For the Love of Music

  Something that I haven't come entirely out and said on this blog is that I love music. Well, I love certain music. I'm not one of those guys who, "listens to a little bit of everything...", but I do like a variety of music. I can even appreciate a lot of different genres, but the music I like the most contains many of the same elements. So...I have decided to include a portion of this blog to my love of music. I feel like doing a list of sorts and hope we are all fine with that. (If you have to sigh, please do so quietly! I am already currently ruining many of my student's lives and cannot bare to know that I am ruining yours too . If I am by making this little list, I apologize before it starts.)

  So, the audacious title for this list is going to be something like, The Albums That Changed My Life, or something of that sort. Not sure exactly yet. Still have to run it by the crew here at Hines Terrace Herald and they are a tough crowd. Lady hates music of all types. She hates it loud and hates it soft. She especially hates it when you are making it. She has one, real ground rule about and that is that there is never any reason to ever sing and play in her presence.  Jack likes music, but is a Top 40 guy. Words like indie give him the shivers. He also hates hipsters for always giving him a hard time about his play lists and wants me to tell all of you that he didn't start liking Arcade Fire till they got a Grammy! And Mel, well Mel is Mel. She does like a little bit of everything and to my limited knowledge picks up on lyrics faster than anyone in the world. I am sure she could be an astrophysicists if they would only put the math to a tune! And there is me, I have been called a music snob and other things. I can't remember lyrics to save me, but can remember most every song I have ever learned to play. So, Mel and I make a great team that Lady will never be caught listening to!

 The first album on my little list is:




   I began learning to play the guitar when I was a little, twelve year old by. My parents bought my older brother and me guitars for Christmas in 1991. I was sure that I would be famous by Easter, but it was just not that easy. However, about six months into learning to play my guitar teacher let me listen to the above cassette tape. (Yes, I said cassette. I am old. I only have a few good years left in my ears, eyes, hips, and have been looking in to a Jitterbug as of late.)

  I remember hearing the sounds that came through my radio and being completely captured and in awe. It has been 19 years since then and I am still in awe. Mr. Keaggy plays the guitar as Van Gogh painted. You do not hear him moving up or down frets. You do not hear the pick. You do not him do anything that most every other guitarist does. I could not believe that he and I were playing the same instrument. When I played it was rough, scratchy, ill-sounding and when he played it was smooth and perfect. I used to go sleep almost every night listening to this tape, hoping that if I hard it enough I could one day learn to play like him. It hasn't happened yet.

   Well, it has been a long time and I still do not play like him. I have gotten a little better, but do not believe I will ever play like him. He has a gift and plays to return it back to the One to Who he knows gave it to him. If you do not know him yet, please look him up. Some of his songs are a little much, he doesn't have the greatest of singing voices, and is a little obsessed with being the Fifth Beatle, but, but, but, I have listened and seen a lot of people play the guitar and no one does it better nor do they make it look easier. And he does it all with NINE fingers. He lost his tenth in a well while a young man. I saw him a long time ago play in concert and he played all the instruments and parts to all his songs on his one guitar while looping all the sounds he was making. It was and still remains one of the most amazing things I have ever seen a person do. It was truly magnificent.

 All this being said, please give the album a listen to. It is soothing, challenging, and I think it is one of the finest instrumental guitar albums ever made. And if you are like me and try to play the guitar, then you too can use it a a benchmark for your playing.

David
 

Throwing the Yellow Dodder--Snippet 7

* This is a continuation of a work of fiction.

....Lucy began to think about how lucky her family was to have all of the little things that she always forgot they had, had until she was around Mable. Mable did that for her. She made her think of the little things that she often overlooked. She wished she wasn't like that, but she'd been doing it her whole; letting the big things blot out the sun's warming rays that she hard forgotten to notice, forgotten that she needed, forgotten that she longed for. Being with Mable was like walking in the first warm, spring day after a long winter. Her skin reached out to the rays for warmth, for comfort; the rays came to her in the decibles of Mable's aged, accented voice.

 Lucy guessed that she had gotten so used to comparing her life to other people that were above her that she had forgotten that she could also look down. Lucy also began to think about she was going to the library as soon as her shift ended to get a library card and a fresh book. She would just have to make time to read and learn; Mrs. Mable had and she was a good woman, a real good woman.

 Mable sat wishing she could walk. Oh', how she longed to stretch her legs and feel the beautiful, hard Earth beneath her sore feet. She smiled a little thinking about how much fun it had been to walk bare footed in the cool mud of a hot, August day when she and Nellie had spent numerous afternoons digging up pitcher plants and wading out into the Conecuh river for Bladderworts. Nellie always found some reason to fall in or stay an extra half hour. They both didn't mind staying a little longer. It had always been fun to try and come up with an excuse that they hadn't used before.

  Breezes off the lake carried them around the lake. Each had their minds on things happy and sad that were on and in much different places and days. Mable thought of William and Nellie and all that was the full essence of them. Lucy tried to figure out where each dollar was going to come from to pay each bill. It had been an expensive month. She wondered if everyone's junk was always breaking down and quitting on them.

  Lucy pushed Mable along the gravel path talking and listening, teaching and learning, judging and learning.....


Snippet 8 coming sooner than later,
 
    David

Throwing the Yellow Dodder--Snippet 6

* This is a continuation of a work of fiction.

