Today the northwest wind pushed hard on the front corner of our state car and tried to veer us into the ditch as we headed north to McClusky. More than a squall but less than a blizzard, the ground drifting did little to slow us up. I thought again of our recent trip and was taken to the scene of the horrendous explosion that destroyed the Federal Building in Oklahoma City.
We reached that site on the evening of our second day as we pressed south to Texas. The sun had set in a clear sky, and we watched stars begin to twinkle as we arrived in the city. After a hurried supper we traveled a short ten minutes to the National Memorial and Museum which honors the many who died there. Here occurred one of those incidents when a person can remember where he was and what he was doing when news of it spread. I was attending a meeting in Denver, and a crowd gathered in the hotel lobby watching a TV set where those live scenes aired and burned into our memories.
The memorial's lighting system copied itself on the still water of the reflecting pool. We walked silently past empty chairs placed in perfect rows, one for each person killed. A smaller version of them sat there for each of the small children who lost their lives. A gnarled, misshapen tree grew crookedly beside the pond. The blast had not killed it, only deformed it, and they have named it the Survivor Tree.
Across the street but not part of the memorial stood a statue that drew some of us to it. The Catholic church, rather than rebuild the rectory destroyed here by the blast, chose to mount a large likeness of Christ with his back turned to the destruction. He stands with his head buried in his hands and is aptly named from the shortest verse in the Bible "Jesus wept."
Never have I visited a more solemn place than this, all created by the senseless mindset of someone following his misguided and self-styled dogma.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Texas Story, # 2
When I think back on our recent trip to southern Texas, the images do not come in chronological order. Today I am thinking of San Antonio. The English translation of that name is Saint Anthony, the Catholic saint, but I will write more about the Spanish influence on that region's proper and common nouns another day.
We reached San Antonio late on the third day. An interesting stop in Fort Worth at the historic stockyards took up part of the day, and slow-moving evening rush-hour traffic through Austin ate up another hour. Heavy traffic does not seem to bother the bus driver for these Farmer's Union tours we take, a fact I can verify after riding with him in cities like New York, Boston, Seattle, etc. during other tours.
A city guide joined us in the morning. We learned from her that San Antonio is the nation's seventh largest city as we made our way to the SAS footwear factory. Who knew that SAS stood for San Antonio Shoes? It looked like 100% of the workers were Hispanics and most of them women. When we watched them work, it became obvious that the SAS brand is a high-quality product. A factory outlet store just happened to be located on the premises, and our group bought quite a few pairs. I asked the plant guide if there was any danger of this plant moving to the cheap-labor of China and was told that the owners were very adamant about staying right where they were. The last major activity of the day was a leisurely cruise on the San Antonio River that wound between the shops, restaurants, hotels, and condos that have developed along the water's edge.
The original development of this area can be traced to the establishment of missions by the Spanish priests. Our first stop on the following morning was the San Fernando Cathedral where the large back altar gleamed from the genuine gold used in its construction. Next, we walked through the Spanish Governor's Palace, a low, rambling limestone structure built in 1722. Rather primitive, it served as suitable shelter for the time. An IMAX film, "Thirteen Fateful Days in 1836" prepared us for the tour of the Alamo. That site is primitive and weathered, too, and still shows the cannon ball and musket ball holes in its sides. Its walls hold a wealth of history, myths, and legends.
A Tex-Mex dinner at the Mi Tierra cafe satisfied our appetites with an abundance of good food. A roving trio of musicians sang their songs and strummed their guitars, for a fee, under the extravagantly tinseled-ceiling that sparkled and danced in the low light. A last stop for the day's schedule was the San Jose Mission built in 1720. The several missions in this area were built in a line, each about one day's journey from the last. Shelter could be found in them for any weary travelers from the nighttime dangers that lurked outside the mission walls. The San Jose Mission exists yet as it looked then with its four walls still standing and enclosing a large area for livestock to be herded into. The cathedral needs lots of restoration work but remains an active parish and a very popular wedding site.
We reached San Antonio late on the third day. An interesting stop in Fort Worth at the historic stockyards took up part of the day, and slow-moving evening rush-hour traffic through Austin ate up another hour. Heavy traffic does not seem to bother the bus driver for these Farmer's Union tours we take, a fact I can verify after riding with him in cities like New York, Boston, Seattle, etc. during other tours.
A city guide joined us in the morning. We learned from her that San Antonio is the nation's seventh largest city as we made our way to the SAS footwear factory. Who knew that SAS stood for San Antonio Shoes? It looked like 100% of the workers were Hispanics and most of them women. When we watched them work, it became obvious that the SAS brand is a high-quality product. A factory outlet store just happened to be located on the premises, and our group bought quite a few pairs. I asked the plant guide if there was any danger of this plant moving to the cheap-labor of China and was told that the owners were very adamant about staying right where they were. The last major activity of the day was a leisurely cruise on the San Antonio River that wound between the shops, restaurants, hotels, and condos that have developed along the water's edge.
