Rocky Ride

 Another poem I found when trying to clean up the boxes in my study.  When this is from, I'm not sure.  It could trace back to high school, but it could be from later, college or my twenties.

The world is coming to an end

Some see natural catastrophe

of floods and fire, of earthquakes

and locusts as from long ago

They warn of the coming of the apocalypse.

As for survivors, only true believers need apply.

Some see doom in the rise of technology

and the fall of humanity.

Filth and pollution and environmental destruction

leave the world a decayed apple.

fit only for worms and other creatures

that thrive in the slime.

Others see the end as coming in man's aggressive toys.

Bmbs and germs and other things

that can make the world go boom in a press of a button.

They warn of the spread of this terror

to smaller countries and littler people.

Pompous dictators and idealistic revolutionaries dying to start the war

no one will survive.

Others close their eyes to the coming doom

And choose t olive out their lives in blissful ignorance

consuming themselves into oblivion.

Some even preach the gospel of hope, 

that man can conquer any problem

and the end is only the fantasy of gutless doomsayers.

But I, just like the small boy

on his first roller coaster ride at the amusement park,

only want a hand to hold

during the rocky ride.

Time of the Blues _ Hollowed Teen Blues Part 2

 In Part 1, our intrepid band of wayward teens had broken into the Gurney Mansion, intending to vandalize the abandoned and decaying home. As they enter the extensive library, they find a chair in the middle of the room. A chair that is not empty.

They froze, overwhelmed by the apparition seated in the oversized chair.  

It was a figure dressed in white, a white so bright it emanated light. Everything was white - white loafers, white pants, white shirt, even white hair.  

It was not a ghost. It was something much, much worse.

It was a Kingdom Knight, a member of the special Knight's Guard that enforced the holy laws of the Kingdom. 

And it wasn't just any Knight. Oh, no.

The only things that were not white were a black tie and a red badge with a black number in the center. 

"Hello, Hunter," said the Knight, sitting, staring at them smugly. "In the vernacular popular before Kingdom Rise, you all are 'busted."

Hunter Blue stood deflated. He removed his goalie mask, having already been identified. A cold chill filled him. He knew who this Knight was. No question about it. It was his Uncle, Luther Blue. The family member who had climbed the highest in the Kingdom hierarchy. Luther was the Sheriff of Dizon County.

"Look, Luther," pleaded Hunter. "We didn't mean nothing. We was just having some fun..."

Luther cut him off. "Fun.  is that what you call it? Celebrating an unsanctioned holiday in forbidden costumes?" He pointed to Winston, who was holding the egg carton. "Intending to vandalize personal property?"

Suddenly feeling exposed in her Jezebel outfit of transparent scarves, Candy said, "Please. We're sorry. We'll go home and repent. I swears."

Luther picked up a nearby drop cloth and flung it at Candy. "Here. Cover yourself up, harlot."

Luther, standing, his commanding presence dwarfing them, continued. "This is an egregious and insulting slap in the face to the Kingdom, to the church, and to your families. All that we have tried to do to give you decent, safe, and holy lives, you have spit on. It seems like there is only one thing to do with all."

Jessica moaned. "Oh, no. Please don't."

Luther stared at Jessica, a crooked smirk on his face. "Be grateful, witch. If this were the seventeenth century, you would be burned at the stake. If I thought you were a witch, you would receive the harshest punishment. But, no. I know your family, and I know you're just a stupid child who doesn't know any better."  

Luther walked up to Hunter, inches from his face. "No. What should happen is that y'all should be sent to Redemption Camps. For however many years it takes to straighten you out."

"Come on, Luther!" Hunter said. "You don't need to do that!"

That's Sheriff Blue," Luther said.

"Sheriff Blue," Hunter corrected himself.

Luthrt paced, passing by each one, all but Hunter whimpering. "Why should let you unholy delinquents get away with this?"

"Give us a chance, Sheriff," whimpered Winston. "We'll do better. I promise."

"Oh, yes, you will," said Luther. "Maybe I will let this pass. But if I do, you will be mine. I expect you to report to me every week with a detailed report on anyone, and I mean anyone, who is planning anything or is out of line in any way."

Hunter grasped what Luther was implying quicker than the rest. "You mean, you want us to be your narcs?"

Luther sighted. "Another archaic reference. I prefer to think of you as Truth Seekers, helping me shine the light on evil and treason. Do you think you can do that?"

"Do we have a choice?" asked Hunter.

"Of course. I can have you at the Redemption Camps first thing in the morning."

Hunter did not like being put in this position at all. But since this was what it was, he knew the only thing he could say. "Sign up up. Your new Truth Seekers Squad stands before you."

"Fantastic!" Luther smiled. "Welcome to the defense of the Kingdom!"

The teens stood, vanquished, hollowed out, empty vessels fit to be filled with spying for a Kingdom none of them really believed in.

Time of the Blues - Hollowed Teen Blues Part 1

 Halloween had been murdered.

Strangled, neutered, erased.

A holiday left for dead by the Kingdom.

The Episcopalians and Catholics were allowed to hold onto All Saints Day, although now it was officially called Remembrance Day, a day to remember family members or fellow parishioners who had passed into the great beyond.  

The only remnant of Halloween was a Fall Festival Day celebrated in mid-October. It involved some carnival-like activities, like apple bobbing and cornhole tosses, but mostly was an excuse for revival services. There was some costuming, but they had to be biblical figures, and a smattering of approved historical costumes that represented Kingodm favorites, like Confederate heroes like Robert E Lee and Nathan Bedford, founding fathers like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, a handful of more modern age heroes like Ronald Reagan and Donald Trump.  

There were no ghosts or goblins, witches or demons, risque costumes or serial killers.  

And nothing on what was once Halloween.

Except for some rebellious teens. It was a small group that met on Halloween night in makeshift costumes, with eggs and toilet paper in hand.

This special night, the fifth year since Halloween was banned, they met near the old Gurney mansion, a rambling, ancient Victorian that had been empty since 1966.

"To Halloween!" The Fab Five (as they called themselves) lifted their drinks in the air, a special brew concocted by the Harley twins, moonshine made from corn, malted wheat, and sunflowers. That alone could get the five sent to Reeducation Camp.

Hunter Blue repeated, "To Halloween!" and the group toasted again. Hunter was fifteen, lean and short, with thick, curly black hair and intense blue eyes. His costume consisted of camouflage clothing and a hockey goalie's mask. It was easy enough to find - camo was second nature to a hunting family, and his older brother had once played hockey.