..."Twelve, thirteen, actually all those teen years are hard. It's harder to be old now, but when you're right there in the middle of them and can't see beyond the current tragedy, it is like living among a battlefield full of death. I learned all these crazy things about plants from Nellie. She was the smart one. I woulda' just settled for what I knew if had been up to just me. My, my we would stay up so late drinkin' sassafras tea and reading so many books that the library or anyone else would let us borrow. We would read and laugh and then we'd laugh and read. My William thought we'd lost it more than once till he saw us and what our trail turned out to be. It was one of the best times of my life. Oh, Nellie. She was the very best of me that William wasn't and couldn't be. I wouldn't have wanted him to be."

"I bet she was. But, I just don't know 'bout you and that sassafras tea. With all that laughin', makes me think there was somethin' in that tea 'sides sassafras. I do wish I had all those books to read. I started reading' way too late in life. Can't seem to catch up. So many books people tell me to read and no time to read them."

"Mrs. Lucy, ya' got the time. You just a young thing compared to me. I been knocking on death's door for longer than you been outta diapers. All you youngins think twenty-eight is old. Well, it ain't. Eighty is old. I'm old and I don't even remember twenty-eight, but Miss Lucy, believe me, ya' got the time. Nellie and I read at night or on Sunday afternoon after cleaning the kitchen from supper while the men slept off their fried chicken. And just for the record, we were good Methodists and didn't put nothin' in our tea. We let the men do that..."

"You a riot, Mrs Mable; a true original in every way. I sho' wish I could've been right there buildin' that trail or readin' with you and Nellie. But most of all, I sho' could've used all that laughin' and a little of that tea."

  Mable didn't answer her, but only sighed. The sigh was enough for Lucy. She pushed quietly and Mable sat and both enjoyed the time away from Primwillow Place. It had trapped them both. The path around the lake seemed to be all that Priwillow wasn't. It was real and good; even though it was a paved path. Mable wished it wasn't, but was glad it was or she couldn't have gone on it. Free movement had been taken away from her like her William and seemed to hurt her about the same. It was what she and William had both loved to do the most. They had both taken great pleasure in their own movements and loved that they were slowly moving through this old world together; now only the planet was still moving and she was forced to be still and alone. The gravitational force seemed to hold her in her chair and it sickened her. She knew that she couldn't get up from that chair even if she had, had the power to do so.

  Lucy began to talk about how lucky her family was to have all of the little things that she always forgot they had, had until she was around Mable....


Is everyone growing tired of these little snippets? Want me to keep going, start a new story, or what? Just me know,

  David

Throwing the Yellow Dodder--Snippet 5

* This is a continuation of a work of fiction.

...Waves from the lake made the only constant noise as they walked except for the occasional bird or gust of wind. Mable would ask Lucy to stop at certain places and she would tell Lucy all about different plants and trees. She didn't mind listening even though she didn't exactly love plants. Hearing Mable talk made her wish so badly that she had, had more schooling, but life hadn't dealt her that card. They passed trillium, holly, willows, magnolias, and pines. Lucy knew many of the trees and plants they passed, but there were also those that she had never even noticed before. She wondered how you could live in a place and not notice what you were walking in. To Lucy's amazement, Mable knew a little something or from what it sounded like, everything about each one. She would tell all these little stories woven into stories about each plant and how they came to be in that spot, or in this country, or on their trail, and how she had Nellie had found it in some odd place and brought it back to live with them. Lucy didn't mind all the talk and even forgot a couple of times that she was at work.

  "I sure wish I could have had the same schooling as you, Mrs. Mable. You're just 'bout the smartest woman I know."

  " Oh, Miss Lucy", Mable laughed deeply. "I quit goin' to school in the seventh grade."

  "Seventh grade?"

  " Yes, Miss Lucy, the seventh grade. I was just a little baby when I had to leave. Broke my heart at the time, but didn't have much of a choice. My family was poor; not poor like today with a car in the drive and a satellite television. We were poor, poor. We were dirt farmin' poor. The no shoes or food kind of poor."

  "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Mable. It's rough to get ya' start from behind. Feel like I been playing catch up my whole life. Seems every time I get close to catchin' up, someone realizes who I'm and knocks me back down."

  "I'm not, Miss Lucy. I didn't even know I was poor till I turned seventeen and my family lost our little farm and were forced to move to town. I've always had a good time. All my friends were the same as me. We always found some way to have us a big, ole' time. Using your imagination is a kid's best toy. All these toys nowadays do the creating for you and look pretty borin' to me, and they all seem far too safe. My mind made up some pretty crazy things and I would hate to leave it up to some company to try and recreate that. They just couldn't do it."

 "I know what ya' mean about kids and toys today. I wonder when its all going to catch up with us. Seems like a lot of it already has. But how can you know all this stuff 'bout plants with you only being a twelve year old and havin' ta' leave school? I can't even remember any science from even my senior year of high school and that wasn't that long ago. All I remember 'bout the seventh grade is bein' twelve and feelin' pretty awkward 'bout most everything, but mostly my body. Seemed like everything was going crazy and my mind was just tryin' to stay even with the craziness. I didn't know what I was doin' half the time. Some days, I think I'm still tryin' to recover."......

Be on the lookout for Snippet 6,
   David

"There is Something About the Resurrection...."

      Two days ago at an Easter prayer breakfast, President Barack Obama opened the breakfast by saying this, "...there is something about the resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ, that puts everything else in perspective...". I bring this up for you and for myself as we sit two days away from Easter because I feel, at least for myself, that, that is also where I leave it. I don't like to admit this because I want it to be more. I know it means more. I believe it means more. But I am not willing to go through the motions in order for it to garner a true and adequate response from me or my life. Christ died for me. Christ took onto himself every sin I have committed or will commit. God could not even look at me because I am so full of sin, but then Christ died and now when God looks upon me, He sees His precious, sinless, perfect Son.

