An Evening in Ada

We are in the van, on our way to pick up the grandsons to take them to the Wednesday night church activities. What's that sound? Why is the van driving weird? Do we have a flat tire?

Pull off busy main highway into subdivision. Pull over and stop. Exit van and check right front tire. Flat! OK, first time I've had to change a tire on this van. Where is the jack? Hah! Why doesn't the jack come out of there? What's that wing nut? Okay jack is available for use. Where is the spare tire in this thing? Oh! Under the back of the van. Okay, How does it come down? It is hard to see because it is dark, and the only light is the street light and a feeble flashlight. I'm laying on the ground looking underneath trying to figure it out. Scratch head.

Get up and go get manual out of drawer under front passenger seat. Look in back appendix for "tire". "Changing tire - 222." Turn to page 222. Ah! Okay... Use jack handle wrench to turn do-giggy under the floor mat in the back to let spare tire down. Fumble around figuring out how to get tire off the lift do-wacky. Okay,now we can change the tire. Pop hubcap off. Look under van at frame trying to figure out where to set the jack. Hum... Get up and refer to page 222 in the car manual. Ah! Get back down and look under frame for the little thing-a-ma-jig the jack lift needs to fit into. Okay! We're on our way!

Crank jack up until there is a little lift. Slightly crack lugnuts... Crank on jack some more and van raises up. Wait a minute. That don't look right... As the jack is going up, it starts leaning... Not good at all! Visions of van crashing off jack flash before my eyes. Crank jack back down. Reset jack and then crank it up again. Much better! Finally flat front right tire starts to lift off the ground. Stop cranking and loosen lugnuts some more. Crank jack some more and flat right front tire clears the ground. Remove lugnuts. Try to take tire off and it doesn't budge. Rusted? Kick at tire. No movement. Look closer. Sigh... Remove remaining top lugnut I thought I had already removed. Flat right front tire comes off.

I grab spare tire and swing it into place.. Hum... This spare looks like it has seen better days... Probably has never been used. Oh well! Here goes. Spare is on and I put the lugnuts on snug. Crank jack down until spare touches ground. Snug lugnuts tighter, then reef on them hard to tighten. Crank jack rest of way down. Throw flat tire, hubcap and jack into back of the van. Finally we can go!

I get in van where wife and daughter have been patiently waiting. Start van and put it in gear and start moving. OH OH! That doesn't sound good. Stop van about ten feet from were it had been sitting when I had changed the flat right front tire. I get out and go around and look at the spare tire. Flat! We are going nowhere.

I get back in van. Find insurance paper in glove compartment with the 800 number to call for road service. Automated answering voice tells me to punch one number for hurricane Sandy related claims, and another number for "normal" claims. I punch "other number". Finally a live real human being is talking to me. Live real human being's first question, "Are you safe?" Yes, we are safe. Live human being asks for insurance info policy number and verifies I am who I am. Live human being asks what the nature of problem is. I explain to live human being I have a flat tire and a flat spare tire. Live human being asks where we are. Duh... What street is this? I had been so concerned about getting off the highway that I didn't see the name of the street I had turned on to. I walk back to street corner and verify name of street. I tell live human voice where I want van with flat tire and flat spare tire towed to. Live human voice verifies insurance will cover tow to that place, and informs me the tow truck will be at van location in about an hour or less... I will get voice messages or texts regarding ETA.

Wife calls next door neighbor to see if they would be able to come and pick up wife and daughter and give them a ride home. Kind neighbor friends says, "Sure!" We sit in van and wait. Kind neighbor friend arrives and takes wife and daughter home.

I sit in van and wait for tow truck. I listen to the radio. A few times I turn on van engine and warm van up. I finish off a partially filled bottle of water. I realize finishing off said bottle of water might end up being a mistake pending how long I may or may not have to wait for tow truck. Phone buzzes and I am told tow truck ETA is 15 minutes. Tow truck arrives about 40 minutes after taking to "live human being". Tow truck driver hooks up van with flat tire and flat spare tire. I get into tow truck cab. Tow truck driver tows van back to repair shop in Ada. Favorite youngest daughter and Charlie Brown are there with other van and and give me ride home...

I am home. There is no whiskey or other alcoholic spirits in the house. Probably a good thing at this point.

- The End -

Of This and That

It has been very hot and dry in our part of Michigan. We have not seen a good rain since back in June somewhere. Lawns are brown. My water bill will be going through the roof from watering all the flower gardens. We have had several stretches where temperatures have been in the 90 - 100 plus F range.

