Alone On A Limb

The First Jonquil of 2012

2012-01-22T20:34:00.000-05:00

Once again I won't have to drive to find a jonquil on February First, a questing tradition I began 30 years ago or more. We already have several blooming in our own yard. This one showed up yesterday, January 21, 2012, at the edge of our driveway in front of the house.

Spring is coming to Rome, Georgia again. Welcome.

Here are some previous daffodil posts:
Harbinger of Spring
Jonquils Before Groundhog Day
January Jonquils
Lovers, Poems, or Daffodils

A New Look

2012-01-22T16:22:00.001-05:00

I've been blogging here since November of 2005. Time for a new look. I may experiment for a while. Several things have disappeared with the new template. I've gotta work on getting my comments back, among other things. Anyway, here 'tis.

Repost from Monthly Marathon: A River Walk 2006

2012-01-11T20:52:00.000-05:00

This is a repost from the now-defunct blog Monthly Marathon. I first posted this in March 2006.

A River Walk

3.5 miles around downtown last night and 5.6 miles today down the levee (above) to the confluence then up First Ave to the Silver Creek trail. 58.1 miles for the month. Here are a few more pics I took along the way:

Our courthouse reflected in the Oostanaula

The confluence of the Oostanaula (left) and Etowah (right) rivers to form the Coosa River. The bridge at the right is the Robert Redden Footbridge, a former railroad bridge that rotated on the center column so steamboats could continue up the Oostanaula. The bridge at the right takes Broad Street across the Etowah to the foot of Myrtle Hill.

The Silver Creek Trail crosses the Etowah on another railroad bridge turned footbridge (above) then follows little Silver Creek for three-quarters of a mile as it cascades down to the river.

I've lived in Rome since 1962, but I was completely ignorant of these picturesque downtown views until last week!

Notice the nearly vertical sandstone and shale layers, evidence of the crumpling of the former sea floor here in the Ridge and Valley province between the Blue Ridge and the Cumberland Plateau. At our school I can take my kids out to the driveway cut and pull shell fossils and crinoid stems from the crumbly sandstone.

The creek flattens a little as it nears the river.

The 1913 postcard (above) shows a mill on Silver Creek. I suspect the foreground is a bridge over the Etowah and the mill was at the mouth of Silver Creek. Or else it is high water on some other section of the creek. If anyone knows where this picture was taken, please let me know.

The Iowa Caucuses

2012-01-04T01:48:00.002-05:00

My take on the crazy Iowa Caucus effect on the horse race:

•Biggest Losers: Michelle, Rick P., Newt. Rick's out and Michelle and Newt are back in their "waiting for someone else to crash and burn" mode.

• Big Losers: Ron Paul, Mitt Romney
Paul did not live up to expectations and Romney after running for years lived up to his exact expectations, a 25% ceiling -- he could not improve on the %age or the actual number of votes from Iowa.

• Big Winner: Rick Santorum
The Tea Party started coalescing around him, as the last ultra-right guy standing, at exactly the right time. Santorum, who royally failed my "Comfort Test" during the debates, seemed to loosen up and get real in his victory speech tonight. If he can keep that level of sincerity and comfort -- horribly mistaken and misguided but sincere -- he may surprise us further.

• Bigger Winner: President Obama
Republicans were unable to increase the caucus participation over their 2008 numbers - a hint that Iowa may stay in the President's column in the fall. Newt gave him wonderful sound bites to use in his ads against Romney in the Gen'l Election, and surely there's a way to juxtapose the truth of the President's kept promises from Iowa four years ago with Romney's silly rants about the President being "in over his head". Should Romney falter in NH the radical difficult-to-elect Santorum would be most likely to replace him. The GOP candidate with the best shot, IMO, at defeating the President, Huntsman, gets his last shot in NH but as a relatively reasonable conservative doesn't seem to be catching on with the current radical GOP.

Were the Founders Libertarians?

2012-01-02T00:01:00.004-05:00

I can't believe I am linking to David Frum, but here goes. He does a good job, in this 2010 essay, of debunking the claims of Ron Paul acolytes that 20th/21st Century libertarianism is a return to founding American principles.

"Eat poor on New Year's, and eat fat the rest of the year"

2012-01-01T17:58:00.000-05:00

There was nothing poor about this meal!

I, of course, am an educated man. I have degrees from accredited and respected institutes of learning. I am a science teacher. I am not superstitious.

But why tempt fate?

Above you will find photographic evidence of my wonderful New Year's Day lunch, prepared expertly by my beautiful and brilliant bride.

My storytelling friend, Tersi Bendiberg, has reminded me via Facebook, of some of the delicious traditions for the first day of the year in several posts including a link to the (gasp) New York Times -- I guess Damn Yankees also have some concern about fate. Tersi also reminded us of wonderful storyteller Kathryn Tucker Windham, who left us during the past year. Tersi tried to excuse her superstitious cooking as a tribute to Kathryn, but we're not fooled, Tersi.

Well here's our menu --

Cornbread muffins. Cornbread is a mandatory accompaniment to the other dishes. It would be the height of folly to face the New Year without this quintessential American bread. Sheila used very little oil substituting apple sauce for some of it. They were great. No apple taste though. (The girl is trying to spare my ticker.)
Turnip greens with carmelized onions. The greens represent the folding money you can expect for the next 365.25 days. Ours was crisp and fresh when it was chopped, and, I believe, in high denominations. What a great way to enjoy fresh greens. Just a little olive oil to grease up the onions. And of course I added a bit of hot sauce at the table.
Hoppin' John with turkey sausage served over brown rice. The black-eyed peas represent the coinage available for the coming year. I choose to believe the rice kernels represent correctly cast votes this election year. (You know I couldn't avoid that!)
Plain cold water to drink. The water represents our wonderful planet and reninds us of our need to be good stewards.

I led a grace and we sat at the table, for a change. We are bad about gathering around the evening news to eat, which cannot be good for digestion. We all enjoyed it, though Lil is not fond of the slightly sweet aspect given to the greens by the onions. I loved the bitter/sweet combo of greens and onions.

An absolutely delicious meal. I had extra helpings of everything, just to be safe. I'm expecting those riches this year, but even if it doesn't work in that fashion, it was a yummy All-American way to get 2012 underway.

"Eat poor on New Year's, and eat fat the rest of the year?" Nope. I ate rich today.

In Praise of Toilets

2011-12-27T16:59:00.000-05:00

I vaguely remember, as a very young child, having to use a chamber pot on a cold night -- probably at my grandmother's house.

And I remember the cold walk onto her back porch in Porterdale, Georgia, where a cold little room had been added, with the cold seat.

I remember the path from the back door of our neat little parsonage in Dunkinsville, Ohio, out to the tiny smelly little shed with the bench punctuated by a couple of oval holes cut into it. And similar little sheds with crescent moons cut in their doors at little country churches like the one at Cartecay, Georgia. I remember Boy Scout camping trips and the temporary latrines we dug with our little camp shovels. I remember getting out the camp shovel again when our well went dry out in Booger Hollow, after Sheila and I were married, and finding a private spot in the woods near our little log cabin.

Well, folks, I have moved uptown. For Christmas this year I have purchased and installed an American Standard, Cadet 3, Dual Flush, Elongated Bowl, Water-efficient toilet: the very lap of luxury. Thanks to Deena (not her real name) this was not a blind choice.

You see, I am a card-carrying member and a director of the Coosa River Basin Initiative. This is the premiere environmental group in northwest Georgia. The CRBI mission is to conserve and protect the water resources of our wonderfully diverse watershed. And, I have to admit, for years, Sheila and I have wasted great amounts of water every day through our relatively new but highly inefficient toilets. Two flushes have been necessary as often as not, and each flush was using a couple of gallons of formerly pure water. So when we needed to call in a plumber to repair a toilet, we decided to use the opportunity to upgrade. I headed out to the a local big-box home supply store to find an efficient replacement and found Deena.

I had located the row of toilets and ascertained that the store carried two dual-flush models. Each offered a choice of one gallon or 1.6 gallon flushes and proclaimed itself wonderfully efficient in evacuating whatever contents necessary. Both were "chair" or "comfort" height. The pricetags were were the only obvious difference: one was $99, the other $198. The enthusiastically helpful Deena was johnny-on-the-spot (pun-intended, of course) to help me reach the right decision for my family.

"Now, Mr. Shaw, both of these are good toilets. But the Cadet 3 here has a stronger flush, and you know what that means. If there's something left in the bowl, now what do you do?"

"Well," I sadly admitted, "I flush again."

"That's right, Mr. Shaw, and there goes the water savings right down the toilet. With the Cadet 3, one flush will do. Use the button on the left there for Number 1, and the one on right for Number 2. That's all it takes."

I was a little concerned about the height of the bowl. After all we have used a standard height bowl all these years. Would we find the higher seat uncomfortable?

"Well, now Mr. Shaw, we can put your mind right at ease about that. I think you'll find the 'comfort-height' just right. Just step right on over to our displays on the main aisle and try it out."

Deena led me to the busy main aisle, pointed to one of the "comfort-height" models, pulled out her tape measure to demonstrate its exact height, and then with a sweeping gesture invited me to sit and test it out. She observed with folded arms as I nestled my nether regions onto the porcelain throne, while assorted Romans with bemused expressions pushed their buggies past us. I expressed my approval of the comfort afforded by the increased height as a young family strolled by and the Daddy greeted me with "Hey, Mr. Shaw! I'm Jackie, remember me?"

I laughed with Jacky awhile and explained that I was "trying out toilets". He reminisced about witnessing a pre-school child trying one out more completely at a different big-box store.

"Oh, yes," Deena exclaimed, "we've had that happen right here. We have to cordon off the area, put up hazardous material tape, and call in a team in rubber gloves and masks to clean it up!"

Despite that disturbing image I was sold. Deena called in a young man to lift the 100 lb. box onto a flat cart, and I bought my 2011 Christmas present for myself. I got it up the stairs at home all by my self - no small feat. It is now installed and, I must say, flushing beautifully.

And I went online to sing Deena's praises at www.bigboxhomesupply.com -- I may not have gotten that link exactly right.

Rest in peace, Harry Morgan

2011-12-07T23:26:00.000-05:00

Seventy Years Ago

2011-12-07T21:56:00.000-05:00

(December 8, 1941)

To the Congress of the United States:

Yesterday, December 7th, 1941 - a date which will live in infamy - the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific.

Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American island of Oahu, the Japanese ambassador to the United States and his colleagues delivered to our Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. And while this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack.

It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time, the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.

The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu.

Yesterday, the Japanese government also launched an attack against Malaya.

Last night, Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong.

Last night, Japanese forces attacked Guam.

Last night, Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands.

Last night, the Japanese attacked Wake Island.

And this morning, the Japanese attacked Midway Island.

Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation.

As commander in chief of the Army and Navy, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense.

But always will our whole nation remember the character of the onslaught against us.

No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory.

I believe that I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost, but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us.

Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory and our interests are in grave danger.

With confidence in our armed forces - with the unbounding determination of our people - we will gain the inevitable triumph - so help us God.

I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7th, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire.

Thank you Mr. President

2011-12-06T23:28:00.000-05:00

I continue to be very proud of my vote in 2008. Thank you Mr. President for your efforts to unite us, despite the stonewalling of the opposition party and the name-calling and pettiness that you have encountered day-after-day. Thank you for living up to the overwhelming majority of your promises despite the stubborn recession that turned out to be even worse than any of us realized in 2008. After a fight of 100 years beginning with Teddy Roosevelt, you have helped us achieve, as you promised you would, a universal healthcare program. It is among the most conservative programs of its type in the world, but it is a vast improvement over the system it replaced.

Here is an Op-ed from the LA Times:
In Praise of "Obamacare"

You Done Lost Yo' Apples

2011-12-02T00:15:00.000-05:00

Yesterday a Facebook friend admitted to falling through her ceiling. I had to tell her this story, famous among the Shaws.

My Uncle Bill was an electrician. This day his baby brother Jack was his assistant. When they arrived at the house their knock was answered by a prim older lady who sweetly and with great condescension explained that, "If you boys do a good job and don't leave a mess..." (in her upscale spotless Atlanta home) "...I'll give y'all a big bag of apples to take with you."

Later while Bill worked on the outlet in the bedroom below and Jack snaked a new wire across the attic, Jack lost his balance. Suddenly Bill was covered with dust and and debris and, looking up, saw Jack's legs dangling from a tangle of insulation, sheetrock, and wiring. Without a pause he looked into Jack's frightened eyes peering down through the dust cloud, shook his head sadly, and chuckled these immortal words, "You done lost yo' apples."

In the forty-five or so years since then, every mess-up in our family has elicited that retort: "You done lost yo' apples."

Terrorism Tightrope

2011-09-11T18:33:00.003-04:00

Ten years ago.

I was walking around a classroom filled with 9 and 10-year-olds, 26 or 27 of them. I don’t remember what the lesson was. I do remember glancing through the hallway window and noticing my assistant principal -- the principal was out that day -- talking earnestly with the teacher across the hall. I stepped out of my fourth-grade classroom to see what was up.

The AP just said there were reports of a possible terrorist attack. We'd avoid upsetting the kids with any announcement, but she wanted us to be aware. By the time my planning time rolled around I had gathered the gist of what was happening from quick forays into the hall and whispered snips of conversation with other teachers. I walked into my neighbor teacher's classroom where she had the news on, now that the kids were at PE. I saw the smoke rising from the towers, several teachers were crying. And then the unthinkable happened. A tower collapsed. And soon the other. It turned out I was watching a tape: the others teachers assumed I had known. I don't think any image has ever affected me so dramatically.

The rest of the day was frightening and awkward. I wanted to communicate with my own children and Sheila. Brannon was newly away from home as a college freshman. But I needed to help get these school kids through the day and was proscribed from preparing them for the tumult they would face when they got home. Somehow a few managed to pick up hints, during lunch and recess, that there was something terrible happening. Child after child was called to the front to go home.