      I know all of this. You know all of this, but what does it mean. What does it look like in my life? Christ died for me. Christ descended into hell for me. Christ rose victoriously for me. Christ is making all things new for me. Christ has made me acceptable in the sight of God because of what He did. He does all of this for me so that by doing so He brings complete glory to His Father. However, for the most part I take all of this and act like my dog Lady when I give her a piece of meat or a new bone. I hide it and guard it and growl, but I don't dwell in it. I don't rest in it. I don't enjoy it. I hide it. I definitely don't share it. I am exactly like Mr. Obama. I am willing to be at the breakfast and talk about it and say in front of the people around me that, "Yes, there is something about the resurrection, but I am not going to go any deeper than this because if I do, then I am really going to have change some things about me and how I live and I AM NOT DOING THAT!".  (This is me speaking, not Mr. Obama)

       The death and resurrection of Christ calls for, no, demands from us a response. And what is my response going to be? If it is how it should be, then I have no choice about my giving grace to everyone around me. I have no choice about whom to love and where. I have no choice about what to place my hope in. I have no choice about whom I should forgive, how to forgive them, and how often. I have no choice in what I am willing to do for people and how many times. I have no choice about knowing to whom I belong. I am either a son of God because of Christ or I am not. There isn't a halfway point.


     So, on this Good Friday, what will our response be? What will my response be? Will we be willing to agree and say that there is something about the resurrection or will we be willing to live like there is something exact and seminal about the resurrection and live that way. I am hoping and praying that I will be in the latter because I live too much in the former. I live too much with Jesus on Thursday when He was a great leader and speaker. Friday is scary and rising on Sunday is even harsher, but I want to be there. I need a great and powerful Savior. I need the grace that is greater than all my sin. I want to reflect the hope in knowing that the resurrection occurred and that it means what it actually means. I need a resurrected Savior.

Happy Easter. May you rest in the truth of the Gospel and may I learn to do so as well,

          David

Tonight, I Celebrate My Love for You...#3

   To say, that I am a lover of very simple things is a vast, vast understatement. I wish it were not so, but most of my very favorite things are so very simple. Today's item that I love dearly is Smartwool socks. I know this seems a little odd and you find yourself saying, "Really, David? Socks? The whole earth full of items and you love socks? Is this for real? The whole of creation and you pick to love wool socks?" Well, let me try to explain this love for Smartwool socks to you. I am on my feet all day. I teach on my feet. I coach on my feet. Most of my hobbies find me on my feet. I sometimes even watch t.v. standing up. So, socks are very important and, to me, almost nothing beats the feel of putting on clean, dry socks, especially when they are clean, dry, Smartwool socks.

These are Smartwool's socks for runners.

These are Smartwool's hiking socks



  Smartwool is a company from New Zealand; a country that is home to more sheep than people. I can think of no better place to make quality, wool socks than a place like that! The company named itself Smartwool because wool is supposed to be the magic fabric. Wool is the only natural fiber that works with your body temperature to achieve a balanced temperature. This is what wool does on a sheep. This is what the wool does on your foot. In the summer, they cool your feet and in the winter they warm your foot. It does, I'll admit, seem very magical if you value your little feet. Smartwool socks are expensive. They cost about $16.95 a pair on average. While this does appear to be very pricey for just a pair of socks, you must remember that these aren't your typical socks. They are magic socks. They are Smartwool socks. I say this because I have had pairs of these socks since 2001. It is 2011 and they still are in semi-perfect shape. When's the last time a pair of cotton socks has lasted you ten years? I know the answer already.

Here is a little poem I put together about my love for these socks just for you...(and the socks, of course!)

Oh, wondrous woolen creations,

Being both just so warm and just so cool,

Covering my little size eights,

Cushioning my every step,

Comforting my every stride,

Around the track,

Up a trail,

In my leather shoes,

You sit,

Being you,

Letting me be me,

In perfect fiber harmony.

Ok. Ok. So, my weirdness may be complete to you now. I love these socks. I have tried others and been sorely disappointed. Try them out and you will see what I'm talking about. These socks even get Mel's seal of approval and that is saying something.

David

Boston Marathon 2011-Update

        The 2011 Boston Marathon was an historic occasion in every sense and definition of the meaning. "It was one for the ages", as many internet sites and newspapers are saying . Each year, when the runners cross the starting line, they are continuing a tradition that was begun over a hundred years ago. However, the 2011 edition was a race that will be talked about for a very, very long time. The race registration filled up in eight hours. The weather was abnormal because it was both warm (86 degrees) and there was a tailwind. It is usually cool and there is usually a pretty strong headwind. And as if all of this was not enough, the results of the race will be argued and debated about for many, many years. The male winner of the race was Geoffrey Mutai, a runner from Kenya. He completed the course in 2:03:02. This is the fastest a marathon has ever been run on one of the toughest marathon courses in the world. The female winner of race was Caroline Kilel, also from Kenya. She completed the course and the battle for first at the end in 2:22:36. She was closely followed by Desiree Davila, who is from America and completed the course with the fastest time ever run by an American woman for the marathon distance. She has been flying under the radar for quite sometime, but I'm afraid she won't be able to do so now.

