History of the Trap: November Harvest Part 5

5

It was the best stew I had ever had in my entire life.  Yes, there was fresh meat in it, but only enough for taste.  But what a taste it was.  And it was goat meat, something I had never had before.  To me it had a mild beef flavor, but some of my other friends were saying it was similar to veal or venison.  I don't know.  After six months of canned meats, beans and peanut butter, it tasted like heaven.

The administration was determined to make the Thanksgiving meal special, and it certainly was.  The full bounty of our harvest was before us, and we all dug in with gusto.  We all sat around the table, and enjoyed the stew, and a cornucopia of other fruits and vegetables.  Nothing of this meal came from our store of processed foods.  Everything was fresh and homegrown.  We even had a small glass of fresh milk.  I was less than thrilled with that part of it, with the milk not being cold, and kind of thicker and sourer than I was used to.  But for many, it beat the heck of Tang and Kool-Aid,

The stew had plenty of vegetables, and a broth flavored from the goat meat.  There were carrots and potatoes and celery and tomatoes and navy beans, both in the soup and served as side dishes.  There were fruits like strawberries and raspberries and pears and apples.  Some of these were found on our additional land, but most had been grown miraculously quickly.

Some of our farm kids had moved out to the barn area, setting up portions of it for living quarters, and other parts for milking and slaughtering.  There were about a dozen guys that moved out there, including the Hodges brothers and the Deneau twins.  David Deneau's move meant that he would no longer be available for my soap opera, The Sands of Loren.  He wanted to concentrate on making a larger contribution to our community, and who could blame him.  Helping make sure the farm was well managed, and our food supply assured, was certainly more important than being the heartthrob in TV show,

Of course, that meant I had to explain his absence in my soap opera, as his detective character was the chief love interest of my lead, Dr. Brenda Marr (played with dramatic flair by Franny Cranfield, my very talented next door neighbor).  Having him fall into a raging Huron River, that was cresting due to a surging flood, and be swept away, left most viewers very angry.  Some blamed it on my depression due to Lisa's murder, but I was just trying to give David an out.  Perhaps I should've had him visit an aunt in Poughkeepsie.

"Man, why did you have to take out Detective Tommy Haskins like that?" asked Robert Bond, sitting across from me.  "Couldn't he have just gone somewhere for awhile?"

"Why, Robert, I had no idea you were such a fan," I said teasingly.

"C'mon, Robert," cajoled Artie.  "Don't you know anything about soap operas?  Did you see a body?"  Robert was his best friend since the time they could toddle to each other's house, having grown up right next to each other.  The connection between the two ran very deep.  Robert wasn't the most talkative amongst us, and he wasn't the brightest, but he was the most loyal and trustworthy. "Besides, you know where David is now.  Aren't you working out there yourself?"

Robert had been part of the agricultural team that had set up and grown the fruits and vegetables we were joyously consuming.  "Yeah, but I'm not gonna live out there.  I mean, there's only so much room out there and..."

"And you would miss us!" piped in Ginny.  She was seated next to Artie.  Artie was on my side of the table, and Ginny was in-between Artie and me.  That should have left me flustered, but whatever feelings I used to have for Ginny had dissipated.  She was with Artie now, and there was a girl in my heart now that was gone but not forgotten.

Robert turned a little red.  "I could manage out there.  It's just that....."

"You've grown accustomed to our faces!" chimed in Arletta Mierkey, one of the newest members of Artie's gang.

Robert turned redder.  "I know where I belong," he softly said, looking at Artie.

"And we're glad you're here," assured Artie.  "Like you said, their space is limited."  Artie raised his glass of milk.  "To Robert, and his incredible contributions to the feast we have before us!"

We all clinked glasses, even those whose glasses had already been emptied.  And yes, my milk was barely touched.  I hated to waste it, but a couple of sips were enough to convince me that I wasn't starved enough to drink it. 

As we set our glasses back down, Ginny said, "I think, this being Thanksgiving and all, we should all say what we're thankful for."

Artie looked at her, shaking his head a bit.  "I'm not sure that's a great idea, Ginny."  I think Arties was concerned about people like me, who had suffered such recent losses. Ginny looked over at me, a sad look in her eyes.

I decided I would have none of it.  It was time to break the eggshells.  "I think it's a good idea, Ginny.  I'll start."

Everyone hushed and looked at me, not sure where I was going to take this.  "I'm thankful that, unlike many here, my father is in here with me, and my sister.  I miss my mother, but those two help me remember her.  I'm thankful that I have such wonderful friends, who have been there through everything.  And I'm thankful no one is going to force me to drink the rest of this milk."

That broke the ice.  Laughter helped us endure many things.

Ginny was next.  "I'm thankful that my sister, Mary, is here with me."  She extended her hand to Mary, who was sitting across from her, and she squeezed it gently.  "I'm thankful for the warm sun, and the rains that come every Wednesday afternoon.  I'm thankful for all the things that Artie does..."

"Okay, we don't need to go into all that," interrupted Artie.  Ginny blushed, a deeper red than even Robert achieved.

Ginny's sister, Mary, picked it up.  "I'm also thankful for my sister, Ginny, even when she picks on me.  I'm thankful for all those who have tried to help us get out. Even if it didn't work, they tried, and gave us hope."  We knew she was thinking of big Jim Kurrash, whom she had grown sweet on, and had lost his life trying to create a tunnel to get us out.

"I'm thankful we still have music," piped in Arletta.  "And books, too.  And I love your soap opera, Lance.  Even if I can't leave here, my imagination can."