You, dear Reader, also know exactly where you were and what you were doing that day, I'll bet.

Of course, the terrorists had made a horrible mistake. They had succeeded in inflicting great pain and sorrow, but if we were terrorized we were also galvanized. No action could have united our divided country so completely or garnered us more allies around the world. Firefighters and police officers of both parties and no party fought side by side to save the occupants of the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. Passengers of a miscellany of political stripes rushed the hijackers on the fourth plane and forced it down before it could hit one of our national shrines. Leaders of both major parties worked to give the executive the authority it needed to bring the terrorists to justice.

Soldiers of all races, religions, and parties risked their lives, and some gave their lives, to take the fight to Al Qaeda in Afghanistan. Those of us still bitter over the debacle of the election of 2000 immediately put partisanship on the back burner and gave wholehearted support to our national leadership. No one was concerned about red vs. blue any more, we were concerned for the Red, White, and Blue.

I was saddened and angered early this morning to see that some, on Facebook, are using this anniversary to divide us again. That dredged up the rage I felt nearly ten-years ago, when some used the terrorist attacks as an occasion to casually demean their political opponents.

So I did not want to go to church this morning. I wanted to watch and listen to the moving memorials on TV and radio. I wanted to write about my memories, my love for my country, and my disgust for the far-right-wing Arabs and far-right-wing Americans. But Sheila was ready to go, and I managed to get there. I am so glad I did.

I was in the cross hairs from prelude to benediction.

The opening hymn was one of my very favorites and somehow especially appropriate for this day: “Morning Has Broken”. And I thought of God’s re-creation of 3652 new days since that one. Our anthem was “God Bless America”. We did not have choir practice on Wednesday because of the youth concert, so we were a little rusty but still I love that song and enjoyed singing it on this special anniversary. We sang “America” as the hymn of preparation.

The pastor at our church has political beliefs that are far different from mine. But still somehow God manages to use his wonderful, thoughtful, biblically sound sermons to convict me on a regular basis.

Today his topic is forgiveness.

Matthew 18: 21-22
21 Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”
22 Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.

The sermon is not on the podcast list yet, but check back later and listen to it:
http://www.trinityumcrome.org/content/sermon-podcasts

I know well the folks I need to forgive. If the pastor could have seen the anger in my heart this morning, he could not have spoken more clearly to me. He called his message: Tightrope.

Rhetorically he questioned us about the tension between forgiveness and accountability, between citizenship in our democracy and citizenship in the Kingdom of God, between doing our duty to country and our duty to God.

And he told of his experience of meeting with Iraqi Christians in Baghdad while he was stationed there as a chaplain early in the Iraq War. He was shocked to find that they were prepared to forgive even Saddam Hussein. They understood that forgiveness is something we do for ourselves. Or as that old reprobate, Mark Twain, has said: “Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”

So, on this sobering anniversary, I can forgive those who hate me for my beliefs. I will strive to hold those folk accountable for their words and actions when I can. I will try to correct their errors through my own writing when I can. But I will also try to remember my own fallible nature. I will avoid speaking or writing in anger. I will not use ad hominem arguments.

I was moved both by President Bush's reading of Lincoln's letter and President Obama's reading of Psalm 46. They each struck the right note of unity by keeping to brief quotations adding the prestige of the Presidency to a national day of commemoration while remembering that the event is not about them.

No posts in July or August?

2011-09-01T06:43:00.000-04:00

Poor Limb. You have been woefully neglected. Too much quick Facebooking, I s'pose.

National Debt Quiz

2011-06-06T01:25:00.001-04:00

Here's a little history quiz for our Tea Party friends. For each pair of Presidential terms choose the one during which the National Debt rose as a percentage of GDP:

Nixon/Ford 1973-77 or Johnson 1965-69
Reagan 1981-85 or Carter 1977-81
GHW Bush 1989-93 or Clinton 1993-97
GW Bush 2001-2005 or Clinton 1997-2001

In all cases the Republican increased the percentage of debt and the Democrat decreased it. Fact: Reagan and the two Bushes (with a little help from Nixon/Ford) are responsible for ALL of the increase in the percentage of debt compared to GDP between 1945 and 2009.

President Obama inherited the worst economy since the depression and had to institute emergency measures which, exaserbated of the refusal of Republicans to allow tax breaks for the wealthy to expire as scheduled, will increase the percentage of debt further.

But if you are mad about the debt, be mad at the right folks, those who cut taxes on the wealthiest Americans while financing spending increases on the backs of our children - Ronald Reagan, George Bush, and George W. Bush. Remember it was Bush's VP, Dick Cheney who said, "Reagan proved, deficits don't matter."

Here's the whole chart:
National Debt Chart 1945-2009

Didelphis virginiana

2011-05-15T22:04:00.003-04:00

As newlyweds Sheila and I used to live at a Cave Spring address... Rt 2 Cave Spring... downtown Chubbtown in a little log cabin on Lake Creek a full mile from the nearest pavement. It was the middle of nowhere in 1971.

Our first Saturday night in that cabin was a new moon night. When I clicked off the bedside lamp that evening I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. The screech owls whinnied in the woods. The cicadas and crickets and treefrogs filled the night with sound till we drifted into sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night I fought my way to consciousness as I felt Sheila shaking my shoulders and whispering in my ear, “There’s someone on the porch!” I jerked up, and listened to the night sounds... those crickets and frogs and even a truck on US 27 a couple of miles away to the south, and my heart pounding, I thought, audibly. Then there it was ... sniff---sniff --- just a quiet little post-nasal drip.

The murderer had allergies, I guessed.

But I was absolutely sure now that my beautiful wife was wrong. The evil intruder ... sniff ... even now readying his knife to strike ... sniff ... was not on the porch. He was in the room with us!

My mind raced. ... sniff ... How could I save myself and my beloved? I’d been working down by the creek that afternoon, fighting the never-ending battle against invasive species ... sniff ... chinese privet and Japanese honeysuckle ... sniff ... with a machete my father had given me. It was leaning against the wall near the chest of drawers. If I could reach it ... sniff ... before he struck maybe we’d have a fighting chance. ... sniff ...

I inched my right hand toward the lamp as my left gripped the hem of our covers. ... sniff ... My heart pounded. ... sniff ...

Click! I threw off the covers and swung my feet to the floor as the lamp illuminated the burglar...

... waddling with remarkable speed from under our bed between my legs.

AAAAAIIII!!!

A very young Didelphis virginiana, our only American marsupial, the Virginia Opossum.

We chased him with a broom and he ducked into the kitchen and scooted behind the stove. I left Sheila on guard with the broom while I went to get a flashlight so we could look under and behind the stove. As I turned toward the kitchen electric torch in hand, the night was split with blood-curdling screams!

AAAAAIIII!!!

I rushed into the kitchen to save my poor bride from some terrible monster and found her on all fours, nose to nose with a hissing little ‘possum, both of ‘em hysterical.

She had decided to pull the pots and pan drawer out of the stove so we could see behind it. She had gotten down close to it so she could peer behind it as it slid out. Well, that 'possum had taken refuge IN the drawer itself, curled into a bread basket, its sharp teeth bared, as surprised as she at finding itself nose to nose with a scary alien species.

Being me, I grabbed the old Minolta and snapped a few pictures before we put him out again.

We finally managed to make the little cabin Possum Proof, but he continued to hang around and we became kinda fond of the little guy and the bond seemed mutual. He made himself a nest under the eaves at the front of the house, and we left him scraps from our meals that he seemed to appreciate.

One Saturday morning I took my coffee and the latest Newsweek out the front door to one of the porch chairs to rock and read awhile. Lo and behold, that possum came down the corner logs and waddled right up onto the porch and climbed right up into the porch rocker next to mine.

We howdyed each other and enjoyed a little small talk. I asked his name and was surprised to find his mama and daddy must have known a little Latin, ‘cause he immediately identified himself as Didelphis Virginiana, but said most folks just called him Delphis, except of course, for his school buddies, who called him Doofus.

I finally worked the conversation around to the question that I guess just about anybody would want to ask a 'possum if they got the chance: just how it was that his tribe had acquired the ability to play 'possum? He was ready for that one. He told me that his great granddaddy, who was generally called Brer Possum, had told the story to Joel Chandler Harris a long time ago but ol’ Joel had got some of it wrong. Another fellow named David Holt had done a little better at telling the story. But now he had the chance to tell it, he hoped I’d take good notes and be sure to keep the facts straight.

I'll tell that story in another post.

Delphis the 'Possum, June 1972

Presents

2011-04-20T17:33:00.001-04:00

I should be writing about Uncle Tom today. It would be his 95th birthday if he were still with us. But others have that covered today. Thinking about him reminded me of someone else.

And thinking of that someone made me think of one of my favorite gifts I ever had the pleasure of presenting to someone. I made it myself with great love and care for my Aunt Mary.

At that time my mother’s older unmarried sister lived with my grandmother in the little mill village, Porterdale. And she had a collection that fascinated the younger nieces and nephews. She had little china animals scampering about coffee tables and mantels in one room. Poodles and dalmations and miscellaneous cats, maybe even a skunk or raccoon -- a crowd of happy inexpensive miniatures to rival Noah’s living assortment. (If any of my siblings or cousins remember more specifically her animals I hope you will comment below. It seems like there may have been a jaguar or lion.)

Aunt Mary Baird Shepherd

Mrs. Matilda Brown introduced our class to papier mache in Griffin during my fourth grade year. Most of the students made foot-long brown bears or lions or giraffes. I tried to make mine very small and detailed because I thought it would be so neat to make something for Aunt Mary’s "animal" collection. My papier mache dog was about four or five inches long and was carefully painted gray with black spots. You’d have thought I’d given her a Faberge egg or a Tiffany lamp! She displayed my misshapen wrinkled “dog” as proudly as all the rest of her menagerie of miniatiure beasties.

Of course, if Aunt Mary knew we were coming that day, she would have baked my favorite -- strawberry cake. So I’m pretty sure I got a present, too. I was spoiled rotten. Christmas was never complete without Aunt Mary’s divinity and fudge.

In middle age Aunt Mary married Pierce Shepherd, a roly-poly jolly man. He and Aunt Mary continued to live in the corner house and Mama Baird moved across the strret into a smaller house that my parents owned.

Aunt Mary with her brother, my uncle Tom Baird -- today would be his 95th birthday.

Widowed in her seventies, and her mother gone as well, Mary moved to Rockmart, another mill town, to live near her older sisters, Sis and Veek to their loved ones, Louise and Vera to the world at large.

Aunt Mary, in her old age, developed a cancer in her mouth. It required radical surgery.

After her surgery her face was horribly disfigured and it was very hard for her to talk. She went to the Methodist senior living complex Wesley Woods to attempt to recuperate. We wanted to visit her there, and we wanted to take Brannon, who was only two or three, because we felt it would be good for Aunt Mary to have a child visit her. We prepared Brannon for the visit as best we could, telling her that Aunt Mary’s face was hurt badly and that she would not be able to talk well. Brannon could not have responded better to Aunt Mary’s predicament. I believe we did the right thing. Children can be very accepting of things like that when they are prepared for it. And Aunt Mary’s eyes lit up at the sight and touch of a very loving child.

Aunt Mary never made it back to the mill village at Rockmart. She died a few weeks later surrounded by her kin.

On my last visit to Aunt Mary's house before her cancer surgery, I arrived in the Book-Mobile. As a summer job I drove it all over Polk and Floyd counties delivering best-sellers and Hardy Boys and Harlequins and Zane Greys by the box load. I persuaded my cohort to stop for just a few minutes since we were driving right by. Mary was to have surgery in just a day or two. While we were there Aunt Mary wanted to show me something in her bedroom.

And here is the precious gift she gave me, unawares.

I don’t remember the thing she took me in there to see. What I remember, with a catch in my throat every time, is that there on her bedroom wall was a framed 8 x 10 picture of a chubby, smiling, six-month old baby playing with a rattle: me.

The picture of yours truly that hung on Aunt Mary's wall.

Mary Baird Shepherd was a kind-hearted, humble, and loving woman. She never had children of her own, but she showered motherly love on all her nieces and nephews. We miss her still.

Rest in Peace, Geraldine Ferraro

2011-03-26T14:17:00.000-04:00

Many of us were inspired by Walter Mondale's choice of Geraldine Ferraro as his running mate in 1984. Thank you, Congresswoman Ferraro, for your service to our country. And thank you Walter Mondale for inspiring little girls all over the country to aspire to serve our country in new ways.

Will you still need me?

2011-03-21T00:01:00.001-04:00

Here's the question of the day!

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine?

If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oooo
You'll be older too, (ah ah ah ah ah)
And if you say the word,
I could stay with you.

I could be handy mending a fuse
When your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride.

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

Every summer we can rent a cottage
In the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck, and Dave

Send me a postcard, drop me a line,
Stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, Wasting Away.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

A Botanical Break from Storytelling

2011-03-20T21:08:00.001-04:00

During a break between story sessions at the Southern Order of Storytellers Winter Festival we wandered across the parking lot, of the Unitarian Church where the festival was held, to a tiny natural area sandwiched there between the church and tiny Fern Creek right next to I-85 and found a pocket of Spring arrived a couple of days early. (I've made my quick guesses. Now I'll ask Richard and Teresa Ware to correct my mistakes.)

Wood Poppy

Stylophorum diphyllum

Blue Violet

Viola sororia

Bloodroot

Sanguinaria canadensis

Toadshade Trillium (Sweet Betsy)

Trillium cuneatum

Yellow-eyed Grass???

Slender Toothwort

Dentaria heterophylla

????

DYC (d#@%ed Yellow Composite)??