      However, the runner that was most closely watched by the great folks here at Hines Terrace Herald was the American, Ryan Hall. It has been an odd year for him. He ran well at Boston last year, but then seemed to disappear and then when he did appear he appeared tired and sickly. He then pulled out of the Chicago Marathon and then quit his team, the prestigious Mammoth Track Club, citing fatigue and sickness as his reasons. He then called on God and his dad to be his coaches and disappeared again completely changing the way he trains. He then raced a pretty descent half marathon in Houston, but still was running slower than his American record time at this distance. He then emerged at the heavily discussed NYC Half about a month ago and finished a dismal 21st with a time that was far from encouraging. Fans and naysayers wrote him off and said he was far past his prime. There were calls for his retirement and some calls for even worse. I will even say that there were some harsh things said in haste by certain members of  the Dark contingency here in Macon. We were waiting for the Boston Marathon to see what Ryan could really do or not do. And we were not left wanting.
      Ryan Hall ran as one inspired.  He led most the race for most of the first half. He would fade when the surges were irrational and then he would battle back to the lead pack. As a spectator, you could see the enjoyment on his face during the first half, but you could also see his desire, agony, and concentration as he finished. And finish he did, he finished in fourth place with a time of 2:04:58. This is the fastest an American, natural born or not, has ever run a marathon.He had mostly doubters, but he blew them away. The letsrun.com crowd was pacified for about 30 seconds.
     However, even there many folks said his time shouldn't count because of the tailwind. They said he is still washed up because he can't win. They have found every way they can think of to discredit his accomplishments. He had failed them again. However, to most folks, he made them proud to be both Americans and runners. The chanting of USA could be heard over the announcers of the race. Runners of all abilities will toe the line and pretend they are Ryan or Desiree at their local 5K's now. At least, I will. I want to run inspired. I know others who desire this as well. Why run any other way?

Congrats, Desiree. Congrats, Ryan. You made us proud. Very Proud.

You made the $4.99 fee to watch the race, the best money that I've spent in awhile,
       David

Happy Patriot's Day or Godspeed, Ryan Hall!

      At exactly 10:00 am this morning, the elite field of distance runners will begin making their way from Hopkinton to Boylston Street in Boston for the 115th year. In this deep field of distance runners stands an American named Ryan Hall. He has had more bad races than good races. He is believed to be past his prime. He was believed to be America's last great hope for distance running, but many have abandoned this thought about him. However, he is the fastest natural born American to ever run the marathon and the fastest American to ever run the half marathon. Some say all of that was just luck or happenstance. I disagree.

    So, on this Patriot's Day 2011, I wish Ryan Hall good providence. I do hope you win. I do hope you become overwhelmed with joy as you make your way from Hopkinton to Boylston Street. I hope you can achieve something great. I will be watching. The nation will be watching. The naysayers at letsrun.com will be watching. However, I know you don't care about any of this. You would love to win. The nation would love to watch you win. The naysayers secretly want you to win. But all you want to do is feel as the great Eric Liddell felt as he ran. He wanted to feel God's pleasure because he was doing what He made him to do. Run as God made you to run. I hope that you do.

Godspeed and Go Get Them,

   David

Throwing the Yellow Dodder--Snippet 4

* This is the continuation of a work of fiction.

..."Mrs. Mable, you have some of the best stories. I wish we could've been raised together. I just know we could've been friends. We could of gotten those slimy boys and made them wish they'd of never even seen a crab apple. I've always thrown a pretty, mean fastball, myself."

"So, you've had things thrown at you too?"

"Boys is always throwin' something at you to get your attention. I never had crab apples thrown at me, but I would've traded some of the crap that's been thrown at me for crab apples for sure. Why don't somebody, anybody, tell those boys that honey always works better than thorns. Boys and men always gotta go about things backwards, well, unless they's tryin' to get somethin'. Then they switch on a dime and all of the sudden turn into sweet cream butter and think we don't notice the change. They think all women are the same beast and can be tamed the same way. They start actin' like a sweet, innocent butterfly, but all I see and smell is that old worm they used to be and still are. Or at least that's the way the men in my life have been. Foolish, I tell ya'. Foolish."

"They sure are like nasty, old worms sometimes. I know the type well. I bet all those boys who were throwing those crab apples grew up to be fine specimens of maggot larvae, for sure. Some of those crab apples were so rotten they'd splatter all over our clean dresses. Oh' how we'd scream. We'd scream all the way down that red, clay road."

"I'm thinkin' of some men right now that I'd like to throw some of those rotten crab apples at. Some of those wormy men deserve to squeal like a little girl. Oh, they is rotten, so very, very rotten."

"Now, Miss Lucy, not all men are worms; a lot of them are worms or even worse, but there are plenty of men that aren't. My William was a beautiful man and wasn't even for a second anything less."

"I'm sure he was, but it helped that he had a woman like you, Mrs Mable. Most people don't think it much of it, but it sure does feel good to be a kept woman. Makes things feel like they should be. You can spot a kept woman from a mile away. She got her head up 'cause she knows it; not in a pride way, but like her world is spinnin' just right and she ain't trying to hang on to it and she's enjoyin' the breeze in her face. I'd of given up most things to be one, but I'm glad ya' got to be one. I know it musta' felt good."

