Mobile Pix

Sharkey mentioned that it is difficult to post pictures from a mobile device.  I took that as a challenge of course so here's a picture of my four children with four of their cousins Circa 1968.

Our Country, Our World

Saturday I was in a local commodities cooperative which is a buyer and vendor of grain crops.  There was a large sign on the office wall which said, and I may not be quoting verbatim here, "All grain purchased here must conform to the standards of the European Union and to those of the Chinese Ministry of Agriculture.  Any other product must have prior approval of the management."

And have you been advised of the EU regulations regarding GDPR?  We are told that "This law is NOT specific to people operating in the EU, it affects all of us that have websites that might be visited from people in the EU. . ."  Further there exist threats of serious financial etc, etc.
And so on and so forth.

"Proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free."

Throw Pillows and Friendship

My blog pal, Grace, recently posted this line on her blog:

And no, I have never, I do not now, and I never will – have a throw pillow.

As I was sitting in our solarium/sunroom/porch glancing around at the decor, this sight met my eyes

 and I thought of Grace and laughed.

Illustration of some important things.  "It takes all kinds."  I still consider Grace to be my friend, and I hope she thinks the same about me.  "People don't have to agree on everything to be friends."  Which calls to mind this, that Opal said of her husband, Earl:  "If we agreed on everything one of us would not be necessary."

Thus I hope to promote that better world in which people can disagree and still get along.

Blog Posting Murderers Meeting

In an exciting turn of events, Lin of "Duck and Wheel with String" called with the news that she was in the area, and would a meeting of the Blog Posting Murderers be in order?  Of course!  Lin showed up along with Joe and Emma and a wonderful though too-brief afternoon ensued.

We did not have a quorum for a full-fledged meeting of the group, so we formed an ad hoc committee composed of the two of us and proceeded to reminisce, fill in the blanks, and generally catch up.  Mention was made of course of the other members of the society, all good.

The five of us, the two bloggers, BBBH, Joe, and Emma, poked around the yard a bit, but soon repaired to the house and the AC for the temperature was already in the nineties and coming off a long winter it was a bit much outdoors.

Enjoyed the visit, though we missed you, Sharkey, and you, Chuck.

Writer's Picks 2016 Part One

January  a little dickens lives with us.
   
February  during which I was resident in nursing home.  All month plus.

                                                              March noodles and wedding bands

                                                                                           April  missionary squabble

                                             May  a bit political

June conversation in an elevator

These are the writer's choices for each month of 2016.  The second six months to follow in a day or two.  As I observed on another occasion, much like designating a child as "favorite."

Xmas and Related Things

Seriously.  I was thinking of writing a post about some of the elements in the "Christmas Wars" and while I pondered, stewing in my own juices somewhat, I started surfing through my blog roll as I hadn't checked on some of my friends in a few days.

I found this at KCBob's and he has done a much better job than I might have done.  I recommend this *click* to you.

You are welcome.

The Barn in The Attic #T

Pulled down the folding stair and laboriously climbed into the attic.  It has been a long spell since I roamed through this silent dusty old place.  I turned the corner and started walking down a narrow lane, clearly disused for some time, for the tracks were overgrown with weeds which had withered and died, drooped over and formed a carpet on which to tread.

Presently on my left I spied an old barn, wind-beaten and grey, and listing to the east.  Prevailing winds, you know.  Curiosity poked me in the side and I went through the open gate to the barn lot.  The door hung on a rail and would have been easily opened but that was not necessary for it stood open anyway so I walked inside.

Shafts of sunlight shot through the cracks that separated the siding in random places.  I stumbled through all sorts of clutter, disused machinery, even an old kitchen sink, and galvanized tubs, a 1940s vintage washing machine, its wringer dismounted and jammed into the tub.