The original development of this area can be traced to the establishment of missions by the Spanish priests. Our first stop on the following morning was the San Fernando Cathedral where the large back altar gleamed from the genuine gold used in its construction. Next, we walked through the Spanish Governor's Palace, a low, rambling limestone structure built in 1722. Rather primitive, it served as suitable shelter for the time. An IMAX film, "Thirteen Fateful Days in 1836" prepared us for the tour of the Alamo. That site is primitive and weathered, too, and still shows the cannon ball and musket ball holes in its sides. Its walls hold a wealth of history, myths, and legends.
A Tex-Mex dinner at the Mi Tierra cafe satisfied our appetites with an abundance of good food. A roving trio of musicians sang their songs and strummed their guitars, for a fee, under the extravagantly tinseled-ceiling that sparkled and danced in the low light. A last stop for the day's schedule was the San Jose Mission built in 1720. The several missions in this area were built in a line, each about one day's journey from the last. Shelter could be found in them for any weary travelers from the nighttime dangers that lurked outside the mission walls. The San Jose Mission exists yet as it looked then with its four walls still standing and enclosing a large area for livestock to be herded into. The cathedral needs lots of restoration work but remains an active parish and a very popular wedding site.
Monday, January 29, 2007
First Texas Story
We made it home after our trip to Texas and points in-between. Time had started to drag because Mary and I both caught what we thought to be head colds but turned out to be, with a doctor's diagnosis, sinus infections. The weather was mostly cold, wet, and windy. Conditions were rife for colds, and within the confines of our tour bus there was much coughing and hacking to be heard. Some prescribed antibiotics and cough syrup seem to be doing their jobs, so everything should be back to normal soon.
Last night we ate fresh corn muffins, a treat baked from the flour we bought near Waco, Texas at an agriculture-based Christian community named Homestead Heritage located on a 350 acre patch of ground. They termed themselves non-denominational and used a lot of modern devices such as cell phones, computers, automobiles, etc. Their farming methods, though, were conducted by old, labor-intensive methods. Draught horses pulled their machinery, foot-pedaled potter's wheels turned clay for shaping into pots and vases, a running stream powered the mill stones to grind the flour, and carpenters used hand tools to craft their furniture.
This community started in 1973 with one of their goals being to escape the corporate world's pressures and demands and turn to this simpler way of life. They eagerly demonstrated their crafts and welcomed the business we gave them, including the cost of the noon luncheon they prepared for us using all-natural foods produced on their farm.
They freely admitted that they were learning as they went along. They illuminated a few old wise sayings that they had learned the meaning of. For example, "keep your nose to the grindstone" was important because when the clearance between the two millstones was correct, a certain odor emanated from the grain grinding process telling them things were right. "The rule of thumb" came when the miller took some flour and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. If a ball of flour sat as a small lump on the finger, the grind was good. "Strike while the iron is hot" came from the world of the blacksmith and basically speaks for itself. A blacksmith could tell from the color of the hot iron if it was at the proper temperature for working with his hammer on the anvil. The origination of the term "threshold" interested me most. (When a groom carries his bride over the threshold, he never thinks of this.) Shocks of grain were brought to an open shed and a flail knocked the kernels from the stalks. Then it was all winnowed or tossed into the air for the breeze to carry away the chaff, leaving the thresh or kernels on the floor. As the pile of grain built up, a board was placed across the bottom of the open door to hold the thresh in; thus the word threshold came into the vocabulary.
Last night we ate fresh corn muffins, a treat baked from the flour we bought near Waco, Texas at an agriculture-based Christian community named Homestead Heritage located on a 350 acre patch of ground. They termed themselves non-denominational and used a lot of modern devices such as cell phones, computers, automobiles, etc. Their farming methods, though, were conducted by old, labor-intensive methods. Draught horses pulled their machinery, foot-pedaled potter's wheels turned clay for shaping into pots and vases, a running stream powered the mill stones to grind the flour, and carpenters used hand tools to craft their furniture.
This community started in 1973 with one of their goals being to escape the corporate world's pressures and demands and turn to this simpler way of life. They eagerly demonstrated their crafts and welcomed the business we gave them, including the cost of the noon luncheon they prepared for us using all-natural foods produced on their farm.
