bay trees, insects still buzzing and abundant even in November. He saw a fox, a few deer, and the rustle of
what may have been a bear. He saw a few
regular dahoon hollies, with orange-red drupes hanging from them.
He heard a loud noise in the
distance, and a sound that was not animal, not even a bear, nor a falling
tree. It was a mechanical sound, like a
bulldozer or other piece of equipment. Was he too late? Had they already started the excavation?
In his distraction, he had turned
down a waterway that he had traveled little, because to the best of his memory
it was a dead end. And this time it was
as well but.....
There it was! A dahoon holly, in all its wonder, the size
of a small tree, bearing royal blue stone fruit! This time he would get samples, and take some
down to Gainesville
to have his buddy. Dave Rowell at the University of Florida Compton Park
But as ecstatic as he was over his
find, anther sight made his jaw drop.
Next to a cypress near the dahoon holly, were an alligator and a
possum. Their faces were only inches
from each other, and they for all the world like they were conversing. Granted, it was November, not a time period
gators normally fed. But that didn't
mean those two creatures would hang out with each other. There was no fear or
tension in either of them. They looked
for the entire world like best buds.
Kayak Kelly had been taking
pictures of the dahoon holly, and now nervously turned his camera towards the
possum and gator. The normally calm
Kelly was shaking so that he lost grip of his camera and watched it plunge into
the brackish, acidic waters.
The possum and gator turned at the
sound of the splash and Kelly's blurted expletive. They stared at him for a few seconds, and
then returned to their own conversation.
That's right. That's what Kayak Kelly saw. The two creatures returned to their own
conversation.
Nothing left to do now but to pick
a couple of the blue drupes, and save the swamp. Save it for that possum and his gator buddy,
and countless other creatures.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
It's My Casserole Poem
Morning light
Mooning night
Silence in retreat
Chaos in defeat
Porous rock
Worthless stock
Foundation's smedge
Wisconsin's wedge
My favorite is Wells
Your favorite is Welles
For whom the bails toll
Without a jail roll
Candlelit mustaches
Blackened panaches
Altered reality
Flush centrality
I want your touch
Way too damn much
I need your electricity
To charge my ethnicity
I love my colander girl
I see it twirly a-whirl
Hateful dog tacos
Not for muchacos
Gerrymandered pudding and pie
Blended carrots turn red the sky
Mosh-pit divine
Broken town line
Red dress
My mess
Lonesome cove
Ten point stove
It's my casserole
It's my mink you stole
I did not earn the Grammy
I took it from my Granny
Sizzlin' stake
Handsum rake
Flesh dissolved
Poem resolved
Mooning night
Silence in retreat
Chaos in defeat
Porous rock
Worthless stock
Foundation's smedge
Wisconsin's wedge
My favorite is Wells
Your favorite is Welles
For whom the bails toll
Without a jail roll
Candlelit mustaches
Blackened panaches
Altered reality
Flush centrality
I want your touch
Way too damn much
I need your electricity
To charge my ethnicity
I love my colander girl
I see it twirly a-whirl
Hateful dog tacos
Not for muchacos
Gerrymandered pudding and pie
Blended carrots turn red the sky
Mosh-pit divine
Broken town line
Red dress
My mess
Lonesome cove
Ten point stove
It's my casserole
It's my mink you stole
I did not earn the Grammy
I took it from my Granny
Sizzlin' stake
Handsum rake
Flesh dissolved
Poem resolved
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Ripping Good Yarns TV Hall of Fame Winner 2013!!!
 |
| Last year's Hall of Fame winner, M*A*SH! |
The votes are finally in! We have our second entrant into the shiny new Ripping Good Yarns TV Hall of Fame.
Receiving 0% of the votes were the following -
Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman
Alfred Hitchcock Presents
Cheers
Lost
Receiving 8% each of the vote were the following -
All In the Family
I Love Lucy
Receiving 17% each of the vote were the following -
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Star Trek
The Twilight Zone
And the winner, our second Hall of Famer, with 33% of the vote is -
Seinfeld
The famous show about nothing. Just some people in New York complaining about everything, but in a very entertaining and amusing way. From the inventive Kramer (Manzier, anyone?), to the incredibly selfish George Costanza, the neurotic but attractive Elaine, and the ever fussy Jerry Seinfeld, it was a show that took small mole hills of plot and turned them into mountains. It ruled the roost of television for most of the nineties.
I was not a big fan of the show, but there was no denying it's tremendous impact. It had a huge influence on many subsequent shows and effected the way we looked at sitcoms.
So congratulations, Seinfeld! You now occupy the premier second spot on our imaginary Hall of Fame mantle piece. Huzzah!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)