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.