History of the Trap Vol. 2: Chapter 3 - A Week at the Farm Part 4

 

4

 

The farmhouse was big.  Much bigger than I anticipated, or even thought possible.  When it was first discovered, I don’t remember it being described in such grandiose terms.

Once out of my room, Ginny led me on a tour.  I had been around some, but never with a guide, especially one as attractive as Ginny.

Outside my room, in the hallway, I noticed several rooms, perhaps as many as four.  Interesting, but not enough to accommodate everyone staying out here.  “There are not enough rooms for everybody to stay. Are these reserved for teachers?  Or some of the student management?”

Ginny laughed.  “No.  They’re reserved for something else.”

I still wasn’t getting it.  “You mean like for guests?  Like me?”

“Occasionally,” Ginny said.  “But not primarily.”

A light started to shine in my head, and rather than pursue it, I decided to move the conversation forward. “So, where does everybody go?  Do they sleep in the barn?”

“Well, I can’t rule out that nobody’s ever slept in the barn.  It takes all kinds to make the world go round.  But, no, the sleeping quarters are in the basement.” Ginny slipped her arm into mine. “C’mon.  I’ll show you.”

Before we could leave, one of the doors opened up, and Robert Bond walked out, buttoning up his shirt.  Robert was a founding member of our group, Artie’s Pals.  He’d left to be at the farm shortly after its discovery.  Before he could entirely shut the door, I caught a glimpse of someone else in the room, but I couldn’t tell who.

“Hey, Lance!  Good to see you out and about!”  Robert had a good sense of cheer about him.

“Good to see you, Robert!  You look good.  You must be taking to farm life.”

Robert glowed or turned a shade of red.  I’m not sure which. “I am!” he answered.  “Maybe you ought to take it up too?  Get out of that cesspool of nastiness at the high school.”

“Sure.  Maybe I will.” No, I wasn’t.  Too many people there to care about and help protect, not the least of which was my sister and father.

Ginny said, “I’m showing him the whole enchilada this morning, Robert.  Maybe that’ll convince him.  You want to join us, Robbie?”

That was new.  He’d never heard Robert called Robbie before. “Wish I could, Ginny.  I got to oversee egg production this morning.”

“What? Those hens won’t lay eggs without you?” Ginny playfully asked.

“You’d be surprised,” kidded Robert.  “Anyhoo, Lance, you are in good hands with Ginny. I can’t think of a better person to show you the farm.”

Robert left down the hall. I looked at Ginny, smiling.  “Ok, Ginny.  Show me the wonders of Farm Land.”

We started down the hall, heading to a staircase that would take us to the ground floor.

As we came to the head of the steps, I heard a door open down the hall.  It was David Deneau, once my lead actor in The Sands of Loren (the soap opera I wrote for school broadcast), and now the student head of the farm community.

What room was he exiting?  Wasn't that the same room Robert left?

At first, I tried to rationalize away what I saw.  Eventually, though, I was not able to that.

I’ll be honest.  I had trouble with it. But only for a while.  The more time I had to think about, the more time I saw them together, and how much caring and love was in their relationship, the more I came to accept it.

Not, as Ginny would later remind me, that they needed my acceptance.

Over my years in the Trap, Doc, I learned what a precious commodity love was. I stopped questioning it.  Wherever it came from.

 

 

A Series of Adjustments

 

Time chips away everything.

It takes an extraordinary man to deal with those chips and nicks in a courageous and kind way.

Such a man was my father.

Born in 1922, he, like many from that time, grew up on the family farm.

He was hard-working, doing his share of the family farm chores, and he was very intelligent, a superb student.  He had dreams of earning a degree and moving off the farm.

When it came time for college, he found it interrupted due to the decline of his father's health, and he was the only one able to keep the large family farm going.  This made it difficult to get the graduate degree he longed for.

So, rather than quit or get angry, he adjusted. It took him ten years to get through his four-year degree, but he never gave up.

He became a math teacher, one of the best in the state.  His theories on team teaching inspired the construction of an entire high school, one he would work at and eventually became Principal.

His time as Principal was long and successful, and he was well-loved by parents and students.  He insisted that his administrative staff keep their hands in the game and teach one class a day.  Quite unusual then, still rare today.

