Raspberry Vanilla Journeys

I took another trip today
A destination far away
A place where I could taste the air
A cool crisp ting, a Fall so fair

I could ride a bike
I could take a hike
I could see her there
I could be somewhere

It was almost like flying
I felt almost like crying
I was almost home free
I almost didn't see her at the tree

How was it she was just sixteen
There is not what I could have seen
But there she was, waiting for me
Hand reaching out towards me

I smell her first
I breath it with a thirst
Raspberry Vanilla wafts to my soul
Memories flood me, to me roll

My heart races a thundering gallop
My brain exploding from the top
I moved closer to my dream
Hand extending into your seam

Just as we were about to touch
The electricity became too much
The whole vision began to vaporize
The trip started to dematerialize

My beautiful trip was through
I was back in my numbers zoo
Had I ever really left?
Was there ever a quest?

There is a smell about my jacket
First of a crisp cool air
Then of a raspberry vanilla perfumette
Just like the one she used to wear

Maybe on another trip tomorrow?

I cannot wait.

Clyde's Last Photograph

It was the last picture taken of my Grandfather. I am the little boy in the picture, roughly eighteen months old.

Clyde Strait was born September 23. 1883.  He has no middle name, as did either of his brothers, Leon and Ross.  My Dad, the first child, was born when Clyde was 37.  Clyde's courtship of my Dad's mother, Flossie Snow, went on quite sometime, and was partly responsible for the late age to start a family.

I was not the first grandchild, as both my Dad's sister, Alice, and my Dad's brother, Douglas, had had children first. It is me, through whatever twist of fate and time, that is in his last picture.

He was a farmer, and operated a large farm in Southeast Michigan, in an area known as Stony Point.  The fields had to be cleared of rocks and stones multiple times in order to be usable.  He also had a lot of dairy cows.

He was often sickly, and my Dad had to take over the farming as he grew older, particularly in the forties.  There were complications with my Grandfather's gall bladder, mostly due to the way it was being treated.  The cure and medicines were often making him sicker than the gall bladder itself.

Clyde never attended church much.  He was suspicious of pastors, and though most of them were hypocrites, and mostly concerned with money.  My father in later life was a faithful churchgoer, but it took him a good long while to reach that point.

Clyde was both stingy and generous.  He had a farmer's sense of conservation, but was known to give money to children when he visited town, including the African American children he saw.  The progressive leaning that have threaded through our family was also with Clyde.  I remember my Dad talking about how Clyde and the family liked Teddy Roosevelt and the Bullmoose party, and were very taken with Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

I don't have a lot of personal memories of my Grandfather.  He died not long after that picture was taken.  He was run over by a tractor.  The tractor he was driving.  The tractor was having mechanical problems.  He got out in front of it to fix it, and the tractor took off somehow and ran him over.

I wish I had gotten to know him better.  From the letters and materials my father has, he seems like an interesting man with a good sense of humor (you think I'm the first Strait with that - ha!  Sometimes people inherit more than just eye color!).

I am grateful that my Dad lived long enough to know Benjamin, my youngest son, and to leave him solid memories and wonderful impressions that Benjamin will carry the rest of his life.

As Simon and Garfunkel sing in Bookends

I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you

Ripping Good Yarns: Movies that Scared Me

The surprise twist isn't what did Alison and me in, although that was surprising enough.  The little boy, as he and his mother were struck in traffic, suddenly receiving messages from his dead grandmother.  We got out of the movie, and it was a  long time before we could pull ourselves together.


Unusual for me,  I know, but this is not a numbered , ordered list, nor is it even comprehensive.  It's just the first set of movies that came to mind when I thought of scary.

Oh, so many Stephen King classics to pick from!  But as far as movies go, this Brain DePalma classic takes the prize.  The grave scene at the end caused me to jump.  Not even readers of the book were expecting that.

Just a theme that scares the living crap out of me.  People go to sleep not knowing a pod is near them and wake up...something else.  Maybe this explains the Tea Party!  YOU'RE NEXT!

So muck Hitchcock to choose from!  But I have to pick The Birds.  Something ordinary turns extraordinary and vicious without any explanation.

The Mike Myers series of Halloween movies is interesting, but the outlier in the series, Halloween III: Season of the Witch, is a real gem.  Thematically more epic in scope, the haunting commercial and  unstoppable evil of the menace made this the best of the whole fleet of these type of movies from the eighties.  Two more days to Halloween, kids!  Do you have your mask from Silver Shamrock yet?

I saw The Exorcist while in college.  My parents and sister came down for a visit and this is what we chose as our "family" movie.  They went back home, and I had to sleep in an empty dorm room.  I was up all night, staring at the window, fearing that something was going to come "through".

The Aging of Aquarius

Yes, sometimes a picture says a thousand words.  And sometimes it's just one.

It finally happened.  I guess the real miracle is that it didn't happen sooner.

The theater is such a hard place to leave a legacy.  I have done two dozen or more plays with WACT (Waycross Area Community Theater), and yet it always feels like that there are a lot of people, including many of the actors I am performing with, have never seen before.  It's disturbing in a way in that you would hope you would have left a larger mark.   It's interesting in another way, because it gives you the charge of always having to prove yourself.

A Christmas Carl, the current production I and Benjamin are in, is a very good cast, with a lot of very young actors.  Once again, many have not seen me at WACT before.  I have only been in two productions in recent years, as I have been concentrating a lot of energy on assisting Flying Dragon.  So it is not surprising that I am starting fresh.  We did the play 17 years ago, and the only one besides me involved again from that cast is Rhonda Powers, who is directing the play.