Larry Wiseman spoke up, another new friend, the super intelligent freshman, and one of the very few Jews in the Trap.  "I'm thankful that we can still use the laws of science and reason to make our lives better.  I'm thankful that the Trap recently changed shape, because that means it may be degrading over time, and if we can find out why it weakened in one place, maybe we can apply it to other parts of it, and weaken those as well."

"And then we'll be out at Burger Chef before you know it!" joked Artie. "I'll tell you, though, I don't think even Burger Chef can top this meal!" There were murmurs of agreement.  Yes, Burger Chef would have been incredibly tasty, but we were on a high of food that we had grown and prepared right here in the Trap. "I'm thankful that we have raspberries, ones that we can eat, and ones that we can give."  That led to a round of verbal raspberries.  "Seriously, I am thankful that, through all this madness, we have each other.  I am thankful to be surrounded by the best friends in the universe."

Robert cleared his throat, and then said, slowly, with much emotion.  "I am thankful for you, Artie.  I have been since the day I met you.  I am honored to have lived my life with you letting me by your side."

Artie went around the table, and gave Robert a big hug.  Then we all got up and joined in. Including Jerry Mack, who had not yet spoken.  While we were in our hug, I heard him quietly say, "This is what I'm thankful for."

Ripping Good Yarns TV Hall of Fame Winner 2014!

Our 2013 entrant into the Ripping Good Yarn's TV Hall of Fame, joining our 2012 winner, M*A*S*H.

The votes are finally in! We have our third entrant into the shiny new Ripping Good Yarns TV Hall of Fame.

Receiving 0% of the votes were the following -

The Twilight Zone 
Cheers

Receiving 3% each of the vote was the following -

I Love Lucy

Receiving 6% of the vote was the following -

Lost
Receiving 9% each of the vote were the following -

Friday Night Lights
Firefly

Receiving 13% of the vote were the following - 

Star Trek
Gilligan's Island

Receiving 22% of the vote was - 

All In the Family



And the winner, our third Hall of Famer, and FIRST drama, with 25% of the vote is -

Buffy and the Scooby Gang!

Buffy the Vampire Slayer!

Televisions best director in his finest show!  The vampire show that was about so much more than vampires!  The great 'biting' experience of adolescent, we watched the Scooby Gang grow, evolve and mature.  Great plots with incredibly witty and memorable dialogue, the show was a seven year trip through high school and young adulthood.  Xander, the everyman,,,,,Willow, the sensitive intelligent girl who grew into powers of witchcraft, and presented one of TV's best lesbian relationships....Cordelia, the snobby beauty queen who grew into so much more...Buffy, the slayer who just wanted to be a real teen sometimes, but refused to let her friends down.  So many many more, including the hearthrob vampires, Angel and Spike.

I am a huge fan of the show, and I am glad it is our first drama to break through.  If you haven't seen it, give it a try.  I think you will be pleasantly surprised.


So congratulations, Buffy the Vampire Slayer!  You now occupy the premier third spot on our imaginary Hall of Fame mantle piece.  Huzzah!

Ripping Good Yarns: Emmys Break Bad

Oh, the wailing and gnashing of teeth in Hollywood!  Modern Family won it's fifth Emmy for Outstanding Comedy series and the critics and elites are up in arms!  How dare they honor this show that they no longer consider the 'program du jour' when there is so much else available?

Let's keep it real.  This past Ripping Good Yarn award winner was one of only two shows nominated from broadcast television.  It's on a network that many could see just by sticking up rabbit ears - free TV.  So, along with The Big Bang Theory, it is the only one that the wealthy and the poor can enjoy.  It has to produce 22 plus quality episodes a year.  It deals with broadcast standards - it can't get naked or vulgar.  Yet, even within these constrictions, it produced a strong enough show to convince a plurality of Emmy voters to select it.

I say bravo, Modern Family!

I do think Orange Is the New Black, the series streamed on Netflix, was an excellent program.  However, I think it was mis-classed as a comedy.  It should have been nominated as a drama.  Of course, had it been nominated in drama, it would have lost there, too.  Because this year, no one was going to beat the farewell episodes of the juggernaut that was.......

Breaking Bad!

For the record, the only free TV program nominated was Downton Abbey, and that show only produces ten or fewer episodes per year.

I was slow coming to this series.  A terminally ill teacher who becomes a meth lab cook?  Not something I would seek out.  So when I began catching up with it on Netflix, I was amazed.  And ready for the wild ride of the last season.  I am in general agreement that the Ozymandias episode was one of the best episodes of TV ever.

This show has won the Strait Ripping Good Yarn award, but not the Ripper's.

Breaking Bad represents the next level of TV, basic cable.  It produced no more than 13 episodes a season. Nevertheless, it is hard to compete with the sheer quality of the show.

Yes, I know it's premium TV and not accessible to everyone, but my favorite is still Game of Thrones.  It may not be fair for it to compete against broadcast dramas, but that does not diminish it's overall quality.  It is by far the best thing on television, and as it becomes more accessible (heck, The Sopranos is now available on Amazon Prime!), you need to check it out.  And don't forget to read the books!

A special shout out to one of my favorites of the year, Fargo, for winning Outstanding Miniseries (of course, I thought it was a series, but you know, Emmy's and their crazy categorizing!).

Thank you, Modern Family, for reminding us that broadcast TV still exists and it can still produce some quality shows!

Enjoy Great Community Theater This Labor Day Weekend!

Four more opportunities to see this rousing success at The Flying Dragon!  On Tebeau Street next to Downtown Sandwich Shoppe!

Two great casts this weekend!  The Flying Dragon gives many deserving children a chance to shine!  Come see them all!  These are wonderful shows, that can be enjoyed by the whole family, and these kids are worthy of your support and applause!