Then what is that on this old bureau?  In stunned amazement I recognize this piece of long disused machinery as my old Idea Mill.  I have not seen it in ages and I have no idea how it got here.  I must have placed it in the refuse bin for disposal and somebody salvaged it, dragged it to this haven for old stuff.  Whoop! Perhaps I can now gin this thing up and work up an idea for a blog post.    I reached for the handle and discovered the first problem.  The handle was not mounted on its axle but rather it was sticking up from inside the hopper.

I took the crank and placed it back on its shaft.  I did not have a pin to hold it in place, but it fit snugly and would perhaps allow a few turns without falling off.  I tried to turn the handle.  Frozen.  Looking into the hopper I could see that the raw material for new ideas had been left in the hopper and it was all clotted, gummed up and hardened into an ugly mass.  I looked around for a tool with which to dislodge the stuff.  There is a tire iron.  Surely that will break it loose!  Not so.  All my efforts were futile.
 
I wandered, defeated, out of that place and shambled away.  Another hope dashed.


Word of the day:  shambled 

In a Nutshell

Blogging in Bed #T

My "writing" often occurs in the wee hours of the morning as I lie abed longing to be held in the arms of Morpheus but nevertheless gratified that since the mind will not shut down usable ideas sometimes impinge themselves upon my consciousness.

Some of the material you see here on String Too Short to Tie was produced in just this manner.  Maybe the value of that is reflected in the quality of the product.  Be kind.

Thursday night a complete story, fictional but illustrative of one of life's truths, filtered through my mind and finally sleep came.

Often when I dream I can recall upon awakening that I had a dream but find it elusive when I try to remember the details or even what it was about.

Friday morning when I sat at the keyboard to transcribe the tale of the previous night I found that I remembered the story, but the quality of the thing seemed to be somewhat below the standard I hope to achieve.  Pondering on this I realized that what had occurred was a semi-sleep dreamy event in which I was actually dreaming that I was lying awake creating a blog post.

Conclusion:  The whole thing was not worthy of being posted.  Yet somehow I managed to think that this account of the events was blog worthy.  Go figure.

Also, thank me for sparing you the tale.

You're welcome.

How long

will it be?

The gap, I mean, between this and the next post.  Everyone deserves a vacation, right? 

God be merciful unto us, and bless us; and cause his face to shine upon us; Selah.
That thy way may be known upon earth, thy saving health among all nations.

Let the people praise thee, O God; let all the people praise thee.
O let the nations be glad and sing for joy: for thou shalt judge the people righteously, and govern the nations upon earth. Selah.
  
Let the people praise thee, O God; let all the people praise thee.
Then shall the earth yield her increase; and God, even our own God, shall bless us.

 God shall bless us; and all the ends of the earth shall fear him.  --Psalm 67 (KJV)

Hair Then and Now

Did anyone notice that my profile picture had changed to this?  This resulted from computer upgrades, loss of previous picture (temporarily) and a stab-in-the-dark attempt to find a replacement.

This photo takes twenty-one years off my physiognomy.  It was made in 1994.  BBBH does not like it and I like to think it is because of the facial hair,¹ not because she wouldn't have liked me in '94.  But she did not know me then.


 
So, because she did not like it, and because I am a prince of a guy, I found the picture of the old me, the now me, and reverted back to this identifier.
                                                













If you could take twenty-one years off your appearance would you do it? I know some people who have made  the attempt.²  Pretty good results, too, so long as the collar is buttoned high and the sleeves go to the wrist.

I would not do it.  Yes, I know I look my age, crinkles and ridges and warts and all, and I am okay with that.  Besides I don't like pain.  Or unnecessary expenditure of resources.  Or who people might think I thought I was, doing such a thing.  Can't you just hear it?  "Who does he think he is?"

    

"As a beauty I'm not a great star. Others are handsomer far; but my face -- I don't mind it because I'm behind it; it's the folks out in front that I jar."  --A.H. Euwer, also attributed to Woodrow Wilson, and I heard my dad quote this from the time I was a boy.