My son Benjamin has three roles in it, and is a doing a great job.  I am very proud of him. He does, unlike my part that is always on stage, get to spend some time with the other actors backstage.  And their big question to him is - is that your Grandfather?  And then they are shocked, SHOCKED to hear I am his father.

Yes, Benjamin is a later in life child for me.  Not Tony Randall or Saul Bellow old, but old enough.  He is a great joy to me, and to Alison, and was to my parents, and certainly for Alison's parents.  When, seventeen plus years ago, I was considering marrying Alison, who is younger than I am, I knew that there may be a child someday, even though at the time she was adamantly denying she ever wanted one.  I was smart enough to know that women changed their minds.  I accepted and embraced the idea.  And like our marriage itself (17 years this November 9), Benjamin has been a wonderful blessing, and a fantastic son.

But Grandfather?  Oh, the curse of white hair!  And of course, I play Scrooge as older than I am.  Nevertheless, when I look at it soberly, I know that it is at least in the realm of possibility.  I know of a woman and friend who is my age exactly, to the day, who has grandchildren...in Benjamin's grade!  I know of a few people who are grandparents before they turn forty.  I, on the other hand, have boys 32 and 29, in addition to Benjamin who will turn 13 December 7, and I have zero (count 'em) zero grandchildren.  So even though it is perfectly logical that I could be a Grandfather, I have not heard myself called that before.

So, I forgive you, my young thespians.  With a grin and a jump, and a Scrooge like "Humbug!", I dance on with my life.  Antique or not, I know I am loved! Life is the bee's knees!

Birds of a Different Location and other Monday Musings

Teams move to different cities, and sometimes they keep their team name and sometimes they don't.  Sometimes it makes sense to keep and sometimes it doesn't.  The Brooklyn dodgers becoming the Los Angeles Dodgers somehow seems okay.  The New Orleans Jazz becoming the Utah Jazz seems wrong.

So the St' Louis Cardinals football team moves to Arizona and keeps their Cardinal team name.  That just doesn't seem right.  Are there a lot of cardinals in Arizona?  Phoenix wavers between hot and hell on earth.  Cardinal is not the first bird when I think of that.  It would almost make more sense to me if the Atlanta falcons swapped team names with with Arizona.

Cardinals just fits with St; Louis.  Of course, St. Louis now has a football team that they snatched from Los Angeles.  Frankly, Rams doesn't seem to fit either place, unless it was meant as a companion name to the USC Trojans.

The world Series is on, but I find it hard to pay attention to.  I am a shallow baseball fan nowadays, and if the Tigers or Braves aren't in it, I don't have a whole lot of interest.  I have a good friend who is a St. Louis Cardinal fan (hope the team doesn't move to Juneau), so I'm very marginally cheering for them.  Besides I remember the most classic World Series as being between the Cards and Tigers.  

With my social director gone for the weekend (Alison had a great time with her mother at the So You Think You Can Dance concert in Atlanta), I had a tough time picking between competing events.  Someone said I should just do what the mood strikes me,  A dangerous suggestion to someone whose mood is usually inclined towards binge watching television and eating pizza.  

Benjamin and I finally decided to go to Amris Jam, a local event to raise money for children with serious health issues.  Benjamin found some friends there, and I did not see him for most of the time I was there.  I didn't really see anyone I knew, which is odd because Blackshear is not that big of a town.  I entered some silent auctions and lost.  I like the part of the cause that helps support these families with sick children, and I certainly support efforts to find a cure.  It saddens me, though, if the money goes to pay medical bills that a better more comprehensive health care system might cover better.  I hate to see families go bankrupt trying to provide medical care to a loved one.  I can't help but think of all the children who don't have festivals and community support.  They count too.  I give and support, but when I pray, I pray not only for these children, I pray that we adopt a single-payer universal health care system.

Until next time,

T. M .Strait

Stories From A Stony Land: Clyde's Letters to Flossie

Unlike my Dad's six week whirlwind engagement, my father's parents had a very long courtship.  I love how the letters reflect a kindness and patience sort of lost now, but also so a very clever and self-deprecating sense of humor.  And please notice the slight quickening of their relationship from the first letter to the second. Flossie was my Grandmother's nickname.  Her name was Florence Snow. The rest of the words in this post are my father's and my grandfather's.

The following two letters are copied directly from two letters my Dad sent to my Mother three years before they were married.

                                                                   March 6, 1912

Dear Flossie

          Well Flossie I will try to answer your letter I received last week.

I got home all right monday morning.  I guess I went through seventy five fields or less or more going home. Mr. Folks was not at home until the last of the week.  It was lucky for me I guess.

Mertie has got all over the chicken-pox.  She was the only one who got it around here.

Tuesday night we went over to Alfred's home to a card party.  I was not very lucky.  I lost the first five games.  I won only five out of fourteen.  Of course I called it luck.

Have you heard that Frank West was married?  I heard last night that he was.

Saturday night we are going to have a domino party.  We want you to come.  If the roads are so I can, I will be over after you. I will call you up saturday and see what you have to say about it.  You had better stay until sunday.

Well I have been cutting wood this week so I guess I had better stop writing and go to bed or I will be to tired to cut tomorrow.