Home Sweet Home

2011-03-18T00:25:00.001-04:00

The brightest little sparkle,
with the smaller barren Luna to its right,
is home to all of us,
and everyone we've ever known or heard of.
It is the home of all of human history;
of every ancestor of every human;
of every known insect,
vertebrate,
bacterium,
diatom,
virus,
or cartoon character;
of every human thought,
invention,
fantasy,
emotion;
of every word ever spoken;
of every murder and all kindnesses; of every war and every turned cheek;
of every kiss;
of every curse;
Washington, Mao, Elizabeth I,
Hitler, Gaddafi, Herod,
Ceasar, Alexander, Monctezuma, Tutankhamun,
Curie, Einstein, Galileo,
Twain, Shakespeare, Aesop,
Jesus, Mohammed, Abraham,
Erickson, Columbus, Armstrong
... all romped on its surface as children.

The water planet.Our little blue oasis.
Home sweet home.

(The photo was taken May 6, 2010 by the Messenger spacecraft during its mission around the planet Mercury. Messenger is busy mapping Mercury and searching for asteroids in the inner solar system. It giving us the first new close-up information from Mercury since Mariner 10, thirty years ago.)

How to Tell a Story

2011-03-16T23:19:00.003-04:00

Mark Twain has it about right. Telling stories is a lot like acting. The teller/actor, however tall his tale, must believe it to his toes as he tells/acts it. Here's Twain's "How to Tell a Story". I trust it is out of copyright.

How to Tell A Story
I do not claim that I can tell a story as it ought to be told. I only claim to know how a story ought to be told, for I have been almost daily in the company of the most expert storytellers for many years.

There are several kinds of stories, but only one difficult kind--the humorous. I will talk mainly about that one. The humorous story is American, the comic story is English, the witty story is French. The humorous story depends for its effect upon the manner of the telling; the comic story and the witty story upon the matter.

The humorous story may be spun out to great length, and may wander around as much as it pleases, and arrive nowhere in particular; but the comic and witty stories must be brief and end with a point. The humorous story bubbles gently along, the others burst.

The humorous story is strictly a work of art,--high and delicate art,--and only an artist can tell it; but no art is necessary in telling the comic and the witty story; anybody can do it. The art of telling a humorous story--understand, I mean by word of mouth, not print--was created in America, and has remained at home.

The humorous story is told gravely; the teller does his best to conceal the fact that he even dimly suspects that there is anything funny about it; but the teller of the comic story tells you beforehand that it is one of the funniest things he has ever heard, then tells it with eager delight, and is the first person to laugh when he gets through. And sometimes, if he has had good success, he is so glad and happy that he will repeat the "nub" of it and glance around from face to face, collecting applause, and then repeat it again. It is a pathetic thing to see.

Very often, of course, the rambling and disjointed humorous story finishes with a nub, point, snapper, or whatever you like to call it. Then the listener must be alert, for in many cases the teller will divert attention from that nub by dropping it in a carefully casual and indifferent way, with the pretense that he does not know it is a nub.

Artemus Ward used that trick a good deal; then when the belated audience presently caught the joke he would look up with innocent surprise, as if wondering what they had found to laugh at. Dan Setchell used it before him, Nye and Riley and others use it to-day.

But the teller of the comic story does not slur the nub; he shouts at you--every time. And when he prints it, in England, France, Germany and Italy, he italicises it, puts some whooping exclamation-points after it, and sometimes explains it in a parenthesis. All of which is very depressing, and makes one want to renounce joking and lead a better life ...

- Mark Twian

Twain goes on to give examples of the self-consciously "comic" tale and the longer, more genuine, "humorous" tale. You can look it up on the web and read the rest. I found it in a copy of`A Treasury of American Folklore I found in a thrift shop recently.

I collect my birthday present from Sheila this weekend -- a trip to the Southern Order of Storytellers Festival. We'll hear Carmen Deedy and her talented husband, John McCutcheon, as well as several lesser known Georgia storytellers. Can't wait!

EEA Conference 2011

2011-03-12T17:05:00.005-05:00

Notes from the EEA conference:
EEA Executive Director, Paul McLendon on the mission of the Environmental Education Allience of Georgia

"We want to build a statewide culture of environmental literacy and citizenship."

I'm with ya, Paul.

From songwriter Erica Wheeler (our entertainment at lunch):

"...see that moon out your window?
I'm under that same light.
Hear me whisper your name
- I'm prayin'
may our love be never-ending
as long as somewhere the wind still blows"

and (again thanks to Erica) a quote from a Georgia settler (no specific date given, but must have been early 1800s.):

"...I saw that interesting part of the state when all was
new-waters in the creeks and rivers as clear as crystal; rich valleys, hills . .
. . covered with thick forest. A land of beautiful flowers-white, pink, yellow
and red honeysuckle (azaleas), redbud, dog-wood blossoms, wild roses and many
others. The ground was covered with violets, sweet-williams (flocks), and other
beauties. There was plenty of wild game-deer, turkey, and other varieties. When
first seen, it was in lovely spring and I was nine years old."

Sean Beeching (from the website below.)

Best (and lamentably only) field walk: An after dark lichen walk with a UV flashlight led by Bob Hill of UGA. We saw the fluorescent lichens! Wow. Several lichen species give off a fluorescence when illuminated with these UV lights. You can tell the species by the color of fluorescence. The most fascinating thing was to listen to the incredible depth of knowledge exhibited by the wonderfully fascinated and articulate co-leader of the walk, Sean Beeching, as he discussed these widely ignored, strange, double organisms - part fungus, part algae. An amateur lichenologist, he has discovered previously undescribed species. Check out this link to see pics of Sean and his cohort at ~~work~~ play.

Green Tree Frog (lifted from the internet)

It was good to enjoy again Tara Munez' presentation on amphibians. Our school has a special relationship with these critters since our students initiated the movement that resulted in the state adopting the Green Treefrog as the official Georgia Amphibian.

My Facebook friend and fellow "Triple Facilitator" Nikki Belmonte of the Atlanta Audobon Society taught a session on "Connecting Children and Communities to Birds". She led us through a little exercise that will be esy to use with our students to help them understand the odds our feathered friends face in their migrations. Unfortunately I had to leave the session briefly and realized when I returned that I had missed the very thing I wanted from the session -- how to us the Backyard Bird Count with my students.

Eddie Anderson, an Atlanta videographer, presented some ideas for using technology in EE. He designed video podcasts for Arabia Mountain and Flat Rock Baptist and sared those with us.

Scott McMahan of Garden Hood gave advice on planting for school gardens.

My favorite moment in a workshop was the illustration by our teachers from the Atlanta Botanical Garden of the importance of going beyond simple identification in interpreting nature for students (or anyone). She exhibited a Mickey Mouse pocket watch and asked us to describe it. We did so in some detail - size, shape, material, etc.

A similar watch lifted from hyperspace.

Then she told us the true story behind the watch, choking up a little, and bringing lumps to our throats as she described how her beloved father had come to be given that watch and the significance of the engraving on the reverse. It gave me chance to remind my student-teacher, who was sitting with me in the class, of why I put such emphasis on storytelling in teaching. However carefully and closely we examined that watch, I doubt any of us would be giving it any thought at all a day later had we not heard the story that goes with it.

And the awards...

• our own Kim Kilgore - Project Wild Facilitator of the Year
• The Georgia River Network, Environmental organization of the year (accepted by CRBI's Joe Cook.)

Wet Nostalgia

2011-02-05T17:23:00.011-05:00

Returning from a two-day workshop in Forsyth through... Atlanta... at... rush... hour... sounded like pure aggravation, so I decided to head cross-country this rainy afternoon. I saved no time - matter-of-fact rural outskirts of the big city are little no longer. In place of braving twelve lanes of bumper-to-bumper coagulated commuters, I pushed in and out of four, or three, or two lanes of equally clotted streets and formerly "country" roads.

BUT!

Having no one with me to moderate my impractical impulses, I swerved onto the first exit off US41 into the south side of Griffin - following an ambulance that I figured was heading toward the hospital from the mangled vehicles I had just passed. I remembered that the hospital where two of my beloved little siblings had been born was not too far from the parsonage where I lived from 1954 till 1958, I thought I might be able to swing by 333 S. 9th St... formerly Home Sweet Home.

Lo and behold! There were the little airport and adjacent fairgrounds right where they had been 52 years ago. Lots of other stuff has grown like mold around them, but there they were. Midway Methodist used to have some sort of booth at that fair.

Then the hospital off to the left. Another minute and there's College Street. Left two blocks and our dilapidated old parsonage is sitting, tastefully rejuvenated in yellow with white trim, greenish black shutters, architectural shingles, and a bit of gingerbread that I don't remember.

Was the traffic light here in fifties. See the train tracks down College.

And the little side yard animal cemetery. I remember conducting a solemn funeral for a songbird beneath this tree, a couple of small sisters as mourners.

My business partner of those days was Herbert Leach, Esquire. He was a man of more experience than myself, a sixth-grader maybe. He lived in this little house across the street -- now screened by a high privacy fence. We were first in the Coca-Cola business together. We collected stray empties from all over town in our wagon, then trudged across town to the Coke plant to redeem them. Later we diversified into the lawn maintenance business.

Didn't mean to upload this one, but the rain has picked up. I'm getting wet. But I'm unwilling to go back to the car till I've had a good look.

The red beetle is parked at the back edge of what would have been, those years ago, a "big" field of kudzu. The gray truck is parked at its front edge, near where Daddy's one-room tiny outbuilding study/portal to Narnia would have . Well, not really Narnia, I didn't know about that land yet. But this is where we heard, gathered at my fathers feet, the tales of a mythical-seeming Milstead.

And the tracks! What an adventure to stare Death in the teeth and walk these tracks.

The red clay banks were a source of fascinating translucent sheets of mica. And here we enlarged a concave collapse of clay into a cave hideout. In retrospect, such an endeavor could have spared y'all these posts. Somehow we escaped childhood alive.

Standing at about the location of Daddy's little office looking up the line of mulberry trees, now only a memory. Tree climbing is still a delight of mine. It is the adventure of dreams to this day. Those little trees were the best I could do in this yard, but they gave an elevated perch from which to pester sisters, at the least.

Next I walked into the lobby of the medical building to pester the receptionist, my sisters being unavailable. She says the medical building dates from 2007 and she's from Pike County and that's all she knows. I suggested she excavate under her desk. It is near the spot I buried treasure in a fruit jar about 1957. It was under a canopy of kudzu at the time. My buddies and I had formed a maze of tunnels in the kudzu winding from one itchy end of the little field to the other.

Now a sentimental drive of the long path I took each day to Fourth Ward Elementary School. Up 9th to Poplar and out Poplar to the school. I should have measured it. The route seems to have shrunk in the 50-odd years intervening. Has there been much work by scientists on the obvious general shrinkage of the Earth? A primary memory along the way is annual trick-or-treat excursions to the houses along the way and the big apartment building just across the tracks.

Oh my! The school building has disappeared. A 1960s wing of it remains but has been captured and occupied by the Griffin Police Department. The large playground, with its trees, out back is largely intact but partly paved and littered with assorted police vehicles and equipment. A public housing development surrounded by gated community-style fencing backs up to it now. Here is the front of the "school" taken through my windshield.

And another taken as I dodge standing puddles and my hat and jacket become further soaked.

One block toward town on Poplar is “my crossing”. Here ten-year-old Terry Shaw stood duty with my white shoulder strap, belt, and badge, as a duly sworn officer of the School Patrol. The building at my crossing was a mom and pop neighborhood store that did a brisk after school business in penny candy, baseball-carded gum, Cokes, peanuts, and candy cigarettes. Someone has, I think, built hipped additions enlarging both sides of the once much simpler and smaller building. I look for Mrs. Brown's house in the next block, but I don't see it. There are several houses of that era, but hers was bigger and more obviously Victorian, as I recall. As I have written, I loved my cantankerous old fourth-grade teacher. I wonder if she ever imagined that "impudent" Terry Shaw would spend 31 years teaching elementary school.

I drive around several blocks and finally back "home" by College St., down the "big" hill (shrinkage is painfully obvious here, too) where I had my disastrous bike wreck when that blasted little dog distracted me, nipping at my ankles, and I hit a parked car.

My mother often walked us from home to Hawke's Free Children's Library, which was conveniently located directly across the street from a small bakery. It was a joy to munch on warm gingerbread men fresh from the oven while beginning a new adventure with Frank and Joe Hardy or reading the "true" stories of Robert E. Lee's or Thomas Jefferson's childhood. So I ended my side trip there.

Caught a cup of stale coffee at Micky D's and rejoined the barely oozing circulation of rush-hour traffic.

My sentimental journey had only lasted thirty-minutes. Posting these pictures and comments, considerably longer!

PTSW: Foul Shot

2011-01-19T20:42:00.003-05:00

With nieces and nephews and students and former students and children of friends dribbling and passing and shooting, urging the big sphere through the netted hoop, I suppose it's time to trot out this moment captured by Edwin Hoey. It is taken that little text I taught from in 1970. If you want to reach a reader, push or pull or coax, lofting those verbs, nudging them to teeter and tremble and tumble into the world...

Foul Shot

With two 60’s on the scoreboard

And two seconds hanging on the clock,

The solemn boy in the center of eyes,
Squeezed by silence,
Seeks out the line with his feet
Soothes his hands along his uniform
Gently drums the ball against the floor,
Then measures the waiting net,
Raises the ball on his right hand,
Balances it with his left
Calms it with fingertips,
Breathes,
Crouches,
Waits,
And then through a stretching of stillness,
Nudges it upward.

The ball

Slides up and out,

Lands,
Leans,
Wobbles,
Wavers,
Hesitates,
Exasperates,
Plays it coy
Until every face begs with unsounding screams—

And then

And then,

Right before ROAR-UP,

Dives down and through.

by Edwin Hoey

Gabrielle Giffords shot

2011-01-08T14:05:00.002-05:00

Ariz. Democratic Rep. Gabrielle Giffords has been shot in the head at point blank range according to reports. We will endure a lot of inquiry and investigation. Perhaps this is a personal rather than a political attempted assassination. But given some of the rhetoric of the far right, one can't help speculating that we may have our first bloody victims of their hateful words.