"I hate to hear that, Miss Lucy. I do wish you could've found a good man. I know its hard, but they're out there. They're rare, but they're out there and they're not as hard to find as you think. They're just like some of the plants we had on our trail; they're out there, but they aren't shoutin' to you for you to notice them. They're hiding in the shade, just living life and doing what they were made to do, but you're still young. There's still a chance for you, Miss Lucy. Love ain't got a number that it stops at."

"Those are kind words, Mrs. Mable. You're a true friend if there's such a thing at this place. I'm not too sure if my ticker can handle another man for a little while. It seems to take a little longer each time to heal, ya know?"

"The heart is a muscle and you know that just as I do , Miss Lucy. You got to exercise it a lot and I'm not just talkin' about all that movin' and shakin' that's offered on Wednesdays with that crazy, Latin lady o the west lawn. All that is foolishness if I've ever seen it; old people shakin' all that skin around hopin' to stay alive for another couple of minutes. They should be out here walking around this pretty lake like you and me. I've never done a minute of exercise my whole life. If you're living like you should, then you don't need to. But Miss Lucy, you better let that heart of yours get back to its job or it might go into apathy and nobody wants a flabby heart. There's already too many people with them and all they got is bitterness rising up their throats like acid."

"I know, I know, Mrs. Mable. You sound like my own mama. I just need a little time, but don't think I ain't listenin' because I am and doing so with both my ears."

"I know you are and I'll tell you about my sweet William sometime, but not right now. Now's not the time nor the place. Maybe later, but we both got enough pain in our blood for the moment and I'd hate to ruin a day like this"

"Ya' take your time, Mrs. Mable. We got a lot of time. Time is something you and I've got. Time don't belong to nobody 'cept Jesus and He's the only good man I know at the moment"....

Snippet 5 coming on Tuesday. What do you think so far?

David

The Grapes of Wrath--A Book Review

    I have been finished with this wonderful book for two full weeks and I have tried to write this post since then and have written many words and then deleted them and then done it again and again pushed delete. Nothing, I seem to write is good enough, really gets across what I am trying to say, or says how I really feel about this book. I guess this is because I am very confident of the fact that there isn't much, if anything, that I could say about this book that you haven't already heard, read, written, been taught, etc. I will only say two things about this book:

1) As a person who tries to write and who uses the words of the English language to do so, I cannot even imagine being able to sit down over a period of time and write even a paragraph that can be found on any page within, The Grapes of Wrath.  Steinbeck transforms himself not into a writer in this book, but a true artist that the world will recognize for more time than you or I will be alive. The beauty, pain, happiness, tragedy, and raw human emotion that are expressed in this book are rare and awe-inspiring. Often times during my reading of this book, I was struck with something I cannot exactly explain about what Steinbeck was explaining and doing with the written word all while disguising it within a simple story about a family moving to California looking for work. This is a book I will add to my list of references to measure my writing against. If you haven't read this book, please do so quickly. It will not be a waste of your time.

2) The main story and stories within the main story that can be found in this book not only explain a tragic time in America's history, but explain so much of what we see so blatantly in our country and world of 2011. Our grand disconnect with the land, our unemployment, our portions of society that are deemed by economists as non-hireable, our disrespect for lower means of labor, our desire to be seen as progressive and cultured, our pleasure in tasks that are connected to the land, our desire to look to the past for the simple life and true happiness and our refusal to leave the present, our outlook of perfect employment when 4.5% of the country is still not employed and serves no purpose, the breakdown of the family, the rise of unions, our still blinded belief that progress and new tools/machines will save us from ruin, our seemingly unquenchable desire for more and more convienient and efficient ways/means to work and accomplish tasks, the tyranny of convinience, etc, etc, etc. All of these can be found in their embryonic stages in this book. It is 2011 and we are paying heavily for what occurred during the 20's, 30's, 40's, and 50's, and it is all here and Steinbeck captured it with beauty and magestic talent and did all this with paper and pencil.

I will read this book many times again and look forward to gathering all that I missed during my first read,

  David

A Wrinkle in Time--A Book Review of Sorts

     Last night, I finished this wonderful book by Madeline L'Engle. I had seen it here and there for many, many years, but after much encouragement from the Head of the Great Books Department of the Dark House (Melissa), I picked it up. It was a very good read, but what caught me off guard was that this is a children's book, but contained many high level thinking items in it. If and when Mel and I have kids, I will look forward to sharing books like this with them. I wish I would have read it as a child. Age steals things from us before we notice that we have lost them and then it is too late to regain them. I feel that becoming involved in a book like this is one of the precious items that has been stolen from me. We forget the complexity and beauty of what it was like to read as a child; to believe and imagine that the pages you are holding and turning are actually occuring and you are not a bystander, but have been given a place of honor and are an acting participant within the story. I still try to read like this, but it it is job and I have to concentrate heavily to come close to achieving it, but I remember as a boy many fond memories of feeling like I completely disappeared within the pages and was into the story so much that I would laugh out loud, cry, have my heart beat wildly, or go to sleep worried because I was afraid of what might be lurking in the next chapter. I miss being able to read and participate like that.