The Final play by Waycross' own Edmund Pedrick. A family show about life, death and faith. (taken from the event site)

The very talented John Youmans has put together this extraordinary tribute to one of the area's most beloved and talented artists, Edmund Pedrick.  This will be a very special show, one not to be missed.

A publicity still from the show, featuring two great thespians, Stephen McQuaig and Ryan Beverly.

The late Edmund Pedrick.  I'm sure this production has him smiling from Heaven.

Weekend under the Sea and Sun and other Monday Musings

Elizabeth Beck as The Little Mermaid.

Emily Beck in The Little Mermaid.

The Little Mermaid started this last weekend at Flying Dragon on Tebeau.  I saw it twice on Saturday.  There were two different casts this weekend, and I was happy to see the daughters of my good friends, the Becks, play prominent roles in each cast.  One cast featured Emily Beck as the delightfully evil Ursula, and the other Elizabeth Beck as a romantically soulful Ariel.

There are two more casts that perform this weekend, Thursday at 7 PM,  Saturday at 3 PM and 7 PM, and Sunday at 3 PM.  Flying Dragon prides itself in giving as many children as possible an opportunity to shine.

My son Doug has come down for a visit, and we are happy to have him this through Tuesday morning.  I am torn going to work today, but I did not plan ahead very well.  I also have play practice tonight.  Oy,  But I saw him yesterday, and will see him again tonight.  He is in good spirits, his job going well, and having just moved into a home/condo of his own up in metro Atlanta.

The OHC Writing Contest has me stressed.  I and my guild members have a done good job of organizing the basics, and, thanks to The Strait Line, it is well funded.  But my lack of aggression in promoting it ism I think, beginning to hurt it.  I just hope that what we have done has laid the groundwork for success in future years.

Rumblings of a greater war to combat the brutal organization ISSIS have me concerned.  I do believe we have to stand in opposition to it, and that it may take much more than diplomacy.  What I won't countenance is anyone no understanding who is to blame for the unrest centered around Iraq.  It is now and ever shall be the responsibility of Bush/Cheney and their ill advised war.  People sometimes ask, when can you stop blaming the prior administration for things still going wrong?  In the case of the Mideast instability centered around Iraq, the answer is clearly for decades if not centuries.  They broke it - they bought it.

It was an incredibly hot weekend here, with temps over 100 and feels like temps up to 114.  I don't do well in this kind of weather, so I stay inside as much as possible.  You could feel the waves of heat out there, as if you were opening an oven.  Individual hot days mean nothing regarding the reality of global warming, BUT the rise in global average temperature DOES.

No movies this weekend, not even with my son Doug here.

Benjamin had a tough week at school.  He is making some hard choices, and with love and strong discipline, we hope to see him through.  Every year you can get a new draw of classmates and teachers, and so far, I'm not really happy with this year's draw.  But Benjamin is a strong kid, and we hope he will find his place, and that he understands he has our support and unconditional love.  And that sometimes restrictions and punishments come out of that love.

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

Ferguson - It's the Pattern, Man : Saturday Political Soapbox 91

Again, the purpose of these columns is not to offer well-researched treatises.  I'm not a lawyer, neither prosecutor nor defense attorney, and I don't feel like doing that based on contradictory evidence that is presented by both sides of the media divide.

So why did the people of Ferguson, and indeed, of many around the country, react so intensely to this situation, this shooting of a young black man by a police officer?

Because it's the pattern, man.

It's happening again and again, all across the country.  From statistics I've seen, on average, at least two black men a week are shot down by police. Unarmed black men.

Are all the African American males shot down as pure as the driven snow?  No.  They're HUMAN BEINGS.  Of any race/ethnicity, the number of saints available to shoot are pretty darn limited.

The Ferguson shooting of Michael Brown does not look good.  It smacks of over-aggression, fear and hyper reaction.  Whatever Michael Brown did or not, he probably didn't deserve to be pursued and shot at repeatedly.

As painful as it is, there is a process that has to be gone through.  You can't arrest people based on a mob's desire (the overwhelming number of whom are protesting peacefully - the kind of civic protest we actually praise when it occurs in other countries).  The number of morons looting are small but obnoxious, but it doesn't help when police tactics are centered on disrupting peaceful protest and assaulting the press.

Yes, there MUST be due process.  But make no mistake.  Many of us, including myself, feel that regardless of what this officer did or did not do, he won't be found guilty.  He won't be punished at all, or very severely.  Because we have learned the hard way that that is the pattern, man. White cops virtually never go to prison for shooting black civilians.

UPDATE: November 26, 2014.  The Grand Jury issued no indictments.  It was carefully steered to that conclusion by a prosecutor who was acting more as Darren Wilson's defense attorney.  The whole proceeding was designed to give him cover for what he wanted to do in the first place.

Never is the gap and divide in our media coverage more apparent than in the cases of these kinds of crimes and actions.

One media focuses on the victim and what their family and community are going through, and the nobility of the protestors (MSNBC, Al Jazeera for examples).

Another media concentrates on defending the shooter and portraying the protesters as rabid looters, animals that are ready to attack decent civilization everywhere (Fox News, Newsmax as examples).  You know...the opposite of the way they treated the Bundy defenders, who had assault weapons trained at Federal officers, and were ready to put women and children in harm's way, hoping they could get a story out of feds killing innocents.

It's the pattern, man.

It happens over and over again.  And the dominant conservative media always handles it the same way.

Another African American man was gunned down in St. Louis just a few days ago.  Listening to the chief of police, it sounded like a semi-justified killing, if a tad over-aggressive.  Okay, I'll buy that.  He was wielding a knife and was close to the officers.  But then the footage comes out, and blows holes in the basic story the officers presented.  The victim was farther away and his hands were down.  Not even this case was as clear cut as it was made to initially sound.


