In silence
Sound lingers
An underflow of air
An insistent susurration of traffic
Omnipresent
Random
Unnoticed
Until
A melodic line
Spins out
Voices pure
In unison
In harmony
Organized, energetic
A welling stream
Of meaning and beauty
Amid chaos and noise
Arcing down
To silence.
–Dan Verner
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RIDE ‘EM, COWB–uh, cowmonkey!
I’m thinking that civilization as we know it (more or less) dates back about six thousand years to the Mesopotamian region (and other places such as the Nile and Yellow River valleys). Farmers and hunters who gathered there were able to produce a surplus of food there which led to counting, writing, record-keeping, government, laws and, oh yes, taxes. But enough of the history lesson.
I was listening to all-news radio from the Glass-Enclosed Nerve Center (read all about it at http://www.wtop.com/41/2020261/The-story-of-the-Glass-Enclosed-Nerve-Center-) and they announced, very seriously, that the Frederick Keys minor league baseball team in Frederick, Maryland, is going to feature a cowboy monkey rodeo show before the game this Saturday night. ( For a look at a cowboy monkey rodeo, check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dDZtH-_RDDU)
Now, I’m of a certain age, and have never heard of this sort of thing which in these parts are usually staged in conjunction with a county fair or anything else. I have heard of (and in some cases actually witnessed) tractor pulls, mud bogs, demolition derbies, racing pigs, diving mules, and other entertainment oddments I can’t think of right now (jello wrestling, anyone?) in conjunction with county fairs.
Turns out a cowboy monkey rodeo involves little monkeys dressed in little cowboy outfits riding little dogs herding (presumably) little sheep [I hope–probably not too many rams in the flock, and especially not Dodge Rams. (Sorry, simply couldn’t resist, although judging from the logos on some of the monkeys’ uniforms, they are sponsored by Dodge Ram. What do you know?)]
I would walk across the street to see this, but I wouldn’t pay a fair admission price (or even an unfair one. You know. Oh, the hits just keep on coming!). I have to
wonder, though, what our six thousand year departed ancestors would think of such a thing. No doubt if a cowboy monkey rodeo came to town they would watch respectfully and then when it was over eat the monkeys, keep the dogs and raise the sheep for wool and meat. Now that’s civilization (except for the part about eating the monkeys, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom to the contrary). If this sort of thing appeals to you, by all means go see it. Just be early to get a good seat. They might run out of monkey.
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Gordo back in the day.
Faithful Readers may or may not know that the title of this effort comes from a rather obscure Gordon Lightfoot song (obscure unless you are a GL fantatic. Who, me?), “Biscuit City,” which was on his Salute! album (c. 1983). It’s about a state of mind, according to Gordo, not an actual place, so you can go there any time you want (just point your browser at https://ltdanverner.com/ <– shameless self-promotion, the best kind!).
Anyhow, my friend, writer, poet, librarian and funny lady Leigh Giza posted this video link on Facebook, a song by the Krayolas called “Gordon Lightfoot.” Enjoy, and thank you, Leigh!
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Actually, truth be known, we didn’t go much of anywhere. I can’t speak for the entire Biscuit City staff: I don’t know what they did or where they went, and I don’t want to. Becky and I were close to home most of the time. I did some painting and fixup work at the church and helped out with the annual (26th year) summer music camp that Becky and some very talented people stage at the church. We both taught at the State Summer Music and Worship Arts Camp at Eagle Eyrie, outside Lynchburg, VA, and attended a “destination wedding ” in Charlottesville late in the month. All in all, it was a somewhat busy month, but a gratifying one as well.
In other news, which I’ve shared on my novel blog, Wings of the Morning: A Novel Series about an American Hero, I finished the first draft of the second novel, On Eagle Wings Upborne, and am working on having the beta version out to my readers this week. I’d also like to start on the third novel, which has the working title of On Wings of the Wind.
I still don’t have a publisher, but I’m continuing to work on that. Thanks to all those who have been encouraging and complimentary about my foray into the world of extended fiction. Hang on: something’s comin’!
In the meantime, I plan to blog on Biscuit City Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and on my devotional blog, Preaching to the Choir (http://choirdevotionals.com/)on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with a post on the novel blog (http://huckfinn47.wordpress.com/)about once a week.
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Post #489
It’s summertime, and with it comes the opportunity for the Biscuit City Executive and Administrative Staff to take a break during the month of July. No word where everyone is heading, but we hope some of them will stay out of trouble, and that everyone will have a good time. A skeleton staff will continue to product those fine Biscuit City products, Preaching to the Choir (http://choirdevotionals.com/) three times a week and On Wings of the Morning (http://huckfinn47.wordpress.com/) weekly. We hope you’ll continue reading these and sending in your comments, and we’ll be back in August!