   The simple plot is good versus evil and good wins because of love, but to dumb the book down to that does it no justice. Mrs. L'Engle has written a masterpiece of children's literature and was honored with the prestigious Newberry Award in 1963. The book is based heavily on the idea of "tessering", which is the idea that time and space are not linear, but are more like a piece of bread or a sponge in the fact that they are porous and are highly capable of expanding and contracting. I was highly impressed with L'Engle's ability to weave such heavy material among a children's story that also contained many lighter elements that are expected in a children's book. I was also impressed/caugh off-guard by the overtly Christian passages in this book. There are many times when L'Engle uses not paraphrases of Scripture, but actual verses to move the dialogue along or the story itself. I did not expect this to occur because it won a Newberry Award. They read it in many different arenas. I bought my copy at Target. I have heard and read many secular accounts of the greatness of this book. I am glad to see a Christian author not only being overtly Christian, but also being of such grand excellence that the world sees this and awards it. I feel this is a grand lesson each of us could learn from. I was taught long ago by a minister of mine that Christians should be the best at everything so that we have the ability and stage to reflect that excellence back to its only source: God. Thus, bringing all the glory due to Him back to Him because this minister would often say it was our only task. A very high order and one that I feel L'Engle achieves.

  I enjoyed the story and the book is a part of a quintet series and I will be reading the other four over time. However, my favorite part of the book was that it included her acceptance speech for her Newberry Award. I was struck by several phases because I have been thinking about them myself and haven't been able to put them into words, but L'Engle is a master author and is capable of doing so. The speech was worth the $7 alone that I paid for the book. The first phrase has to do with why we should be reading/writing and making our children read and it goes as follows:

"....We (writers) have the vocation of keeping alive Mr. Melcher's (the creator of the Newberry Award) excitement of leading young people into an expanding imagination. Because of the very nature of  the world as it is today, our children receive in school a heavy load of scientific and analytic subjects, so it is their reading for fun, for pleasure, that they must be guided into creativity..."

And the second phrase is this:

"...In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth....The extraodinary, the marvelous thing about Genesis is not how scientific it is, but how amazingly accurate it is. How could the ancient Israelites have known the exact order of an evolution that wasn't to be formulated for thousands of years. Here is a truth that cuts across barriers of time and space..." 


Hope you enjoyed the post. Sorry, it was long. I feel it is leading to another post or maybe several. Sorry. Mel could have warned you if she had only known. She does this for me. She is my interpretor.

Hope you are having a good Wednesday,

   David

Things I Miss!

  This past weekend, I spent a lot of time by myself and whenever I am by myself, I start doing a lot thinking. (Melissa has taken a job as the second shooter for a local photographer and was at a wedding working from 1:00 pm till about 11:00 pm.) So, on Saturday, I mowed our lawn and worked in the yard for most of the day. (If you were wondering, Jack and Lady didn't raise one paw to offer any help or tell me it looked good!) The past several months have been very busy around our house and I haven't had the time to really clean things up and make the yard look as nice as it can. I have had just enough time to mow and sweep. Anyway, as I was mowing, I started thinking about so many things that just aren't around today or just things that I miss and thought I'd share them with you. Here are a few:

1. I miss Dave Thomas. Wendy's just isn't the same. The commercials aren't funny. The "Where's the Beef" ladies are gone. The hamburgers are still square, but I just can't bring myself to eat one because I don't have Dave Thomas telling me they are square because he hates cutting corners. I just don't know if that is their business model anymore. I just don't know what to think about Wendy's. I don't want a revamped menu, healthier options, or sea salt on my fries. I want Dave Thomas, funny commercials, the redhead with braces, and the Super bar.


2. This may sound odd, but I miss anger on the radio.Well, for that matter, I miss good radio. What I'm trying to say is that I miss Avril Lavigne singing about complicated things and sk8ter boys. I miss Kelly Clarkson screaming "Since You've Been Gone". I miss Emimem cleaning out his closet. I miss the Gallagher brother fighting on stage, in the songs, in the news. I miss Garth smashing guitars. I miss Toby  K. telling everyone just where they can stick it if they fight with the old US of A. I miss all of it. Things are too poppy. Too civil. I just would have to look away if Bieber were to get angry. I would just have to laugh if Owl City or Jack Johnson would go off and pitch a tantrum. It would just seem too fake.


3. I miss good acting/actors. Now Mel and I don't get to the movies very often, but we do have the Netflix. I just don't see acting like I did when I was younger or in the older movies. The Rock isn't a substitute for Robert Redford. Jake Gyllenhall is not a substitute for Tom Hanks. Shia Lebeouf is not a susbtitute for Harrison Ford. Hugh Jackman is not a substitute for Brando. Orlando Bloom does not make up for Robert Duvall. I could name many more names, but Justin Timberlake only acts like you think he would and gets nominated for an Oscar. The guy in, "The Social Network" is a weird, neurotic guy in real life and he played one in the movie. Compare him to Anthony Hopkins. Can you? And please don't get me talking about Johnny Depp. The first couple of "Pirates" movies were okay, but do we need a fifth or sixth one? See what I mean? The closest my poor students get to good acting was to see Colin Frith and Geoffrey Rush in, "The King's Speech", and most didn't see it. They were busy waiting in line to see Sean William Scott in, "Bulletproof Monk".


4. I miss the days before everything was bad for you and caused cancer. I am not the most health conscious guy, but I am also not the 900 lb. guy stuck in his house, but I feel like life was so much better when I was oblivious to all the things in life that were trying to kill me. You know, the days before you found out that even an MRI can give you cancer along with kiwi seeds, gatorade, my cell phone, alumninum foil, artificial sweetner, freon, yellow #5, and a million other things. I miss the days when I didn't know how many people died of car wrecks or the flu last year in Georgia. I miss the days when they didn't have animated pictures of my car rolling over and the people dying that were in it above my head on the left visor as as constant reminder that I could die before I got home.