Candy Kapok had her arm around Hunter, her other arm raising her glass 'o' mash. She was dressed in a flimsy harem outfit, covered with filmy scarves. It was a costume that her mother wore several years ago, claiming it was Jezebel and, therefore, biblical. Local Kingdom officials disagreed. Even though her mother never wore it again; she kept it in her closet, where it was easy for Candy to find.

The other female, Jessica Daniels, wore a long black dress and had on a pointed black hat (an old sorting hat from the Harry Potter universe, an item her older brother had failed to throw away).  Albin Harley had painted himself green and had on a neckband with two bolts protruding from it. And Winston Gray, the final member of the Fab Five, had failed to find even the simplest costume, except for a plastic axe.

"What are we going to do, Hunter? Just sit here and get drunk? Or are we going up to the mansion and piss off some ghosts?," asked Winston, craving more action, itching to plunk his plastic axe into something.

Candy pulled at Hunter's camo. "Let's dance, baby!" she urged.

Hunter pulled back from her. Candy was fun, but he'd rather do that when he had her one-on-one. "Naw.  Let's do what we come here for."

"Yeah!" echoed Winston, showing his carton of eggs. "Let's break into that mansion and do some damage!"

"Oh, yeah!" added Albin, shakily lifting a toilet paper roll. "Let's put some teepee in the Gurney-hole!" The others didn't quite get the reference, but it sounded way cool.

They high-fived and then charged to the mansion entrance, slowing and hesitating when inches from it. 

"A-are you sure we should we do this?" Jessica was gripped by nervous fear.

"Hell, yeah!" said Hunter, filled with bravado, doing his best to impress Candy.

He tapped the door slightly, and it slowly opened, squeaking spookily. Hunter was wary that all he had to do was lightly touch it, and it was swinging slowly open, seemingly on its own.

They entered the huge foyer, Hunter leading the way. It was dusty and dirty, but still an elegant marble floor, a spiral staircase leading up to a second floor. Cobwebs were covering the staircase rail.

Winston took out an egg and launched it towards the staircase. They laughed as it splats on the third step. 

"Let's go up the steps!" said Albin. "Let's mess up some bedrooms!"

"Naw," said Hunter. "Let's see what's on this floor first."

Before the staircase, there was an open side entrance leading to another room. Inside were empty library shelves, a large ancient desk, and a plush, oversized chair almost like a throne.

A chair that was not empty.  

Stay blogged for Part 2...coming soon!

Time of the Blues 3: Senior Blues

 The Crowley Baptist Retirement Village had seen some hard times. Covid-19 had hit them especially hard, losing almost 10% of their residents and even a few staff members.

Covid-19 was now a thing of the past, for the most part. At least, that was the thought. The Kingdom no longer identified COVID-19 deaths. Many elderly deaths were just listed as 'natural causes.' If another wave were to hit of this or any other contagious disease, the CBRV (Crowley Baptist Retirement Village) would be in big trouble. The use of masks was outlawed (except for surgeons and a few other professional exceptions), and vaccines were no longer available.

Occasionally, the press of the US and Pacifica would report that the lifespan in the Kingdom had receded dramatically. Still, the Kingdom would deny it and kept no official statistics to show otherwise.

Franny knew, though. At least here at the CBRV. In the last five years, the average age of the census had declined from 78 to 73. A fluke? Maybe. But she didn't think so.

Franny Goodkind sat in her office, looking over her agenda for the day. Lots of patient visits, lots of staff consultations, reviews of medications, contacting patient physicians to advise of any required changes. This was her routine every day. And she loved it. Fifteen years ago, she was a waitress at the Honey Dew. Now, through education and hard work, she is the chief RN in charge of the day shift.

She preferred to spend her time with residents and sometimes had difficulty with the bureaucratic parts of her job. It allowed her, however, to have more influence over the care given to all the residents. Even with coping with all the rules imposed by the Kingdom, she did the best she could to protect them.

Today was a very special resident's birthday. Known mainly as Mama Blue, Daphne Blue would turn 95 today. She was the oldest resident at the facility. Ethel Verleen was next at 93. There was a time when CBRV would have three or more residents over 100, but that hadn't happened in at least ten years.

Daphne was not just the oldest resident; she was also the oldest of the Blue clan, one of the most prominent and prolific families in Dixon County. Withered and confined to a wheelchair, this once tall and proud woman had shrunken about half a foot. She often had a glazed look in her eyes, like she was not there anymore. But when Franny engaged her in conversation, she would light up and spin tales of her younger days. The stories were engaging and sometimes quite spicy. 

The stories were so spicy that nosy Dotty Mathers once overheard and threatened to go to Kingdom officials and notify them. Luckily, Franny was able to distract her by reminiscing with her about her former political career, and soon, Dotty had forgotten all about it. Dotty remembered the past better than the present. If not for her increasing Alzheimer's, Dotty might have been a prominent Kingdom Elder. Such is life.

"Hey, Mama Blue!" Franny said, approaching her with a big smile. "Ready for your big day!"

Daphne returned the smile with a big grin of her own. "I don't know. Once you pass 90, it might be best just to forget the whole thing!"

"Nonsense! Every day seeing you is special! Today is just an excuse to celebrate that!"  Franny leaned down and gave her a hug.

They were in the commons room with many residents and staff and some Blue family members, including two of her grandchildren, Larry and Melinsey. They began to sing Happy Birthday as Susie Kapak brought out a cupcake with a candle. Other cupcakes were wheeled in on carts.

There was a time when huge decorated cakes were used to celebrate,  But that ended fifteen years ago when 105-year-old Rachel Compton expired while in the act of blowing out the candles on her giant cake decorated with Pogo and his swamp friends.

Daphne's cupcake had only two candles, a nine and a five. It was chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Daphne was an unrepentant chocoholic.

She took a deep breath and blew out both candles at once. She did not die.

Everyone was grateful for that.

If you'd like more of CBRV, please follow the tag Crowley Stories and read A Crowley Celebration of Longevity.

Echoes of '59 - 2023 Rewrite

 

Echoes of '59

by T. M. Strait

This is a previously published story that never went through Grammarly.  So here it is, for better or worse, after those edits. 

The closest I ever came to the supernatural was that summer of '59 in Eugene, Oregon. My dad was a teacher, and he would fill his summer break each year by accepting a National Science Foundation Scholarship. One year, it was Stanford University in Palo Alto, California. Another it was Ball State in Muncie, Indiana. That summer, it was the University of Oregon. 

That summer was weird and wonderful, filled with unexplained events that still mystify me. I was only four, my sister Carol was three, and it was our first real experience away from home, so maybe it was just the exotic newness of the locale. My parents had rented the top floor of a big Victorian house, set spookily on top of a hill (probably not that big of a hill, but impressive enough to a family from Michigan's flatlands). Male college students occupied the first and second floors.