Palin Puts Giffords in the Crosshairs

Her Opponents Campaign

1/14/11 Note: I have edited this post to remove an intemperate word of my own. The so-called "Tea Party" includes several organizations and people of a variety of conservative political beliefs. Some I would not hesitate to characterize as extremist, but many who identify themselves in general with the "Tea Party" movement do not qualify for that adjective.

[A totally unrelated tirade about grammar:

I hesitate to use "extremist" as an adjective in the above sentence for fear it will be taken as a noun. There are in the body politick a large percentage who do not realize that the plural of a noun ending in "-ist" should end in "-ists". One Methodist, two Methodists. One extremist, two extremists. This is a constant aggravation to me. How many times have you read a comment during the last ten years about a bunch of "terrorist". Aaaiiiiiiaiiiiiiii!

I feel better now.]

We hold these truths...

2010-12-16T09:44:00.000-05:00

During the early pre-TV years of our marriage, Sheila and I enjoyed daily our little stereo and merged-collection-of-LPs in that little log cabin on Lake Creek in Chubbtown Community. One album we listened to regularly was Portrait by the Fifth Dimention. So whenever I taught about the Declaration I'd pack that record to school and play this song for my students as they followed the words in our text. Now I have it on iTunes and my students follow these magnificent, poetic words of Thomas Jefferson projected on the "Smartboard".

True Treasure

2010-12-11T12:15:00.000-05:00

Thinking of Christmas shopping brought this bit of light verse to mind. I wrote it 15 years or so ago, at Christmas, for my daughters and wife:

Exchanging Gifts

What gifts will you bring your Papa?
Pure gold, however they're made
Wrapped in sunshine smiles;
Tied with love that won't fade.

What gift will you bring your lover?
Its rich, whatever you've spent,
You've paid thrice in sweat and tears
and my promises, broken or bent.

What gifts can I bring my daughters?
What present is worthy my wife?
Tawdry trinkets diamonds would seem
On these precious true-treasures of life.

Corny but sincere sentiments, still, from this ol' fool, as he prepares for a Lillian-less Yuletide.

(Some other poetry of mine can be accessed via the Wayback Machine.)

Just Singing A Song Won’t Change The World

2010-12-03T12:12:00.003-05:00

Greetings from Ohio. I posted this on DaytonOS today. I'm contemplating making a big organizing effort here in Kettering for the next 5 or 6 months and see what happens. I keep thinking I will make it to Rome. Carmon is 100 this February and so I know I will be down your way then.

I love this clip of Neil Young talking with David Letterman. Neil jokes that he is working on a new song, “Just Singing A Song Won’t Change The World.” He banters with Paul Schafer and finally says, “You can keep trying, though.”

“Democracy is the Answer.”

Raising America’s standard of living -- more democracy is the answer.

Transforming our system of public education -- more democracy is the answer.

World peace -- more democracy is the answer.

No, just singing a song about democracy is not the answer, but it might be a good start.
In response to a recent post, Stan Hirtle replied and said the “Waiting for Superman” movie delivers this message: “America’s standard of living arguably depends on having a higher skilled, higher educated work force than in the past, and therefore we can be less tolerant of the education results of the past.”

The movie doesn’t suggest that for our failing economy more democracy is the answer, it says a more highly trained work force is the answer. Diane Ravitz calls the movie “propaganda.”

The idea that the focus of our system of public education should be to maintain and improve the American standard of living is an idea so often expressed, we don’t recognize it as propaganda.
Here are two recent statements by President Obama:

“Make no mistake: Our future is on the line. The nation that out-educates us today is going to out-compete us tomorrow. To continue to cede our leadership in education is to cede our position in the world.“

“When countries that out-educate us today, they will out-compete us tomorrow. Giving our kids the best education possible is an economic imperative. That’s why, from the start of my administration, we’ve been fighting to offer every child in this country a world-class education”

Secretary of Education, Arne Duncan, says: “Nothing — nothing is more important in the long-run to American prosperity than boosting the skills and attainment of the nation's students.”

But, if American test scores were at the top of the chart, and our students were outscoring students of other nations in science and math, our current unemployment figures would be substantially unchanged.

Alfie Kohn notes:

“ For nations, there’s little correlation between average test scores and economic vigor. The late Gerald Bracey, for example, found 38 countries whose economies had been rated on the Current Competitiveness Index calculated by the World Economic Forum and whose students’ test scores had also been assessed. There was virtually no correlation between countries’ scores on the two lists. ... Consider Japan’s outstanding test scores in the 1980s and its dismal economic performance in the 1990s.”

Low test scores didn’t cause our current economic crisis, and high test scores will not solve our economic problems. Blaming public education for our poor economy is effective propaganda -- a way for the ruling oligarchy to manage public opinion -- but, raising test scores will not improve the economy. It is illogical that, if our system of public education could succeed in dramatically accomplishing Duncan’s goal of “boosting the skills and attainment of the nation's students,” sufficient good jobs would somehow materialize.

Citizens in the old Soviet Union demonstrated greater academic accomplishment than citizens in the United States. But academic accomplishment in the old Soviet Union did not translate into prosperity.

The Soviet Union had a system problem, and, it is the system that matters most -- not the individuals in the system. It was impossible that the Soviet system could produce wide-spread prosperity, because it was never the purpose of the system. The point of Soviet Union system was not to produce prosperity, but to give more power and privilege to those already privileged.

America also has a system problem. Our central problem is not that school children can’t understand the quadratic formula or can’t comprehend photosynthesis. The problem is our system of democracy is failing. In practical terms, we have an oligarchic system, not a democratic system. To solve our economic malaise we need to vitalize our system of democracy. More democracy is the answer.

The idea that More Democracy Is the Answer is a fundamental idea with great power. But where are the documentary movies that make that case? Where are the talk radio programs that are working day and night to stir people up so they begin to express passion for this fundamental idea?

The need to vitalize our democracy seems so obvious to me that I keep predicting that eventually it will be obvious to many others as well. My prediction, that I keep returning to, is, The Ascending Issue In Our Democracy Is Democracy Itself

Maybe it is just wishful thinking, but, I believe the grassroots is awakening. Stable, prosperous communities such as Kettering, where I live, whose public education is deemed “Excellent,” have the greatest capacity for creating an authentic democratic grassroots movement. Such a movement will be a nonpartisan effort to build community. The core of this movement, initially, I believe, will be the conviction that local control of public education must be returned to local communities.

A grassroots' movement requires that people begin to act on their convictions. Note to self: Changing the world means getting off one’s duff and actually doing something. Neil's right -- just singing a song won’t change the world, even if the song is about democracy

Which Presidents Increased our National Debt?

2010-11-17T22:47:00.006-05:00

The National Debt
by Percentage of Decrease or Increase

Here's an interesting table taken from Wikipedia. It uses CBO figures. The pink cells are Republican presidential terms. You will see that ALL percentage increases in the national debt came in Republican administrations.

I am no economist. Far from it. But I cannot help but believe that there is significance to the fact that the combined increase in the national debt compared to the gross national product of last five Republican administrations has been more than 60% compared to a decrease under the last five Democratic administrations of a combined total of 30%

Like President Roosevelt in the 1940s, President Obama is having to again increase the debt to get us out of a mess. But for Republicans to holler about it would be humorous if it weren't such a serious topic.

Trickle-down does not work.

Reagan tried it and doubled the debt.

Bush Jr tried it and nearly destroyed our economy.

Now we have the Republican leaders declaring they will fight to lower the national debt WHILE cutting more taxes, raising defense spending, rescinding the debt-reducing health care reforms, etc., etc., etc.

Didn't work for Reagan 1, Reagan 2, Bush 1, Bush 2 or Bush 3. Won't work now.

Reagan and Bush I administrations raised the debt from 33% of GDP to 66% of GDP. Bush Jr took the debt from 56% of GDP to 83% of GDP.

Democrats? Every Democratic administration since 1945 has reduced the percentage of debt compared to gross domestic product (GDP). When Bill Clinton took office the debt was 66% of GDP. When he left office the debt had been trimmed to 56% of GDP.

Economically, Republican administrations have been great for rich folks and the current GOP leaders are standing tall - stout hearts - to protect the interests of those mistreated folks who "earn" a quarter of a million a year or more.

I Endorse Mike Burton for State Senate

2010-10-31T22:15:00.003-04:00

Mike Burton is my close friend and the Education Candidate for the Georgia Senate, District 52. Mike says that when he and his brother and cousins would get into arguments as youngsters, his grandmother "Mama Brown" would say, "Boys, lets have a little 'sweet reason" here." And she would help them find a way to compromise and get along. Mike wants to bring some sweet reason to the Georgia Senate. It could sure use it!

Mike Burton for State Senate

2010-10-21T23:54:00.004-04:00

I am proud to support my lifelong friend, Mike Burton, for State Senate, District 52. If you live in Floyd County, western Gordon County, or northern Bartow County, please look beyond the big money, slick ads, and negative attacks of the other side and vote for Mike and "Sweet Reason"

Mike will not represent a party, a special interest, or a rigid platform -- he will represent the people of our district. He is open, intelligent, and reasonable.

Mike is the Democratic nominee. Our district is 65% Republican. In order for Mike to win he must receive the votes of a lot of Republicans. I ask my many wonderful Republican friends to please give him a fair hearing. You will not agree with him on every issue, but I believe most of you will find more to agree with him on than you will his opponent if you give him a fair hearing. Thanks!

The New York "Mosque" Controversy II

2010-10-16T22:30:00.001-04:00

I do not understand why it would "disrespect" other loyal Americans for these loyal Americans, just as much victims of Al Qaeda as you or me, to build their center in lower Manhattan where our mutual enemies attacked us. Certainly Muslims in lower Manhattan are as likely as you or me, actually more so I imagine, to know workers at the World Trade Center who were killed in the attacks of 2001. Moderate Muslims are specifically targeted by Al Qaeda.

The Golden Rule is a great way to look at this. When I put myself in the place of an American Muslim I feel the incredible pain of seeing my own countrymen accepting Bin Laden's world view of a war between Americans and Islam instead of a battle against extremists who kill moderate Muslims daily. Putting myself in the place of my Muslim students, parents, and friends -- some of whom had very close relatives murdered by different terrorist, Saddam, BTW -- I would be terribly hurt and insulted and even angry.

Our allies among the Kurds, Shites, and Sunnis in Iraq and Afghanistan must wonder if we can be trusted if we treat even Muslim Americans as if they are "disrespectful" just for using a building in lower Manhattan. Our soldiers include loyal American Muslims and are fighting alongside Muslims in Afghanistan and Iraq. What message are the folks so vehemently opposing the "Mosque" sending the moderates?

I say again: Bin Laden must be chuckling at his unwitting allies. I believe that the vociferous opponents of this building are helping Bin Laden estrange Muslims from America. They are helping him create extremists. If they can't support it, they should be silent, in my opinion, because, even if they were right that it would be best not built, it is counterproductive, divisive, and helps Bin Laden achieve his goals to continue to alienate our allies among the Muslims. If we agree they have the right to build it, then how does insulting them help our cause?

The better response to the announcement of the building, however, would have been: "Good for these folks! This demonstrates that America will not fall into Bin Laden's trap. We actually believe in the words of our founding documents. See OBL, you creepy medieval rabid dog, reasonable Muslims are not on your side. They believe in America and want to help lower Manhattan recover from your evil."

The New York "Mosque" Controversy

2010-10-15T22:28:00.001-04:00

Osama Bin Laden must be sitting in a cave somewhere chuckling about his unwitting allies.

The attacks of 2001 were attacks by extremists against the United States, a nation of all religions and none. In those attacks Methodists, Catholics, Mormons, Jews, atheists, Muslims, Sikhs, and more died. For the 200 years plus before that, other Americans, of all faiths and none, have died fighting for our Bill of Rights which proclaims freedom of religion.

Any American has the right to build a house of worship on land he owns if he pleases.

When I think of the sweet Muslim American kids I have taught over the years and the many fine Muslim American parents and teachers I have known, I am not bothered at all for them to build a mosque near the site where extremists of their faith tried to terrorize them and us into forsaking our freedom to worship as they and we please.

I stubbornly refuse to succumb to terrorism.

An extremist Christian terrorist set off a bomb in Centennial Park about 24 hours after I was there. I will not allow my rights as an American to be altered one iota by his terrorism. Nor will I quit visiting New York because of Bin Laden's terrorism. Nor will I change my belief in religious freedom, as Bin Laden would have me do, because of his despicable acts. I believe terrorism deserves a quick and brutal response. I will cheerfully stand in line, shoeless, to have my belongings x-rayed before each flight. I will pay whatever taxes need to be paid so that practical safeguards can be maintained and so that terrorists can be hunted. But to alter my core values because of terrorism would be to surrender to it, period.

I will not do it.

I want Bin Laden and his ilk to see America going on about its business, refusing to be terrorized, -- ready to take safeguards, ready to punish terrorists without mercy, but otherwise -- bravely, determinedly, resolutely unaffected by terrorism.

The Case for the President

2010-10-15T21:51:00.007-04:00

The link above (click on the picture) is to a pretty good rundown of the accomplishments of the last two years. They are impressive. Our President inherited a terrible situation on January 20, 2009. The economy was hemorrhaging jobs. According to almost every economist there was real danger of us slipping into depression. At the time virtually everyone admitted that it would be a long slog out of the recession. Well, it has been. But things turned in the right direction almost immediately under the pragmatic, calm, open-minded leadership of our President. We still have a terrible jobless rate, but we have gone from losing hundreds of thousands of jobs to gaining thousands of jobs each month. That's not enough, and would be better without the stonewalling of the GOP, but it is a huge improvement.

Yes we have terrible deficits. We have them because of the excesses of many, but a big part is the mess created by folks who want to conduct two wars and cut taxes at the same time. Letting the ridiculous tax breaks for the wealthy expire as originally planned will help the situation. The wealthy paid much higher taxes than they do now during the boom years of the fifties! (& even the roaring nineties under Clinton.)