Your friend,

          Clyde

                                                                  

                                                                   April 1, 1912

Dear Flossie,

I suppose you are teaching school this week.  How many scholars have you this spring?  You must have a few new ones to start in.

I think you must of enjoyed last week better than I did.  I thought it was the longest week that I ever spent.  Some of the days seemed like a week to me.  It was so lonesome.  No one came in except Gus and he just stoped a few minutes as he was taking a pleasure trip.

Don't you think this is a regular April day?  It looks good to see it rain once more, and I am always glad to see April, if it isn't a very pleasant month.

I have got about over the mumps.  They were not very bad with me.  Every body says I was to ugly to have them hard.  I told them that ugly people did not have them at all.

Gus said there was going to be a school play to Hanover the sixth.  I think we had better try and  go.  Don't you think so?  I was sorry that I had to stay to home from the other one.

Guess I will have to close.

With love,

          C.S.

(I copied these letters using the spelling, punctuation, etc, that my Dad had used in his longhand letters,) E. Strait

History of the Trap: July Nightmares Part 3

3

It was the morning of July 17th, 1974.  We had been trapped at the school for three months.  In a few short hours, as bad as we thought things were, the true nightmare would begin.  But we didn't truly know what day we were headed for, as the dawn broke, and we lay outside under the disappearing stars. 

There we were, many of us having spent the night outside, waiting for the breaking dawn, some huddled under blankets.  There was a sense of hope and anticipation.  We were there to observe the rocket launch, the one that the group that included Randy Sherman and the Physics teacher Mr. Cairn had been working on.  We were in a group of roughly a hundred who sat in a field about two hundred yards away from the launch.  Some of us had been out there all night.

 I had been there all night with Lisa, holding each other under a warm blanket.  So had Artie and Ginny.  I cannot tell you it did not bother me to see them cuddle, but it was now just a little twinge, and not deep heartache. Tom and Sue also were there, cuddled, and at times last night, their level of intimacy was surprising given we were out in the open, and there were a few teachers out there with us.  Jim and Mary were there, but they had not used the blanket, and spent the night quietly whispering to each other.  It was the most talking that I had ever seen the quiet, strong Jim Kurrash ever do.

There were many others there, including Robert Bond (Artie's oldest friendship), Wilbur Jones (my student council rival) and Cathy Summers (beauty pageant winner).  There was also Morgan LaDona Tigh and Mark Granite, completely submerged under their blanket and now just coming out to greet the dawn.  Their activity was so intense that Mrs. Fordress, an English teacher, had to poke their blanket and tell them to cease.  Mark Granite peaked long enough to give her a cold, withering look, and she backed off.  Poor Mrs. Fordress must not have gotten the memo that there were different rules to be applied when it came to our state track champion and his girlfriend.

Also there was Bob Short, standing with a microphone, preparing to speak, ready to record this moment for better or worse.  Our cameras were big and bulky studio cameras, and could not leave the TV studio.  But Phil Irman had a home movie camera he had gotten from the art teacher, Mr. Lopez. 

Sue Boschman excitedly came over to Lisa, whom my arms had been around.  She eagerly stuck out her hand to Lisa, and then they were both up, squealing and holding each other.  Sue had on a car washer on the fourth finger of her left hand, and it had an industrial diamond carefully melded into the center of it.  Tom Bodell had made her a ring.  Our very conservative conspiracist had just gotten engaged to our resident mechanical genius.

This took many of the rest of us aback.  The idea of getting engaged while being trapped seemed outside of the realm of our normal considerations.  Not to mention that Tom and Sue were just juniors in high school.  Yes, it was true that in many cultures people did marry that young.  It was not completely unknown even in our own culture.  But it was still unexpected. 

I looked at Linda and it made me wonder if that was something she was expecting.  As much as I liked her, I don't think I could ever take that step.  I looked at Ginny and Artie and I thought, my God!  They might do the same thing sometime!  How would I feel then?

My speculation was interrupted by a smattering of applause.  Dawn was fully up and the rocket was being wheeled into place.  Teachers let Bob Short and Phil Irman move in a little closer than the rest of us.  Bob Short began to talk.

In the distance I could see Randy, Larry and others prepared the rocket.  They set its position, so that's it's trajectory would shoot it past the tree line.  I wondered if it might land on Burger Chef, or go farther and set fire to Vayman's IGA or even, god forbid, Estill's Pharmacy.  Of course, none of these businesses could we see anymore.  We should at least be able to see Burger Chef, but somehow that was shrouded to us.

Mr. Cairns lit the fuse, and his team backed way.  We all held our breath as the fuse burned down.  When it looked like it had burned completely down, for a brief second, nothing happened.  We all feared it was a failure. 

Then the back of the rocket started belching flames out of its back end.  We cheered!  And the rocket took off; it's sleek red cigar shape piercing the sky.  Past the tree line it roared, past where any known trap barrier, and on.  It worked!  We all listened to hear it land or explode, but that sound didn't come.

There was wild cheering!  There was a way out!  The trap did not extend upwards past the trees!  I hugged Lisa, and before I knew it, we were in a deep kiss, as if we were celebrating Victory Day at the end of world War II.

As the roar of happiness started to die down, I heard a big harrumph and sound of disdain next to me.  It was the self-appointed genius and planner of the tunnel, David Yankovich, standing there in his long, unkempt brown hair and serious face, his arms folded, looking as if he had just watched toddlers make a mud pie. "It's not going to work," he said.  "What a waste of time."

"But it broke the treeline!  How can you say it won't work?' I asked.

