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 |  I've maxed out. Closed this blog. |
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This is a way of making myself write something coherent and grammatically correct almost every day. I'm opinionated and need an outlet. I'm also prone to flights of fancy. Thanks for stopping by. |
| I believe the Moral Majority is a misty memory in our minds. It no longer exists. It may have appeared to exist only in the past. You would have to believe that a majority of people in a place and time lived mostly moral lives and practiced sound judgment and justice. The older generations still living vaguely recall a time when we believed that such a group of people existed. Today, it is an outdated and foreign concept. Our society can't even agree what morality is, or how we obtain it, or what it looks like. We can "tsk, tsk" and shake our heads. We can even say we're going to fix it. But I'm a pessimist when it comes to the big picture. I say there is nothing we can do to alter the course of history. The concept of a just and free society is a thing of our past. We are living in an unjust world, where inequity, immorality, and hatred prevail. We grew up learning about the American salad bowl, "mixing pot", or patchwork quilt. All groups and cultures came together in the American spirit. But division and separatism are stronger than ever. Those who understand morality and justice cannot practice on a widespread scale. They may try but will find no success. The only thing left is to practice on a small scale. For instance, social medicine, universal healthcare will not work. But we can practice healing where we can, in small clinics where doctors donate time. The government and the law will not accomplish justice or mercy. We have to practice on a small scale as groups or individuals. Forgiveness and acceptance are something we will have to exercise in our mini-communities, while allowing the government to do its thing. I guess I'm thinking of Rome in its glory days. It oppressed every nation. Yes, it brought about roads and water systems, but it was merciless to anyone who did not cooperate. It kept poor people poor, and slaves remained slaves. They were immoral, and life had no great meaning. Every area had to look out for its own kind and practice its own beliefs. The sooner we recognize that we don't have the American dream any longer, the sooner we can set out personally to be better people, to help others, and to affect just a few people at a time. We can expect to be ridiculed for doing so. We should not expect support or encouragement. But if we know what is right in our hearts, then we and our families can carry it out without the backing or unity of the larger community. |
| I watched a Billy Jack movie I don't remember seeing. It still seemed a little nostalgic to me. This one would have been made when I was in high school. I saw the later ones. This one had lots of great nature shots, animals in the wild, sunsets, moonlight. The shots kept the tone throughout of a small town and countryside, of man in tune with nature. Rape always seems to be a factor in these films, In this one, it was a major factor. The girls, all high school and college age, seemed to have odd reactions. This was more the writing and directing than the acting. Except for the lead female, the victims went into some mindless trauma.You could understand rage, fear, shame, but these girls were acting like they had encountered aliens and were no longer functioning mentally. Despite the violence and brutality, it was spellbinding. The stereotypical motorcycle gang had some flaws which made a few of them empathetic. A few showed off some great pecs and abs! They definitely played up the fact that Billy was part Indian in their outrageous childish behavior. At times, they were down right corny. The "Born Losers", actual name, wore a despicable emblem, a naked buxom woman nailed to a cross with a sword in her rib cage. One even had a large carving of it on the back of his bike. I never figured the significance of it, since some women liked them and volunteered to hang out with them. There were a few unexpected plot twists. In ways it reminded me of a Steven Segal movie, but on a lower budget. Billy Jack, a Green Beret Vietnam vet, was in tune with nature and a friend to the underdog. He stood for justice. He knew some martial arts and was good with weapons, but he tried to be peaceful. He led a simple life, but was courageous. Sometimes the enemy was the legal system, not always a criminal. Billy was a hero to a whole generation.The "Establishment" wasn't dealing with society's problems. But one man could stand up and do what he could in his little corner of the world. The movie is significant because: it was a precursor of martial arts films; it was typical of motorcycle gang movies; it was based on a true story that occurred about 4 years earlier in California; and it appealed to the counterculture which was growing at that time. The series also strengthened the Indian Civil Rights movement. |