I found a compilation of headlines that was stunning in its contrast.  How white KILLERS are headlined differently than black victims.  The white killer is often portrayed as a nice person, whom nobody is quite sure how he could have done the things he did.

Examples of headlines about white killers:

Santa Barbara shooting: Suspect was 'soft-spoken, polite, a gentleman', ex-principal says - Whitaker Daily News

Ohio shooting suspect, T. J. Lane, described as fine person - Associated press

Examples of headlines about black victims:

Police: Slain Lakeland Teen Had Been Shot Before; Death Possibly Drug-Related - the Ledger

Trayvon Martin was Suspended Three times from School - NBC News.

That is just the tip of the iceberg in the contrast between headlines.

Consider this.

Cousin Bubba, the slightly wild white son of the local well known Furniture Store magnate, on some kind of high, walks out of a convenience store with an energy drink and a pack of Twinkies he did not pay for.  The police confront him only to find out Bubba has a knife.  Do you think their instinct is to shoot him dead?  Do you?

I don't think so.

Crowley Kaleidoscope

For days now, Christie Delco Hollander and Rondy Strickland had been searching the swamplands for the royal blue stone fruits that, according to Dr. David Rowell at the University of Florida, might be a cure for cancer.  It had shown in an initial unauthorized test the ability to eliminate cancerous lung tumors in a rat.  It created enough of a stir in Christie and Rondy's mind, that they decided to search for the blue drupes that Kayak Kelly had found (before his mysterious disappearance), and claim the cure, and its associated profits, for themselves.  Rondy, as the Compton Park Development's lawyer, was throwing up roadblocks to block the progress of the development that would demolish that area of the swamp, but the delays were pissing off the investors more and more, particularly the owner of the paper mill, Reggie Crowley.  On the tenth trip out, they found something.  But it was not what they were expecting.

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Pastor Dan received the report from his private investigator, Gibby Hanes, an acquaintance from Savannah whom he used often, like for Gibby's recent investigation of Congressional candidate Dotty Mathers.  Gibby's current report was concerning Racine Steel and her mysterious miscarriage.  It didn't help clear anything up.  He did find out that Racine was staying with an Aunt Theresa in Griffin, Georgia.  Racine had disappeared for a day, and when she came back, she had complained about bleeding.  When she went with her Aunt to the emergency room, the doctors told her the baby was already gone.  The nearest abortion clinic was in Atlanta, and Gibby couldn't get any information out of that place.  He couldn't even get the examining physician in Griffin to tell him whether there had been signs of an abortion or not. It was very frustrating how some doctors wouldn't play ball.  Like that creepy Hindu obstetrician, Dr. Mala Jhadu.  She was an affront to the good Christian people of Crowley, and Pastor Dan would have to make his next project to get rid of her.

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He had pulled away from her after her son would not let him in the trailer for dinner that night.  He was still polite at work, but there was no hint of anything else beyond that.  Maybe it was for the best, Janet Roper thought.  She really did enjoy him as a friend, and Gariton's wounds were still very fresh.  Gariton seemed to be increasingly affected by what Christie and Rondy were doing, particularly since those two had become more blatant in public.  She suspected that Gariton might be sleeping some nights in the office, but she had not confronted him directly about it.  The usually neat man now often had disheveled hair, and he often looked like he was in the same clothes as he had been in the night before.  He was going to the Oasis almost every night.  Maybe she would stop by there tonight, just to make sure he was alright.

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Freddy Crowley waited nervously in his Silverado.  He looked around, worried he might be seen.  Even though he was in Waycross, he still worried about who might see him.  Then Stephen came out of play practice, leaving out the back theatre exit.  Freddy's heart picked up a beat, and he suddenly didn't care about his worries.  Stephen was his age, but a much smaller frame and youthful appearance.  Freddy popped open the door and Stephen plopped into the pickup, eyeing Freddy with a coy smile.  They looked at each other for a moment.  And then they kissed.

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Amy Steel, Racine's mother, sat at the kitchen table, tears streaming down her face.  She was so hurt for Racine, having lost the baby, and she was so angry at the community, particularly those New Life Baptist people, that she felt paralyzed and ready to give up.  Then her husband Grant came into the kitchen.  Big old, unemotional Grant.  A great provider and someone who cared for his family, but not one who was often expressive.  But he came over and put his arm around, and she melted into his chest.  And then they kissed.

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Was Jesup far enough away?  Well, it just had to be.  It was their sixth rendezvous together, but the closest to home, only about forty minutes away. Thank god Angela's husband worked nights.  She wouldn't know how she could cope without these getaways.  Grace Scopes caressed he lover's bare back, the sheets only loosely covering her legs.  Angela turned to Grace, her blue eyes sparkling at Grace's touch.  And then they kissed.

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Take a chance, Franny.  Just take a chance.  She had mooned after Adam Garnett long enough.  Here they were, together in his room, and she had listened to him talk about Racine Steel and what Racine was going through until she couldn't stand it anymore.  He had quieted down, and they were listening to John Legend's new song, All of Me.  No more, she thought.  No more longing.  She took his face into her hands and stared at him.  Did he not know?  Did he not understand?  She was ready, ready to give 'all of me."  And then they kissed.

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Christie and Rodney did not kiss.  They were dirty and wet from their swamp explorations.  And they had just uncovered something that was decidedly not a blue stone fruit.  It was a hand, and then, a little north of that, a decomposing head.  After Christie was done shrieking, they were unsure of what to do.  They finally decided to go to Christie's, clean up, get a stiff drink at the Oasis out amongst the living, then come up with what to do from there.