He looked at me like I was a babbling idiot.  "You'll see," he said, and then walked away, not deigning to explain himself.

Tragically, later on, I did see.  But how David knew, and how he figured it out, I'll never know.  Because although I got to see, David never did.

Windsong Midnight-ation

I just can't seem to forget you
Your windsong stays impregnated on my memory stem
I just don't think for me care you
Your thought patterns are laser synched on them

Wherever the wayward waters splash me
That's far from the storm you carry
Whenever the cold winds slice and slap see
That's so far distant from where you tarry

I'd like to teach the world to sing
In perfect boogie woogie eight to the car
I'd like to see my plane take wing
And soar up, up, up to your shining star

I want yo staypo
I need you faithfo
I trust your satchmo
I drift yours floato

Anticipation
Blue Bayou
Walking after midnight-ation
Walking to you

Even though you're not there

Seminar Blues

Sigh.

Another weekend with the fiction beat out of me.

My fiction Friday, the best day I have to continue such efforts as the Crowley Stories or The History of the Trap, is being et up by an all day seminar on governmental accounting.  I have to have so many "education" credits per year in order to maintain my CPA license.

If you think a topic like governmental accounting would be dry or boring, well....you're right.  But the seminar leader of this class does her best.  She is impossibly enthused about her topic, and she tends to throw candy at people.  Since I lost no weight this week, I am likely to angrily throw it back at her.  Or just give up the whole weight loss thing in frustration, and start stealing the candy from everybody else and start yelling "Bring it!"

In the great tradition of Old Pat T and the Bathroom Wars ((please see Wattpad for this (I say modestly) great collection)), I will need to arrive early to make sure I have an unfettered exit.  I will need it, as my coffee consumption skyrockets at one of these things.

And not only will there be candy thrown at me, there will be beaucoups of snacks, and an all you can eat buffet for lunch.  Normally I am not that weak.  I usually do a good job of resisting food.  But when you're confined and it's all about all you can do to stay alert and motivated...well, it's not a good combination.

Maybe I can squirrel some time Saturday to embed into one of my fiction opuses.  We'll see.  But I also have to learn my Scrooge lines, possibly go to three different events all occurring tomorrow night, and help take care of Benjamin, the house and pets while Alison is away this weekend with her mother going to a So You Think You Can Dance concert.

Bah.  Humbug. (just kidding - practicing Scrooge lines).

On the other hand...there will be candy and afternoon break cookies.  Buh-bye, weight loss!

Anatomy of a Rockwellian Pose

Some old photos bring back sharp, crisp memories.  They transport us back in time and place, so vividly that if you close your eyes, you are there.

And other photos may be nice, but they are more shrouded in fog.

The picture above is such a one.

Whose home is it?  I do not recall such a door, or a door with a table so close by it.

The definites first.  The boy is me.  The little girl in the high chair is my sister Carol (she looks very skeptical that I am going to let her have any cake).  The woman leaning over her is my mother.  The elderly couple in it are my mother's grandparents.  I just don't know which set.  Are they her mother's parents from Texas or her father's parents from California?

I am tempted to say it's not only the California grandparents, but also the picture was taken in California at their house.  We did go to California in the summer of '59 or '60, and we did see them there.

Whose birthday? There are five candles so it must have been mine.  But was I four or five when we went to California?  I'm not sure.  My birthday is on June 9th, and the way school years used to end, it would be too early in the summer to be there. We would not have begun the trip until my Dad was done with the teaching year.  So if it was a birthday celebration of mine, it would have been late.

My Grandmother's parents we visited once in Texas on our way to one of our California trips.  Her father was an extremely eccentric man who owned a large junkyard.  The rumors were that he was very wealthy, but that the money was buried in the junkyard.  All I know is nobody I knew ever inherited anything.  Her mother liked to dabble in writing, so that may be where my desire to write began.  I have one of her stories and I will try to post it soon.  The strongest memory I have of them is that when we left them, Great Grandfather went to kiss my mother goodbye, and wound up biting her on the neck.  Quite a shock, but he thought it was amusing.  It might help explain my own aversion to sunlight.

My Grandfather's parents in California I remember even less about.  The only memory I have is that I was outside in his yard playing in his yard, and something I did irritated him, so he sprayed me with a water hose.  Not playful, but like I was a Selma civil rights marcher and he was an Alabama policeman.  My mother was horrified that he did that, and we did not stay there much longer.

The only one who can help me clarify this picture is my sister, and as she was very young when this was taken, probably cannot add much clarification.

A Rockwellian pose, starting to cloud over, lost in the mist of time.

Ripping Good Yarns: Where Have All the Rippers Gone?

I had a dream.

Well, not a huge, grandiose dream.  Just kind of a vision, a hope, of something I thought might be fun.

In the earlier days of my Facebook participation, I noticed that there were a lot of negative natterers on a lot of posts.  People for whom it was more important to diss yours and other's conversations than it was to participate.

Want to post about a TV show?  You might get derisive comments about that show, or insults about how it is a waste of time to even watch television, how they are vastly superior to you because they have more important things to do.

Want to post about a movie?  you might get lectures about how expensive movie theaters are.

Want to post about reading?  Don't even get me started about non-readers.

I thought it might be fun to have a place where people could discuss and share without having to be harassed.  A place where people could vote and have their own Hall of Fame or best lists.  Where you might discover, by seeing what other people were in to, something new and exciting to watch or read.