Farmers are being hit hard by the drought. Over half the country is experiencing drought, and in more then a few places there will be no crop to harvest. I know some people that farm, and my prayers go out for them. It is going to be a rough year.

Reading:

"The little town behind them had vanished as if it had never been, had fallen behind the swell of the prairie, and the stern frozen country received them into its bosom. The homesteads were few and far apart; here and there a windmill gaunt against the sky, a sod house crouching in a hollow. But the great fact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little beginnings of human society that struggled in its sombre wastes. " ~ Willa Cather "Oh Pioneers!"

I am reading "Oh Pioneers". Willa Cather was a great writer. I am in awe of how she makes the land an integral part of the story. There is a sense in which "Oh Pioneers" is as much about the land as it is about the people. A Number of years ago I read "My Antonia" and when done with "Oh Pioneers", I have "The Song of the Lark" on my "to read" list.

Note to the Detroit Tigers: With this year's All Star game in the history books, we are now in the second part of the season, and it is time for you guys to put it all together and take this division. You may also want to think about winning enough games to secure home field advantage in the playoffs. Just say'n...

Regarding the SBC and Lifeway Bookstores and the movie "Blindside": Way to much has already been said by both sides, so I choose to mind my own business and avoid adding to the pontifical pronouncements profusely proliferating pompously over cyber-space.

The Work of Writing

The Work of Writing

Anyone who has ever tried to do serious writing knows it is not easy. I've had occasion to reflect on that truth in the past few weeks as I have sat at the laptop, working on a couple of stories.

If I have a serious hobby at all, it is writing. At one point in my life I entertained the idea of writing the next great American novel. In assessing my desire to write, I came to a point where I realized that if I was to ever do any good writing, I needed to practice. I needed to sit down and write. I still have the notebook containing the pages pounded out out on the old mechanical typewriter that had been in my possession since high school days. Then came the PC, and now the laptop.

I remember someone saying that if you wanted to write, write about the things you know; the things that come from your own life experiences. So it is I have written a number of short memoirs; recalling incidents and happenings from my life. I have tried my hand at poetry and on the left of this page you will find a link to my poetry blog. I've also written a few more lengthy essay type pieces which are found here on the Billy Goat Blog. And yes, blogging itself provides opportunity for practicing the art of writing.

None of what I have written has ever been formally published, but has been self-published in some forum or other on the internet. Irrational as it may be, my greatest fear is the fear of what some editor might do to the things I have written. The stories, essays, and poetry are my life, the revelation of some intimate corners of my soul, and as such are sacred ground.

There have been only a few times that I have tried my hand at writing an original fiction piece. The two projects in the works at this time are both fictional. My inspiration for trying my hand at fiction came about a year or so go when I re-read Ray Bradbury's "I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories" along with "The Martian Chronicles".

Through his writings, Bradbury taught me that what makes fiction work is in how it pictures the human condition. What made his stories memorable were not the mechanics of projecting the advanced science of science fiction, as interesting as that may be, but the human condition that remained the same in Sci-Fi, historical novels, or any other kind of genre, fictional or real life.

And so I write. I wrestle with words and sentence structure and paragraphing. You struggle with writing in a way so that the story the reader is reading is the story you are telling. You go over what you wrote, asking yourself if a first time reader is getting the same message you think you are telling. It is classic communications class 101 all over again. Life demands its priorities. You have to work a paying job, and there are family responsibilities, and the opportunities to spend any lengthy time on a writing project is limited.

As a writer, I do not "make up" a story. A writer does not create the story; the writer tells the story that he or she discovers is already there. It is not always clear how the story is going to develop. The basic story line is there, but as you fill in the details, you find the development is not going where you thought it was.

Other stories intersect the story you are telling. The one story I am working on could lend itself to a trilogy, but I'm not sure it has been given to me to tell the other two intersecting stories.

In writing, one story develops in a relatively straight forward somewhat logical manner. The other story develops in bits and pieces that are not in any logical chronological order.

How many times through the years I have thought about writing, and than sat down to read a favorite established author, and conclude that in comparison to that author I don't know how to write at all.

But I keep practicing. I keep writing. And if any of my writing is ever formally published or not, I would still write. I would tell the stories, and leave them for my children's children.