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Martha Adams’ entry in the 1820 Federal Census is about halfway down this image.
The sign in Staples read “Ink and Memory,” and they got that right:
Ink is inextricably linked to memory
Although more profoundly than their products would suggest.
They meant ink for printers and memory cards for computers
I think of the carefully scribed lines in Spenserian script
Found in old census records like the one I was looking at
A couple of nights ago on Ancestry.com, the Federal Census of 1820,
And there was my distant ancestor Martha Adams
Who in 1812 owned land in Tennessee on which she paid taxes.
No birth record, of course, but I would estimate her age
In 1812 as about 18, meaning she was born around 1794.
She does not show up on the 1810 Census, so perhaps she emigrated from England,
I believe, sometime before 1812.
As my brother would say, more research is needed.
I wonder what kind of person Martha Adams was.
She might have married a man named Labora Adams
(The records are not clear) and they might have had
A daughter named Matilda who is my three times-great grandmother.
Beyond that I know nothing of her.
What color was her hair?
Did she laugh easily?
Did she work hard like most women of the time?
Did she have good times as well as tragedies?
Weddings, picnics, springtime walks, church services, babies born, engagements, parties,
As well as
Still births, funerals, accidents, absences, quarrels, injuries, deaths, and the like.
What did she eat?
What did she wear?
How long did she live?
Was she happy?
Did her husband and children love her?
Did she love them?
I do not think these things can ever be known
This side of the grave.
But there she is in the careful pen strokes and
In the image on the screen
And so in memory made palpable and living through
Ink.
Dan Verner
June 27, 2013
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Toggle switches on a car’s dashboard. Don’t know what kind of car it is, but I’d bet it’s fast. And expensive.
I heard on the radio the other day that Ford Motor Company (FoMoCo as we used to call it) was abandoning its touch screen system in some new model cars in favor of–guess what?–switches. Here’s a link with more on the story: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/06/business/after-ratings-drop-ford-reworks-touch-screens.html?_r=0 Seems that people find the system too hard to use and have to take their eyes off the road to work them. With a switch, once you learn where it is and how it operates, it’s pretty much an eyes-off business.
Well. What do I say, except sometimes the way to go forward is to go back. I’ve written in this space about giving up my smart phone (touch screen) because it’s too complicated to put in the commands. I’ve gotten a retro flip phone, and it’s the bee’s knees. And it has push buttons on it. They’re cousins to the switch, and I for one am glad they’re back in the house.
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They were actually more butter colored. I remembered them as gray. Maybe these are made of butter.
Post 486
One of my favorite reading materials when I was about five was the back of cereal boxes, many of which contained offers for amazing prizes. Sometimes the prizes came in the cereal boxes, like the small plastic Navy frogmen which, with baking soda added to a little pod on their feet, would rise and fall in a glass of water for several minutes. This entertained me for hours.
Sometimes we had to send in box tops with a quarter or two taped to a card for a prize. When I was in first grade, one of my cereals (Cheerios, I think, which is still my favorite) offered a Roy Rogers play set for only 25 cents and two box tops. Well, acquiring the box tops was no problem since I sucked up Cheerios like an Electrolux. The bigger obstacle was procuring the quarter. My parents would not simply give it to me. Products of the Depression, they were frugal savers before it became fashionable or necessary for many people. I had to earn my quarter. I forget what I did, exactly, since I had few marketable skills as a first grader. Several years later they offered me a penny for every dandelion I dug out of our yard. I think I made about $1 before I have it up as a difficult job that I could do without. I would rather sit around and read. I was not what anyone would call an industrious child, but the family work ethic kicked in during high school and hasn’t let up since. As Monk says about his detecting abilities, it’s a blessing and a curse.
Anyhow, once I had the quarter, I had to have an envelope and my mom’s help to write the address and advance me a stamp (about 3 cents then). Oddly enough, I could read but not write. I think I figured it took too much effort. I eventually caught up. Obviously.
My mother quizzed me about why I wanted an envelope and stamp. I showed her the picture of the Roy Rogers play set in which the figures looked like they could walk off the page. She snorted. “That’s just a bunch of little blobs of plastic.” Certain that I understood all things Roy Rogers better than she, I persisted until she gave in, saying, “Well if you want to throw your money away, go ahead.”
I taped my quarter to the card and put the envelope in the mail. For some reason I remember sending away to Battle Creek, Michigan, which is where the Kellogg’s company is located, not General Mills. I probably read that off other cereal boxes. I imagined Battle Creek as a wondrous sort of year-round Santa’s workshop where elves took quarters out of envelopes from children all over the world and sent them wonderful prizes. It made me feel warm inside to think that so much effort went into making children happy.