Now is the time for level-headed folk to come forward and head off the silliness of the Sharron Angles, Christine O'Donnells, and Rand Pauls, (and Nathan Deals, and Barry Loudermilks here in Georgia) who want to blame this ongoing crisis on the very folks who are digging us, slowly but surely, out of it. The Teabaggers like Angle, et al, would remove any safety nets left for common folk, like Social Security and minimum wage.

Vote for reason. Vote for reality. Vote for hope. Vote Democratic!

Sunday at the National Storytelling Convention

2010-10-05T19:20:00.003-04:00

Sometimes the emcee is as entertaining as the tellers. That's how we were introduced to Kevin Kling a year ago. If Barbara McBride Smith or Ed Stivender or Gayle Ross is the emcee you look forward to their brief moments on stage.

Gay Ducey was emcee for the Sacred Telling session in the College Street Tent on Sunday morning. What a hoot! She performed the usual anti-cellphone duty to the tune of "What a Friend We Have in Jesus":

We know how much you love your cellphone,
You take it with you everywhere,
But if it rings while we are telling,
You'll be standing in the need of prayer!

Then in her best and most solemn voice she recited the rest of the usual "Thou Shalt Nots" of audience etiquette.

My Facebook friend, Suzi Whaples, was our first Sunday teller. She told a touching tale of a street person in Charleston, WV, who hung around the office building where Suzi used to work. Mary Jones was expressionless and definitely less than articulate, but Suzi made the effort of greeting her every morning and afternoon nonetheless. When the woman was suddenly killed in an accident, Suzi learned that her daily greetings were more important than she realized. "Be careful how you treat strangers," Suzi reminded us, "you might be entertaining angels, unaware."

Corinne Stavish was next. Of Jewish heritage Corinne is known for her bible stories told from the perspective of women from the Old Testament (Sarah on Friday). But this morning she spoke of her mother's creative uses of the common exclamation, "Oy veh!"
"I understood," she said, "that compassion passed directly from God to my mother." Though she also admitted that her mother "... had anger management issues of her own." Embedded in this story of her mother was a tale she borrowed from a writer named Kohn (sp), "The Princess Who Never Cried".

When Gay took the stage to introduce Bill Miller, she had to interrupt herself to turn and cough. She immediately turned back to the audience with an unwavering gaze to announce, "Don't worry -- just a hair ball."

Bill Birdsong Miller is a Mohican who grew up on a Wisconsin reservation. He sang two of his songs: "Listen to Me" and "Dark River"

Next came the inimitable, unlimitable, Kevin Kling. He told a short Ukrainian folktale called "The Mitten". Then told of some of his own childhood experiences in church. During one seemingly endless church service he noticed the long list of names under a stained-class window next to his pew and whispered to his mother to ask who those men were. "Those are the men who died in service," she replied. Kevin wondered, "The first service or the second?!!"

Abbi Patrix is this year's international teller. He's a Frenchman. He is an amazingly animated, joyful teller, whose stories give the impression of being created before you. They are more than passing strange. Unique. They include bits of chanted or sung French phrases. One was a dream/vision from the night before, or maybe moments before, about an ascension into the sky and his deposit outside the tent just before the telling. He reminds me of the lesson I try to teach my children before a performance: If you have fun on the stage, you audience will have fun too. Abbi always seem to be having great fun!

As Gay introduced the wonderful Carmen Agra Deedy, one of my very favorites (and a friend of our family friends the Jorge Gonzales family), she despensed with the usual admonitions and just just said: "Make your Mama proud."

Carmen told of her first visit to the public library in Decatur. Tersi, her older sister --- and another wonderful teller and my Facebook buddy --- took her there to be rid of her for an hour or so. (I'm sure there's another side to this Tersi!) This is the story in which Carmen describes Tersi as a "pink flamingo" in her ballet costume. She also beautifully paints the WPA murals in that library on our mental canvasses and sculpts for us a very Southern, very tough, and very loving, librarian.

Parenthetical aside: Some of my favorite folks have been librarians... Gloria & Priscilla, WC Owen, Matilda, Ms. Burge, Avis & Martha, Sadie, Libby, my buddies on the Bookmobile, even old FB friend Tony, and those whose names I can't retrieve, at the library in Griffin where we walked with my Mama in the fifties, and in the cannery-building library at Ellijay. I read all the Hardy Boy books and so was reduced to checking out Nancy Drew "for my sister".

Librarian Mary Mac explained to little Carmen that "you don't like books because it hasn't found you yet." So of course Charlotte's Web leapt off a shelf in no time, almost onto her toe, and found her, and Carmen was hooked.

I had to note this wonderful detail: "Librarians are all about precision - three-ninety-eight [quick index-finger jab accompanied by a sound-effect "pttt"] point-two"

Bil Lepp was next and chose to tell the familiar "My fourth-grade teacher was Wonder Woman". Fun all over again.
Bill Birdsong Miller was back with a few more songs: "Blessing Wind" "Blowing in the Wind" [We were invited to join in], a Jim Pepper song, and "Wild Horses".

Jay Ocallahan presented a tribute to the late Brother Blue. "Brother Blue flew above his ego."

The joyous Abbi Patrix was back to talk about the Creator and his imagination. He often accompanies his stories with a hand-held Kalimba. The Creator "... looks at man and thinks, 'I can do better!'" We must "... tune ourselves with the world."

We got our second taste of Charlotte Blake Alston -- I wish we had heard more from her -- who told a tale I have heard on Sunday morning, maybe from Jim or David, about the little girl teased about the futility of trying to toss all the stranded starfish on the beach back into the safety of the sea, "... to this one it will matter".

Bil Lepp came back on and talked of his experiences with other languages and as an exchange student in Germany. I laughed so hard I forgot to take notes.

Rafe Martin told folktales. I enjoyed them without jotting any notes.

Then here came Suzi Whaples again.
We are ready for the tears to flow as our hearts are rended as usual. She elicits tears alright!! The most tearful laughter of the festival!! She begins by discussing how language has changed since her childhood and teen years. She has learned that peddle-pushers are now capris, for example. She told of the incredulous looks she got from her granddaughters when, concerned that her granddaughters have appropriate footwear for the beach, she asked them if they were taking their thongs. With great timing she drew out this misunderstanding for several minutes ending with: "Well, if y'all feel that strongly about it, I'll leave my thongs at home, but you'll never talk your Granddad out of wearing his!"

Corinne Stavish told of her father's reaction to a neighbors petition to keep "those people" out of the neighborhood. She ended by quoting her father: "Honey, never be afraid to do the right thing. The time to be afraid is when you don't."

By this time I think Gayle Ross is the emcee. Her introduction of Andy Offut Irwin was simple: "Take cover -- incoming!!!"
Aunt Marguerite is back of course, this time with a campaign to change the Newton County High School "Lady Rams" (????) to the "Embraceable Ewes". Braswell plays cymbal in the band and uses them for an impractical joke that he thinks goes unnoticed, but he's convinced otherwise when Margueite remarks, "Braswell, that's a wonderful use of symbols."

The festival ends for those of us at the College Street tent with the grand old man of storytelling, Donald Davis. Donald talks of visiting Hugh Massey's Toggery with his mother. Her only admonition before they entered was two words: "Be Have!" Of course he didn't. After all "I was only six. I didn't have a memory yet. Didn't need one."

And it's over. We rush to the "Resource Tent" - It's only open for thirty more minutes! - and drop a hundred dollars (it's only money) for an assortment of storytelling CDs to listen to on the way home. Sheila has finally succombed to my cold and is miserable so we head back to the hotel where she collapses into bed and I go out for soup-to-go from Panera. After a long night of sleep, we have a brunch at IHOP across the street -- no diet today -- and Sheila sleeps more as I drive listening to Andy Irwin and Kathryn Windham and Kevin Kling thorugh the beautiful Tennessee countryside.

Alright, Facebook friends! I want to organize a real, big name with local talent interspersed, Northwest Georgia Storytelling Festival! I can see those beautiful white tents blooming in the pastures at Berry College, or down in Booger Hollow at the Burton Farm. Tie it to Chiaha? Or Waterfest? Maybe get the Georgia Writers group involved.

We've got Tersi & Carmen & John & Andy right there in the Atlanta area. Kennesaw has a storytelling professor! We've got Jane & Barbara & Bob (and Terrell, of course) here in Rome. Shoot, Ms. Windham and Donald Davis aren't all that far away.

Saturday at the National Storytelling Convention

2010-10-03T15:12:00.000-04:00

Our second wonderful day with a schedule of stories from 10 a.m. till midnight including two hours each to Donald Davis and John McCutcheon!

Donald Davis described the family reunion as a "semester of eating." And when someone said what he shouldn't: "...he looked like like he'd just stepped in a hole and realized there wasn't a bottom in it," and "... I had a bite ... right there. [points to neck and pauses] ... Wouldn't go either way. [now the patented Davis neck jut and stare]"

John McCutcheon joyfully sang and sang, and had us join him often, with this encouragement: "Music has a wonderful inclusionary clause -- harmony. You have several chances to get that right, and if you don't... it's jazz."
During his "college year abroad" in Eastern Kentucky, John learned that, in the South, "...even vegetables aren't vegetarian." He finished by singing one of my very favorite American hymns, accompanying himself on his newest instrument, the the Tibetan Singing Bowl -- "How Can I Keep from Singing?"

His second set was a request time. I put in two, neither of which was chosen ("Old People in Love" and "The Wind that Shakes the Barley") but I was very happy with the hour he gave us. He sang "Cut the Cake" for someone's birthday, and spoke of his campaign to replace the dirge-like "National Birthday Anthem" with this lively alternative (Afterwards I had the chance to tell him that I am doing my part in that effort!)
And when he was interupted by the train, -- as tellers often are, especially in the Courthouse Tent where we spent the day -- he just added a train verse to the song without missing a beat.

The story of Kathryn Windham's coffin was like hearing it the first time all over again. We were reminded of the epitaph she wants: "She was twice blessed. Say she was happy. Say she knew it."
Then she turned to a long discussion of her current full-time career: "I take care of a crotchedy old woman." There followed a detailed and hilarious depiction of the challenges of living into one's nineties ... with many references to "she", the unwelcome "house guest". And another train brought the suggestion that "they could use some WD40 on those wheels!"
Our only hour with Kathryn Windham was a wonderful blessing, and we knew it.

We chose the evening concert in the Courthouse Tent, "One Clown Short of a Circus" with Bil Lepp, Kevin Kling, and Andy Offut Irwin. We got back from supper only 45 minutes early so there were no seats left except for one single seat on the very back row. So we claimed that and sat behind it on the asphalt to eat our soup and sandwiches from Atlanta Bread. We struck up a conversation with the fellow beside us who was holding three seats. He said that it was possible one of his companions would decide not to come. That how it turned out so Sheila and I both got seats after all -- one on each side of this nice couple. They live in Jonesborough and are interested in renting out their basement next year dring the festival. We traded e-mail addresses! Wouldn't it be nice to stay right there in Jonesborough!

Crazy Bil Lepp told the tale of his visit to a rodeo last year, and his participation in a Wild Cow Milking Contest. I noted his mention of "...the kind of vegan who won't even say 'Glad to meet you'..." His adventure included "...800 pounds of aggravated radical feminist bovine" and his punchline was: "Hell hath no fury like TWO women scorned!"

Frenetic Kevin Kling kept me so limp with laughter that I only managed one brief note and I don't remember the context exactly: "...brothers from other mothers and sisters of from other misters."

If you have not heard Andy Offut Irwin's Aunt Marguerite from Covington Georgia, you have missed a treat. He. has. her. down. I have Newton County roots myself. I have met that woman! She gives two examples of "The very defininition of a fool...": "some one who'd pay a dollar for a bottle of wahrter..." or "... buy a bale of pine straw in Jahrja." One of her neighbors would not go to the optician who recommended progressive lenses "... Ah'm a R'publican!"

The Midnight Cabaret was one of our favorites: Bill Harley ... and friends. Great music (What a keyboard artist is Bill's friend whose name I forget! I swear he rivals James Willis.) and some storytelling in between.
"The most radical thing in America is a longterm memory!"
He called Willy Chaflin and Barbara McBride Smith and a couple of others to the stage to help him with a hilarious "radio play". "That's like beating a dead horse of a different color!"
He talked of his father's laissez faire parenting style: "My Dad figured I was stupid enough to learn from my own mistakes." He sang his song "Daddy Played the Phonograph" and explained, "It's not enough to know how to play, you have to know how to listen too."

And he mused: "You can't see the story when you are in it."

As Bill finished up the evening he reminded us of Edgar Mitchell's awe-inspiring glimpse of the whole earth and famous exclamation: "Now I know why I have come so far."

Friday at the National Storytelling Convention

2010-10-02T15:12:00.001-04:00

What a great time we are having! Yesterday we spent many happy hours hearing stories and songs. We have heard several of my old favorites and several of my new favorites!

Kevin Kling's evil old woman walked "... grass dying around her feet...". Another of his characters "... didn't know coincidence: to a fool there's no such thing."

When John McCutcheon missed a word of a song he interjected: "When your memory goes ... forget it!"

My new facebook friend, Suzi Whaples, described one of her characters as "... madder'n a 'possum turned upright!" She is a-m-a-z-i-n-g!

Andy Offutt Irwin, another Georgia boy, explained that in the South folks think an "underwire bra" is redundant!

Corinne Stavish told the story of Sarah from the old lady's point-of-view. Imagine! (I remember, the first Sunday after Brannon Ruth Shaw was born, that James Sanders used the story of Abraham and Sarah in his children's sermon, then had me distribute my Baby Ruth candy bars. Hmmmm.)

Bill Lepp patiently gave the history of the invention of the Tiki Torch. Later he suggested that deerhunters would be more successful if they took a hint from car manufacturers. Cars are made ever more bullet-like, why not make bullets car-shaped. Why, wouldn't deer just jump right out in front of those things?

Michael Parent's semi-fictional cousin Artie, given the choice of having his pizza cut six or eight ways, chose six. He just wasn't sure he could eat as many as eight.