Even for the best of us, work-life can be difficult, and eventually, when it was time for him to be considered for Superintendent, they instead picked an outsider who had a doctorate degree (my Dad did not have one).  Immediately the Superintendent focused on my Dad as a rival and promoted him to Assistant Superintendent in charge of Purchases.  It was a position from which the Superintendent could better watch and control my father.

Consequently, my Dad, who probably thought he would work in education forever, retired in his early sixties. 

But he did not get bitter.  He pursued other dreams.  He took up real estate sales, and he and Mom bought a lake house where my Dad could go fishing.  He adjusted.

Later, this strong man, who was doing outdoor work and making things into his 70s and 80s, developed back trouble.  This was compounded by a fall from a ladder.

Yet, he did not despair.  As the lake house got too difficult to keep up with, my parents moved to a condo in East Lansing.  He continued to fill his life with what hobbies and joys he could, including enjoying his grandchildren. He adjusted.

As time went on, even the condo became too much.  Both my parents were becoming limited in their driving, and he could no longer go down the stairs to the condo basement.  

They moved to a nearby Independent Village.  They participated in the social life there and enjoyed communal meals with others.  He adjusted with grace and kindness.

His mobility became more and more limited.  At first, he needed a walker.  Then a wheelchair.  And then a mobile wheelchair.

Every step of the way, he adjusted.  

He started to have serious esophagus problems, and he had to slowly give up his most beloved foods.

He took up things he never did much before.  He watched more television, using Netflix discs to watch beloved old series, like Matlock.  He took up reading westerns. He loved visits from my family and me, and he adored Alison. I think he finally stopped worrying about me when Alison came into our lives.

He had to have more and more help from nurses and hospices.

Those who helped him always agreed  - he was unfailingly kind and polite and had a great sense of humor.

My father took his last downward turn in September 2013, passing at age 91.

At 66, I'm still pretty well off, but I know I am not what I was.  Whether it is one year or thirty years before I have to make the adjustments my Father did, I pray that I can face them with the same courage and kindness as was demonstrated by his love, strength, and spirit.

Plans Laid Low Wednesday Wanderings

 

Home with the dogs today*, as I was yesterday.  I am laid low by intense arthritic pain in my driving foot, fever, and some congestion.  Alson had congestion problems a few days ago, and Benjamin has them right now.

It makes it difficult to sit and concentrate on writing, but I'll do my best.

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

We got a new electric lawnmower, and it works pretty good.  Only thirty minutes to charge up, and then it runs for over an hour.  It runs longer than I can.

One of the things aggravating allergies right now is grass pollen. Our grass is fairly high (and more weeds than grass).  I feel like I need to cut it on the off chance it could help with the family allergy problems.  Unfortunately, there has been a lot of rain, and if that weren't the case, I would still have debilitating foot pain. I feel real guilty about not getting out there, but I'm not sure what to do about it.

Oh, well.  If I can ever get it done, at least I have a great mower to do it with.

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

I had hoped to get back into fiction writing.  But it requires a great deal of concentration, and between the pains and the meds, it is difficult to do.

But all is not lost.  It is giving me more time to plot out the coming chapters.

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

I haven't seen anything about the next OHC Writer's Guild meeting.  If I can get my problems under control, I would go.  

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We have a book/coffee shop coming to Blackshear.  I looked in the building that was constructed for it, and it seems pretty far along, at least as far as furniture and shelving.  I don't know how long it will be.

I look forward to donating books, and encouraging a special display of local authors (like me).

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

Is anyone excited about the Summer Olympics?  I look forward to seeing more of my favorite obscure sport, team handball.  I saw a match when the Olympics were in Atlanta.

It is a little bit scary.  Japan may be pushing it too early, as they have experienced a recent rise in cases.  Holding the Olympics is not worth people dying.

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

I saw a story about a recent outbreak in Florida in an IT department of a government building. Of the seven people, six got COVID, four of those were hospitalized, and two of those died (a very high casualty rate).  Only one escaped unscathed and did not contract COVID.  What was different about thst person?  They were the only one who was VACCINATED.

Tell me again why getting vaccinated is not important?

Wanderingly yours,

T. M. Strait

*yes, I know.  The picture above shows sloths, not dogs.  Hey - MADE YOU LOOK!