I do not want to write for the "Christian market". If I can't write a story that touches all kinds of people, Christian or otherwise, I would rather not write at all. Yes, a Christian view of life gives philosophical foundation for my writing, but I loathe and resist a pop Christian cultural concept of Christian writing. I resist being bound to that mediocrity. True Christian writing should be much, much better then that.

So I write, and as long as I am able, will continue to write. And just maybe, God helping me, I might possibly write something that actually has some literary value for the ages.

Shalom...

(Here is a link to a list of my writings that are published on Scribd. )

Requiem for Ronnie

It is now February, 2012, some twenty years after this story first began to gestate in my mind. Another chapter has unfolded. I found out that this past week Marilyn passed away. She too is now gone. I never had an opportunity to talk to her again; to tell her that if she wanted to, I would dance with her one more time; to tell her that her life had meaning and purpose; that she would not be forgotten... May she indeed finally rest in peace...

It has taken me a number of years to write this story, as over the years revisions would be made and the story continued to unfold. One of those earlier revisions can be found on this blog. This past week the final chapter unfolded and fell into place so that now there is a sense of closure that before, the story did not have. I also included in this revision a separate but related story published here earlier.

So it is gentle reader I now present it to you in what I believe will be the final form. Click on the link above for the full story. Read and handle with care the baring of another's soul...

Shalom...

Book & Movie Titles That Never Were

Some friends were over this evening, and we got into this thing of coming up with titles of books and movies, then turning them into creative titles that never were but could have been. Enjoy!

1. Harry Potter & The Sorcerer Get Stoned
   
   
2. Malice in Wonderland
   
   
3. False Grit
   
   
4. Harry Potter: The Disorder of the Phoenix
   
   
5. A Welcome to Legs ( E. Hemingway)
   
   
6. Little Ado About Everythiing (W. Shakespeare)
   
   
7. Peter Pot
   
   
8. Dr. Jekyll & Mrs. Hyde
   
   
9. Scared Old World (A. Huxley)
   
   
10. Your Anthony (W. Cather)
    
    
11. A Tail of Two Cities (C. Dickens)
    
    
12. Nonsense and Insensibility (J. Austen)
    
    
13. Here With the Breeze (M. Mitchall)
    
    
14. The Gizzard of Oz
    

Now you have the idea. What can you come up with?

Perspective on a Starry Night

“In some far universal Deep
Did He tred Space
And visit worlds beyond our blood-warm dreaming?”
(Christus Apollo)

It was one of those cold, crisp nights. The night sky was clear with the stars shining sharp and bright. The waning moon would not make its brief appearance for another hour or so. The open field was far from the glowing night light of cities and towns.

They stood together looking up into the night sky.

“Sure is beautiful…”

“That it is. I love nights like this…”

They scanned the star studded dome of the night sky. There were the familiar constellations, the pointer stars, those few planets that could be seen with the naked eye, all in the glory of their nightly dance across the darkened sky.

“It is so vast…”

“Yes it is and we don’t see a tenth of it, if even that much… Here… Take the binoculars…”

The father handed his binoculars to his young teenage son. The young man held them up to the night sky, and aiming them toward a familiar constellation, he peered through the lens, twisting a knob to bring the subject in focus.

“Wow…”

He pulled the binoculars away, looked at the same spot in the night sky, and then again took another look with the binoculars.

“There is so much more up there then we see with the naked eye.” He remarked.

“True…” replied the father. “Here… Look for a spot in the sky where you don’t see any stars, then look at that same spot with the binoculars.”

The son quickly scanned the night sky and observed a dark area with very few stars about 25 degrees above the horizon to the north. He looked at that area through the binoculars.

Where he had seen nothing with the unaided eye, he now saw a plethora of points of light shining and twinkling.

“It’s so vast…” he said. “We’re just a spot of dust in comparison…”

The father replied, “The stars we see are light years away, and beyond the ones we see are more stars even further away. The light we see originated from the star or galaxy years ago. By the time we see that light here on our planet, it is ancient history, and for many of those stars, an ancient history far more ancient then the known history of this world.”

“Where did it all come from? The universe that is… How did it all get to be what it is?”

“Well, you basically have two choices. The universe came about by random happenstance, or there was a guiding hand and direction behind it.”

“You mean… like… God?”

“Yes, though that begs the question of what we mean by “God”…”

A long “Hum…” was all that came from the young man as he pondered the implications of the thought.