                                         
Word of the day: physiognomy

¹The goatee was grown as a part of Tipton's Sesquicentennial celebration.  It was shaved in the public square by Dave Hartley.of Hartley's Hair Salon.
²Did you hear about the plastic surgeon who could install a device in the scalp so that one could insert a clock key and get an instant tuneup?

Inspiration

You have doubtless witnessed me whining about my lack of "inspiration" for my blogging experiences.  I need to pay closer attention to what is going on in the neighborhood, and of course by neighborhood I mean all places inhabited by people.

In our neighborhood, Muncie where I once lived, a backyard picnic turned violent over the holiday weekend when a woman stabbed another woman in the eye with a barbecue fork in a disagreement over who got the last chunk of ribs.  We take our BBQ seriously in Indiana.

We do, however, take our legislature as a joke.  A recently passed law soon takes effect in Indiana.  It requires a vehicle traveling in the left lane of a four-lane highway  to move over when another vehicle approaches from the rear.  Yes, this means that if you are traveling 70 mph in a seventy-mile zone and an idiot going ninety comes up on you, you must move over.  Failure to do so could cause you to incur a fine of up to $500.  More to the point, if the idiot is going 90, protect yourself at all costs.

Anyway, the idiocy ratio (IR) in our legislature is 100% in the house (97 - 0) and 59% in the senate (29 - 20) for an overall legislative IR of  86%.  Seems about right.

Yes, I know it is idiotic to drive the speed limit in the left lane if the right lane is clear.  But how dumb is it to pass a law that could impose a fine on an otherwise law-abiding driver in favor of a fool.
It is sufficient to treat the left lane as a passing lane only.

Credit, if any, where credit is due:  It is my understanding that our fair state was not the first to endorse this legislation.

Headline:  School destroyed by tomato plants now garden.
My fault.  This is a case of faulty eyesight, not faulty writing or weird occurrences.  It actually reads: School destroyed by tornado plants new garden.

The story is from Lafayette, also in the neighborhood, approximately as far west of us as Muncie is  to the east.

That Empty Feeling

Journaling BBE **

BBE: Before Blogging Era, or at any rate years before I undertook to maintain a blog.
BBBH:  Beloved Beautiful Better Half; referred to her BBE as "JoAnn."

In the summer of 2003, BBBH and I scoured much of Central Indiana looking for a used motorhome. This resulted in the purchase of a 24-foot unit, seven years old but with only 17,000 miles of use.

October arrived and we had yet to test this thing on a really significant trip.  So we loaded up and headed out.  Though I did not have a blog I did have some interest in keeping family and friends advised of our whereabouts and adventures, should we have any.  I chose to send periodic emails via the expediency of using friends' computers along the way, or stopping at local libraries to post messages.  As it turned out this resulted in a journal which we have kept for the memories.

As there has been an inspiration dry-spell here at STSTT, I thought to share some of that very first RV journey.  The two asterisks following the title of the posts will alert you to the fact that the story is old news from our younger days.  There is some editing for brevity. Choose to read if you wish.

On October 8 our RV headed south and east to Lexington, Kentucky where we had a most enjoyable visit with Carl and Bernardine.  We parked our rig right next to theirs on a horse farm directly across the road from Keeneland Race Park.  Carl's fascination with horses is life-long and legendary-- at least in the family.  

The Horseman, Keeneland in background.

When Air Force One was parked on the tarmac directly to the right of our vehicle the only thing between us and the plane was a bobwarr fence and a quarter mile of space.  And probably a bunch of unseen rifle-toting secret servicemen.  We didn't venture over to the fence.  Along the motorcade route, it appeared that every police officer in the Commonwealth of Kentucky was on duty.

That is Air Force One above JoAnn's head

Absence

Why is that?  Uninspired, unmotivated.  Blocked.

Advice to self:  Break out; force yourself: 

So it was that I sat down to the keyboard and attempted to develop a post.  I was three sentences in when I realized that I was producing a rant.  Not good.

Do not desert* me.  I hope to be back.  Sooner rather than later, but we can only wait and see.