--------------------------------

"You faggot!" Digger screamed.  Freddy's big brother had apparently followed him to Waycross and must have just witnessed him kissing Stephen.  Digger charged to Stephen's side, flung open the door, and yanked him bodily out of the pickup.  He pulled back his fist to ruin Stephen's face.  He got in one blow, Stephen screaming in pain, before Freddy could get around to the other side and hold back Digger's arm from delivering the next blow.  Freddy and Digger proceeded to beat the living crap out of each other.  A horrified Stephen ran away, getting on his cell phone to get another friend to come get him from this madness.  As he was bleeding and trying to hold back Digger, Freddy called out to Stephen.  But it was too late.

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Houston Graves, Sr., the managing partner of the accounting firm that Gariton Hollander and Janet Roper worked at, was eating a supper of catfish and hush puppies at home, when his heart seized up.  His horrified wife, Goldie, shakily called 911.

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Barry Mincher, night stocker at Yeltin's IGA, looked out the front of the store, and saw an ambulance, led by a police escort, racing past on its way to the Crowley Med Center.  The person must have been fairly important, to have a police escort.  Must be a white person.  Black people didn't get no police escort.  At least that's what Barry thought.  Hadn't ever seen no proof otherwise.

-----------------------------------

Reggie met Daddy Delco in the plush office Daddy Delco had in the back of his furniture store.  They were disturbed by the lack of movement in the project, and wondered what they had to do in order to get Rondy's ass in gear in order to prod the project forward.  Daddy Delco thought he might have a talk soon with Christie, whose googly eyes over that lawyer fellow was getting a bit much, but maybe he could use the relationship to his advantage.  The whole thing was making things difficult with that little Gariton feller, as he was asking more and more questions about the Compton Park Development's financials.  Reggie was thinking it might be time to bring his two boys in, and complement Christie's sweetness with a little bit of brute force.  Reggie had thought about meeting with them tonight, but both of them could not be found.  Now where the hell did those two boys go?

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Racine came into the kitchen, and was surprised to se her parents kissing.  She rarely saw them affectionate with each other.  They saw her and pulled away from each other, as if they had been caught committing a crime. She put that aside, and told them that she didn't think she could face going back to school, if it was alright if she finished out the year at home.  The Steels were big believers in public education, but Amy didn't have the heart to send her precious child back into that grist mill.  So Racine's mother agreed to check into home schooling.  Amy got up and gave her daughter a big hug.  She would always be there for her.  And so would Grant.

----------------------------

Later that night, Janet Roper went to the Oasis, Crowley's one and only bar.  She discovered Gariton there, in a terrible altercation with Rondy, with all three parties yelling and screaming at each other.  She had never seen Gariton out of control before, but something must have snapped.  The fight quieted for a moment, and then Gariton said something, in a painful strained voice, something that not all heard the same way, but became very important later.  Because what most people heard, as Gariton stared down Rodney, was "I'm going to kill you, you know that?"  God help her, that's what Janet heard as well.

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Three mornings later, Sheriff Alan Steel got the call.

Mathematical Illusion

I hear some of my friends struggling with their children's math homework,  I have not done so with Benjamin, but perhaps I should.  One of his recent scores was pretty low.  I will have to get in there soon, try to help, and most importantly, try not to make it worse.  Because I'll tell you a secret.

I don't like math.

I'm not really very good at it.


Whhhaaaat, you say.  But, Tom, aren't you like a CPA?

Which does involve numbers and logic, yes, but not necessarily higher level math skills.

It's true, I have a fascination with numbers and statistics.  I'm provably one of the few who is as fascinated by the numbers my blog produces as I am with  many other aspects of it.

But you start talking about algebra, or geometry, or God forbid, Calculus, and I fall apart.

I got a D in Regular Algebra in high school.

I got an F (that's right - the big flunkarooni) in Calculus in college.  I chose accounting in part because  I couldn't pass the math to be a computer engineer.

I remember my frustration over math homework,  They would assign you something, and I would struggle all night to complete it.  Well, sometimes I would give up fairly quickly, to be honest.  I mean, there were shows to watch, books to read, stories to write!  Okay, most of the time I gave up fairly quickly.

The next day in class the teacher would explain how to do last night's homework.  It would sink in.  Hey, I can do that!  Give it to me again.  No such luck.  She would assign something completely different, another something I had no comprehension as to how to do.

My Dad tried to help.  And he just wasn't another guy, another lost parent trying to remember themselves what to do.  My parent was one of the best math teachers in the state.  Even as Principal, he tried to teach one math class a day.  And his specialty was not the gifted or bright, it was with low achievers.  He got kids achieving at levels they never dreamed they could.  He was truly awesome.

And it didn't help me one whit.  He was patient, but I didn't get it, and I would become very frustrated.  Maybe because I was his son and our relationship was different, I just didn't learn even from one of the very best I could learn from.

And so when Benjamin needs help with math, I think....my Dad couldn't help me, so how can I help him?

But he's my boy.  And I'm going to try.

Ripping Good Yarns - Vote Now for Hall of Fame TV Show!

It's time!

Yes, I was not flooded with votes on this.  But any new idea takes time.  I have faith that Ripper Nation will become more vocal as time goes on.

The list of ten finalists to vote on is a compilation of what little opinion I could gather, filtered through my own input.  As we gather steam, I'm hoping to more straightly go by Ripper votes.  Every nominee was mentioned by at least one other person.