I remember the piercing introductory music of Perry Mason, my mother's favorite show. Carol and I would hear it from our beds and shiver. I remember my first pet, a turtle I took out onto the roof in the mistaken belief that he needed more sun. He required much less attention after that. I remember getting mad at Carol and shoving her down the stairs. In a normal world, she should have been maimed or killed, with me suffering horrendous guilt for the rest of my natural-born days. Instead, she tumbled down like a gymnast doing an Olympic routine, popped up at the end of the stairs, and came flying back up, ready to kick some brother butt. But what I remember most was the car we brought back to life.

We were playing in the front driveway when we got bored. So my sister conceived of a tag game where we would chase each other like idiots unless we could touch the safe spot first, which she decided in her infinite toddler wisdom should be a yellow Ford Mustang belonging to one of the college guys. Remembering Perry, the fried turtle, and Elastic Girl tumbling down the stairs, I said, "Are you crazy? That's not our car! What if we break it or something?"

Carol laughed. "Stupy boy!" which, in her lingo, said it all. And then she proceeded to show me that it was okee-dokie to touch the car. She raced to it and whacked it on its front hood. Her effrontery paralyzed me, but we were horror-struck by what happened next. The car started to back out the driveway, turn into the street, and drive away! The college guy whose car it was came bursting out of the house, cursing us as little brats and running after his suddenly untamed Mustang.

Selective childhood memories repress what happened after that. Maybe we were spanked, maybe the college guy saddled his car before it wrecked, maybe his car made it to the fields where Mustangs roam free. I don't know. It wasn't until years later that it occurred to me that gravity and parking brakes could have played a role. I still prefer to think of it as I did in my youth, as one of those rare times when real magic echoed through our souls.

            

Time of the Blues 2: Book Blues

 Many shelves were just bare.

Melinsey Blue pushed her book cart down the juvenile non-fiction aisle. The bookcase was three shelves high and a display of books on top. The top shelf was half full, the middle a quarter, and there was nothing on the bottom shelf.

She picked a book from her cart. The True History of the Founders by Mike Huckabee. She noted the cover illustration - Jesus with his arms wrapped around George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Amazing, she thought. Jesus supporting two deists who were also slaveowners. Not what she would expect from WWJD (What Would Jesus Do).

Butt that's the way it was at  Crowley Patriot Library. Everything had to be approved through the Patriot Board. It wasn't a public library anymore. Oh, sure, it was founded by government funds, but that's where it ended. That money was given to a private entity to run and manage the 'public library." 

The Patriot Board has seven members. Three are selected from mega-churches - one from the two largest Baptist congregations and a third from a Pentecostal church. Two others were chosen from other Kingdom-approved churches. The Crowley City Council and the Dixon County Commission nominated the last two. 

When the Kingdom emerged, every book was taken off the shelf. Once the new board was established, they would approve individual books brought back okayed by Kingdom censors.

She grabbed another book to reshelve, The Fight for Kingdom Island by Kirk Cameron, part of the Brave book series that dominated the shelves. 

Melinsey was the last staff member left from the time before, when it was truly a public library. Her brother, Larry, had urged her to quit, but she was determined to stick it out. She had spent a lifetime hiding who she was and how she felt, so subjugating her feelings was nothing new to her.

She wasn't very tall, standing just a half-foot higher than the shelves she stacked. She had long, black hair (Kingdom culture seemed to prefer women to have long hair - she didn't care; it was an easy way to blend in), thin but wiry, thick-framed glasses, dark brown eyes that occasionally lit up with her intellectual curiosity but most often presented an impenetrable blank slate.

She picked another book from her cart, one of the most important, because she had put it there. It was a plain-looking hardback, the spine indicating it was The History of Salt by Roger Peters. But that's not what was inside. Inside, once you turned to page 44, was another book, I Am Rosa Parks, by Brad Meltzer.

She put this book on the second shelf, at the end, in slight defiance of Dewey Decimal (it didn't matter - she was the only one left at the library who had even a dim understanding of that filing system - one of the reasons that she was able to maintain her job).  

It took some work. You had to pick an approved book, but you had to know it was never taken out. But many, many books were never taken out. Most other books were ignored once you got away from some of the big Kingdom-approved book lines, like Mike Huckabee's and Brave.  

The truth is once the Christian Right took over the library, they seldom used it. They had little interest in reading anything of any type. Their primary goal was to ensure others couldn't access books that went against their own views.

A select few knew about the books within the books, and they came in and checked out the books she had rigged. The truth is still out there - if you knew where to look.

You would think one of the many pro-Kingdom employees would notice the books that were checked out and wonder why. But they never reflected that deep a level of curiosity. They were more interested in the food treats brought in (sometimes by Melinsey) and gossiping within themselves or the Christian right mons that would come in than they were in anything about their jobs.

Yes, Melinsey had been very fortunate, and it made her feel good that she could fight the power in her own way.

She looked up towards the desk and saw someone staring at her, a curious look on their face. It's the new hire, someone who had moved from Macon, someone Melinsey didn't know.

Melinsey's intuition was blaring alarms in her head. This may be someone who is not easily fooled. And there was no way of knowing - was she a Kingdom true believer? Was she a rebel like Melinsey?

There was no direct way to know. No clever way to interrogate and find the truth of where the new hire stood. If the new hire was like Melinsey, then whatever the true stance, that would be covered with allegiance to the Kingdom, real or not.

The new hire moved out from the desk, strolling towards the children's section, sliding ever closer to where Melinsey stood.

Is this the end? Is this where Melinsey would be caught, dismissed, and all the good she tried to do erased? Or would she find another ally?

Stay tuned to this blog!

Time of the Blues 1: Rocking at the Country Boy

The Blue was singing the Blues.

Larry didn't mean to complain. It just started pouring out.

"I miss pineapple, Walter." He eased back into his rocking chair. "I really do."

"Hell, Walter," mused his friend, Walter. "You couldn't afford it even if we had it. The last pineapple I saw was $21 at the Pig."

"That was more than a year ago!" Larry shifted his massive bulk in the rocker. It was his habit to sit out on the porch of County Boy's Gassed 'n' Goed for an hour or so early in the morning before the heat got oppressive. Often, he would be joined by his skinny, one-eyed partner in inertia, Walter Strickland. Sometimes, Walter had his glass eye. On other days, he didn't want to mess with it and wore an eyepatch. Today was an eyepatch day.

Larry Blue would spend much of his time singing the Blues. Woe is me; look how much I have been put upon, weren't times better in yesteryear? Of course, Larry was careful enough not to define what yesteryear was. But they knew what he meant.  

"What do you miss, Walter? Surely, you must miss somethin'. What do you miss most of all?"