Carmen Deedy's father to Carmen's mom: "May God bless the tree that gave the wood that made the bed where you were conceived."

Frenchman Abbi Patrix: "Truth and falsehood live in the same house..." [points to noggin] "...and use the same door." [points to mouth].

Minton Sparks described Vicki Pickle's mother as "... smokin' herself into a bass..."

We started at 10 a.m. and finished up a few minutes after midnight, tired but happy.

Mary Whaley: A favorite picture

2010-09-15T21:34:00.005-04:00

My great-grandmother Shaw was Minnie Zipora Wood, a twin of Maudie Lenora Wood, and the daughter of Nathan Robert Wood and Mary E. Whaley Wood. I have other pictures of Nathan and Mary but this week my second cousin Annette Winningham has forwarded me two wonderful photos of Nathan and Mary I'd like to share with my family and friends. Click on each picture if you'd like to see it in a higher resolution.

The first is one of my favorite family pictures. I suspect this was taken in Porterdale, Georgia.
If any one knows for sure, please let me know. My great-great-grandmother and her cow:

Mary E. Whaley Wood and her cow.

Mary's husband, Nathan, had enrolled in the First Georgia Cavalry, if I remember correctly, at the age of 16, during the War Between the States. Here he is much later, again probably in Porterdale GA:

Nathan Robert Wood

If you are a descendant of Nathan's son-in-law, Columbus Turner Shaw, I hope you will consider a donation toward the cleaning and renovation of the little Shaw Family Cemetery near Lithonia, Ga. It is in terrible condition. Call or e-mail me and I will put you in touch with our two cousins who have taken charge of the clean-up.

This posted way too fast. I'll correct any errors when I find them.

Charles Shaw: In the Creek

2010-09-13T23:33:00.005-04:00

Bo Tush Creek, maybe? The Yellow River?

Here's my Daddy as a kid in the creek.
The resemblance to me and my brother is amazing.

Charles Columbus Shaw
about 1925?
Click on the photo to see the best resolution available.

From the photos of his cousin Loraine.

Mother's Dahlia

2010-09-12T21:17:00.004-04:00

Mother has been bragging about her dahlia for several days, and told us at church this morning that we'd best hurry to Rollingwood Drive to see it. My sister Joan did and this picture is the result.
My friend Mike Bock brought us a few dahlia roots two years ago or so and the resulting blooms were so wondrous that I have invested in two containers of dahlia roots since. Unfortunately this project has coincided with the residence in our neighborhood here on the river of a voracious family of woodchucks.

Those derned groundhogs have a hankering for nothing so much as fresh dahlia plants. They've kept our crop nibbled down to nubs.

Mother planted the few roots I gave her in a pot and despite the hungry herds of whitetails in Garden Lakes, she got this gorgeous bloom. Ain't it pretty? Thanks for the photo, Joan!

Louisa' s Little Cemetery

2010-09-11T23:03:00.015-04:00

My daddy's daddy was Daddy Shaw - Grady Columbus Shaw - barber, salesman, and storyteller extraordinaire. I lived for the week I spent in the summer at Daddy Shaw's house -- and especially the barber shop! I loved to crank myself up and down in his spare barber's chair while his clippers buzzed and his words painted my brain with images my eyes had never seen. What fun to slide some Tom's peanuts from their little cellophane packet into an ice cold Co'cola. Or earn a dime shining a pair of shoes for someone waiting his turn under Daddy Shaw's clippers. All the while listening to laughing, teasing, storytelling.

His daddy was Grandpa Shaw - Columbus Turner Shaw, Lum for short. My first memory of him is from his funeral where there was a bewildering amount of crying.

(l-r) Minnie, Lewis, Curtis, Lum (Grandpa), and Grady (Daddy Shaw)

I knew nothing of Grandpa's daddy till after he and Daddy Shaw were both gone. Now there's a story. Grandpa Shaw's daddy was not a Shaw! He was a Treadwell, John Treadwell. And he and Grandpa's Mama, Louisa, had never married even though they had a bunch of children together.

John Treadwell

Today I spent some time with several other descendants of that illegal union. My second cousin and genealogy friend Annette Winningham and three other cousins I'd never met before: Gwen Shaw and Clyde Shaw - descendants of Louisa's eldest son, John; and George Long, grandson of Louisa's daughter, Mary Ann Shaw Long.

(l-r) Terrell, Gwen, George, Annette, Clyde

We visited the little family cemetery near Lithonia and found it completely overgrown. You would never know it was there without being very close and having good light.

The cemetery is completely obscured from the road by trees and undergrowth.

We are hiring a tree surgeon to clear the young pines and other undergrowth and weeds. He has assured Gwen that he will be gentle and careful.

There is a chain link fence along one side.

Marci gets a close look at the gravestone of Mary Amanda Shaw Dobbs.*

Those of us descended from the folks buried there should help with the $1200 it will cost, if we can. Sheila and I made a small pledge. If any of my siblings or other Shaw kin would like to help, give me a call and I'll put you in touch with Annette and Gwen.

Louisa's gravestone:
Louisa Shaw
Born Aug. 31, 1842
Died Feb 26, 1932
She was a kind and affectionate wife, a fond mother, and a friend to all.

I've wondered a lot about Louisa. She was revered by her children. Treadwell bought her several houses and a couple hundred acres or so for the use of his second family. He also bought her first shoes and later gave her a slave (Lou Stroud) according to my grandmother. He provided for her in his will. She was so young when this older married man took up with her. If it weren't for their misbehavior I wouldn't be! This poem grew out of my wonderings:

All Things Work Together: Questions for a Kept Girl
For Louisa Frances Shaw, 1842-1932

Louisa, little girl.
Tell your secret.
Was he kind at first?
Did he give you dolls?
Did your dolls know too?
When did you tell your pa?

Louisa, mother girl.
Where is your secret now?
In how many cities do we breathe and wonder?
Did he take you in your sleep?
Carry you from the well? Or the wood?
Where was your Daddy?

Louisa, grandmother girl.
Your secret spreads north and west.
Why did you stay?
Why put him on the mantel?
Should we love him too?
Did your mother cry?

Louisa, great grandmother girl.
I am your secret now.
I know your pain.
I cry for the lost father.
I cannot save you.
I would not.

Louisa, great great grandmother girl.
Your secret is mine and a hundred more.
Without your pain we never were.
These tiny hands would not clasp mine.
I would be no one's Papa,
no one's me.

© 1997 Terrell Shaw

* 9-13-10 I have corrected the name for this grave. I knew better than the name I gave previously, but still put the wrong one. Whoops! This should be a reminder to ALWAYS take genealogical info with a grain of salt and verify, verify, verify. I have seen mistakes on tombstones and lots on census records. Thanks, Annette, for straightening me out!
(Also corrected some typos.)

On being called "Politically Correct"

2010-08-24T22:57:00.005-04:00

Those who rant against the building of the Islamic equivalent of a YMCA in lower Manhattan have enjoyed accusing those of us on the other side of "political correctness". In fact, of course, if one side can be fairly accused of being motivated by "political correctness" it would be the ranters. They have repeatedly used sensibility to the feelings of some (not all by a long shot) 2001 terror survivors as their main argument in discouraging free expression among actual residents of lower Manhattan -- who were also terrorized in 2001.

My objection to the use of the term "politically correct" is that, rather than dealing with the core issue of whether or not Muslims in lower Manhattan have every right to speak and worship and assemble as they please*, opponents attack civil libertarians' motives by accusing us of only worrying about ruffling the sensibilities of the Muslims. Hogwash! That is an ad hominem response , in my book. I have Muslim friends. I love and admire them. But I think the beliefs of their religion, as I understand them, are wrong and definitely not the loving faith of the New Testament as I read it. That's why I choose to be a Methodist instead -- though I disagree with some other self-styled Christians about as vehemently. I have no problem telling anyone that.

I believe those who are ranting about the erroneously-labeled "Ground Zero Mosque", have every right* to do so, but are tragically mistaken in doing so. In practical terms their actions are totally counter-productive. I believe their actions are also analogous to calling for Japanese-American internment in WWII, calling for segregation of African-Americans, calling for posting of "No Irish Need Apply" signs, calling for Native-American removal, etc. I believe, eventually, they or their progeny will be embarrassed by their actions and statements. Newt Gingrich, for example, has permanently soiled his own biography with his extremism on this issue.

I hope I would, if it came to it, be willing to die for the ranters' and the Muslims' right as Americans to be royally wrong and believe, preach, worship, assemble*, to their heart's content for their wrongheaded beliefs.

* under the law, of course -- please don't anyone give me another lecture on extraneous issues like zoning.

Editing Note: spelling corrected in title, 8/25/08.

Freedom of Religion, period.

2010-08-23T23:16:00.005-04:00

It literally pains me to see so many Americans falling into Bin Laden's trap. I say as gently as I can: however pure the motive, however admirable my friends who do so may be in other ways, that is exactly the fate of those who presume to tell other Americans where and when, within the law, they should worship or where they should build their houses of worship.

I believe that to the tips of my toes.

Those things are just plain noone’s business but the ones involved -- in the present case the Muslim community of lower Manhattan. The families of the Americans killed by terrorists are not involved in those decisions. Neither is the President (as he has said), Newt Gingrich, Sarah Palin, Harry Reid, some song-writer named Rita, or any of the assorted bloggers, professional blatherers on TV and radio, or me.

This is the United States of America. It is not Germany. It is not Israel. It is not Saudi Arabia. Not only do the Americans in question have an absolute right, within the law, to build their community center two blocks away from the site of the attacks that killed Muslims, Christians, Jews, Sihks, Atheists and other AMERICANS in 2001, we should, regardless of our theological beliefs, praise and encourage them in their efforts at bridge-building, as some of the survivors of 2001 are doing. Christian-Americans have NO special claim on the site of those attacks. Bin Laden wanted to kill Americans. He cared nothing about hyphenated prefixes or suffixes. The more variety the better as far as he is concerned. Muslim-Americans were every bit as much a target as any other Americans, and every bit as much victims of it.

The correct American manifesto to Al Qaeda should be:

In America we believe in freedom of religion, period.

And no sons-of-bitches* like low-down, scum-of-the-earth Bin Laden and his murderous box-cutter wielding Kool-aid drinkers can make us back down from that basic principle even if they send a thousand fully-fueled 747s aimed at a thousand American cities.

You egg-sucking-dogs can kill us, but you can not kill our unalienable American rights of free expression of any sublime, mundane, or idiotic idea that we hold dear.

We will take necessary practical precautions, of course. We will submit to shoeless inspections in airports. We will pay whatever taxes are needed to fight you.
But we WILL hunt you down and you WILL submit to American justice. We WILL strike at you without mercy if you resist.

BUT...

We will NOT shy away from our big cities.
We will NOT alter our core principles.
We will NOT cower in fear.
We will NOT help you recruit extremists by striking at innocents.

We WILL remain steadfast in support of the principles of our Constitution and Bill of Rights come hell or high water.

WE WILL NOT BE TERRORIZED INTO THE WAR AGAINST ISLAM THAT YOU WANT SO BADLY.

* I detest overuse of coarse language but, in my opinion, it is entirely appropriate here.

Sunday Concert: Amazing Grace for Mother

2010-07-11T14:10:00.002-04:00

My wonderful mother has been after me to record some of the hymns I often sing (usually at funerals). Actually my vocal coach, Angela Flannigan McRee and I have been busy recording some of those and other songs for quite a while. We have about a dozen finished so the world wide web will have to put up with more Terrell recordings for a while.

I only know how to upload music that is attached to video - hence the somewhat random old family pictures to accompany the song.

This arrangement is one of my favorites. I've been singing it for a couple of decades, thanks to Rachel Jones who introduced me to it. I am glad it includes the fourth verse - often skipped in congregational singing, much to my chagrin.

So here are four verses (plus the final verse added by later generations) of John Newton's hymn to the Amazing Grace that can reverse the course of even a wretched slave trader.

Independence Day 2010: Missing Friends

2010-07-05T13:35:00.011-04:00

Our guests lined the top of the levee behind our house, with a few thousand other Rome citizens,
as the fireworks began a little after nine Sunday evening. I really like this picture.

Those Missing

Our Independence Day Celebration for 2010 started on a somber note as we remembered the three missing friends who have died in the last few weeks.

Charles Reichel attended the Fourth of July get-together several times with Sharon in recent years. Their daughter Carlyn is a dear friend of Brannon and one of our "extra daughters" from Brannon's school days. Their other children Carsten and Cara are former students of mine from my days in the gifted program. Cara and her husband Peter Mills, are the founders of Prospect Theater with whom I performed in a musical theater revue about ten years ago. Charles was the director of the National Creative Society, a Lutheran pastor, a loving husband and father, and a man of deep commitment to all those roles. Charles died of a sudden heart attack.

Here are a few of the early arrivals at last year's celebration. We grieve that we have lost three dear friends this year, each very suddenly: Cleve Burton (facing the camera in light blue shirt at the right) and Wint Barton (suspenders and cane), and Charles Reichel (not pictured)

I have written about Wint Barton several times. How he enriched our lives, the last few years especially. As our pastor pointed out at Wint's funeral, you don't expect the obituary of a 97 year-old to include the words "died unexpectedly". Wint's did. And it was very appropriate because he was such a vital, interesting, and interested nonagenarian. Wint began attending our Fourth of July parties about four years ago and was always the life of the party.

Then just a week ago Thursday, Cleve Burton, my good friend since 1962 (another, another, another) was struck by a massive heart attack in the middle of the night. His funeral came one week before the Fourth. I was unable to attend because of my involvement in a Rome Little theater show.

Cleve, a lawyer, was a person of remarkable integrity. He was scrupulously ethical in all his dealings. He loved the law. The Constitution and legal foundation of our country were precious to him. He would have made an excellent judge.

Cleve and I performed folk music together when we were in high school. We were MYF friends. At one MYF party at Cleve's house we got to watch a movie from his glassed in porch. They had sold West Rome Drive-in the property and had finagled the glassed-in porch and speaker as part of the deal. We went to Camp Glisson together. I bought my first guitar from Cleve.