The finalists are:

All In the Family
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Cheers
Firefly
Friday Night Lights
Gilligan's Island
I Love Lucy
Lost
Star Trek
The Twilight Zone


So now the question changes slightly.  Of the shows mentioned here, which one do you think is most deserving of entry into the Ripper Hall of Fame?  Which one is your favorite in this group?  If you don't have a clear favorite, or haven't seen much of any of these shows, still try to pick one that, from the best of your memory, may have had the most impact on television and/or the culture.

This list is very heavy on recent favorites, but there are some great classic shows as well.

Vote here or on the blog - you may have to go the anonymous route if you don't have a google account, or haven't become an official follower of the blog, but that's okay.  Facebook friends can post in the Ripper group, or even send me messages.  Any kind of vote will bring great smiles to my face.

So vote, Rippers, vote!

Under the Sea On Tebeau!

Come join Ariel, Sebastian, Flounder, and all of their friends, under the sea. This classic Disney tale will be performed eight times, by over forty local children, for you enjoyment.

PERFORMANCES: Thursday - 8/21 - 7:00 PM; Saturday - 8/23 - 3:00 PM & 7:00 PM; Sunday - 8/24 - 3:00 PM; Thursday - 8/28 - 7:00 PM; Saturday - 8/30 - 3:00 PM & 7:00 PM; Sunday - 8/31 - 3:00 PM

TICKETS: $10

FLYING DRAGONS ART CENTER

405 Tebeau St, Waycross, Georgia 31501

Theatre

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livethearts@gmail.com

Get Directions

Come and see multiple times!   

There are many casts and new 

children featured very show!

Come watch them all shine!

Sally Finds an Easy Chair and Other Monday Musings

Our foster, Sally, enjoying the comforts of home, as her recovery from heartworm treatment moves towards completion.

Sally continues to blend into our home, spending a bit more time out of the crate now,  She is a very enthusiastic and friendly dog, and wants to be a lap dog, even though her medium size makes that a bit overwhelming at times.  She loves to be petted and to be around people.  Her heartworm treatment is almost concluded, and she should be ready for general adoption very shortly.

Our weekend was an enjoyable one spent entirely at home.  Our only real trip was to church on Sunday and then to take Alison's mother out to Applebee's for her birthday.

Friday I made progress on two of my writing projects, Crowley Stories and The History of the Trap.  I feel like I am turning the corner on both projects, and should see the completion of first drafts this year.  At least that's my hope.

On Sunday I added another part to Stories from a Stony Land, which are an adaption of the stories and genealogical research that my father provided me.  This is at an earlier stage than my other projects, but I am enjoying it, and it will be something to share with the family.

I had another submission rejected by the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, but I got less depressed over this one, as I have a couple more things out, so I just keep hoping something sometime will break through.

Speaking of breakthroughs, I have been invited to an event celebrating the launch of Pierce County Magazine, as it may contain a story of mine.  Given my work schedule and play rehearsals, I probably won't be able to go, but I am excited that this magazine will begin.

I wanted to write a political soap box about Ferguson on Saturday, but yard work, family, and sheer inertia took over and I did not get one out.  Nevertheless, it still haunts me, mostly due to the horrible division in response I detect.  We all see something different when we look into the kaleidoscope.

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

Stories from a Stony Land - The Revolutionary Generation

We have come to the fourth generation of the Strait clan in America, and the question is...do we have our first soldier?  Did a direct line descendant fight in the Revolutionary War?  Maybe.  My Dad's notes are somewhat mixed.

Samuel Strait, the designee for Generation number Four, has a birth date listed as sometime in 1750.  The death date is unknown.  I don't think this means he is a vampire.  Dates don't become completely solid until the 7th generation.

His name does not appear in the Rhode Island census of 1774, but is in the military census of 1777 as residing in Coventry, and that he was between 16 and 60, and able to bear arms (wow, that would make me still eligible if the same standard existed today).  In the United States census of 1790 he is listed at Coventry as 1-3-2 (no, I'm not quite sure what that means).

On May 20, 1784 he had a deed from his father of 25 acres in Coventry adjoining Fones Potter, Spink Tarbox and Thomas Strait.  On September 28, 1787 he was deeded five more acres from his brother Thomas.

On January 12, 1795, with his wife Patience releasing her dower rights, he sold to Thomas Nichols of Coventry "two thirds of the land where I now live."

The next part is what is uncertain.  My Dad lists it as part of the information he discovered, but a Gerald Strait has a note on the page disputing that is referring to OUR Samuel Strait.  Gerald's note is dated December 13, 1987.

The History of Rensselaer County, NY (1880) p. 436, states Samuel was a Revolutionary soldier, and a schoolfellow of Nathaniel Greene.  Confirmation is lacking, except for his name as a private in Captain Samuel Wall's Rhode Island alarm company dated at July 1, 1778, as shown in military papers at Rhode Island History -see reference 2-325.

The only reference to his death is some division of his lands that occurred in 1852.  Did he live that long?  I doubt it.  It was probably some division of his lands after more immediate family had passed, possibly including his children,

There are six children mentioned, but the order of birth is uncertain.  Three of them are listed as triplets!  The triplets were Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, with Abednego passing very young, but with Meshach living to the age of 94!  The designated heir to the fifth generation is established as Reuben, born sometime in 1776.

History of the Trap: November Harvest Part 4

4

It was hard to make a really good fence, so that we would not wander into the electrical field, and wind up crispy fried.  We had enough wood to have poles every six feet or so, but there was not enough to make slats to go across.  We didn't have enough rope, so we made do with different strings cobbled from home economics, maintenance and the shop area.  A team of students would work to repair, but sometimes the string would become undone or simply vanish, and people just trusted they would be safe if they did not pass the wood poles.