History of the Trap Vol.2 : Chapter 3 - A Week at the Farm Part 3

 I know.  This ain't much, y'all.  But I'm trying to get back to it.  I hope to be up to five to seven pages a week.  Please follow the thread label History of the Trap Vol 2 for more parts.

3

 

 

What were those sounds?  Was that a rooster?  Do I hear cows moong?  Is that a sound of a dog barking? 

The animal cacophony was interrupted by the sound of curtains quickly pulled back.  Bright light flooded the room.  I had to cover my eyes.

I saw a figure standing above me, but I couldn’t make out who it was. 

“Wake up, sleepyhead!  Time to riseth and shineth!”

She came more into focus as my eyes adjusted to the brilliant sunshine.  The auburn hair, the button nose, the gorgeous face.  “What are you doing here?”  Boy, was I groggy!

“You aren’t used to these farm starts, are you? Did I interrupt your twelve hours of beauty sleep?” asked Ginny.

“Give me a break!  It’s only my third morning out here.”  I pretended to swat at her. “And I’m not sleeping twelve hours, I swear!”

“Whatever.  C’mon.  They may need this room for…something else,” she said, mysteriously.  “Do I have to pull you up, or can you do that yourself?”

I had recovered enough not to have to suffer that humiliation.  I threw back the sheets and started to rise, only to suffer a different humiliation. I was only dressed in underwear, white briefs, and a white undershirt.

I tried to pull the bedspread around me. My face was a deep red.

“Good Lord, Lance.  I’m a nurse.  Well, sort of a nurse.   Anyway, you know what I mean.  No need to be embarrassed.”

“Uh, I’d like to get dressed now.  If you could leave, I can meet you in just a couple of minutes.”

Ginny laughed, A bright, joyous laugh that, despite my exposed vulnerabilities, pulled me into its infectious nature. “I’ll be right outside.  Don’t take too long. I’d hate to have to worry about your recovery and take your temperature.  Of course, all I have available is a rectal thermometer, so I would hurry if I were you.”

She left, and I dressed in record time.

 

In the Event I Didn't Go To Your Event

 

Yeah.  That's right.  Things are opening up, ready or not.

And I'm not.

I apologize if you've recently had an event scheduled, and I disappointed you by not showing up.  I'm struggling to come back into the flow of things, but it's coming very slow to me.

Why?

It's not all COVID.  There's more to it than that.

For comparison purposes, I'll come up with the best percentages I can estimate for the different things holding me back.

20% COVID

I think things are getting better.  If nothing else, I believe that vaccinated people are in large part protected.  But it's still disturbing to go out and see virtually no one wearing a mask (this is true where I live - not sure about other areas).  And to know many of those going about maskless are unvaccinated, as the vaccination rates in Southeast Georgia are VERY LOW.

We are still in a race between vaccinations and variants, a race I still fear Southeast Georgia will lose.

The first time without masks at my church was very stressful.  I had had recurring nightmares about it.  But the fact is that my church has a very high vaccination percentage, perhaps the highest of any other gatherings in the area.  It still takes some getting used to.

50% SOCIAL ANXIETY/INTROVERSION

It takes me a long time to get comfortable with people.  A long time.  And this period of tremendously reduced social interaction has left me more withdrawn than ever.  I really panic over the idea of going out and trying to be social.

I have done better at church because I have never completely withdrawn from church.  I stayed active as Church Treasurer and as a member of the vestry (although many of our meetings were done through that most terrifying invention - ZOOM).  I even attended some services when our attendance was minimal and the safety protocols very strict.

I am having my most serious trouble with community theatre. I'm scared to re-engage with the theatre community, and I'm not totally sure why.  Like church, I've had nightmares, but these center around how they've turned their back on me and don't even want me there anymore.  I know it's irrational, but not everything about social anxiety is rational.

30% HOMEBODY

I don't dislike people.  Once I break the anxiety barrier, I like their company. But this pandemic experience has made clear one thing -

I like being at home.

I love my home life.  I love reading.  I love writing.  I love streaming TV.  I love being around my dogs.  I love my family.  

I am a homebody.

I used to slide into after-work activities because I got off work at 6, and I would go to them right out of work instead of going home.  

