Looking Good

While I was not watching Sunday Morning, I was in the other room attending to a minor task which allowed me to listen to the program with one ear, and the requisite half-mind it takes to follow tv programming.

The segment was about someone named Ethan Hawke whom the interviewer referred to as "the face of Generation X."  The first thing that caught my ear was Mr. Hawke's statement to the effect that when one was shooting pool, for instance, the important thing is not to make the shot, but to look good while making the effort.

Yes.  Characterization of Generation X.  The accomplishment, or failure to accomplish, is not important so long as one looks good in the endeavor.  Form over substance.

The subject capped the interview with a summary of his philosophy.  Succinctly stated, he said that if one pursues his art with dedication it is all good, whether or not the efforts culminate in achievement.

Draw your own conclusions.

Annual Reminder Rerun

This post from a previous year is offered again because I  believe that those who forget the lessons of the  past are doomed to repeat the mistakes that lead to disaster.  

Each year on this date I post a reminder of a very significant and sobering event in our history.  Because this particular item from three years ago expresses exactly why I do this, I am re-posting today.



On this day I reflect that I was seven years of age when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. I remember people discussing this horrible event. Of course over the years I learned a great deal more about it. My point regarding this personal observation is this. Most people younger than I have no personal memory of Pearl Harbor, and a very high percentage of people today are younger than I. So if the memory is to be kept alive, it must be inculcated into the minds of the coming generations.

Collectively, we forget at the peril of freedom and the life of the nation.

USS Arizona Memorial, Pearl Harbor, HI. Directly behind is USS Missouri and to the left, USS Peleliu. I have had the sobering experience of visiting the Memorial, and at an earlier date I was privileged to board the Missouri when she was in Bremerton before she was recommissioned.

Ford V-8

Did I ever tell you about the time Clyde Barrow tuk Gene's car?  (Yes, Uncle Jep, I thought, you have told me at least a dozen times.  But I said nothing.)  Well, Gene, he was workin' over to Syracuse at the bakery, you know, in '32, I think it was, and him and Raejean had just had their first kid.  Girl, she was.  Can't recollect right now whut they called her, but I'll think of it dreckly.  So anyways, Gene was doin' well for hard times, and he had just traded his A Model Ford for a nearly-new V-8.  Charles Simmons from over to Granada had bought it, spankin' new and the first year Ford sell a eight cylinder.  Well, crunch time come for ol' Simmons sooner'n he expected when his wife fall ill, and he need doctors and medicines and such more'n he need a new car.

So Gene has this ol' Model A and some cash whut he and Raejean have jarred away in a hidey-hole an' he takes and swap the A for the V-8, give Simmons some boot.  Long, hard time for Simmons and the Missus, but as it turns out, after a long while, she gets well, and they move off to Cally-forney along of the Palmers.  Well, hit was a hot July mornin', fifth or sixth, I think, 'cause we had just done with the Fourth.  Gene was in his new Ford toolin' along to the bakery in Syracuse when he sees the headlights of a car comin' up ahind him.  Hit purty rare he see another car on the road at this unearthly hour, seein's how he had to be to work by 3:30 in the mornin'.  Well, thet car come right up ahind, but hit never offer to pass.

Gene get to Syracuse and pull the car up in front the bakery, and th'other car come right up and stop in backa him.  People start spillin' out that car, an ever' one an 'em had a gun and two an 'em had, you know, like duffel bags.  They come right up as Gene was a gettin' out his car and this first guy says, "We need your car."  Well, easy to see Gene ain't arguin' with no one.  "How's it fixed for gas?" the guy asks.  "Filled it in Holly yestiddy," says Gene.  So two a the women get in front and two guys and another woman get in the back.  Then Clyde says, Gene know by now it was Clyde Barrow, "You get in there, too."  So Gene clumb in, his heart tearin' out for Toledo, he was that skeered.  Well, four in back were a crowd, but Clyde slam the door and get in the driver's seat, put 'er in gear, and tear out on down the road.

They gone maybe six, eight mile when Gene get gumption enough to say, "Say, you don't need me.  Cain't ya just let me out?"  Clyde says, "Shut up.  She ain't shot no one yet today," indicatin' the woman aside him.  Gene know now that it is Bonnie, I mean ever' newspaper in the land has been runnin' they pitchers fer months.  Gene think she don't look too well, though, but he ain't taken no chances, so he shut up.

These people talkin' amongst theyselves just lak Gene ain't even there; and that worry Gene some, 'cause they were talkin' about they plans, how they driven all the way from Pueblo and will need to stop somewhere to replenish they supplies, so to speak, afore they get to Denison.  Gene figure now they can't well leave him a witness and he like to have never been more afeered for his life.  Nor never since, neither.  Anyway, Gene tryin' to calm his mind figgers out that the one they call Buck is with Blanche, they are a couple.  Then the girl called Billie who seems the most nervous of the bunch is with W.D.  And a course, Bonnie and Clyde are the infamous Bonnie and Clyde.