I waited out the five-to-six week “fulfillment period,” meeting the mailman each day, looking for my prize. When the box did come, it was tiny. I took it inside and tore it open and dumped the contents out. The figures of Roy and Dale, Trigger, Bullet and Buttermilk all looked alike. I couldn’t distinguish one from the other. They were little blobs of gray plastic.
I played with my plastic blobs for a while, pretending I could tell the differences among them. I was a little sad, but realized I had learned important lessons at an early age. Pictures can lie, things are not always what they seem, and you have to watch how you spend your quarters. Even where Roy Rogers is involved.
Lies, all lies. Who can you trust? Wait, I know–the government! Oh, wait…
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Now just a minute there:
Poems are supposed to be full of truth
Because Keats said Beauty is Truth
And Emily Dickinson advised us to
“Tell the Truth/But tell it Slant,”
So, a poem filled with lies?
I don’t know—
It’s quite a conundrum for
A literature/poetry/writing/philosophy major
As many of us are.
Sigh. Here goes:
The moon is made of green cheese.
NASA is lying to us.
There are UFO’s out there.
The government is lying to us.
The sun is not shining like a red rubber ball.
The Cyrkle is lying to us.
Elvis is dead
And I don’t feel too well myself.
Lies, all lies, including
This poem
And this line
And that’s no lie.
Honest.
–Dan Verner
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Blog Post 484
I thought about writing a profile of my friend Lee, whom I have known for years, as an example of someone who is making a difference.
Mr. Lee is a private pilot and a past president of Pilots for Christ, Inc an organization whose members donate their time, skills and use of their aircraft to transport people for medical care or for speaking and singing engagements in the case of missionaries, ministers and singers.
Lee agreed to be the subject of a profile, but I sensed he was uncomfortable at the idea of being singled out. I told him a day later I wanted to broaden the focus of the article and mention as many types of people as possible who make a difference. I emailed him about the change, and he replied,
“I like the idea of (writing about) those who work behind the scenes or in a low key manner. I had a friend in the Army who used to say, ‘Heroes know who they are.’ He meant that true heroes don’t need or desire attention.”
I experience this attitude when my dad and I watch the Nationals and the Redskins play on television. Now, we’re not big sports guys: we just like to watch a nice game played by pros.
My dad, a member of the Greatest Generation, does not appreciate athletes who act as if they have won a game all by themselves if they make a good play or put points on the board. “You’d think they were the only one playing,” he says as they celebrate.
He has a point. Without blockers, runners in football wouldn’t get very far. Without the rest of the team playing defense, a home run by a National wouldn’t win a game.
And so, I want to salute all those people who do their jobs quietly, without notice, and who make a difference. I will have to list them by categories since there are so many. I wish I could name every one, but such a list would run to hundreds of names.
There are…
People who work with children at church and school and at day care and special centers and at home, teaching them and loving them—
Those who use their musical gifts to lead and teach and inspire others and to bring us as participants and spectators a sense of beauty and awe—
Those who keep us safe from danger and anarchy, the fire fighters, police, security specialists and the judges, lawyers and clerks of the legal system–
Those who serve as local, state and national legislators and executives. We complain about them, but imagine the chaos without their work, experience, energy and care—
Those who work with local non-profits and arts organizations which make life better for so many people–
Local merchants who employ people and contribute to the community in any number of ways outside their businesses–
Employees who work cheerfully and give a full day’s work for a day’s pay, doing everything that makes our lives as we know them possible–
Members of the news media, both print and electronic who work hard to bring us the truth about events and situations and allow us to make informed decisions—
IT and tech people who keep us connected and working—
Owners, servers, and cooks at local restaurants who provide good food, good times and gathering places for families, friends and co-workers—
Those who drive and make deliveries for a living so we can live as we do—
Doctors who tend to young and old alike—
Nurses who provide a healing touch and professional care for their patients–
Those who work in retirement homes, assisted living facilities and nursing homes providing for the elderly—
Clergy who lead in worship, help people throughout the week and model humility, faith and service to their congregations and to the community—
Retired people who could play golf or watch television all day but choose to do something useful and helpful to others—
Volunteers and volunteer organizations from firefighters to hospital workers to library helpers to community, church and school volunteers—
Coaches, who impart lifetime skills and attitudes to their charges—
Local writers who share a common passion for the written word and support each other in their work–
If I didn’t list what you do to make a difference in this life and in this community, consider yourself recognized. And all those of you who make a difference—you know who you are! May your tribe increase!
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