5. I miss the athletes of my youth. It seemed they were more authentic or something else that I can't explain. Michael Jordan was a basketball player. Arnold Palmer and Greg Norman were golfers. Dave Mattingly, Cal Ripkin Jr., and Nolan Ryan were real baseball players. Joe Montana, Jerry Rice, Bruce Smith were real football players. Carl Lewis, Frank Shorter, and Steve Prefontanie were real runners. They invented the things we see copied today. They played the sport how it was suppose to be played. They didn't hold out or lock out for more money. Some did it for free because they were amateurs. They played the game like it was a job; a job they loved. They played like every game was the championship.

These are just a few of the things I miss. What do you miss?

  David

Throwing the Yellow Dodder--Snippet 3

* This is the continuation of a work of friction.

...The gravel path curved around the lake. They walked and rode in silence. Mable hated not being able to walk on her own. She had a lot of good miles on her legs, but wished for a few more. It just hurt her knees so much nowadays. Nellie wouldn't even know her now, but she guessed Nellie would probably be in the same boat as she was; waiting to be taken back home, but still here on earth trying to understand how life could already gone by so quickly and why you were being picked last for heaven. They had both beaten their legs pretty well, but it had always been worth it. Vines and other undergrowth were never very kind to any one's legs. It didn't matter what time of year it was.

  Lucy was so glad to be outside. The last couple of days had been miserable. Prim Willow Place had changed everyone's work schedules and responsibilities around. No one really understood when they were suppose to work and even if they got the time right, they weren't real sure about how to do their new assignment. No one was happy about things except for the stupid man who had come up with the new system. She was sure it had all looked so pretty and perfect on paper; things like that always did. She felt her whole life was ruled by people making decisions for her and she was left to deal with how they really looked and were to be carried out.

"Mrs. Lucy, you ever had a crab apple thrown at you?"

"What's that, Mable? You say damnedest things sometimes. Just plain, ole' crazy."

"Well, I don't mean to. I just say what is running around in my head."

"Nobody means to be crazy. It just comes out natural for most of us. It seems most of us been born with it."

"Well, I guess I may just be naturally crazy then and old."

"Now, Mrs. Mable, I didn't mean ta' get ya' dander up. I never called ya' old and Lord knows we all a little crazy; most of us is a lot crazy."

"I just asked you about the crab apples because we passed a crab apple tree back there and it made me laugh. Those boys used to make me so angry. We girls would be walkin' down the clay road just singin' and laughin'. Ya' know how silly, young girls are? Well, we would be making our way to wherever and out of nowhere those ignorant boys would just start throwing those crab apples at us. Oh', we'd scream, run away, and those boys would just laugh and laugh. We should've grabbed those apples and thrown em' right back at them. I always had a better arm than half those boys at recess....

Snippet 4 on the way,
  
   David

Throwing the Yellow Dodder--Snippet 2

* This is a continuation of a work of fiction.

....“Ya’ sure are quiet, Mrs. Mable. I don’t trust a quiet woman. My momma always said that a quiet woman is a plottin’ woman. This place don’t need anther episode like last month. They got us nurses walkin’ on eggshells as it is.”

“You got nothin’ to worry about, Miss Lucy. I was just thinking about Nellie. Did I ever tell you about her? She was the epitome of a woman.”

“Now, now, Mrs. Mable. This is too pretty of a day to be missin’ folks. We just need to be thankin’ the good Lord for a place to sleep, something to eat, and the sunshine. Ain’t no more promised to folks like us; just work, eat, sleep, and go back to work. We just got to be patient till the Lord calls us home; no death ‘cross Jordan, Mrs. Mable. Ain’t no hardship over there.”

“I’m not thinking or talking ‘bout death, Miss Lucy. I’m just thinking ‘bout Nellie. She would have loved a day like today. We would’ve roamed those woods and laughed till it hurt. She just loved these early spring days.”

"Lawdy, lawdy, Mrs. Mable, I can think of nothin' worse for two women to be doin' than running a muck, laughin', and carrying on out in the woods. That kind foolishness should be reserved for men only. They was born fools and they gonna die fools."

"Now, Lucy, we weren't acting the fool. We were building a nature trail. You know we had over 400 flowers, trees, and plants labeled on our little trail. It was so nice, but to tell you the truth, Nellie was the life of that trail. She was that trail."

"She sounds like quite a lady. Lot of ladies in this world that are our heartbeats. My momma was one of them ladies. Now, where we walkin' today?"

"Let's go to the trail around the lake. Can we?"

"We can go wherever ya' want, Mrs. Mable. I don't feel much like being inside today and the trail around the lake is good and long. Put ya' jacket on and hold on. Here we go."

Wind blew off the lake and hid a slight chill within its crevasses. Beams of sunshine danced and sparkled on the tops of the small waves that covered the lake. Leaves floated in chaotic, swirling orbits and landed for a short time on the path ahead of them. Mable thought about how much fun it had been to chase the falling leaves. Her great grandma had always calling it, "tagging a fairy". If you caught it, you were granted a wish as long as it was one that was pure, then it would be granted, but they never waited to see if come true. They were just kids running to the next swirling leaf and never thought to see if her wish was really coming true, but the truth be told, she thought, was that she was really always wishing to catch the next one, so she guessed it always did come true. She smiled a little as she thought of the gliding motion of her free arms extended into the air grabbing, snapping at something fully suspended and free in the air. It was as if for a brief moment they both, the leaf and her body, had beaten gravity at his game and were free from being held down on the ground.....