They freely admitted that they were learning as they went along. They illuminated a few old wise sayings that they had learned the meaning of. For example, "keep your nose to the grindstone" was important because when the clearance between the two millstones was correct, a certain odor emanated from the grain grinding process telling them things were right. "The rule of thumb" came when the miller took some flour and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. If a ball of flour sat as a small lump on the finger, the grind was good. "Strike while the iron is hot" came from the world of the blacksmith and basically speaks for itself. A blacksmith could tell from the color of the hot iron if it was at the proper temperature for working with his hammer on the anvil. The origination of the term "threshold" interested me most. (When a groom carries his bride over the threshold, he never thinks of this.) Shocks of grain were brought to an open shed and a flail knocked the kernels from the stalks. Then it was all winnowed or tossed into the air for the breeze to carry away the chaff, leaving the thresh or kernels on the floor. As the pile of grain built up, a board was placed across the bottom of the open door to hold the thresh in; thus the word threshold came into the vocabulary.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Vocabulary
I often wish that my vocabulary were larger. Too many foolish years spent enjoying myself cut deeply into my serious side when I should have been learning more. I remember a couple of words from the early days that have stuck with me, one of which was the word ennui. That word came to light in Mrs. Vitus's English class; its simple definition is "boredom." Which classical story it sat in I've forgotten, maybe something by Hemingway. Anyway, it's stayed with me.
Another word came to me at quite a young age through my favorite radio drama, The Lone Ranger. Man, how I relished the adventures of him mounted on a horse named Silver and his trusty sidekick, Tonto, who rode obediently along with him. (In those days before political correctness, it was still all right to have an Indian sidekick.) One's imagination needed to be active to picture the scenes where he righted all the wrongs he found. Anyway, he used the word naive one time to describe someone in his world, and while I had an idea of its definition through its context, I had to clarify it as soon as I figured out how to spell it and get to a dictionary where I found it meant an "almost foolish lack of worldly wisdom."
English teachers loved to make the assignment for us to write new words in an original sentence. Here's one: I suffer ennui when I listen to naive politicians. With that I believe I will go on vacation to a warm climate. Check back in three weeks.
Another word came to me at quite a young age through my favorite radio drama, The Lone Ranger. Man, how I relished the adventures of him mounted on a horse named Silver and his trusty sidekick, Tonto, who rode obediently along with him. (In those days before political correctness, it was still all right to have an Indian sidekick.) One's imagination needed to be active to picture the scenes where he righted all the wrongs he found. Anyway, he used the word naive one time to describe someone in his world, and while I had an idea of its definition through its context, I had to clarify it as soon as I figured out how to spell it and get to a dictionary where I found it meant an "almost foolish lack of worldly wisdom."
English teachers loved to make the assignment for us to write new words in an original sentence. Here's one: I suffer ennui when I listen to naive politicians. With that I believe I will go on vacation to a warm climate. Check back in three weeks.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
First Impressions
On thing on each week's must-do list requires my reading Newsweek magazine cover to cover. The current issue contains informative articles. One article caused me to stop and think things over. It was not one of the several pieces dealing with recent deaths: Gerald R. Ford, "Ford's Long Shadow"; nor Saddam Hussein, "Death of a Tyrant"; nor James Brown, "James Brown, 1933-2006. I paused to mull over the regularly featured "My Turn."
"My Turn" is a column inviting anyone to submit well-written essays with a topic of their choosing. A lady from Bend, Oregon penned "The Importance of Being Neighborly." She spoke of the friendship she formed with a neighbor after getting to know him even though "... he looked intimidating, with his full grizzled beard and scraggly hair, his seedy t-shirt, tattered flannel shirt and ragged jeans." He turned out to be good-natured and very helpful to her, something she discovered others thought of him, too. His unexpected death came as a shock to them and her young daughter said, "...it wasn't fair that we didn't get a chance to say good-bye."
This tale made me think of mistaken first impressions I've gotten when first meeting people. Fancy cars, big houses and flashy jewelry, I've learned, often indicate large debt with little positive worth. I suspect lots of worry and hand-wringing occurs each month when their bills arrive. I served on a jury that found guilty a man who bilked money from gullible investors. More than once in testimony, victims talked of the big car he drove and the large diamond ring he wore. They trusted him and his sure-fire money deals because he looked personally successful. His "bling" proved to be a set of decoys enticing this flock into his pond where he harvested without limit. His facade was rented!
I've known some pretty crusty coots who proved themselves to be great people. Old cliches or maxims like "beauty is only skin deep," "you can't judge a book by its cover," or "a diamond in the rough" describe some of them very well.
"My Turn" is a column inviting anyone to submit well-written essays with a topic of their choosing. A lady from Bend, Oregon penned "The Importance of Being Neighborly." She spoke of the friendship she formed with a neighbor after getting to know him even though "... he looked intimidating, with his full grizzled beard and scraggly hair, his seedy t-shirt, tattered flannel shirt and ragged jeans." He turned out to be good-natured and very helpful to her, something she discovered others thought of him, too. His unexpected death came as a shock to them and her young daughter said, "...it wasn't fair that we didn't get a chance to say good-bye."