So when Facebook began offering groups, I thought I would take advantage of it.  Ripping Good Yarns, a name that I had in the back of my mind for decades, was stated, centering on the discussion of fiction and storytelling, the more melodramatic and serial in nature the better.

There have been many good discussions and postings over the last couple of years that Ripping Good Yarns has been in existence.No one ever has really gotten nasty or offensive.  all have participated in the spirit of the group.  We do have a Hall of Fame, although nominating and voting has been spotty.

For better or worse, I get to see the traffic on the site.  At its height, 15 to 20 people were looking at each post.  Now it's down to three to five.  Why?

Most of it is in the ebb and flow nature of Facebook.  People's level of activity varies greatly.  Some will be active over a few weeks and months, and then literally disappear.  I also think it is in the way that Facebook presents groups.  If you don't visit a group, Facebook does less and less to draw your attention to it.  Some who participated in it at one time have forgotten that it exists.

I have had a few people ask to join the group recently, but a good share of those have been from other parts of the world, and their primary interest seems to be to sell you something.  I don't want to boost traffic by turning into a marketplace.

I hate to give up on the idea.  I still think it's sound.  And it's a good supplement and focus for my blog.  I just don't know, with everything else I have to do, or want to do, whether I have the energy to keep it going.

Nevertheless, I will keep trying as best I can.  I will be starting the nominating for the next movie entrant into our Hall of Fame, although I fear that it might be like a tree falling in the wilderness.  Those of you faithful few who are still wandering in, please fell free to post on any related topic that you want to - the more that post stuff to it, the more participation we will get.  Mucho kudos to Benita Vierke Collins and Barbara Griffin in this regards.

I have to refocus on trying to get some ebooks on Amazon, and learning my Scrooge lines (trying to memorize that much stuff really makes me feel my 58), but I promise.  I will do what I can to revive Ripping good Yarns.  Like I've said before, I can be a stubborn old cuss!

Children's Theater: A Gift to Our Community and Our Children

Come to Flying Dragon and be entertained this weekend!  Saturday night's performance features dinner AND a show for only $10!  Can't beat that!  There will also be a Sunday matinee at 3 PM.

The Big Bad Wolf, played by Nawin Hyers, chases down Red Riding Hood, plated by Hannah Hayes.

Emily Beck shows off her singing talents while playing a pretty young witch.

A large group of fine thespains sing a big number.

I can't emphasize enough the vital importance of a thriving children's theater for a community,  Whether it leads to one of our alum, Kennedy Brice, with a recurring role on the nation's number one rated television drama, or it simply helps one of our young people gain more confidence in themselves at school and in life, the skills, camaraderie and sense of purpose shine through,  Flying Dragon will have a couple more events this year, but they do need your help in getting thorough the next few months and continuing to preserve children's theater in this area,  Come and be entertained, buy snacks and souvenirs, make tax deductible donations.  Help this special theater continue it's marvelous mission! 

Reshifted Weekend and other Monday Musings

Emily Beck, one of the many fine young thespians featured in the play we saw this weekend, Scary Tales of New Orleans.  This Flying Dragon production has two more performances this coming weekend, including a dinner theatre this Saturday night and a Sunday afternoon matinee.

After the events of my father's death, and with the conclusion of our weekend trip to the beach, we are settling into a new routine for our weekends, one that will last for me at least until the start of tax season on January.

I find myself spending a lot of time trying to memorize the lines for Scrooge, the part I am performing the first two weekends of December, in WACT's production of A Christmas Carol.  My son, Benjamin, is also in it, playing three parts including Young Scrooge.  This is the first time Benjamin and I will have performed together on the WACT stage. 

The cast is talented, with many young people.  The vast majority have never seen me in anything, even though I have been in over two dozen productions, at WACT and at Flying Dragon.  It is interesting how ephemeral community theater is, and how difficult it is to build a legacy of work,  It does not help that WACT has decided to not display on their walls photos of past productions, but only the posters.  Why they changed is a longer story for another post.

Work has slowed a bit, although I a sure projects will come up.  I am way behind on my CPE credits (hours needed in class or instruction to maintain CPA certificate.  So all that will be fun.  It is getting harder and harder for me to stay alert in seminars.  You see how long you can listen to some of these accounting topics.

Writing is still slow but steady.  I have to continue to reshift my focus to make it productive.  The blog's page view numbers are declining.  Besides quality of work, there are probably several factors.  I have changed the anti-virus programs on my computer, and IO think some of the sites that picked up my stories are no longer doing so.  My traffic is now smaller but more legitimate.  Facebook, where I post links to my stories, ebbs and flows, as people's level of activity varies.  I also have probably pissed a number of people off with more frequent political sharing recently.  I have found out that it is possible to be some one's friend on Facebook and eliminate or diminish seeing their posts.  I am sure some people are doing that now.  And I am diverting my own traffic by posting frequent links to Wattpad, where I have put up much of my fiction and poetry.

I have to take it to the next step, which is ebooks on places like Amazon.  Some of the Writer's Guild has  demonstrated to me that I don't have to wait for full length novels, that is possible to publish short stories and novelettes.  The fear of conversion to their formats, and cover creation keeps me petrified, but I have to fight that and take a chance.

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

Largest Civil War Reenactment Ever: Saturday Political Soap Box 76

And so it ends.

The world's largest Civil War Reenactment.  In the end, the government shutdown and debt ceiling fight turned out mostly to be a Southern thing.  I guess some things are never truly over.  It was almost like a modern day secessionist movement.