Snippet 3 on the way,

  David

Throwing the Yellow Dodder--Snippet 1

* This is a work of fiction.

  Tick, tock. Tick, tock. The second hand beat its path around the endless, circular path. Fifteen till three. The morning and half the afternoon had lasted so long. Mable wondered if the batteries weren’t a little weak, but Joe had just changed them last week. They usually lasted at least a month, but maybe the clock itself was tired of keeping up with the time like she was. She wasn’t really worried, but liked something to think about. Lucy was never late. Every day at three, Lucy came. She was never late and she never missed a day; even in bad weather. Lucy was the best nurse she had, had since she had come to stay at Prim Willow Place. Lucy had become her refuge; the three o’ clock prison break.


“Get ya’ frown off, Mrs. Mable. Ya’ ain’t got nothin’ to frown about. I ain’t seen you wipin’ any babies’ butts and sho' ain’t seen you troublin’ ya’self with the men folk. Men and babies ain’t much different. Only their underpants is bigger.”

“I about thought you wasn’t coming Lucy. I was getting worried.”

“All you oldies think Miss Lucy does nothin’ till three. I live two full days in the morning time alone. You should never worry ya’ little heart, Mrs. Mable. I wouldn’t miss this for Denzel Washington.”

“I knew you wouldn’t forget. Old women, like me, just like having something to worry about. Everything else we’ve worried about has passed away. I would try knitting, but needlepoint never did get my attention.”

“Get ya’ jacket, Mrs. Mable. It may be Spring, but Old Man Winter’s still slinkin’ around; just like a man. They always creppin’ around somewhere, doing things they not suppose to do. Only been one good man and that’s Jesus, but we ain’t seen him on Oprah yet, so we don't know everything.”

Lucy pushed the wheelchair through the germ-free halls that reeked of 409. They walked passed the nurse’s station and accidentally interrupted the Spanish class taking place in the Activity Hall. It wasn’t exactly a mistake. Mable knew the class was taking place there, but had insisted that Lucy cut through the room; getting outside seemed much more important than manners. Old age was no time for manners. It was moving too fast to be nice, life that is, not Prim Willow Place. All those old people acting like it was fun hanging out in God’s waiting room. Ain’t nobody need to learn Spanish past sixty. Heaven’s gonna be bilingual, hopefully silent, so you don’t have to waste any words. She had learned the most in her life just watching the world around her; not talking to it....


Snippet 2 on the way,
   David

Have No Fear

Dear Followers and Guests,

   I just wanted you to be aware that I am NOT trying to us recycled material on you. I am trying to give all of my previous posts labels and a few of them have published onto my main screen for some reason while 99% of them have not. I apologize. I hope it won't happen anymore, but I make no promises. Just know that at the Hines Terrace Herald, we will not use recycled material; just recycled pictures!

 David--Editor/Writer at Large

Tattered and yellowed--A Poem

Tattered and yellowed on the edges,
Pictured memories of the present past,
Square moments covered in dust,
Of a few who now live in the dust,
Gazed upon by those who now wipe the dust.

A Workman's Dream--Snippet 8

* This is a continuation of a work of fiction.

...The biggest thing that really gets to me when I'm walking to and from work or any other place is when I see or hear people yelling and fighting with one another. I just can't hate it enough. It hurts me a little more each time to be honest. I've been tempted more than once to intervene, but didn't because I sort of know what the consequences would be. People don't like you getting in their business. Trust me. I did it in a Texas parking lot a long time ago and all it got me was a pretty, ugly, black eye. It did save a young lady from getting hit, but she probably went back to that drunk cowboy anyway. It seems like they always do, but that is a whole other topic that seems to really get me and I hate that it does. Seems there's a whole species of the human race that feels so bad about themselves that they are constantly searching for ways to be treated badly. It's just that some people seem to be like those inflatable clowns that pop right back up after being knocked down. It's as if they feel they deserve it, but no one deserves to be treated like that.

     I guess really the only thing I'd probably say is that I'm ninety percent sure that whatever they're fighting about is not worth doing so. If I had to make an assumption, what most people fight about is money and that's another thing I could do without. I'd rather have her back than any sum of money, but I'm getting ahead of everything again. My grandpa told me a long time ago that there really isn't much worth fighting about when it comes to someone you love. He said that most people fight because their pride starts getting bigger than their love for that other person and seems to make them blind to the other person's feelings. I didn't really understand what he was talking about at the time, but the older I get and the longer I live alone I am starting to get it. I guess that might be true with most folks really; not just the people you love.

  I just don't think yelling and slamming a door is a good way to start any day; especially during this time of year. Like I've already told you, it is Spring and the air finally smells okay. . Smells are very important to me and I smell a lot of different things as I walk around this town. I smell breakfast cooking in morning, dryer sheets, dead animals, old trash, the fresh air after a rain shower, dirty dogs, meat on the grill, campfires, but my favorite things to get to smell are the flowers in the Spring. It is like all you have to smell and take in are the jasmine bushes and dogwood trees. It's as if the city sucked all of their usual smells out and imported them in to replace the usuals. I even catch myself tearing up sometimes because of the scents and I don't have allergies. I got a supplement for that, that I ordered out of Ladies Home Journal. It came with about two full pages about all the research that led to the development of the little, pink pills. There is some pretty weird stuff in the pills, but I take them. I'm almost scared not to after reading the papers.

   I know beauty doesn't smell, but if it did, it'd smell like the city I live in during the Spring....

Working on #9,
   David