Walter's eye misted. "I miss Julie."

Oh, now Larry had stepped into it. He should've known better. Julie is Larry's daughter, who now must be close to 30, Larry thought. But Walter hadn't seen her in years. Julie left just before the borders were closed. She left a note to Walter and her mother, Janeen, indicating that she was going to the Great Lakes Union. Occasionally, they would get a smuggled letter from her, but the last one was over a year ago. Walter knew she married. He knew he was a grandfather, a granddaughter he might never see.

"Sorry, Walter. Of course, you miss your daughter. And here I am going on about some ridiculous fruit. Sometimes I can be an insensitive jerkwater."  At least Larry didn't have to go through that. All the Blues were within a hundred miles of each other, more or less.

Mildred started to come up the steps. "You boys got nothing better to do than to sit here and whine all day?" She was short and stocky but with solid muscle, unlike Larry's bubbling blubber. Her hair was close-cropped. She used to have a mohawk, colored powder blue. She used to have piercings in her nose, lips, and tongue, but they had long since closed up. The only piercings left were her ears (at least piercings visible to the general public). She had tattoos, of which only the ones on her arms were visible. You could keep your tattoos as long as they hadn't been deemed sacrilegious.  

Walter spit out part of his chaw. "I'm doing 'zactly what I want to do. How about you, Mildred?"

"I'm hitting on all cylinders, boys. Just gotta get some feed so I can tend to my animals. Responsibilities, ya know?"

"You're looking good, Mildred," Larry complimented. "Nice to see you out and about."

Mildred guffawed at Larry's ingratiations. "You look mighty tight in that rocker, Larry. Maybe Herschel should install you a double wide."  Herschel was the owner of the Country Boy.

Sometimes it don't pay to be nice, Larry thought. Kindness was a basic human value; that's what Jesus taught. Even if it didn't seem to be held up as such anymore.

"Well, I can't just jaw with you two knuckleheads all day. I got mouths to feed."  She bounded past them and went into the store.

Even if he wouldn't say it out loud, Larry had to admit that he was a little sweet on Mildred. Even dressed in her everyday apparel of cowboy boots, work jeans, and muscle shirt, she held appeal to him. Yeah, there were rumors about Mildred, but Larry chose to ignore them.

None of that was talked about anymore because the consequences would be dire if it could be proved.

Dire, indeed.

Inspire Me Shorts 92923

 More stories based on the Inspire Me app, constructed around three randomly selected words -

1 job, wouldn't, press

There is no job I wouldn't do for you. You don't need to press for me to impress you.

So, relax. They'll never find the body.

2 written, different, up

So it is written. Thus, it will be. Every word is infallible. The entire book is true.

I know. Different faiths have come to different conclusions; the same book that condemns slavery is used to defend slavery.

But, ultimately, there is only one true, literal interpretation of our good book.

And that, of course, is the one we possess, Brother Dan.

You can take that to the heavenly bank. There is only one way up to the pearly gates.

And that way is exclusively for us, we true believers. We keepers of the one true light.

3 flag, think, way

The original pledge of allegiance did not have under God in it. Even though it was written by a Baptist minister, he did not include it. It was a civic pledge, not a religious one.  

This is what minister Francis Bellamy wrote in 1892 -

"I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Over time, other changes were made. It wasn't until 1954 that the phrase "under God" was added.

As someone who does think that this should only be a civic pledge, in what way should I handle saying it?

Here is my compromise - I stand to say the pledge, put my hand on my heart, and say the pledge out loud, except I do not vocalize the phrase "under God."

A weak compromise, I know. But it works for me.

4 tall, lucky, last

I am not tall. I reached my maximum height of 5' 8" in 7th grade. But, at that time, it made me one of the taller boys in my class, about the third tallest. When we picked basketball teams, I would be the center. About eighth string center, but center nonetheless.

I didn't like being so tall. I thought the short kids were lucky because they could sneak ahead in school lines without people noticing. And it was awkward to be so much taller than the girls. I wished I wasn't so tall.

By the time I got to high school, I was suddenly one of the shortest kids, as everyone around me grew rapidly, and I stayed the same. I would always be picked last when the gym class selected basketball teams or volleyball.

Sometimes, you have to be careful what you wish for.

5 modern, Roman, tightly

Titus held me tightly. I could barely breathe.

"Oh, my dear Jocela! I am so fond of you! I must have you as my wife!"

I struggled to push him away. I could only tilt back a few inches. Enough to look up at him and tell him, "Titus, you must give me space! I need time to think on this."

"I have done this properly, my dear. The Roman way. I have secured the blessing of your father. Goods have already been exchanged to seal the deal. My asking you would only be a courtesy."  Titus clutched Jocala firmly again. 

Jocala pleaded, "But don't you see? Times have changed. Women have more respect than ever. The Senate has recently recognized women's marital rights to property in the event of marital dissolution. We are increasing our family participation and marital decisions. I'm just asking you to be more up-to-date, more modern, in your attitudes."

Titus laughed in a braying, cruel manner. "You silly creature! The Roman Way IS the Modern Way! Your father sides with me. Learn to love me. That is your only choice."

Times were not changing fast enough to save Jocala.

Why I Am a Superman Fan #1

I gave them up. Thousands and thousands of comic books spanning over six decades of collecting, and I'm happy because we were able to pay off our house.

But I kept my Superman collection. I continue to get back issues where I can, filling in gaps in my Superman Collection.  

Above is one I read yesterday, Action Comics #517 from March 1981. Reading the story, taking place on Christmas Eve, I was reminded of why I was a Superman fan.

Like any character written by diverse hands over the last 85 years, there will be variances over how Superman is characterized. The Man of Steel movie had a grotesque violation of what Superman is all about when they had him kill the villainous Kryptonian, General Zod.

But for the most part, Superman is written as what some complain, but I adore, as a big blue Boy Scout. He stands for truth, justice, and the American Way (the good democratic melting pot version, not the Reich-wing nativist horror version). Even though he is from another planet, his values are about as good as values get. His humanity is tempered through his secret identity, Clark Kent, a reporter dedicated to uncovering and exposing social injustice.

In this particular story, he runs across two teenagers, one Jewish and one who calls himself Christian,  fighting with each other about Christmas Eve, whose holiday it is, and who should be excluded from it.

Whatever you think of Christmas Eve and what it means, no one can argue with the sentiment Superman expresses next...

 Ok.  Given the religious violence and intolerance we see today, maybe some would argue with it.

But it means a lot to me.

Blog Only Special

 No pictures.  No promotion.  I will just post this to my blog. It may help give me a gauge of what my true numbers are.