Cleve and his father, Joe, taught me to play poker. Cleve's brother, Mike, became (and remains) one of my closest friends after Sheila and I moved back to Rome. Cleve's wonderful mother, Burnita, arranged so many singing engagements for me that I jokingly referred to her as "my manager."

Cleve and Terri have two children whose ages match those of our children. Keenan and Brannon were best buds in their preschool years. Daphne and Lillian were inseparable from toddlerhood through elementary years. We visited each other's houses for game nights, birthdays, chili, etc. Cleve and Terri make one of the world's great chilis. Sheila and I took squaredancing with the Burtons for several months in 1986.

Cleve and his family were almost always in attendance for our Celebration on the Levee from its inception in 1993. We grieve for him and will sorely miss him, especially at this time each year.

David had already removed most of the meat by the time I got a picture.
It sounds as if it would have been difficult to wedge in one more drumstick the smoker was so full!

About 150 old, new, and renewed friends joined us for the celebration and barbecue.
This is taken from the levee.

Fireworks over the world's greatest barbecue smoker.

You soon can read about and see more pictures of our
2010 Independence Day Celebration on my Facebook wall.

Here's a bit of John Adams for your Independence Week viewing:

Nature Walks: June 14

2010-06-14T16:54:00.013-04:00

I took a walk under the powerlines next to the school today and was thrilled to see two native milkweeds to help out our monarch projects. There were probably 12-20 individuals of each of the two species. We have several cultivated milkweeds in our classroom gardens, but it's nice to have some natural colonies of them about. First is, I think, Curly Milkweed.

Curly Milkweed

Asclepias amplexicaulis

The flowers had faded - this was the best example left.

It seemed to grow as individual stalks topped by a flower.

This one had gone to seed -- well, one seed pod.

u
See how the leaves curl. Their bases clasp the stem so tightly that they seem to join with the opposite leaf.

When I removed a leaf the milky sap fairly gushed from the wound.

The other milkweed under the powerlines is Butterfly Weed. It is one of the milkweeds that doesn't bleed milk when you pull a leaf. If is also one of my favorite wildflowers. We have several of these plants in our gardens that we have purchased. W could have as easily dug them from under the lines.

Butterfly Weed
Asclepias tuberosa

There were several other things in bloom or fruit as well. Which composite is this?

The ripe blackberries disappeared soon after the photo was taken. They were delicious.
Southern Blackberry
Rubus argutus

There were several of these showy little flowers.
Sensitive Briar
Mimosa microphylla

I don't know if this is fully opened. Could it be a pea?

Another common composite.

I don't know this guy.

Nature Walks: June 7

2010-06-08T13:43:00.006-04:00

Yesterday I couldn't resist a walk along the school trail and then on back into Berry property to see what's blooming and to get a little exercise. I found several pretty blooms, some I know, some I don't. I'll label them the best I can, but always understand my labels are preliminary until they have Richard or Teresa's OK!

Black-eyed Susans everywhere. Rudbeckia hirta, I suppose. This one was enjoying a visit from an interesting wasp.

All along the old railroad bed were clumps of this showy flower. I think it may be Wild Bergamot, Monarda fistulosa. It is a very pretty flower that is new to me.

This one looks like a Scuttellaria of some sort?

Wild Petunia? Ruellia sp?

This is growing in our little stream. It's Lizard's Tail, Saururus cernuus.

Alright, Richard and Teresa, set me straight.

What Makes A Story "Newsworthy"?

2010-06-02T15:25:00.001-04:00

I posted this article today on DaytonOS

I just had a chance to talk briefly with Lynn Hulsey, the reporter for the Dayton Daily News. On my way home from making copies of the resolution for the Montgomery County Democratic Party Reorganization Meeting, I stopped in at the DDN office in the old NCR building on Main Street, and asked at the desk if I might speak with Ms Hulsey.

I was pleased that within a few minutes Hulsey showed up and greeted me. I know I’ve met her before in a couple different settings -- very professional and very considerate.

Ms Hulsey let me know, gracefully, that she doubted that my resolution was newsworthy and that the DDN is not likely to print any story concerning the inner workings of the MCDP at their Reorganization Meeting. “Now, if it passes ...” she said. Of course, I told her, I didn’t expect the resolution to pass, but that, to me, it still would seem a good story for the DDN to cover.

Ms Hulsey told me that for political junkies the story would be interesting, but most people just wouldn’t be interested. But she thanked me for coming in, said she appreciated the information and asked to let her know the outcome. I told her that I very much appreciated her time.

I'm hoping that the DDN might change its outlook about what makes a story of value, worthy of investigation, worthy of investing time and effort into researching and writing. I would argue that the kind of stories that help explain our world are the stories that interest people. Everyone wants to have some insight into the answers to these questions: Why do we continually elect such weak leaders? Why does our political process fail to produce men of vision, imagination and conviction? Why is our democracy becoming a failure?

Just recently, the DDN printed an article about family members who work for other family members who are elected officials. I’d like to see Ms Hulsey, or some other industrious reporter, do some research about the local Democratic Party. A good place to start would be to research the individuals who show up this evening as voting delegates to the Reorganization Meeting: How many of these people hold patronage jobs assigned to them by elected Democrats? How many of these people, themselves, are elected officials?

Not There Yet But On the Right Track

2010-05-09T22:32:00.003-04:00

The turnaround that our President has led is nothing short of phenomenal. We are still hurting from the recession and will be for a while - I have several relatives and friends who are searching for jobs - but we are headed in the right direction and faster than anyone could have expected. And the turning point was the inauguration of a pragmatic, no nonsense, non-doctrinaire President.

Sorry to have been neglecting you, Ol' Blog. I'll try to do better.

In some ways this year is just as important as 2008. We face the usual reverse political tendency two years after a big win. The so-called "Tea Party" has huffed and puffed (with the usual right-wing blow-hards in the media lending their lung power) some enthusiasm in their ranks that must be countered. Actually every single "Tea Party" supporter that I know of was also a supporter of George W. Bush, so they are just the same old right-wing huffers and puffers. The angry always vote. We cannot be apathetic and expect to hold onto our gains of 2006 and 2008. Even with 59 votes in the Senate the President has had a tough slog to pass even watered down legislation against almost unanimous opposition from the Party of No. If we lose seats progress will be slowed further.

We need to get out the word. This President and the Democratic caucus in Congress have handled our troubled economy about as well as possible against a blatantly obstuctionist opposition. And the numbers are beginning to prove it.

Pass the word. We were right. America is coming back.

The Challenge Of Leadership

2010-04-13T23:34:00.011-04:00

An Unscheduled Feast

2010-03-28T19:44:00.016-04:00

Your reporter eating a samosa.

OK. It was scheduled. And had been for weeks.

But I had planned to be disciplined, or at least moderate. In the end I rationalized that I had had no February Feast. I was, until last evening, one feast short on my 12 Feasts a Year schedule!

When Nancy joined our faculty last year I enjoyed talking with her about her heritage. She's from New Jersey and she is a Sikh. Her husband is from India. I wanted to know about her traditionally arranged marriage. The results of that practice seems to add credence to my oft-cited principles of love. Certainly the obvious love of this young couple does.

Jagdeep, Avi, Nancy.

Why are there so many Sikhs named Singh? Does she know anyone who practices that strange (to non-Sikhs) tradition of wearing a dagger, for heaven's sake? One of our students, a Sikh, wears a turban of sorts. I wanted to know about that custom.

But, being me, I was most interested in the food!

I had discovered Punjabi food in 1968-69. My Asbury College (now Asbury University) roommate, Solomon Lasoi, was a Kenyan. Through him I became acquainted with a Sikh couple from Kenya who were studying at the University of Kentucky in nearby Lexington. And they invited Solomon and me to dinner with them at their home.

Terrell, Solomon, and Mr. Singh, May 1969.

I am always delighted to discover new culinary delights and was not disappointed. The curried chicken and rice and attendant dishes were delicious. I wish I had been keeping a journal at that time so that I could remember the meal in more detail. Ever since then I have been interesed in having another Indian meal.

So I found occasional opportunities to suggest that Nancy should bring a Punjabi dish to the next faculty pot luck. She replied that instead she and Jagdeep planned to have Sheila and me as their guests for a real Indian meal at their house.

The occasion of the first birthday of their son, Avi, served as the occasion for a big celebration for a host of their friends, relatives, and co-workers, including us, last night.

What a feast!

Samosas.

My absolute favorite, but an item that may have included my usual alloted Weight Watcher points for an entire day, were the appetizers. They are called samosas. It is a large triangular deep-fried stuffed pastry. The crunchy crust is fairly bursting with a spicy concoction of potatoes and spices and onions and who-knows-what. Yum!

Soaking up this audacious sauce are chunks of chicken breast.

The main dish was Butter Chicken -- small chunks of chicken breast swimming in a spicy reddish-orange sauce, served over basmati rice. This dish seemed very similar to what I had eaten in Lexington FORTY years ago.

I think the chicken should have been served over the rice. Since I am dieting I went light on the rice.

Side dishes included spicy creamed spinach dotted with small cubes of cheese...

I really liked the creamed spinach. (My mother will be proud.)

and, yes, spicy chickpeas.

Chickpea dish.

A thin tasty yogurt sauce was available to top any or all of these dishes, perhaps to moderate the bite of the hot spices. Quartered flatbread, itself spinkled with spices, provided a way to sop the soupy residue of deliciousness when the fork had done all it could.

Flatbread.

What a wonderful treat.

Avi enjoying his birthday cake. I couldn't resist posting this. How well I remember those days with my toddlers!

Hurray!

2010-03-21T23:57:00.006-04:00

After all these years of hard work, we have, finally, universal health care in America. Hallelujah!

I predict poll numbers will change dramatically and positively for Democrats as Americans see that this bill actually does those things that they supported in the elections of 2006 and 2008, and not the crazy things -- death panels, government takeovers, etc. -- that the Republicans and the insurance and other special interest groups tried to convince us of through their ads and speeches.

Barack Obama has lived up to this major campaign promise. He was masterful in negotiating pragmatic compromises. He went into the Republican lions' den and faced them down. He invited them in to negotiate with him. The final bill includes 200 Republican amendments, but garnered not a single vote from the party led by two political terriers who decided to make this issue the President's "Waterloo". The President refused to give up when the stonewalling Republicans seemed to be turning public opinion against the program they had supported in the election.

Hurray for Speaker Pelosi. Hurray for Senator Reid. Hurray for President Obama.

Thanks to these wonderful, courageous leaders, who refused to flinch in the face of falsehoods and hyperbole:

Every American will be covered under the toughest patient protections in history. Arbitrary premium hikes, insurance cancellations, and discrimination against pre-existing conditions will now be gone forever.

And we'll finally start reducing the cost of care -- creating millions of jobs, preventing families and businesses from plunging into bankruptcy, and removing over a trillion dollars of debt from the backs of our children.

But the victory that matters most tonight goes beyond the laws and far past the numbers.

It is the peace of mind enjoyed by every American, no longer one injury or illness away from catastrophe.

It is the workers and entrepreneurs who are now freed to pursue their slice of the American dream without fear of losing coverage or facing a crippling bill.

And it is the immeasurable joy of families in every part of this great nation, living happier, healthier lives together because they can finally receive the vital care they need.
- President Barack Obama

But most of all, hurray for America.
The special interests lost.
The American people won.

This is our moment!

2010-03-21T12:28:00.004-04:00

The day has come. This is our moment.

Today is the day promised over and over during the campaign in 2008. Even the opposition talked of passing something very similar to this (despite all the silly over-the-top words of those folks in the last few weeks). It is not all of what I wanted but it is a big step. Hallelujah! After all these years, finally we will pass universal (or nearly so) health care for Americans. We are taking our rights back from big pharma and big insurance. Insurance companies will no longer make medical decisions for me or my family. Our doctors and we will.

Provided 216 Democratic Congressmen are brave enough to vote their consciences, I will have my birthday present for this year. Nothing further is needed or desired.

Let's all send one more e-mail or phone call to our Representative. 216 will be wonderful, but let's pass it with a cushion!

Rep. Steny Hoyer had this to say yesterday:

“... America is watching us. Some would say this is a partisan effort. They’re wrong. This is an effort on behalf of all Americans.

“George W. Bush, in 2002, said and I quote, ‘All Americans should be able to choose a health care plan that meets their needs at affordable prices.’

“Bill Clinton said, ‘The time has come to pull together and work in a bipartisan manner to deliver guaranteed health care coverage to all Americans.’

“[Jimmy Carter, in 1979,] said, ‘A universal, comprehensive, national health insurance program is one of the major unfinished items on America’s social agenda. The American people,’ he said in 1992, ‘have waited too long.’

“Gerald Ford, in 1974, said, ‘Let us affirm that this national legislation is only the beginning of our effort to upgrade and perpetuate this part of our total health care system so no individual in this country,’ said President Ford, ‘will lack help whenever or wherever he needs it.’

“John F. Kennedy said, in 1962, ‘Whenever the miracles of modern medicine are beyond the reach of any group of Americans, for whatever reason--economic, geographic, occupational or other--we must find a way to meet their needs and fulfill their hopes.’

“Dwight David Eisenhower, in 1955, said, ‘Clearly our nation must do more to reduce the impact of accident and disease. Two fundamental problems confront us: first, high and ever-rising costs of health services; second, serious gaps and shortages in these services.’ So said Dwight Eisenhower in 1955.

“And in 1945, Harry Truman said, ‘Millions of our citizens do not now have a full measure of opportunity to achieve and enjoy good health …. The time,’ he said, ‘has arrived for action to help them attain that opportunity and that protection.’