Well, they get to Lakin, pass on through, and drive on.  After maybe ten miles or so, somewhere atween Lakin and Garden, Clyde pulls over and stops the car.  He steps out, opens the rear door, tells Gene to get out.  At this point, right here, right now, Gene thinks, I am dead.  So he gets out.

Clyde says, "You got any money?"  Gene stammers, "Jes', jes' only a dollar and a quarter."  So then Clyde reach in his pocket, pulls out a wad and peels off a five-dollar bill.  "Here," he growls, "mought could he'p you get back home; and don't you be talkin' to no coppers about us, hear?"  He gets back in the car, peels rubber as he accelerates.  "Man, what a car!"  Gene thinks, "And she ain't mine no more."

Gene were wrong, though.  That car was later found abandoned in Buffalo, Oklahoma and Gene finely got 'er back.  Ava, hit was.  Gene and Raejean named they daughter Ava.

© 2013 David W. Lacy

Three Weeks from Today, Folks

 We attended the Tuesday evening get-together with friends.  Our restaurant of choice is always the same.  And why not?  On Tuesdays all citizens of a certain age are treated to one-third off the menu price of all items thereon displayed.  Typically, while one of us is engaged with the hostess in securing seating, the other checks out the buffet.  Then at table,

"What's on the buffet tonight?"
"Same old, same old."

When we are all present and accounted for, the waitress takes our orders.  She has already placed our drinks in front of us, because she knows exactly that it will be two waters with lemon, a lemonade, and an iced tea.

 There was something new though, but not on the buffet.  The Christmas tree is up!  Shortly before we were finished with our meal and the conversation, Mike and Sally, co-workers of mine in a life long ago, entered and were seated at the table next.  Greetings, pleasantries and a bit of chit-chat.  Then as we were rising from table ready to depart, BBBH said to Sally, "Shopping done yet?"  The look on Sally's face was precious.  You have heard the expression, "Her jaw dropped."  Truth.  Sally's jaw literally dropped.

So I sweetened it a bit by saying, "Such a short time between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Can you believe it is only 21 days until Christmas?"

Sally retorted, "I have no idea who was responsible for making that arrangement, but I can tell you one thing.  It was a man."

 We took our leave, and thought to drive through the park to check on the state of Christmas decor there.  We saw these, among many other displays.

 The secular

and the religious symbols of Christmas peacefully co-existing.

Very nice.

Transistor Sister

Had a flashback, a memory of my little sister when she was perhaps twelve years of age.  So I wrote a little note to her.

Dear Ilene,

Having the MusicChoice tuned to classic country, as is my wont, the play cycle brought around Charly McClain’s “She’s Got a Radio Heart.”  And somehow whenever I hear this song, I picture you as a child on South Hackley Street.  It seems to me that at some point in your life you won a “transistor radio” from a local station.  Is this not true? Or is my memory really as faulty as I sometimes fear?  These thoughts, of course, led me through the technological progress of the dissemination of music to the young set of the distaff gender.  The transistor started it all, and it paralleled the “45” in the bedroom.  So time passes, and we have the tape players, and the accompanying “boom boxes” which were truly too bulky and unwieldy for the girls, so soon enough we saw the young males (gasp!) toting them around.

These soon enough, or at least eventually, gave way to the digital reproduction of music and miniaturization.  Voila! the MP3 and its ilk overtook us.  Or took us over.  And now.  And now we have the ubiquitous bastardization of all communications technologies, the “smart phone” with which not only is every young girl equipped, but with which everyone is equipped.  Except me, of course.

So did I dream this? I do know that I just woke up from a dozing eye-closed state.

It’s a noisy world!

Love you,

David

Thinking about this a bit more, I seem to recall that the "project" which won her the radio was to count the number of times the letter "e" appeared in a certain section of the local newspaper.  But again, a long time ago, in a land far away.

Ilene with her newest grandchild, and first granddaughter. ------>

Shortly after posting this, I received this response which indicates that my memory was only half faulty:

I did indeed win a transistor radio for writing Sunshine Bakers as many times as possible on a postcard.  I think the grand prize was something bigger, a record player or some such. But I won the radio with Dad's help. We worked hard on that post card, using a magnifying glass and sharpening the pencil over and over.  I have progressed through the various technological cycles and now have a smart phone. I like it almost as much as did my transistor, but the sentiment is not there. Ah sweet memories!

Much Love,

Ilene  

Wilbur Visits Wiener

Our Wiener had a visitor during our Thanksgiving party yesterday.  This is Wilbur.  Wilbur is a former cage-mate of Wiener.  They enjoyed the visit with each other.

Wilbur is camera shy.  When he sees someone pick up a camera, he will hide behind someone or something.  So I consider it a coup that I was able to steal these images of him.

The people?  Oh, the people.  We had nine guests, so eleven for dinner.  And there were two more dogs as well.  Fun times.

Yes, Wilbur is a dachshund, silky hair and all.

Keep on Turning

“Consider the blinded beast that turns the wheel of the mill, which though it sees not, neither knows what it does, yet does a great work in grinding the corn, and although the mule does not taste of the flour, yet its Master receives the fruit, and many people benefit from the mule’s trudging labor."  --Miguel de Molinos, 1575