Was it about Obamacare?

Oh, I'm sure there is a lot of confusion, worry and resentment about this relatively mild insurance reform, mostly shaped by conservative think tanks and Governor Romney. Did they want a plan that excluded, eliminated, or just made private insurance companies compete with a public option?  I think not.  Do they still want those without health insurance to bombard the emergency rooms and pass the cost on to all the rest of us, in higher premiums and health care costs?  I think not.  Do they really want to see families go bankrupt trying to care for a family member, or get refused coverage because they have a pre-existing condition?  I hope not.

So what is it?

Republicans changed their mind about what they wanted out of the shutdown faster than a toddler in a candy shoppe.  Repeal Obamacare?  Defund it?  Delay it?  Eliminate some of its taxes or make Congress be covered by it (which they already are)?

Or maybe it's something else altogether?  Budget issues?  Uhhh, the resolutions took the Republican numbers WITHOUT OBJECTION OR CHALLENGE.  So, it couldn't be that.  Additional slashing of Social Security and Medicare?  Thanks but no thanks, Paul Ryan.

So what is it?  Why was the South in particular such a strong holdout in this?

Except for those districts that have been carved out for minority representation, the South as a block held out.  Why?  Yes, they have issues, cultural and economic.  But the bottom line is this - they have a visceral hatred for this President that goes beyond anything rational, and will object to their last breath about anything he does, even when he comes more than halfway to meet them.

Why?  Why such deep-seated animus?

I'll let you think about that for awhile.

A Meeting In the Pines

It was a very big house, but it was also considered by many to be the most beautiful house in all of Dixon County.  Over 6,000 square feet, with a palatial exterior fronting Pine Street, it looked like something out of Gone with the Wind.  Stark white roman columns fronted a vast entryway, and in front of that was a semi-circular driveway paved in a vibrant Tuscan red brick.  Parked in front were several cars, ranging from Houston Grave's sporty new BMW to Reggie Crowley's weathered Ford Supertruck.

The house belonged to Forrest Compton, owner of the Okefenokee Bank & Trust.  It wasn't originally his.  It was built in the fifties by a Yankee entrepreneur, Martin Olivet, who had bought out Darben Textiles, and had planned on exploiting cheap southern labor to enhance his fortune.  That lasted only a couple of decades when even cheaper labor was found in Bangladesh.  Darben Textiles was shuttered, and the whole Olivet clan moved on to Malibu.  The house lay empty for several years when Forrest's bank repossessed it, and finally Forrest got it for a song.  That meant, without a huge mortgage, Forrest and his wife were able to invest huge sums into its restoration.

The back had a huge veranda, with many sun chairs and rocking chairs, with umbrellaed tables and serving tables.  There was an Olympic sized pool, and an elaborate garden that included a shrubbery maze.  In the distance was a tennis court, where two men were busily smashing balls at each other.

Forrest's elegant wife, Marcia, looked out at the guests gathered on the veranda and gave a weak smile.  Thin and blond, her blemish free face shone like a bright light form heaven, her firm, round breasts were well defined by her pale blue sweater, and her shapely perfectly tanned legs were displayed up to the start of her pleated white skirt that ended two inches up from her knees.  She was stunning.  Of course it was mostly a magic trick.  Extreme diets, the most expensive makeup and plastic surgery all contributed to the illusion that she was extraordinary.  But the thing that contributed most was just her overwhelming belief that she was homo superior, that indeed she was better looking than everyone else.

"Reggie, can I get you anything?" Marcia said to the slumped over Reggie Crowley, lounging in a sun chair, his two sons in their own chairs near him.  Reggie and has sons were dressed in dirty blue jeans, with Reggie having on a faded brown work shirt, and the two boys in t-shirts, Freddy's adorned with the slogan Rednecks Rock and Digger's having a picture of Lynyrd Skynyrd.  Marcia noticed with a kind of terror that Reggie and Digger were cudding a chaw of tobacco, and was trying to motion her maid, Maisie, to bring over a trash can or something for the inevitable spit.

"Nah, Marcia, we fine," cooed Reggie, a Budweiser on the tray next to him.

"I apologize for the condition of our lawn, y'all," Martha said to the gathering.  "I haven't been able to get our black yard boy out her this week."

Forrest winced.  No matter how much he tried to teach Marcia restraint, she still popped off with stuff like that now and then.  Marcia had come from a rich West Texas patrician family, and their prejudices were even more ingrained than Crowley's.  He didn't disagree with the sentiment, just its expression.  Oh, well.  At least there wasn't anybody thee who might even notice it.  Except for Maisie, and she was just the maid.

"Them boys quit that stupid tennis game we can get this confab started," oozed Reggie.

"Yeah, Forrest," echoed Andy Caldwell, the insurance agent and brother of the mayor.  He was dressed in suit and tie and seated closest to Forrest.  On the other side of Forrest was Houston Graves Senior, the prominent partner of the CPA firm, Graves & Robinson.  A supremely tall man, over six and half feet, he had closely cropped black hair and a long face with compassionate, brown eyes.  He was well respected throughout the county, and people revered what he said in their dealings with him as an accountant, although no one was quite sure what he was saying. 

