Mathematical Illusion

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

I don't like math.

I'm not really very good at it.


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

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

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

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

I got a D in Regular Algebra in high school.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's time!

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

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

The finalists are:

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


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

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

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

So vote, Rippers, vote!

Under the Sea On Tebeau!

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

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

TICKETS: $10

FLYING DRAGONS ART CENTER

405 Tebeau St, Waycross, Georgia 31501

Theatre

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livethearts@gmail.com

Get Directions

Come and see multiple times!   

There are many casts and new 

children featured very show!

Come watch them all shine!

Sally Finds an Easy Chair and Other Monday Musings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

Stories from a Stony Land - The Revolutionary Generation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

History of the Trap: November Harvest Part 4

4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was weird.

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

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

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

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

It took me years to figure it all out.

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

Miscarriage of Justice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," flatly answered the Sheriff.

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

"No," repeated the Sheriff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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