| Still thinking about David Sedaris' book, I speculated quite a bit on comments he made on computers. He compared the computer to a horse. In Western movies and TV shows, the story was never about the horse, but everyone had to have one. In today's shows, everyone has to have a computer! How true is that. Many stories, like Jumpin' Jack Flash, have made the computer essential to the storyline. Others have used PC's and I-pads like tools or characters. Some, like an episode of Modern Family, have actually told the story from the perspective of computer communications. You had to pay close attention and read the text, and look at scenes within the big screen. The uninitiated would have a hard time knowing who was saying or looking at what. Just like the horse was a necessary part of the past, the computer is a necessary part of the present. But as writers (even screenplays), we need to know when to have the computer just in the background, when to let it show off a little-like a fancy horse trick, when to let it be a minor character, and when to let it become the story. Sedaris only made a brief comparison and a comment about computers in stories. He went on to talk about techno-phobia. Phobia is a good word that means fear. Fear of spiders or snakes or heights makes sense. But why is someone afraid of technology? The term has been accepted into general usage, so we can't change it. But it really isn't used correctly. Same with homophobia. Somehow people made the transition from fear to hate or extreme discomfort. I have a fear of thugs at night and wild-eyed drunks, but there is no phobia term for that. He makes a point. |
| I'm reading a very funny book by David Sedaris, called Me Talk Pretty Someday. From what I gather all his books are autobiographical, but he has such an amusing outlook and unusual way of organizing his observations. A lot of his comments give rise to deeper thought. When he talks about halfway through about people he prefers to avoid in social circles, it made me think about men I don't want to date. I could make a list of things that eliminate candidates by the words you might hear them saying. These things would include but are not limited to: "Now this one is my very first tattoo..." "You expect me to sit through an entire Shakespeare play?" "I can't go out of town this Saturday until I clear it with my probation officer." "I'm out of cigarettes. Can you run to the store for me?" "We can't go out tonight. The state just took all my money for back child support." "Now where did I leave my nipple ring?" "My favorite cheese is Velveeta." "I don't like to read." "I hate classical music." "I never go to museums of any kind. I don't feel like I belong there." "Ugh. I do not watch black and white TV." "This soup (spaghetti, fried chicken, etc.) that you made is not as good as my Mom's." As soon as I hear something like the above, I scratch the name off right away. This just gets me started. I know I'm picky, but I have some standards. Little remarks let you know which standards are challenged and ring the alarm bells. |
| Herbs. I really mean home grown culinary herbs. I'm growing 5 tubs of chives on my back porch. They are volunteers from last year. They came up without potting. Who knew? It pays not to throw the dirt out and start over. I thought perhaps I had waited too long for the harvest. They were flowering beautiful purple flowers. Some of the blades were yellowing. Because they started so early, they were ready before I was. So I looked it up. You just cut off and discard the browning parts. Even the flowers are edible. Harvest them down to 2 inches from the soil ( I can always cut without thinking about it) 3 to 4 times a year. They will keep growing. I know from experience that drying them out loses flavor. They're mild to start with. So I usually try to give some away, to be used while they're fresh. I discovered in my research that they can be frozen if not used immediately. So I wash them, let them dry on paper towels, then cut to smaller lengths and put in a freezer bag. (Regular bags have minuscule air holes and allow moisture to get in and freeze. Always use a freezer bag. Even that allows some icicles to form inside.) I've put several bags in the freezer, and they get stiff. When ready to use, just cut them up with kitchen shears while still frozen, or put on a block and chop with a cleaver or very sharp knife. My cousin and I tried the flowers. They smell and taste like onions. Then suddenly your mouth is on fire. So don't pop a whole blossom in your mouth and start munching. Cut the flowers up as well, and see how you like it before using much. They also freeze well. I usually have dill and basil, but I started those from seed only recently. I usually only use them fresh. I have dried rosemary that someone else grew, and it's good years later. But I haven't been able to grow my own. The plants die. As for the cooking part, chives can't be cooked. Add to a finished dish, like a baked potato or casserole topping, or a salad. Rosemary is good on most meats, but is terrible on zucchini. Too much sage can destroy a dish, even if it's a recipe from Emeril. It's difficult to go wrong with dill or basil. I like knowing that only does the meal have a little extra zip to it, but that I grew that organic zip on the back porch myself. |