HEATH; Last check my blood pressure and blood glucose were not too bad, at least for a lazy fat man. My periodic knee and foot pain have been under control for most of the year.  It unfortunately been replaced with what I think is sciatica pain, a big pain in the ass that sometimes is also in my upper and power right leg. We're working on things to help, but it's been months now.  It hurts but most people are less aware of it because it doesn't affect my walking as much as the knee/foot pain did.  I also have more of what I will euphemistically call "stomach issues", sometimes aggravated by lactose, or maybe also medication I'm taking.  Hard to say, but I'm also working on that.

WRITING: It's not good.  Still hard to get in the rhythm.  I'm not giving up.  

BENJERMAN:  He continues to recover from his broken femur, now using a cane and driving on his own.  We think it might only be a couple of weeks and he'll be ready to resume his job in Warner Robins.  He has secured a first-floor apartment, and it will be ready for him to occupy.

GRANDCHILD: I am thrilled that we were able to visit for a week, and am looking forward to returning when we can.

WORK: Yeah. I don't work.  But I am interested in opportunities that will help build up our travel fund so we can visit family more.  So, maybe I'll figure out something soon.

CHURCH: I love our church.  I'm less thrilled being their Treasurer, but it's all part of my service/tithe I guess.  It's great watching our church defy the trend of shrinking churches.  No, we'll never be a mega-church, but we are serving a great need - we are inclusive, including being welcoming to Progressive Christians such as myself.

THEATRE:  Haven't done a play since Harvey (October 22), but I'm getting the bug again, and I'm thinking of trying out for CLue this Spring.

TV: Most recently watched Dead Ringers series on Prime with Alison- left me confused and kind of grossed out by the surgeries it graphically showed. I'm watching Twisted Metal on Peacock which I guess is based on a video game?  It's not too bad, with science fiction/apocalypse elements that I like. I also am keeping up with weekly episodes of Invasion on Apple+ - it's a little like the HG Wells novel, and sort of not.  I like it - there is a realistic approach to the story that I appreciate.

COMICS: Not much to say here.  I continue to read Superman and Family as much as I can.

I could write about politics, but that would make this way too long.  I still extend my standing offer - if you once liked Trump and have now turned on him - I would love to hear from you.  Please help brighten up this sometimes very dark world.

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

The Very Definition of a Family Dog

 This is the way I want to remember her.

Young, vibrant, and able to chew through an entire backyard deck. There she is, a year old and comfy on the couch, bright, intelligent, and loving.

We found her from researching rescue sites. We were looking for a mix between Dachshund and Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. When we found her, she was listed as part of a litter in Chattanooga, Tennessee, over six hours away from us.

Nevertheless, we made the journey. We saw the litter she was from. Some were clearly more dachshund-like. She was a little bit bigger, with more spaniel characteristics.

They had named her Buttercup. We didn't much like that, so we let Benjamin name her. Why he decided on Cocoa Bear, I'm not sure. Nevertheless, that's what she became, and over time, I couldn't imagine her with any other name.

Over time, it became clear that there was no way she was any part Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. She was way too big for that.  She was a medium-sized dog approaching thirty pounds. It really didn't matter.  We loved her just the same, if not more. 

She was loving and kind, and sometimes she was a little bit shy (that fit her in perfectly with the rest of us). There was little aggressor in her.

She never wandered or ran off. Even when I accidentally left the gate open, she stayed in the yard, patiently waiting to greet us.  

She was a good eater, a frequent tail wagger, and a faithful companion.

This last year, she began to visibly decline. Her cognitive abilities diminished, and her movement and steadiness became more unsure.

She turned fifteen in May. Every day, I worried about her. I watched her carefully. There were several trips to the vet as she declined. Some medicines restored some mobility. Her bloodwork came back positive.  

As long as she was eating, and still following me around, and able to go outside, even if I occasionally had to carry her down and up the steps, as long as her quality of life was still there, I wanted to keep her going.

When we came back on August 29th from our week with my Grandaughter in the Catskills, Cocoa Bear was in bad shape. She had stopped eating two days before we came home and was having a great deal of trouble getting around.

We gave her some Prednisone, and that restored some movement. We added some sweet potatoes to her food, which re-engaged her in eating - for a while.

It became apparent that these were temporary measures, and soon, she was worse than before. Way worse. There was little movement. She couldn't really stand up...not for very long. She lay in one place most of the time, and took little interest in anything. She stopped eating altogether.

Tuesday morning, we took her to the vet. She was very far gone by that time. The vet agreed. There was little more that we could do.

So we made the very hard decision. We could not let her suffer. Her quality of life was gone.

I know we made the right decision, the best we could for our beautiful girl, our loving companion, the very definition of a "family dog."

Still...when Dr. Kimbrell gave Cocoa Bear the injection, she growled. She rarely growled.

It haunts me. Rational or not, it was like her saying, "No! I'm not ready!" 

And I can't get out of my mind.

But I'm trying. I'm trying to remember her as a puppy, a devoted family member, and a dog who would never leave my side. Even in her old age, it is etched in my mind how she helped our aging cat Skitty by nudging her into the stuffed toy container she wanted to get into; Cocoa Bear was so happy to help out. Her tail wagged with joy.

We started the year with five pets. We now have two.  

In the context of things, with all the tragedies and difficulties in families, communities, the nation, and the world, this is a small thing - I understand that. I pray for everybody to endure and conquer the hurts and pain the world hurls at us.

But it is a real thing. And it hurts.

I love you, Cocoa Bear. Our family cherishes you and all the love you gave us.

Idalia Peels Into Our House

 

For years, hurricanes have threatened our little corner of Southeast Georgia, but most veered away before they got here. Some came close, with wind, rain, and maybe a few downed limbs.

But Idalia? At least for us, it passed directly over us, at or about Category 1.

We had two of our twenty-four trees fall, damaging our house.

As you can see from the picture above, one poked right through into our bedroom. 

Hi! Mind if I  come in?

Well..we'd rather you didn't.

Too late!

The first tree to fall whacked the storage portion of our carport. It smashed part of our metal roof and poked five holes through it. It just missed taking out my electric mower.

Speaking of near misses, it was just inches away from taking out my Honda Civic.

The big Pinehuna landed squarely over our bedroom area.

Tuesday, August 29, we returned from a beautiful trip to the Catskills to visit the newest love of our lives, our 17-month-old granddaughter. I didn't do a story about it, partly because I can't show pictures of her and partly due to the distractions of the events that happened a day later.

Wednesday was when Idalia peeled into our neighborhood. In addition to the storm damage, we lost power until Thursday night and internet until Friday. Then there was catching up, cleaning up, and other things I will share later.