But now, with my choppier part-time schedule, I can't often make that transition.  I may have to go to work, go home, and then go back out again.  And that's not easy to do.  Because I am a homebody, and once I get home, I don't want to leave again.

I look at the commitment that a play would take, all the evenings away from home, and I'm just not sure anymore.  Yes, I hope to do theatre again, but it will have to be the right part and the right play.  And as I age, those parts become fewer and fewer.

It gets tiring having to prove yourself over and over again.  Even though I've done as many plays as anybody in the last twenty-five years, there are still many in theatre here who don't know who I am.  They are new to theatre or didn't see the plays I was in,

That's the biggest thing I've figured out about community theatre over the last several decades - it's not like film: it doesn't endure.  With very rare exceptions, everything is forgotten over time.  Making an enduring legacy is impossible.

Did that add up to 100%?

Ok, good.

I'm not saying you won't see me anymore.

I'm asking you to be patient.

i

Friday Writing Randomizer

 It's a struggle.

I have to get back into fiction writing.

But it's a hard habit to rebuild.

I think I've got my time reorganized, but I'll have to re-review to get back into the novels I've started.

Meanwhile, I'll try to re-inspire myself by trying one of my favorite exercises - constructing a few sentences from the InspireMe app that generates three words at random and see what kind of story starts I can get.

gulf, must, victory

I can't keep going like this.  I must have some hint of victory, some small hope that the gulf between us has been at least partially bridged.

I see her at the restaurant.  She is drinking coffee, alone, reading from a book.  I bring her flowers.  She takes them.  She looks directly at me, smells the flowers, and dumps them on the floor. "It's going to take a lot more than flowers to make up for what you did," she says and then returns to her book, shutting me out of her life.

stream, depend, view

He loved to stream.  I would call him a streamaholic.  It was my view that streaming was ruining his life.  The bingeing took him away from us for hours.  It became impossible to pull him away from it.  He went from Bridgerton to The Queen's Gambit to The Underground Railroad. One led to another and then another.  He rarely slept.  I could not depend on him for anything.

Trying to cut the internet or stop the streaming services would just fly him into a rage.  None of my attempts to pull him away worked. 

I did not have to wait for the Matrix to take him away.  He was already lost.

adjective, fear, sugar

The sweet sugar melted in my mouth and then exploded in my pancreas. Maybe the adjective to describe sugar is not sweet but deadly.  Deadly sugar.  I love it, but now I must fear it.  Why does something I love so much have to hurt me so badly?

adventure, plenty, rubber

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surface, radio, thus

I didn't know it could go that low.  I had thought 550 was as low as the AM radio could go.  But in fiddling with the dial, I slipped lower before I knew what I was doing.  It pulled in 490 - impossible!  And stranger yet, there was something there! A signal, repeating a weird message - 

We are here.  We will conquer.  You have 48 hours to escape the surface of your planet, or you will be annihilated. Go underground or die.  This is your final warning.

What is this?  An update on Orson Welle's War of the Worlds scare?  I called my friend Bennie, and he jetted over.

The message remained the same, except it was now saying 47 hours instead of 48.

We debated what to do.  I tried to tell more people, but most wouldn't even listen to it.  The one exception was my girlfriend, Iris, who took it even more seriously than we did.

As the time approached, Iris convinced us to go to the high school and get in the fallout shelter constructed in the mid-fifties.

And thus, the three of us were part of the few to survive the alien apocalypse.

What happened next made us think we might have been better off not surviving.

People Will Only See the Meme

 It's going to happen.

When I post this on Facebook, people will see the meme, like it, and not read the associated commentary.

So, they won't know this...

I really don't like this meme.

Something about it hits me the wrong way.

Is it lying?  I guess not.

But taken as a whole, I find it discouraging and offputting, as it tends to a queue sera sera attitude - which I can't stand.

These are STRANGE TIMES.  These are DANGEROUS TIMES.

Yes, other times have been strange and dangerous.

HOWEVER...

The climate crisis continues to accelerate and threatens all our lives.  The planet is becoming less and less livable. 

We still live under a nuclear umbrella, and just sheer statistical chance leads to the likelihood of an accident, terrorist usage, or some dictator throwing the dice.