This was particularly true in the back areas, past our garden and crops, edging towards the woods.  It was still unfathomable how we could look out to where we knew the freeway was, and instead just see more forest. 

It was pretty much common sense not to go too close to the woods.  You would have to be crazy to try, or just so charged up that you weren't thinking right.

That had to have been the case with Randy Comleau and Connie Frapert.  They were so desperate to get off somewhere with each other that they ignored any fencing and determined that the woods were the best shot they had at privacy.

This should have been a horrible mistake.  They should have had their fried bodies discovered, or just be more of our puzzling disappearances.  They were not.

Even before we knew they were missing, they returned with the most amazing story.  They had gone into the woods.  They went deep enough to accomplish what they had hoped to do.  But when they were through, they got lost trying to figure their way back out.

They accidently went deeper into the woods.  And when they finally came out of them, they did not find the school.  They found instead a field.  A grassy field that was not unoccupied.  It had a large number of cows and goats.  In the distance, they could see a barn.  A red barn with huge lettering on the side, saying. SEE BRONNER'S IN FRANKENMUTH THE WORLD''S LARGEST CHRSTMAS STORE  HO HO HO!  It had a big bright picture of Santa.

It was the greatest stir of excitement since the first rocket penetrated past the trap.  Not wanting to get our hopes too high, and using caution, my father sent a team of teachers and a few students to test the barrier and see if it what they were saying could possibly be true.

The only way to test the barrier, besides getting fried, was to toss rocks at it that had organic matter rubbed on it.  Although it had been true the first day or so that the barrier seemed to stop cars, this was no longer true.  Inorganics could cross the barrier, but even the smallest amount of organic matter caused the barrier to light up and release its deadly charge. So rocks that had excessive sweat or blood on them, even rocks hat had been well smeared with vegetables or fruits, would cause the barrier to show itself.

To their surprise, the team found the barrier gone from where they expected it.  This caused a great surge of hope.  Was the barrier gone?  Were we finally free? 

Progress was slowly and experimentally made, test after test, slowly making their way deeper into the woods.  Until finally they came out the end of the woods and saw the field, the animals, and the barn.

Less encouragingly, the barrier was found again, just outside the barn area.  But the field and barn were safe.  We had not gotten out, but we had, if we managed it right and carefully rationed, the means to supply dairy and fresh meat.

But how was this so?  Did we miscalculate the barrier boundary before?  Or was it weakening and expanding?  Would it slowly fade away until we regained our homes?  We weren't sure what to think, and there was much debate for weeks afterwards as to what it meant.

It was weird.

We talked about the need for fresh fruits and vegetables, and then the wild raspberry bushes were found, followed by successful gardening with plants gestating at an almost impossibly accelerated rate.

We talked about the need for rain, and shortly thereafter it began to rain, every Wednesday afternoon, like clockwork.

And recently, I had heard discussion about the need for fresh protein, the desire for just a little bit of fresh meat.  And then these glorious animals were discovered.

Was it coincidence?  Was someone listening and making these things come about? What was going on?

It took me years to figure it all out.

And when the answer came, it was not what I expected.  Not at all.

Miscarriage of Justice

"Oh, shine!" said Lucy Mayer.  "It's them!"

"Them?" inquired Sheriff Alan Steel.  Lucy was his Dispatch Officer, a short, stout woman, who had served the county police department for over two decades.  She was the second longest active employee, next to Alan's twenty-five years of service.  They had an instinctual rapport with each other, and he had come to rely on her common sense.

Lucy had come back to Alan's office, and looked furtively towards the front.  "It looks like half of New Life church has come here.  Even that preacher man, I forget his name."  Lucy had some disdain for the church, being that she was a faithful attendee of the more proper First Baptist Church, at least more proper in her eyes.  Alan sometimes found the many almost unfathomable divisions of Baptists amusing, but that may because he attended the one and only United Methodist Church in Dixon County, Crowley United Methodist.  They had to get along, because if you were going to be a United Methodist, that church was it.  "I hate to admit it, Sheriff, but I'm a mite unnerved by them.  There's got to be a dozen or more.  What are they all doing here?"

A dozen was a big crowd for the police department's tiny lobby.  Thank goodness it wasn't half the church as Lucy exaggeratedly said at first.  They must have attendance in excess of a thousand. There were at least three churches, all Baptist of one kind or another (one claimed not to be Baptist, but it certainly walked and talked like that duck), that had four figure attendance numbers.  His own church was good sized, one of the biggest of the non-Baptist churches, but it still never had much more than 200.

Sheriff Alan thought for a second, and then had a horrible feeling he knew why they might be there.  "Oh, my lord!  This is probably about Race."

"Race?" puzzled Lucy.  "Oh, you mean your niece, Racine?  That poor girl who just lost her baby?  What could they want that had anything to do with that?"

"Watch, Lucy," said Sheriff Steel.  "Watch and be amazed.  Send in that preacher man by himself and the rest can cool their jets in the lobby, as long as they're civil.  And that preacher man goes by the moniker Pastor Dan.  I don't know his real full name."

Lucy nodded and went out to get Pastor Dan.  When she came back she said, "Pastor Dan is ready to come back, but Larry Luck and that politician lady, Dotty Mathers, want to come back with him."  Larry was a farmer in the area, and he was kind of a rival with his brother, Grant.  Grant operated the large family farm; the one Alan just wanted to get away from.  Dotty Mathers was the crazy woman running for Congress, and had made such a scene at Congressman Winston's last town hall meeting that a video of it went viral on YouTube.

"No, Lucy.  Just Pastor Dan.  I'll come out to the lobby and talk to all of them after I've seen him."