May goodness and love be yours in the meantime.

2√2b²

^{*Speaking of desert, or rather dessert in this case, the rhubarb is in!  I cut up a pile of it, BBBH made sauce.  We have had it on cake, on ice cream, and straight.  How blessed we are!}

Jittery

Good butterfly killer?  No, no.  I respect nature too much.  I only want to quell the butterflies in my stomach.

I like to tell stories.  But I tell them by way of the written word.  I am not a thespian, and while I can chair a meeting and maintain a semblance of order, the thought of being "on" to entertain terrifies me.

BBBH and I are planning to attend a dinner meeting.  The chair lady of the program committee asked BBBH to read a couple of her poems, and that is all good.  But then she asked me to read a story from my blog.  Hence terror.

Selecting a story is difficult, too, for they are all my children.  Does a parent have a favorite child?  Well, Tommy Smothers had the answer to that.  I waffled between "A Mother's Day Tale," given the season of the year, and one of Uncle Jep's tales.  I settled on one of the latter since the Mother's Day tale is a bit long, and as I said, I am no actor.  Will do "Hallelujah Time on the Arkansas."

And.  And I was asked to do a reading at a meeting of a different group on Saturday.  Not one of my works, but another author.  Even scarier; and only a day in between to get ready.

An Admonition Shared Again

[This is a rerun from June 2011.  I was motivated to redact and repost it whilst visiting BBBH's facebook account.  People regularly post things that we wouldn't even tell our mothers. Especially would not tell our mothers.  Yet it is on display for the world to view.  Some of these people are near and dear to me.  They are not stupid, but one has to suspect that in many cases their judgment mill is running on fumes if at all.  I read my spouse's facebook pages?  It is only fair.  She can read my blogs if she wants.

I keep a journal, such as it is, as a private blog.  I maintain this blog site simply as a place to record thoughts, be they sensible or not. I look back at it once in a while, primarily to remind myself that it is a good idea not to share everything one thinks with everyone one knows. Or doesn't know.

It seems to me as I surf through the interwebs, as I read newspapers, and as I listen to the radio or television, that there are entirely too many people with too much to say which is unfiltered and unthought. I suspect I have been guilty of same. But I do try to confine much of the drivel that seeps through my mind to the private blog, or better yet, to the dustbin. When I choose to post something on String Too Short to Tie, it is my hope, while I know I was entertained by it, that if someone else should happen upon it, they, too, will be amused or enlightened.

So, in summary, think twice before posting once.
I do wish I could learn to apply that rule to conversations with BBBH!




This one showed up after I had put this post to bed, so I woke it up to insert this addendum.

Wide Open Spaces

Two years ago I wrote a short story, "Intersections," the primary setting of which was Dalhart, Texas.  Doing some research for another project, I came across this tidbit,

Dalhart, Texas is a small town of about 7500 population on the High Plains.  It is closer to six other state capitals than it is to its own capital,  Austin.

Little about Nothing

Dear Reader,

To paraphrase a character in "Pogo" from many years ago, "If I could only write, I'd send a nasty letter to the mayor, if he could only read."

What you should take away from this is that the post today is vacant (vacuous? empty? bereft of sense?) or nearly so, because while I do have things on my mind, I am less than sanguine of the possibility that any of them would be edifying.

Stay warm, stay alert, and stay out of trouble.

Sincerely,
vanilla

Sharkey's Picks

Friend Joan, aka Sharkbytes, or Sharkey, who shares her quality life with us at My Quality Day weighed in on post choices on STSTT.  She kindly said "it was hard to choose" but she picked the selections from Dora's Diary.

Dora Marlene Rutledge was the little girl who lived in the Appalachian hills and heard Uncle Jep relate stories when she was a young 'un.  Some years after Uncle Jep and Aunt Grace had passed, Dora gave her childhood diaries to Uncle Jep's amanuensis who transcribed some of the Old Uncle's tales which she had recorded.  Two additional entries from Dora's journal may be accessed here and here.