The Pandemic seems to be under control, but we are still in a race between vaccinations and variants.  And as we encroach further into wildlife territory and the permafrost melts and releases ancient toxins, what we just went through may only be the beginning.

The fact that so many Americans valued their personal liberty over caring for others and that so many politicized our efforts to be safe has to be disturbing, both in public health safety and a positive belief in human nature.

We have watched our American Democracy be attacked and eroded.  Even though Trump was voted out of office, his movement lives and thrives and eats away at everything decent about America.

Rather than a duck with his head in the sand, I would rather get my inspiration from Superman -

NEVER GIVE UP.

NEVER SURRENDER.

ALWAYS FIGHT THE NEVERENDING BATTLE FOR TRUTH, JUSTICE, AND THE AMERICAN WAY

Ok, some of that may have been from Churchill, but you get my drift.

As for the American Way, I mean the positive things about America - the Bill of rights, the slow but steady progress towards Civil Rights for all, fighting fascism and authoritarianism rather than bending to it, belief in the American melting pot, and in the strength of diversity.  E Pluribus Unum!

Yes, there is a dark side to America as well, represented currently by those who rail against immigrants and in the desire to preserve the American Caste System.

Sorry, Ducky.  Your cynical, surrendering, smartassery does not go over well with me.

These are strange, terrifying times.

And we must not surrender to them.

Post-Pandemic (?????) Monday Musings

 Is it over?

I don't know.  

But everyone around here is acting like it is.

And I don't just mean those who never acted like there was a pandemic.  I mean EVERYONE.

Stores may have around 10% masked.  In some stores, the employees are unmasked.

There are no crowd size limits.  The picture above is symbolic of the crowds to come.  Georgia and Florida already have held crowded sporting events.

Even my church, which had been super cautious, creating one of the safest environments in the area, has now gone unmasked.

And I don't even know what to say.  The CDC is indicating that vaccinated people are safe from getting or giving COVID-19.  So, it is logical that vaccinated people would not have to wear a mask. It is also logical that unvaccinated people would continue to need to wear a mask, particularly in areas with low vaccination rates (South Georgia - I'm looking at YOU).

That's great, but there is no way to distinguish who should be wearing a mask in public settings and who no longer has to.  And, for the most part, if you're so irresponsible as to not be vaccinated*, you probably haven't been wearing a mask anyway (unless forced to).

The numbers do indicate a downward trajectory.  This is across the entire nation and even Georgia.  But it is not gone.  Georgia COVID deaths remain well above 100 each week.  Ware County jogged down a month ago but now has stabilized at about 15 to 20 new cases a week.  Pierce County has dropped more, to only a handful of reported new cases each week.  There is a possibility that Pierce County just stopped counting.  I really feel like only the more serious cases were ever reported out in Pierce, that the numbers have been at least partially repressed.  

It's not only church.  I've had more organizational meetings start back up. I've looked at the social calendar for June that Alison is keeping, and it's busier than it's been in more than a year. It's making this introvert very queasy.

I've had nightmares about attending church with no restrictions, and those dreams have come true. The actuality was not quite a nightmare, but it did take some getting used to.

I've had nightmares that I tried to get back into the theater, but nobody wanted me there.

It's hard on a social introvert like me.  It takes me weeks and months to feel secure around people.  I now have to start over with that process of re-engaging with people.

People have to be patient with me.  I have to think hard about how much and how intensely I want to re-engage.

And I also have to think about whether it is really over.

I don't know.

Please continue to be as careful as you can out there.

And if you haven't gotten vaccinated yet, please do so.

*there may be a small number of people who have valid medical reasons not to take the vaccine.  I don't know what those reasons might be, but there may be a few who fall into this category.

Down on a Wednesday

 

Saturday Night Live has been on a long time.

And I have been there since the beginning.

One of my favorite bits from the early years was from a satirical commercial about dog treats, one  called Puppy Uppers, and the other was Doggy Downers.  It was making fun of how we were losing control of our pharmaceutical industry, and there was now a drug to help with any mood, even for our pets.

Things have skyrocketed since then, and drug advising has taken over television.  They promote tons of drugs to affect every mood or whim.  It's weird because these have to be prescribed by a doctor.  Do they think you're going to go to a doctor hyped up on these commercials and insist he prescribes it for you?  I guess so; otherwise, it doesn't make any sense.