This tale made me think of mistaken first impressions I've gotten when first meeting people. Fancy cars, big houses and flashy jewelry, I've learned, often indicate large debt with little positive worth. I suspect lots of worry and hand-wringing occurs each month when their bills arrive. I served on a jury that found guilty a man who bilked money from gullible investors. More than once in testimony, victims talked of the big car he drove and the large diamond ring he wore. They trusted him and his sure-fire money deals because he looked personally successful. His "bling" proved to be a set of decoys enticing this flock into his pond where he harvested without limit. His facade was rented!
I've known some pretty crusty coots who proved themselves to be great people. Old cliches or maxims like "beauty is only skin deep," "you can't judge a book by its cover," or "a diamond in the rough" describe some of them very well.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Today
The Gerald R. Ford funeral ceremonies concluded today. All of them understated the magnitude of the man and what he did during his short term in office: uniting the country after the Nixon storm wreaked damage. It has been gratifying to see political opponents come together to give kind words and oratory regarding his personal and political life. Jimmy Carter almost broke down with his concluding remarks, "I want to thank my predecessor for all he did to heal our land." Teddy Kennedy reportedly said at one time he was wrong for criticizing Ford when he pardoned Nixon. Some Presidents appear better in retrospect. Ford owns membership in that club. He endears with statements like this, "I'm a Ford, not a Lincoln."
I spent a bit of time in my shop today where it has been several months since I last worked. It has shelves full of several unfinished projects; even my annual Christmas carvings got neglected. Never fear, dear blog, for I shall return. This is not the first time my creative energy has gone on hiatus.
Much of our time now is directed towards our soon-to-be Texas trip, i.e. packing, banking, mail stop, etc. I wonder if I'll come back with a suntan.
I spent a bit of time in my shop today where it has been several months since I last worked. It has shelves full of several unfinished projects; even my annual Christmas carvings got neglected. Never fear, dear blog, for I shall return. This is not the first time my creative energy has gone on hiatus.
Much of our time now is directed towards our soon-to-be Texas trip, i.e. packing, banking, mail stop, etc. I wonder if I'll come back with a suntan.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Dear Blog
Dear Blog,
The time of the year has arrived to set some new year's resolutions. I have never resolved many in the past, but in your case I will set down a few. I will strive to use improved grammar when I write to you. I suffer the delusion of thinking I am a good writer; then you came along and started placing your demands upon me. It is time to step up and start opening my reference books. I know you like it best when I write nouns and verbs while using adjectives and adverbs sparingly.
Flaws show up after I let a piece of writing percolate in my sub-conscious for a time. Of course, you, dear blog, will never be a candidate for any awards, but you read best after revisions. I will work at avoiding the passive voice and straining to find the active voice where, I have learned, the best writing results.
Appropriate metaphors liven up the story line, so how about this one I stole from a liar's club contest: "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. But if you grab it by its ears and hold its snout in the bucket long enough, it will either drink or learn to breathe through its eyes." I will learn to breathe through my eyeballs, dear blog, and attempt to keep the bucket full, too. You drink, I'll breathe.
One last resolution, dear blog, comes to mind. Why write to you daily if no topic paws at me begging my attention? Once or twice a week might suffice if written to a higher standard. Oh, by the way, when I go on a trip I won't blog at all. I will carry my notebook, though, and practice my resolutions.
The time of the year has arrived to set some new year's resolutions. I have never resolved many in the past, but in your case I will set down a few. I will strive to use improved grammar when I write to you. I suffer the delusion of thinking I am a good writer; then you came along and started placing your demands upon me. It is time to step up and start opening my reference books. I know you like it best when I write nouns and verbs while using adjectives and adverbs sparingly.
Flaws show up after I let a piece of writing percolate in my sub-conscious for a time. Of course, you, dear blog, will never be a candidate for any awards, but you read best after revisions. I will work at avoiding the passive voice and straining to find the active voice where, I have learned, the best writing results.
Appropriate metaphors liven up the story line, so how about this one I stole from a liar's club contest: "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. But if you grab it by its ears and hold its snout in the bucket long enough, it will either drink or learn to breathe through its eyes." I will learn to breathe through my eyeballs, dear blog, and attempt to keep the bucket full, too. You drink, I'll breathe.
One last resolution, dear blog, comes to mind. Why write to you daily if no topic paws at me begging my attention? Once or twice a week might suffice if written to a higher standard. Oh, by the way, when I go on a trip I won't blog at all. I will carry my notebook, though, and practice my resolutions.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)