Rest assured, we have had insurance agents and adjustors out here, and we are in good shape to get stuff fixed.   We have plastic sheeting and protection on the roof, and most of the trees moved away from the house. This was mainly due to the help of Kevin Manders (a friend and a godparent to Benjamin) and LeVance Gay (a former co-worker of Alison and a neighbor).

Our church opened its doors and provided food and air conditioning to those in need, and yes, we did take advantage of it. Let me repeat this for anyone who may not remember - I love Grace Episcopal Church. It is the living, breathing definition of Christianity.

I can also update you that Benjamin's recovery from his femur break is picking up pace, and he is now using a cane instead of a walker. It may be a couple more weeks, but he has arranged his apartment in Warner Robins and hopes to return to work by the end of the month.

Idalia knocked us around, but it did not knock us out.

What We Are the Mural Represents

We are the mural! We are the display!

I've never really had anything go viral before. But if I have only one thing go viral (instead of, say, throwing a bucket of fish over my head), I'm glad it's this.

What does it mean?

It's taking a stand declaring you love your public library and support it serving a diverse public. Libraries are public, and they are for EVERYONE. They are not a tool of any particular political or religious group. No one gets to exclude others because they don't meet your definition of who is entitled to be served and who isn't.

Everyone should feel welcome in the library.  

Right now, the Okefenokee Regional Libray Board has placed a draconian display policy into effect at all libraries in the region. It is essentially cutting off any displays of any kind. All displays are subject to removal based on the objection of any one person. The most extreme voices in the community get to dictate what is displayed.

Consequently, you now see blank bulletin boards in our local libraries. Book clubs can no longer display their books of the month or promote their club in any visual display.

A display in the children's area, meant to show words of kindness, with cutouts of children's hands that have a word of kindness in them, must now be taken down.

New book displays now have to be shown only with the title spine displayed - they cannot display the covers of the books lest someone gets offended.

And now, the mural in the entryway to the Waycross/Ware County Library is under siege, and how the current regional library board is composed, it is likely to be taken down.

All these terrible things are happening and will continue to happen, but those who do this need to know this -

We are the mural! We are the display!

You can take our symbols. You can bully and try to exclude all you want. But we will not go away.  

Because the mural is more than just a mural. It is an important symbol, but it is only a symbol. Because we, the diverse patrons of the library, are the mural, and no matter what is done, we will stand firm and support the diversity of the library.

We welcome all. Even those whose theology leads them to want to indoctrinate their children in only their beliefs. All are welcome, but ...if you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. If you can't stand the diversity, get out of the library.

We will, with God's* help and strength, ENDURE.

We will, with the support of all who care about love and tolerance, PERSEVERE.

We will, with the promise that the arc of the moral universe bends slowly but surely towards social justice, OVERCOME.

We are the mural! We are the display!

And you cannot vanquish us!

*whatever your conception of spiritual support

 

WE ARE THE MURAL. WE ARE THE DISPLAY.

 

WE ARE THE MURAL. WE ARE THE DISPLAY.

Public libraries are under assault all around the nation.

That is true where I live. The Okefenokee Regional Library System has had to contend with a rowdy group of extremists who want the library to only reflect "Seven Mountains"* values. They want no acknowledgment of the LGBTQ+ community. They want to restrict and sanitize history, particularly when dealing with people of color.  

This rowdy group, mainly from a small handful of churches, has been flooding library board meetings, spewing their hatred under the guise of "protecting the children," of fear of indoctrination, whether it the LGBTQ+ community, or a fair, open reading of history., or anything that doesn't espouse a Christian Right point of view.

This group has significantly intimidated local politicians (county and city boards) who nominate new library board members, and some boards have now swung to a radical, anti-library agenda.

Now they have control of the regional board, they have adopted a policy banning all displays not directly related to a national holiday.

Yes. That's right. No more displays for Black History Month, Asian/Pacific History Month, Valentine's,  Women's History Month, Hispanic Heritage Month, National Disability Employment Awareness Month, Native American Heritage Month. Nothing about the military or vets unless it's tied to a specific holiday. Nothing about awareness and knowledge of child sexual abuse, medical information, and community support. They may be pulling down displays for any book clubs, which include an LGBTQ+ book club and a heathen book club.

Why? Because their hatred of the LGBTQ+ community is so intense that they are willing to take everything else out just to ensure they are excluded.

When the rainbow banners were taken down, the mural pictured above was the compromise to replace it. At that time, even most of the conservative board members were willing to support it. But then the pressure campaign started, and some turned into Peter, denying they ever supported it.

I understand that the board leans towards taking the mural down, but there are some logistic issues, like the fact that it's bolted to the wall. So the effective, final decision on it will be at a subsequent meeting.

In the meantime, I wanted as many people as possible to show their support for an open library and the Libraries are for Everyone mural. I posted the picture above on social media, and the response has been overwhelming within my tiny media world. It's been reposted to several sites, including a national group with over 1.4 million subscribers. Just from the ones I have directly posted, it has around 1,400 likes and 364 shares. This is miles more than anything else I've posted. I've tried for over ten years to get that kind of support on this blog and cannot measure up to that.  

Don't let those who SAY they are exposing Christian right values overwhelm us. Show your support now in whatever you can.

Make sure your library knows you appreciate what they do and that you support a free, open public library. The next Okefenokee Regional Library Board meeting will be November 6th.  Be there if you can.  You know that the extremists will still be out in force.

* Seven Mountains is an extremist organization that wants to replace democracy with a theocratic autocracy. One of their goals is to take control of all public spaces, like public libraries and public schools. The "seven mountains of influence" they want to control are: religion, family, education, government, media, arts and entertainment, and business.

Going Down With the Trumptanic: Saturday Political Soap Box 293

 

President Biden is on a roll.  Whatever his age, his achievements have been extraordinary.  He led us out of the worst of the Pandemic, even though many were willing to make other people sick by not following basic health protocol, in the name of freedumb.  Given the pits the economy was in, it has come around remarkably under Biden.  The lowest unemployment in several decades, improving stock market and GDP, growth in manufacturing jobs, and inflation whipped faster than any other industrialized country.  He has passed the most comprehensive infrastructure bill in American history, including our most significant effort to deal with climate change.  He has organized an international coalition to help Ukraine fight the invasion of Russia, including the strengthening and expanding of NATO.  This is in the face of bitter Republican opposition and a far-right-extremist Supreme Court.

And yet...

A recent New York Times poll shows Biden and Trump in a dead heat.

Twice-impeached, thrice indicted, two-time popular vote loser, narcissistic misogynist bully racist Donald J. Trump.

It's true.  America has done some shameful things in the past (sorry, DeSantis, that's the hard truth), but this attachment to this foul figure, Trump, is breaking my heart and shattering my faith in many of those around me (I live in a county that voted 87% for Trump - BOTH TIMES).