👉 IMPROPERLY DONE SEGUE👈

So, as I have tried to warn my faithful few, not all of my posts can be Puppy Uppers. Some of them are Doggy Downers. 

I occasionally tend to depression.  Yes, even in the midst of these, I recognize how blessed I am. I have a beautiful family, relatively good health, and a stable life.  I have been able to indulge my passion for storytelling, even if it has not been particularly remunerative.

In fact, "not particularly remunerative" could be a major theme of my life. Without getting specific, I have never made what most of you think I have made.  I have pretty much been at the low end of the spectrum all my life.

I had a period where it was hard for me to keep an employer for very long.  That is more customary now, but it wasn't so much back then.  Most of my jobs were only a year or so, with two jobs topping out at about five years each.

Starting in June 1999, however, I have been fortunate enough to have the same employer through the present day.  That's 22 years in the same job.  It has provided base security, and it has been pleasant not to have to look for another job. I hate the application and interview process and am glad to avoid it.  

I am not a raging success at what I do.  I have been adequate enough to keep my job, and I do the best I can.  But there has been no upward momentum to what I do.  I have settled.

I have struggled for years now, trying to slowly break away from accounting and do more things that I love to do, with the hopes that some of them may replace some of the income I've lost.

That has not gone well.  When I first started this, I think some looked at me like a child who's just made a mudpie, and they pat him on the head and say patronizingly, "Good boy!" thinking all the time what a ridiculous waste of time.  Some just believed that I was indulging myself, and nothing would ever come of it.

They were right.  It may or may not be true that my writing/acting/voiceover stuff is too mediocre to succeed, but right or wrong, I think that what holds me back is the same thing that holds me back in accounting - a complete inability to engage in self-promotion and belief in one's self.

I don't know where to go from here.

My recent blog experiment was very disheartening.  I posted nothing new in April to see what the bottom line viewership numbers would be.  It was about 950 views.  Then in May, I posted 12 new blog posts.  Total viewership was about 1350.  Yep, the difference between trying and not trying was ... 400 more views.

I can't make money off my blog.  I've been permanently banned from advertising due to an error in judgment I made about a decade ago.  And it is my understanding that blogs are now considered old-fashioned and not the way you do things.

My fiction writing has crashed to a standstill.  I can't seem to carve out the time to write fiction - my schedule varies too much, and fiction writing requires more space.

I have a completed book that I'm too scared to send to publishers and agents.

My experiments in audio recordings on YouTube have been abysmal, even children's storytelling, which I'm supposed to be good at.

I haven't been in a play in a long time. I have nightmares that I go back to do a play, and it's not the usual "I don't know my lines" dream, but a "nobody likes you and wants you back in the theatre" dream.

And I've done nothing to be an extra or a very minor parts actor in Georgia's burgeoning film industry because I am too timid to make the basic steps to make that work, and I am depressed about my weight, age, and appearance.

There are no solutions here.

Just a major league kvetching.  I have to do that from time to time.

I promise a Puppy Upper fairly soon.

June 1 Biden Premium Update

 I promised that I would keep up.

I promised to maintain a Biden Premium, using the same analysis methods as I did with Trump.

Let it fall where it may.

If it doesn't show an improvement from Trump - well, all my Trumpeteer friends can dance around me and deride me.

I am not going to repeat all the math calculations.  I have shown the methodology several times, and if you are interested, you can find and read some of the earlier Premium posts.

To summarize:

Trump's Final Premium

288,285

That is the number of COVID deaths over what would have been expected based on our population, plus doubling it because....well, we have some people who don't listen very well.

Biden's May 1 Premium

11,513

This represented a substantial slowing of rate from the previous administration.  It wasn't ideal - there was still a lot of resistance in the country.  But it was lower than the premium from just a couple weeks prior, which I estimated at 17,000.

Biden's June 1 Premium

(1,615)

Wait.

What?

Why is that number in brackets? And in red?

Because it's a reduction.  It's BELOW what we would expect, based on the same criteria I used for Trump.

That's right.

The US is now doing BETTER than you would expect, not WORSE.

Thank you, President Biden.