Seated centrally in a comfortable, oversized, wooden rocking chair was Daddy Delco himself.  Daddy Delco was a massive man, over six feet tall and tipping way past three hundred pounds.  But he was also a furniture store tycoon, and dabbler in other successful enterprises.  "Houston!  Trey!  Quit banging your balls and get over here so we get this party started!"  shouted Daddy Delco.  "Sorry, y'all.  I got a big delivery this afternoon and I need to get on to it soon."  Unbeknownst to the rest his anticipated delivery wasn't at the furniture store, but with Mindy Simmons.

Houston Graves Junior and Trey came up from the tennis courts, both glistening with sweat.  Huston Junior was as tall as his Daddy, if not taller, black hair like his Daddy (with less dye) and a face like his Daddy (with fewer wrinkles and less compassionate eyes).  Trey, the nickname for Forrest Compton III, looked nothing like his Daddy, only about five-nine and a bit of a pudge, which even exercise didn't seem to abate.

They were now all gathered.  Daddy Delco took the lead.  "So what are we all gonna do about damn nosy Kayak Kelly and that damn stone fruit he found?  This could set us back years."

A very nervous Andy Caldwell interrupted.  "Look, I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't have years.  If I don't get a return soon, I'm going down hard."

"Calm down, son," soothed Forrest.  "We're all in this together."  Andy had put a larger percentage of what he had than the rest.  Three hundred grand meant a lot more to Andy than it did to Reggie and Daddy Delco.  But Forrest was lying about then being it all together.  If Andy fell behind too bad, he would cut him out almost as fast as he would anybody else, if it meant preserving his own position.

"The swamp is a big place.  Lots of dangerous things.  Why, sometimes people go in there and they never come back out," intoned Reggie, and then he spit.  Marcia blanched.  Reggie's boys chortled.

Forrest sighted.  "No, Reggie, we're not going to do that.  I don't even like the hint of what you're implying. "

Reggie guffawed.  "You can't build mountains of gold from piles of chickensh..."

"Enough!" Daddy Delco shouted.  "There's no point to that.  He already sent it to that scientist in Florida.  That's where we got to stop it."

Reggie mused for a second.  "He might be a mite harder to get rid of."

"Good God, Reggie!  The way you think, how are you not in jail?" chimed in Houston Sr. "No, what we need is a lawyer, an injunction or something.

"Or a bribe," added Daddy Delco.

"How about a lawyer who can bring a bribe?" questioned Andy.

The Compton Park Development's group lawyer, Smith Walton, had died a month ago, keeling over from a body-exploding heart attack, and they had not gotten around to replacing him.  They all now realized that would have to change.

"You're right, gentlemen," said Forrest.  "I hate to bring somebody new in, but we need a good lawyer.  Anyone have any suggestions?"

"How about Thomas Cooper?" asked Trey.

"No, he's way too straight and narrow.  I'm not sure how he would handle some of the things we have to do," replied Daddy Delco.

Reggie couldn't resist.  "I'm telling ya, it's not unknown for people to disappear in the swamp."

Forrest shook his head.  If only Reggie wasn't the richest man in the county.

"How about Rondy?" inquired Houston Jr.  Rondy Strickland was Thomas Cooper's young partner and a member of the Honey Dew Lunch Bunch.

"Rondy," mused Daddy Delco.  "Don't know too much of him, other than his Daddy was one hell of a Judge.  And my daughter Christie speaks very highly of him."  He certainly looked more of a man than that weaselly, weak-looking Yankee that Christie married, Gariton Hollander.  "Houston, have you ever talked with him about the Compton Park Development?"

"A little, at lunch.  I don't think he has a problem with it.  Well, honestly, he really hasn't said much about it."  Houston Jr. thought that if it didn't have much to do with sports, skirts, or his own legal cases, Rondy didn't think much about anything.

"Feel him out," urged Daddy Delco.  "See if you think he can handle it.  I'll have my daughter feel him out, too."  Houston Jr. resisted a grin. That wouldn't probably take much persuasion.

"And then maybe, if he's the right man, he can take a little trip to Florida and see what he can do to persuade a certain scientist to give up on what is obviously a hoax perpetrated by his kind but old and increasingly old friend, Kayak Kelly," said Houston Sr.

"And let Christie go with him for good measure," added Daddy Delco.  "Let her add her feminine wiles to our legal and monetary urgings.  There's a trifecta no man can resist!"

The Compton Park Developers all raised their glasses to toast their brilliantly devised strategy.

And that's how Rondy got to spend an all expenses paid weekend in Gainesville with his lover Christie Delco Hollander.  Sometimes life was just sweet that way.

Ripping Good Yarns: New Show Revue

A quickie review of the new shows I have sampled so far, with a quick judgement of each.  The Michael J. Fox Show is a solid but not spectacular new comedy on NBC on Thursdays at 9:30.  Michael J Fox is good, and he is surrounded by a pretty good cast.  His family is interesting - not compelling, but interesting.  There is some play off of his Parkinson's but not so much that it becomes the sole focus of the show.  RATING: 6/10.  WATCHING?  Probably, although not high priority.

Once Upon A Time In Wonderland airs at 8 on ABC.  It is a much more romanticized version of Once Upon A Time, with less immersion into the real world.  The sets are astonishing, and the fantasy setting a bit overwhelming.  I don't know the characters well, but it seems like the romance angle is going to be heavy.  I  don't know if there is enough story-line or compelling characters to sustain my interest.  I'm not sure if I see enough of a story to maintain the momentum of the series.  RATING?  3/10. WATCHING?  May sample once or twice more, but I'm leaning against.