“And then another President said this: ‘Comprehensive health insurance is an idea whose time has come in America. There has long been a need to assure every American financial access to high quality health care. As medical costs go up, that need grows more pressing. Now, for the first time,’ this President said, ‘we have not just the need, but the will to get this job done.’ He went on to say, ‘There is widespread support in the Congress and in the Nation for some form of comprehensive health insurance…. [L]et us act sensibly. And let us act now--in 1974--to assure all Americans financial access to high quality medical care.’

“Our President talks about the fact that Theodore Roosevelt put this on America's agenda over a century ago. Barack Obama went to the people of this country and reached out to them and said, ‘If you elect me President of the United States, this is what I will do.’ There were no illusions of what he would do. There was no trying to hide it. It was transparent, and indeed, in the debate in October of 2008, he said exactly what he was going to do. And John McCain stood on that same stage and said, yes, I believe every American ought to have access to affordable health care. All of the presidents I just quoted tried to get something done, and it was not done. On Sunday, tomorrow, we will do it. Led by our President, who said to the American public, this is our moment..."

Happy birthday to me ... and all Americans.

If you'd like to hear Rep. Hoyer, here's it is:

Congressman Phil Gingrey

2010-03-19T08:47:00.009-04:00

It is very disappointing that our Congressman, Phil Gingrey of Cobb County, has taken such a narrowly partisan approach to the current health care reform effort.

Yesterday I received a campaign -style “robocall” from the Congressman asking me to stay on the line to participate in a “live town hall” discussion of health care issues. “OK!” I thought, I’ll listen, maybe he is serious about hearing from the people". I put the phone on speaker and my wife and I listened, waiting our turn to speak or participate in the feedback promised. I listened as a couple of poorly informed local folk ranted about “government takeover” and such eliciting pompous agreement by our Congressman. Rep. Gingrey then interrupted the “town hall” to offer an opportunity for his constituents to let him know where they stand on the issue!

“Great!” I may be outvoted, I thought, but at least I can let the Congressman know that some Northwest Georgians want reform.

No. Instead the Congressman, again in a tone that can only be described as condescending, offered his constituents four choices: “What concerns you MOST about this legislation?” The first three “concerns” were blatant push-polling questions that could have been written by Rush Limbaugh or Glenn Beck. And the fourth choice? “All of the above”. To paraphrase: “Are you most concerned about this bill because of this scary issue (press one), that terrible expense (press two), or the other disastrous possible outcome (press three), or all three abominable things this awful measure would force on our nation? (press four)”

Classic propaganda.

One must grant him the assumption of reasonable intelligence. He managed to obtain a medical degree from the Medical College of Georgia. He knew exactly what he was doing last night.

There was no opportunity to express approval of the reform. If you disagree with Congressman Gingrey he has no interest in hearing from you.

To treat the voters in this way has become standard operating procedure during campaigns. I have received push-poll calls from politicians from State Representative candidates to Presidential candidates during election campaigns. That is insulting to voters. It shows an incredible disrespect of democracy. For a Congressman to do this under the guise of a “town hall” -- that great tradition of American political life where, supposedly, all viewpoints can be aired -- takes crass partisanship to another level. I do not know to what extent my taxes helped pay for this travesty.

Shame on you, Congressman Gingrey.

PTSW - The Lamp

2010-03-17T22:31:00.003-04:00

I read a Sara Teasdale poem tonight, and, naturally, thought of this one. Sheila recited this for me at our wedding on August 8, 1971.

The Lamp

If I can bear your love like a lamp before me,
When I go down the long steep Road of Darkness,
I shall not fear the everlasting shadows,
Nor cry in terror.

If I can find out God, then I shall find Him,
If none can find Him, then I shall sleep soundly,
Knowing how well on earth your love sufficed me,
A lamp in darkness.

~Sara Teasdale

I am a fortunate man.

Click on PTSW below to see other posts about poetry

Save the Coosa River Basin!

2010-01-31T17:36:00.005-05:00

The Etowah Darter (from the CRBI website)

Please consider joining the Coosa River Basin Initiative for 2010. Dues are $35. The mission of this wonderful grass-roots environmental organization is to preserve and protect the Coosa River watershed, so vital to the health, economy, recreation, and wildlife of all of Northwest Georgia. Immediate and important battles coming up in the new year include:

• protecting our watershed and others from the transfer of millions of addition gallons per day to satisfy that leaky wasteful behemoth Atlanta that sucks so much already from Lake Lanier and the little Chattahoochee daily. Sign the No Water Grabs petition!

(from the No Water Grabs website)

• stopping overdevelopment in the floodplain of the Coosa, the Etowah, and the Oostanaula, including the incredible plan for the City of Rome to gift 60 wetland acres of our central park in the very heart of Rome to developers for a song, allowing the developers to fill the duck pond and wetland with dirt and erect yet another strip shopping center within a mile of what must surely be acres of unoccupied retail, office, and commercial space.

I am a newly elected member of the board of directors of CRBI and I'd love to feel that I had a part in drumming up some more help. If we do not let our city, county, and state leaders know that we oppose these unhealthy, and really unwise policies, our children and grandchildren and great grandchildren will miss out on having this wonderful wetland and greenspace in the center of our city. And they will not continue to have the river system with the most diverse ecology in the US, as they do now.

CRBI is the most effective force for the environment we have in Northwest Georgia. Be a part of it.

Can you tell I feel strongly about this?

Visit www.coosa.org for more facts and membership info.

And join the Facebook CRBI cause:
http://apps.facebook.com/causes/235620/42668177

Sign the No Water Grabs petition.

Mrs. Tebow's Choice

2010-01-30T03:05:00.005-05:00

According to reports:

Twenty-odd years ago a young woman was advised to abort the human seed growing in her body. Doctors feared her necessary medical treatments would seriously damage her baby. She had a choice to make and chose instead to allow that sprouting embryo to grow. She would pray for a healthy baby but accept the outcome whatever it was. After exiting her womb, that bundle of potentiality became one of the great college football players of all time.

I applaud her choice.

I am glad she had a choice to make.

I could not criticize her if her choice had been the reverse.

Now, the fact is, an abortion is ALWAYS a brutal, painful, agonizing, choice to make. Anyone who tries to trivialize it is foolish, in my book. Anyone who would use abortion as casually as spermicide or a condom will rue that choice if they have an ounce of humanity. We are doing a great disservice to the young women of our country by so callously accepting the huge number of abortions currently happening. That such an astronomical number of our young women are allowing themselves to be used by uncommitted men is painful to me. That this joyless debauchery is resulting in way too many young women having unwanted pregnancies and then way too many abortions is sad. If we believe to our bones, as I do, that women have an unalienable right to choose abortion, and also believe that abortion is harmful to the women involved, we have a responsibilty to work to prevent that choice from having to be made so often.

The response by some pro-choice groups to the case above will do more damage to the pro-choice cause than fifty anti-abortion Super Bowl ads. The majority of Americans are pro-choice AND anti-abortion. If the screamers appear, as they do, pro-abortion, they will offend at least three-quarters of the people paying attention, in my opinion. They offend me.

The proper attitude of pro-choice groups should be to applaud that mother for the choice she made two decades ago and to proclaim their dedication to assuring that all women continue to have a choice.

Abortion should be safe, legal... and rare.

To Junior, -- Love, Samson

2010-01-25T18:35:00.011-05:00

Grady Columbus Shaw, Jr.

Dear Uncle "Junior",

I suppose I must have been a husky baby. My parents said that was how I earned the nickname. At 5'8" I'm not now exactly the image that comes to the minds of others when you call, "Samson!"

Grady Columbus Shaw, Jr.

But "Samson" I have been for 62 years -- to you. And for not quite so long to my cousin Gordon, and "Mama Shaw", and Uncle James, Bill, Jack, and "Daddy Shaw". I really didn't even notice it much, I was so used to it growing up. A few months ago, when I walked across the parking lot at Gordon's funeral to greet you and Margaret through your driver's side window, I'm not sure your, "Hey there, Samson!" registered at first. The warmth registered. The genuine joy to see me registered. And that silly appellation helped communicate it.

Margaret, Danny, and Grady

Yesterday, only moments after I learned that Grady Columbus Shaw, Jr. had died, it struck me that I will on Earth never again hear that particular communication of love and joy. That all the members of that boisterous group of Shaw brothers, and their parents, are gone now.

And all by myself, I choked up. Silly, I guess.

You were never quite as merciless in your teasing of the oldest grandson as the wise-cracking Bill or Jack. You could tease, too, but always with an "aw, shucks" in your voice and a twinkle in your eye. You were unfailingly generous and kind. For your last few years you had that unsightly cancer on your face. At Gordon's funeral I noticed a little boy, maybe 7 or 8, watching you. Finally he could stand it no more and came right up to you asked, "What's wrong with your nose, mister?" You betrayed no discomfort at all, and replied in that same soft kind voice I've known all my life, "It's just a sore, son." The boy was satisfied and moved on. And so did you.

Grady Columbus Shaw, Jr. is fourth from the left in the front. He flew 20 missions in the Pacific during World War II as a nose bomber on a B24 Liberator. He was part of the 31st Bomb Squadron - Hofer Crew (Four Fan Fanny, Serial 44-41669).

My mother says that you were to her more brother than in-law since you were a young teen when she became the teenaged bride of your older brother. She says that she and you and Bill played together, and in a way, grew up together.

(l-r) James, Bil, and Grady (Junior) Shaw

I know that I loved seeing you even more in recent years, if for no other reason than the degree to which you recalled for me the voice, the carriage, the love of life, of my father whom I still ache for after almost 24 years.

So, Uncle Grady -- I've finally gotten used to that more respectful way to address you -- I won't pretend to know how these things work, but I hope that you are somewhere now with Charles, and James, and Bill, and Jack, and maybe Gordon -- all of you laughing your heads off, Bill almost snorting and choking at Jack's shenanigans. Maybe there are some fire crackers. Maybe cigarettes don't cause harm here. They ARE a handy way to light the fuses. Or maybe the Lord allows dogs, and you have Trouble, the Boston Terrier, to pester. Mama Shaw in apron, cooking a feast, fusses at you from the kitchen, probably, and Daddy Shaw responds with a grin, "Good Grannies, Lillian, (pronounce that 'Lil-yun') let the boys have fun. I swanie, it's about time!"

(l-r) Joan Shaw (Turrentine), Ruth Baird Shaw, Charles Shaw, Lillian Shaw (Mama Shaw ), Bill Shaw (making a face, of course), James Shaw, Margaret Shaw (partially hidden), Grady Shaw, Sr. (Daddy Shaw - foreground), Grady Shaw, Jr.

If that's the way it works, your brothers are a happy crew today.

But back here we're not feeling so hot. There are tears for our loss and a few regrets for phone calls and visits unmade. We will bury you on Wednesday near the earthly remains of Charles, James, Bill, Jack, Mama Shaw and Daddy Shaw. We will gather later to remember you at Avondale-Patillo United Methodist Church. Jim will preach. Others may say a few words. And I will sing "Amazing Grace", sadly aware that, although I will always be...

Your loving Nephew,

I will, on Earth, no longer be...

Samson

Storytime: Bil Lepp

2009-12-28T10:00:00.004-05:00

We have heard Bil Lepp tell his lies several times now. Last January we heard Bil at the wonderful Pike Pidders Storytelling Festival at Troy State University in Alabama. Hilarious. Then we got to hear him again at the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, TN in October. We bought two of his CDs and have enjoyed listening to his stories in the car on trips. Bil is an ordained Methodist minister as well as official West Virginia Champion liar. There is no inconsistency in this, is there Jim, Mother, David, Warren, Jared, Parson, Jacqui, Maria? This morning I listened to an actual sermon* by Bil. Not bad.

Here is a short essay: A Plea for Plungers. It is a plea all my blogging & Facebook Friends should heed.

* Bil's sermon starts at 39:40.

The Third Day of Christmas: Go Tell It!

2009-12-28T00:00:00.000-05:00

(Reposted from 12/28/2008)

Go Tell It On the Mountain --- in several genres!!
Jesus Christ is born!

Choral:

Aretha Franklin (Soul):

Dolly Parton (Country) -- Dolly's distractions aside, this is a joyous version. (You have to click the link to see this one.)
James Taylor (Folk/Rock):

Jessye Norman (Operatic):

The Second Day of Christmas: Christmas Dinner

2009-12-27T01:01:00.003-05:00

(reposted fro 12/27/2008)
Noel Paul Stookey is one of my favorite musicians. He is one third of Peter, Paul, and Mary. He is also an exceptional solo performer. Here he is with an unusual Christmas song for the Second Day of Christmas - "Christmas Dinner.

The First Day of Christmas: Twelve

2009-12-26T01:01:00.000-05:00

(reposted fro 12/26/2008)
Christmastide began last night and stretches through Epiphany on January Sixth. So in honor of that tradition here's John Denver with the famous muppets and an early Sunday Concert:

Old Leaves:Young at Heart at the Christmas Parade

2009-12-22T15:16:00.000-05:00

I continue to recycle old Christmas posts. Here's one from 12/11/2005:

Daddy's Roses writes good advice today about staying young. My wife keeps me from aging quite so quickly by dragging me to, among other things, the Christmas Parade. The Median Sib writes today of a Tennessee Christmas Parade. Sounds a lot like the Rome, Georgia parade to me. We don't have tractors, except the tractor-trailor variety.

We had to go the the parade when our kids were little because it is a part of common law that little kids have to go to the Christmas Parade. We braved the elements to watch in their school years because they were in the parade (band, scouts, school floats, etc.) and there is a well-established law that requires parents to attend when kids are on display. This year we had no child in the parade. Sheila drug me there anyway.

And I'm glad she did.

We have float competitions, so there are always floats with someone holding an award plaque. And each participant has a number. We have about 120 or so. Several bands, businesses, radio stations, churches, scout troops, civic groups, Ret Hat ladies, Shriners, Sons of Confederate Vets, retirement homes, and, of course, Miss This, Miss That, and Little Miss the Other.

Up and down the crowds roam venders hawking glow sticks, balloons, etc. All very picturesque -- and youthifying, I'm sure.

The pics I appended above were taken by Lillian.