If you're still sticking with this orange buffoon, maybe this will shake you away...let's look at the two major defenses he's tried for his latest indictment, centered around his efforts to overthrow an election he knew he had lost.

1) I have freedom of speech.  I can say whatever I want, even if it is a lie.

Wow.  Think about that one for a minute.  His defense is that lying to you about an election is okay?  Really?  That's what you want?  Someone who has no shame in lying to you?

2) I was following the advice of my lawyers.  It's their fault.

My Grandfather Martin was a bit of a booze hound, probably an alcoholic.  Whenever a doctor told him to live, he had to give up the booze; he simply found another doctor that wouldn't hound him about it.  And when that doctor started in about not drinking, he would find another doctor who wouldn't tell him to stop drinking.  This plan didn't work forever - he eventually died, with liver cirrhosis being a significant cause.

And that's what Trump does.  His lawyer shops until he gets one that tells him what he wants to hear.

And what does that tell you, my Trumpeteer friend, about the judgment of your favorite clown?  He can't distinguish between bad advice and good advice.  He hears whatever he wants to hear.

---------

I've suffered a lot in the last seven years.  People I care about cling to this idiot, who had no business being a dog catcher, much less President of the United States.  You sold out all your values, including the love of country and democracy, all for this despicable human being who doesn't give a damn about you, especially your so-called Christian values.

Now, I know there are many issues where you and I might not agree - universal health care, Green New Deal, a living wage, free post-secondary education (including community colleges and apprenticeships), supporting the LGBTQ+ community, and more.  But you know what we shouldn't argue over?  Democracy, voting rights, free and fair elections, being kind and supportive to all Americans.

I'm sick of Trump.  I'm sick of those who sell their decency out to support him.  I'm sick of your attachment to him.

He's irredeemable slime.  And he deserves all the indictments he has received.  

And that's just the tip of the Trumpberg.

Please stop shuffling the deck chairs.  Get off the Trumptanic, once and for all.  It's going down, and you don't need to be aboard.

August Arrives Early and Saves the Day

Atrium Medical Center.

It's the second-largest hospital in Georgia, with Grady Hospital in Atlanta being the largest.

It's in Macon, Georgia. You know...the small town of 157,000 that Jason Aldean grew up in. In fact, near the hospital, there is a small road or path or crosswalk that is called Jason Aldean Way. Seriously. The number of people employed by the hospital alone is 4,600 - more than the total population of REAL small towns.

With a hospital that large, you're going to have some bureaucracy. Not everyone is going to be speaking from the same page at the same time. We had to run through some contradictions even just to see Benjamin (read the blog story Benjamin Takes A Break). He's here...he's not here...you can't see him - he's in observation...whoops...he is here...and you can see him. Different people, different answers.

This is not to be overly critical of the hospital. People can be well-meaning and kind and still not have the best information or the means and speed to help.

But I will credit Atrum for this...both the emergency room and his recovery room had one nurse who seemed to be as much a patient advocate, much more than just somebody to take vitals and bring bedpans.

I didn't catch the name of the guy in the ER, but he was kind and funny and helped address the needs of Benjamin and his confused and worried parental units. He kept us informed and helped bring the right people to tell us what was going on.

Then, we were moved to the main part of the hospital, where he would be taken for surgery and brought back to recover.

It was July 29th. And that's when the miracle occurred. She came in and signed her name on a whiteboard in the room. She wrote her name, August, and her contact number.

Never in my life have I seen a nurse as kind and as attentive. She explained everything that was going on. She brought Benjamin whatever he needed, and even Alison and myself.  

Most importantly, as Alison and I would hear different things from different people, she would cut through the red tape and get us the needed answers. 

The hospital was a labyrinth to get around. We asked how to get to a nearby Dominos, and she walked us through the hospital maze to the street where Dominos was at. 

I don't know if Atrium has really structured their staff to include an ally/advocate, but if they have, my hats off to them - it's the best thing I've ever seen a hospital do.

If they haven't - then you need to do so. August arrived early and saved the day.

Our healthcare system is a mess - expensive and inefficient, terribly hard on anyone not swimming in money and/or superior health insurance. Having caring human beings advocating for patients would at least mitigate some of the rough edges.

Let August lead the way.

 

Benjamin Takes A Break

 

It was the last day of his internship. Benjamin had done fantastic, and they would transition him into a full-time job as soon as his college transcripts (including internship) and diploma were complete and he could arrange housing in the area.

But first - to celebrate! On the afternoon of that last day, all the interns came out to play a massive game of...PAINTBALL! Benjamin was excited! He got his paint gun, got in place, and geared up for the start.

It starts! Benjamin takes off!

And trips. Falling in such a way that some items in his cargo pants pockets jam into his leg, causing inscrutable pain. He can't get back up.

At first, they thought it might be an ankle sprain or a heat cramp. Whatever it was, he can't get up. The supervisor decides to call an ambulance and take him to the hospital. As it turns out, that may have been a lrg-saving decision.

The supervisor calls Alison. We are eating a delicious Greek lunch in Jacksonville after getting her Subaru serviced. She tells us what happened and that he has been sent to the hospital. We decided to go to Warner Robins. We are an hour and a half away from home and two and a half more hours after that to get to Warmer Robins.

When we get to the hospital in Warner Robins, we are told he's not there anymore. He's been sent to the Atrium Medical Center in Macon. When we get there, we are told we can't see him because he is in an "observation area" and can't see him until he gets an ER room.

This is incredibly frustrating. We are about to lose it, when we get a call from a good friend of Benjamin's friends, who is IN THE ER ROOM with Benjamin. We get that straightened out and get back to see him.

And that is when we see the picture above.

Benjamin has broken his femur. One of the toughest bones in the human body, and my son has managed to snap it in two.

While in the ER, they drill a hole just below the knee so they can use the contraption above to stretch his leg correctly in preparation for surgery in the morning. The surgery would place a metal rod bringing the femur back together.

At about 3 in the morning, they moved him into a room in the central part of the hospital to help prep him for surgery. All three of us get very little sleep.

The surgery, around 7:30 in the morning, was successful. Not that Momma and Daddy didn't have a stressful time waiting.

This picture was taken a day after surgery. He has managed to get in a chair. You can see the bandage around his knee. And he's wearing skidproof socks.

He recovered enough to take home late Monday, and we now have him recovering at home. On Tuesday, he started physical therapy with our good friend Audrey Jernigan, and he continues to improve. However, the whole process may take six to eight weeks.

Thankfully, his employer has placed him on injury leave, and a job will await him when he recovers. I am very grateful to them for this and their quick action when he was hurt.