The Tomorrow People at 9 on Wednesday at 9.  A super powered team of young people, similar to the X-Men?  Editing done by my son?  How could I not be there?  And////I didn't like it.  I fell asleep in it.  It sapped the soul out of an interesting premise.  RATING?  2/10.  WATCHING?  For the sake of my son, and maybe because I watched it too tired, I may give it a chance or two more, but it's doubtful I will keep this.

Sleepy Hollow on Fox at 9.  I had low expectations for this one and did not initially record the first episode.  I caught it in repeat, and both Alison and I are hooked.  High energy and well written, with characters we're already involved with.  And f that wasn't enough, John Noble (Walter from Fringe) is going to be on the show as a regular soon!  The biggest negative for me is the over focus on Revelations - I think that is going to limit story-lines too much.  RATING? 9/10.  WATCHING?  Oh, yeah!

The Blacklist on NBC at 10.  James Spader.  Need I say more?  He is excellent as the creepy quasi bad guy.  They seem to have spent a little more money than most shows on effects, and it shows with some pretty dynamic scenes, including a fairly spectacular train wreck.  RATING? 8/10.  Watching? YES!

Hostages is on CBS Mondays at 10.  When I first heard of this show, I though - how can there be a second season?  Now that I've seen the first episode, I'm thinking - how can there be a first?  They have tried to balance sympathies in such a way that there is no real sense of menace in the show.  I have no idea, from the one episode I have seen, how it's going to have the interest or energy to go a dozen or so more episodes.  RATING? 2/10.  WATCHING?  Maybe one more, just to be sure it's going nowhere.

Joss Whedon?  Check!  Marvel Universe?  Check!  Awesome characters, witty dialogue, and great plots?  DOUBLE TRIPLE CHECK!  RATING?  11/10.  WATCHING?  Full family, must-see TV!

Also saw The Crazy Ones, CBS Thursday at 9, which I could not find a picture of.  The critic reviews have been...not all that great...but I found it to be funny and entertaining.  The cast has a good energy, and Robin Williams is manic and funny.  The outtakes at the end are the best part of the show.  RATING? 7/10.  WATCHING?  I think so,

Shows still to sample?  Reign and Dracula.  So be ready for subsequent Ripping good Yarn updates.  And be sure to tell us what you have liked or disliked of the new shows.

Flying Dragon Starts the Scares This Weekend!

• Come eat a delicious spaghetti dinner with us and experience the spooky side of your favorite characters, down in the bayou! SHOW DATE: Saturday, October 26th - 6:00 PM TICKET PRICES: $10 (dinner & show)

Flying Dragon Arts Center

405 Tebeau Street, Waycross, Georgia 31501

View Map · Get Directions

ABOVE IS FOR THE SPECIAL DINNER....BUT THERE'S MORE!  OTHER PERFORMANCES ARE LISTED BELOW! COME SEE THIS SHOW!

Come see your favorite characters, down in the bayou! Little Red Riding Hood, Scooby Doo, Rapunzel, Jack and the Beanstalk, and many, many more will be portrayed in a whole new spooky way! SHOW DATES: Saturday, October 19th - 7:00 PM; Sunday, October 20th - 3:00 PM, & Sunday, October 27th - 3:00 PM. TICKET PRICES: Ages 13 & Up - $8.00; Ages 6-12 - $5.00; Ages 5 & Under - Free This will be a special fun show, with lots of children.  The show will be ably narrated by either Kimberly Beck or Leah Miles (each one doing different performances), and the children will be showing off their non-verbal skills, and also performing some very entertaining songs.

Music of My Life Is A Spinning Round

Several years ago, I and other family members got my Dad a record player.  It's not a real antique, but an antique replica.  Bit it plays well.  My son Doug got my Dad some swing and jazz records and they enjoyed playing it.

When my father passed last month, and my sister and I had to clean out his apartment, there were not many possessions left.  My father had been shedding things for a number of years now.  I did get all his stories, which I will continue to post on this blog, and to gather in a story format.  But there was also the record player.

I did not feel like I could let it go.  There was also a small collection of albums that went with it.  These included the swing and jazz Doug had gotten him, but some records he had held for a long time.  There were three albums related to All In The Family.  There were more comedy albums, including Alan Sherman and The Watergate Comedy Hour.  There were some records that dated back to the forties, playing hits from that time, and spoken record albums, of speeches by John F. Kennedy and Franklin D Roosevelt.

And there were several records from a set called Reader's Digest: Down Memory lane.  It was a ten record set that featured an album or two of music for each decade, starting with the 1890s.  I remember listening to those as a kid, almost thinking I was a time traveler.  I loved their evocation of different time periods.  That set was one of the major reasons my love of music is eclectic and not confined to one time period.  While my peers were listening to Bubblegum Top 40, I was hitting the nineteen forties with Rum and Coca -Cola, Mona Lisa , Beat me Daddy, Eight To the Bar and On A slow Boat to China.

Shown above is a Linda Rondstadt album I found at an antique store last weekend.  She is an amazing artist, and I remember playing her quite often in college.  And she was very attractive.  I couldn't help but notice that she looked a little bit like Alison.  Which might explain some things.

I have put it in our den, my writing room, and it is a joy to have those delightful sounds as background to my writing,  It's like a magic teleporter,  taking me back to old records and sounds, and brings back fond memories of my father.

Let me close my eyes and listen.  I think I'm going to head on to the thirties, and maybe take a detour at the Blue Bayou.