| I heard someone talking about his life. He's a working man. He struggles to pay his bills. He supports his own family. He enjoys an occasional beer, playing ball, hanging out with friends. He drives a simple vehicle. He knows he's not royalty, or the jet set, or a pampered rich kid. But maybe he's one of the chosen few. I thought maybe he's right. A current TV commercial claims that some folks are just "stupid rich". Our first thought at that ad is, "Man, I wouldn't mind being "stupid rich". I'd like to be free of worrying about paying things on time, or what if I get sick and can't work, or what if the furnace breaks this winter.And wouldn't it be nice to have a few luxuries? The privileged rich take a lot of things for granted, including their power. They don't know the value of sweating to care for themselves or their families. They understand the power of money, but not the value of a single dollar. There's the welfare state, in more than just America. They ride the coattails of others, and feel government owes them something. They also don't know the pride of earning your own way, of building your own home or lifestyle. The truly impoverished live in disease, war, famine, and slavery. They are obsessed with mere survival and can't deal with pleasure or friendship or social structure. So maybe the working class people really do have it best. They have enough knowledge, experience, and comforts, not to be spoiled, but to get by, to still have dreams, to make sound judgments. The chosen few may not be the ones who bask in the "easy" life, but the ones who've had just enough of the taste of the good life to keep working for it. |
| There's a song by Eric Church that made me stop and think about the words. It's reminiscent of Garth Brooks "Unanswered Prayers". The first verse was about a high school football star who placed all his life's dreams on playing football, the scholarship for his education, and the pro teams. Then the unexpected happened, he had a terrible injury. He was out the rest of the year, but once he recovered, he was no longer a star, so he was cut. All his dreams vanished. He was lost with no sense of direction. The second verse was similar. He had a good set-up, career, money, love, but he realized that was wrong, too. So now the writer is writing songs and playing music and loving his life. He's thankful that he's not what he almost was. How many of us can say that? What dreams did we have that didn't come true? What plans did we have that fell through or were thrown over? And are we happy about it now? Oh, it's that last question that slows us up. That's what it boils down to for so many of us. If everything worked out ok, then maybe we're happy; maybe we realize we had it wrong. Only if we're not happy now, do we regret what might have been. We might not mind that our high school romance didn't work out, or that broken engagement right after college, but it seems like most people never forget their dreams. Decades later they still feel the regrets, the lost hopes. It's a great feat to be happy with the way things turned out. I tried to think about my plans that didn't work out, and I can't say they were replaced with something better. I've learned to adjust, but I'm not with Eric Church yet. I'm not celebrating that I'm not what I almost was. |
| Mother's Day is celebrated this weekend. Church is all about mothers that day in every town, village, or city. The assumption is that everyone had a loving mother, and that the women are loving mothers. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have heard from church goers who sat in the pew every Sunday watching the families, particularly multi-generational families. They didn't claim envy. They wondered why God loved everyone else more. They had not known a solid family life. Maybe as an adult, he or she had established his own family unit and tried to be different, but the memories of a painful childhood still prevailed. I've worked in a children's "home", where the kids came from homes where the mother had died, was in jail, or was a known prostitute or abusive parent. These kids grew up in a cottage on a campus, raised by people like me, who were on the clock. They wanted a mother's love, but they didn't get it. One boy told me that his mother put him out on the front porch in winter time, wearing nothing but jockey shorts. He was undersized for his age. At 16, he looked like he was 12. His crime? He held the refrigerator door open too long. I was friends with a nice guy who had a beautiful wife and a beautiful daughter and a son. They were very active