"Ten-four, Sheriff."  Lucy went back out.  After a minute, Pastor Dan came into his office.  He was a tall, rail thin man. in his thirties, with a serene face, but a commanding intensity in his hazel brown eyes. His brown hair was closely cropped, almost in a crew cut.

Sheriff Alan sat in the chair behind his desk, and just looked up at Pastor Dan.  He did not invite Pastor Dan to sit down.  He did not say a word to him.  He just stared at him, with a what-the-hell do you want stare.

"Good morning, Sheriff Steel," began Pastor Dan, finally giving in.

"You sure come a long way just to wish me a good morning," drawled Sheriff Alan. "And you sure brought a lot of crew to do it.  Y'all taking up power walking or something?  Y'all need us to get you some water or juice or something?"

Pastor Dan looked frustrated.  This was probably not how he envisioned the conversation going.  "There is a new law that has been proposed by the state legislature that will empower local police authorities to make inquiries abut any terminated pregnancies within their jurisdiction.  Now, it's not official law yet, but it is clearly the intent of the legislature to encourage our authorities to do this."

Pastor Dan paused, waiting for a response.  After a minute, Sheriff Alan said. "So?"

"Your niece, Racine Steel, recently left town to go to an unknown destination, pregnant with a child clearly outside the first trimester, and when she came back, the baby was gone.  She claims it was a miscarriage, but no one seems to know for sure.  We are asking that you make inquiries, and get proof that it was indeed a miscarriage.  Since she is your niece, it should not be difficult to acquire the proof that you need.   I know that you are a godly man, Sheriff Steel, and you will want to do what's right in his eyes."

There was another long, uncomfortable pause.  Pastor Dan shifted uncomfortably. 

"No," flatly answered the Sheriff.

"Sir, I am asking you, for the sake of the community, for the sake of that poor unborn infant, for the very soul of your niece, Racine, we must know what happened so that we can reach out and heal and make things right again."

"No," repeated the Sheriff.

Pastor Dan was flummoxed.  He had expected some resistance, but this lack of engagement was really getting to him.  "Why?  Do you not care about your niece and her place in Heaven?"

"I do not have to explain to you squat on a butter crust roll.  It ain't the law, and nobody can come in here and make me pursue laws that ain't even on the books yet.  And I care a damn sight more about my niece than you and your whole pack out there ever could, and I find it insulting that you would even bring that up."

Now the Sheriff was answering back.  Now Pastor Dan could engage.  "There is a lot of disquiet in the community over this.  Disquiet that might not be wise for you to ignore."

"Disquiet that you and your buddies out there are provoking.  Most people don't give a damn about this unless you rile them up."

"Is this because it's your niece?  It might seem you are playing favorites because it's your family."

Sheriff Alan had intended to stay firm but calm.  But this so-called preacher man was getting personal.  "Step back from the abyss, my friend.  You don't want to go there.  Let me make it clear.  I don't give a whit who it is.  I'm not going to do this.  It's an intrusion and a place I don't want to go.  Now, you get your allies in the legislature to pass this thing, and I'll have to deal with it.  Until then, do not darken my office with this nonsense."

Pastor Dan struggled to regain his anchoring.  "Fine.  I see there is no reasoning with you.  Just understand, Sheriff, that New Life is a large congregation, with many voters.  And it's not the only church in the area that could be persuaded on electoral issues."

Sheriff Steel rose up from his chair.  "Are you threatening me?  You think I care about the next election?  Hell, it'll give me an excuse to put this all behind, spend more time with Vicki, catch some fish, maybe slop some hogs with my brother Grant."

He got up and opened his office door, gesturing for Pastor Dan to leave.  "I've had my say.  You got your answer.  Now you and your congregation go someplace and maybe pray a minute about what your priorities really should be."

Pastor Dan could not resist one last plea.  "Look, you maybe could end this yourself," he whispered.  "You probably already know, being that she's your brother's daughter.  Just let me know what you know, and I'll take your word for it, and I'll end this right now."

Sheriff Alan looked at him coldly.  "I don't have to tell you a single damn thing."  He got within inches of his face, looking up at the taller man.  "Now get out of my station.  We got real work to do here."

Pastor Dan started to say something else, thought better of it, and walked back to the lobby. The Sheriff followed, up until the front counter. Pastor Dan shook his head no to his waiting congregants.  There was wailing and screaming, as if half the town had disappeared in a mining accident. 

"We'll have your job for this!" shouted Dotty Mathers, her booming voice rising above all other noise. 

The Sheriff guffawed.  "Have at it, Dotty!  Quit your run for Congress and come be Sheriff.  That ought to be entertaining!"  Lucy Mayers couldn't help but to snort out a laugh.

Pastor Dan quieted the crowd.  "Listen, everybody!  Please!  Now, Sheriff Steel is a good man, and we're not an unruly mob.  We can't bully him into accepting the truth, especially when it involves his own flesh and blood.  Now, we have, in good faith, tried the powers of persuasion, and it did not work.  Let us go back to New Life and begin a prayer vigil, because we all know the true and awesome power of prayer!"

The crowd assented its affirmation, and then left the County police station.

"The worst thing about 'Baptist, is that any pack of fools think if they put that in the name of their church that makes them 'Baptist'.  Trust me, my First Baptist people would never behave this way," huffed Lucy.

"Really, Lucy?"  The Sheriff released a heavy sigh.  "I guess we'll see over time, won't we?"

Chucking it all and just grabbing a fishing pole was sounding better and better all the time.  That's what he was thinking as he closed his eyes for just a second, trying to melt all the stress away,

But it wasn't over.  It was just the beginning of what would prove to be the most stressful week of his life.