One of the things I am glad Benjamin inherited from me was my sense of humor. Despite his pain, he continued to make jokes and help others laugh. In that spirit, here's a post-surgery picture of his foot.

As Bruse Banner would say - "You don't want to get me angry. You won't like me when I'm angry."

Interior Design

 

No pictures today

They all fade away

Just me and a keyboard

Trying not to be bored

I have pets in the house

Not one is a mouse

A roach thinks it's cute

But I give it the boot

I am surrounded by books

It gets cozy looks

Right now I'm reading three

Some of them are free!

What? How are they free?

Because I got them from the public LI-BRAR-EEE!

I'm in two book clubs

Occasionally the book flubs

But not the people

They're not sheeple

They're independent and fun

And burn less than the sun

The sun I must avoid

It makes my skin annoyed

On doing more rhymes I must pass

Turns out I'm not Ogden Nash

Sporadic Re-Entry: Wednesday Wanderings

 

These are many evenings after Alison and the little dogs go to bed, Cocoa Bear stares at me. She knows if she keeps it up, I might give her snacks.

Ok, there's no maybe to it. I give her snacks. She has her cognitive treats, a joint health treat, and some soft chew dog treats. Look, she's fifteen. I'll feed her whatever she wants.

She had a rough go about a month ago - barely able to walk, very disoriented. But she is much better now with the vet's help and our love and care. Yes, she's old. Yes, she gets confused. Yes, she moves slowly and takes long naps. But she's a good dog, likes to be with me, and eats well.

UPDATE ON BOOK SALES:

I got my check! After OHC's commission, I took home a whopping $39.75! Don't laugh. That's $39.75 more than I made last year!

I need to reorder more copies of my books so I can do it again. If you are interested in my books, please check Amazon. Most are available for no charge if you use Amazon Kindle Unlimited. I know I will never get rich doing it, but it is fun to have readers.

Wish me luck in reorganizing my life to write more.

UPDATE ON BENJAMIN

Benjamin is in the 6th week of his 6-week internship with Warner Robins Air Force base. He has garnered a full-time position after the internship is over. He'll have to transition from dorm housing to an apartment by July 28th. We helped him look some last weekend, but he still needs to secure a place. Sometimes, as parents of a young adult, you have to learn to step back and let them find their own way. It ain't easy.

UPDATE ON THE LIBRARY

Alison and I have grown to love our local libraries very much! We participate in two book clubs, the Mystery Book Club and the True Crime Book Club. It's a great joy to be discussing books with fellow readers. And we often go off-topic! Some people read the hard copy, some use e-readers, some use audio, some watch a related program, and some just bluff. It's all good!

Alison goes up to a knitting/crochet group once a week. I read children's stories at the Pierce County Library. I love reading aloud to people, especially children.  I do female-voiced characters sometimes. I guess I can get away with it because I'm not in drag. Drag StoryTime may not be my thang as a performer, but believe me, I got no problem with it.

Another new great thing about the Library is that they have added access to the Kanopy streaming service. I'll post a blog soon about how absolutely awesome that is!

UPDATE ON GRACE EPISCOPAL

We have a priest in charge now, contracted for the next seven months (or six - I'm not sure). He is Father Donald Holland, who is a friend and a Waycross resident.

My favorite thing to do in church is read the Lector's reading and/or Prayers of the People. Reading aloud - it's what I enjoy most.

My desire to be involved with the church ebbs and flows. Right now, I am more at an ebb. I have less enthusiasm about it right now. Maybe soon, the feeling will come back.

UPDATE ON THE TRUMPOCALYPSE

One of the things that I've learned in the True Crime Book Club is how long even the most obvious killers take to come to trial. The most recent we read took six years for an arrest and another three years to go to trial.

What does that mean? My hope is that Trump would have completed trials and verdicts before the Presidential Campaign got into swing.  

Those hopes are dashed. It has been so slow to get indictments, and then you find out it will be months or even years before the trial, even under the best circumstances. Right now, all we're seeing is why wealth and privilege rule all in our society. Trump's major tactic is to obfuscate, lie, draw attention to others, and most of all - delay, delay, delay! And his plan is working.

If only conservatives would turn on him instead of trying to shuffle the last deck chairs on the Titanic.

But I've hoped for that for almost eight years now. I guess it's not gonna happen. I guess they'll just turn a federal (or state) prison into a White House.

Wanderingly Yours,

T. M. Strait

Return to Book Signing

 After at least two years, I finally returned to a book signing at Author's 
Night at the Okefenokee Heritage Center on June 22nd, 2023.

I meant to have a picture, but I couldn't find one, at least one that included me.  

It was fairly successful.  I sold a couple of History of the Traps, and I sold out of Crowley Stories - not as dramatic as it sounds, as I only had 3 or 4 to begin with.

I hope to get out there again soon, but I'll have to get more copies of my books.

And I have to write more.

Silent Sunday Nights

 I love Silent Sunday Nights on TCM (Turner Classic Movies)!

As part of my fun with being retired, I'm watching the earliest movies I can find on TCM and gradually working my way up in time.

Generally speaking, the oldest movie each week is featured on Silent Saturday Nights.

So far, to date, I have seen 48 silent films at a pace of about one per week. The earliest I have seen is from 1906 -

The Birth, The Life and the Death of Christ. It had set scenes that were more like tableaus - the camera is fixed, and the scene changes in front of it.

I have seen several from 1929, the most recent being The Big Diamond Robbery starring the early Western superstar Tom Mix.

He was film's first King of the Cowboys. He made almost 300 films, of which only about 10% still survive. Many of them were lost in the 1937 Fox vault fire. Like many films of another era, it has questionable racial attitudes, portraying Chinese workers in a very stereotypical manner.

I usually watch in segments, anywhere from 10 to 30 minutes daily.

Currently, I am watching Don Juan (1926) featuring John Barrymore, one of the longest-running theatre families in the United States (presently represented by Drew Barrymore).

It was known for its first use of Vitaphone for the film's musical score but not for dialogue. Vitaphone was used a year later for the first "talkie" - The Jazz Singer starring Al Jolson. Don Juan is also known for holding a kissing record, with almost 200 kisses in the film.

I especially like comedies featuring talents like Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Harold Lloyd.

But that's the good news.

The bad news is that TCM is in trouble. The evil (sorry, it's the way I feel) people that bought Warner Brothers/HBO/CNN/DC) people are proceeding to dismantle TCM, firing many of their top executives, and some hosts may be next.

I'll save my dire disgust for the Discovery people for another post.

If you, like me, are concerned about saving this valuable Americana, please use the hashtag #SaveTCM on your social media posts.

Thanks for hearing me out.

I mean, for silently reading.