in their church and were a close family. After years of conversing with them, he confessed how hard it was to see all the happy families, and how he couldn't forget how his mother had raised him and his brother. She had beaten them both with a belt frequently. They never knew when she'd lose her temper. She called them names, like "Stupid" and "Ugly". She burnt them with her cigarettes. At age 13, he wondered why he had been born so stupid and so horrible, why God made him so different from everyone else. It wasn't until much later that he realized he wasn't different; he had just had a troubled mother. He was one of the nicest, smartest men I have known. His mother was wrong. Mother's Day and Father's Day can be a very troubling time in a church. While it helps most of us to celebrate the mothers we did have, for some, the day is a reminder of pain and suffering. For some women, it is a reminder that they could not have children, and they feel the frustration and failure again. The day is a mixture of heartbreak, memories of mothers who have passed. appreciation, and cheer. At church and everywhere on Mother's Day, we need to be sensitive to others who don't have the same happy history, and remember more than usual, that we are all part of the family of God. |
| I see friends posting selfies on Facebook, some with their kids, all the time. They are all ages. Most are women. I don't see many or any pics of teens, so they're being left out of this converstion. I felt like all these people from all walks of life, many older than me, are taking self-photos, why shouldn't I try. Well, I did. I was horrified. I erased it. I tried over a different day. I erased it. I saw more selfies from other people. Their wrinkles were showing. The odd angles weren't flattering. I thought, "Well, they're willing to share their bad shots, I should try again." Once again, I was horrified. So I tried a whole series, from left, from right, fixing my hair, angling my chin differently. I erased them all. I tried different lighting, natural and artificial. I determined I was a freak of nature. Time has been my enemy. I wondered how on earth other people could tolerate it. I felt pity for them if they have to view what I saw in those pictures. It seemed so unfair. I don't think it's always been this way. Maybe. I calmed down and tried another day. I tend to tilt my head to one side. I corrected that. I adjusted my hand positions to try not to look up into the shadows under my eyes. I did seem to get some that were not quite so bad. Different clothes and colors seem to help. I finally realized selfies were not made for older people. Your photo is too close up. I look in my bathroom mirror every day, and what I see is nowhere as bad as what I get in a selfie. In one selfie last week, I discovered age spots (such a cruel name) on one side of my face that I didn't even know were there. I destroyed the picture. No one else has seen these. Some selfies are not meant to be shared. I have taken some that I'm keeping for private use. I'm on a diet and exercise program. After I lost 9 pounds and knew some clothes were looser, I took some full length shots with a mirror. Yes, the camera shows in the mirror. No one will see these but me. When I lose some more, I want to look in the mirror and compare to the photo, so that I can see my progress. They will never be on Facebook. Selfies may have a purpose, but they shouldn't go public after a certain age (or certain circumstances). |
| One of the things adults never tell children when they are forcing them to study piano, is that they will always have a job of some kind. They might end up as a computer specialist or a carpet installer, but if they play piano, somebody will always have a part-time or substitute job for them. The regular pianists to get sick or go on vacation, but they still need music. School choirs always need a pianist, only part-time, about an hour a day or so, 3 to 5 days a week. Church choirs need a pianist, a one hour rehearsal during the week, and an hour or two on Sunday mornings for services. Then there are theater groups that occasionally need live piano music for a summer play or revue. That would be good for a month or so. Some churches or theaters pay better than others, so it could be good extra cash. There are also weddings and funerals, totally unpredictable, but if you only want to play occasionally, they are good income. The steady supply of pianists come from a list of music teachers, but they aren't always available due to health, travel, and family duties. So others are needed. You don't even have to be excellent, just proficient. Of course, you have to survive the initial instructions and recitals and the ribbing of the siblings. And you have to keep practicing as the years go by. Initially, it will require the insistence of the parents to get those lessons going, but incentive for a little extra income may keep them practicing later on. |
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