In his mind he remembered some lines memorized in his 3rd year liturgy class when he was a much younger lad. “The starry host of night declares the wonder and awesomeness of God. The vast deep of space declares His handwork and glory.”

Looking towards his father he said soberly, “But look at our world… We circle the sun at an orbital distance that maintains conditions on this planet that makes life here possible, and that all in conjunction with the tilt of our planet’s axis and rotational direction and speed. If any one of those things differed much at all, we couldn’t live here. Can you really say it all happened by accident?”

The father nodded. “You did learn something in that science class after all.” He said teasingly. The young man gave a sheepish “Oh dad” shake of his head.

He proceeded to look up at one of the seasonal constellations that were only visible in that part of the year. This particular constellation would be seen in the lower southern sky for about half the year, and then as the seasons changed, would be hidden once again below the horizon.

Continuing his gaze at the night sky, he asked his father, “Do you think there could be life on other planets someplace?”

“Well… Since we’ve never been to any other planets, we can’t say with certainty either way. We do know that none of the other planets in our own system are able to sustain life… at least life as we know it… But when you look at the sheer size and magnitude of the whole universe, the probability of something being out there is within the realm of some degree of possibility… What’s more improbable though is the chance of our ever finding them, or they finding us… I guess my response to your question has to be one of reverent agnosticism…”

“Hum…” The young man again scanned the great starry host over head. He held up the binoculars and focused it on one of the points of light that he knew to be a planet. He could almost see a slight haze of a ring around the small ball in his lens. Maybe someday he could have a real telescope. It would also be neat to take pictures of the night sky through a telescope. Oh well… So many things to do in life, and so little time and money, he thought.

It was time to go. Morning would come early, and the next day would be plenty filled with school and all the other demands of life.

The young lad thought to himself as they turned to go, “I am a spec of dust on a spec of dust. Here we are on Yrdnes, the fourth planet from the star Cyrstias on the fringe of the Deodratia Galaxy, a mere spec of dust in an obscure corner of the great vastness of the universe.”

He shook his head in vague bewilderment at the magnitude and implication of the thought.

Pausing, he looked once more at that patch of apparently vacant darkness in the north part of the sky. Lifting the binoculars, his peered again at the points of light the naked eye could not see. He focused for a few seconds on one of those points of light, then lowering the binoculars; he turned away to head on to home and bed.

That last point of light he had paused to look at, that faint point of light so many hundreds of light years away in another obscure corner of the universe remained etched in the memory of his mind. And on that far point of light known by its inhabitants as the Milky Way Galaxy, on the outer edge of that galaxy, on the planet Earth, third planet from the star Sol, another young man gazed through his binoculars at a faint point of light in the north part of the night sky, that far away faint point of light known by its inhabitants as the Deodratia Galaxy…


(Copyright © October, 2010. All rights reserved.)

Rambling Words Upon A Page

[The following was a sort of "creative stream of consciousness" exercise. As such it is something of a departure from the normal run of things I post here.]

Words chasing words; following after one another, flying here and there seeking to make some meaning out of meaningless blather and bluster.
...............................

The death star shot its beam of destruction into the un-suspecting planet killing all, destroying all, leaving nothing but debris, rocks and boulders barren of life tumbling through space. In that blast, the gravitational balance of the star system was suddenly unhinged. The effect of that un-hinging rippled through the galaxy and beyond untill the whole universe was gyrating violently as it began to collapse in on itself, becoming a universal cosmic black hole. On the death star, the dark lord stood astonished and dismayed. He was still pondering the gravity of his mis-calculations as he watched his body disintegrating into the oblivion said mis-calculations had wrought.
.........................................

The goat stared coldly at the troll as it vaunted itself in its own pomposity astride the bridge. The cold stare reflected the steel resolve, determination and hatred the goat had towards the troll and all the troll stood for and all the evil the troll had done. The goat did not wait for the troll to advance. Head lowered, he launched into a deliberate and ferocious charge. The troll roared in anger. The goat paused not a whit, and in the force of the charge hit the troll square in the gut and with a up thrust of the head tossed the vile beast of a bully over the side of the bridge into the deep, swiftly flowing current below.
..........................................

The bugle sounded the call to arms over the vast bivouac of the dead. The earth trembled and shook as those who had long rested from the toil and fury of battle were roused to arms. Up they came from there resting places. Some in revolutionary dress quickly begen to fall into place behind the white wigged man astride the horse . Officers came riding up beside him and in one voice cried, "General Washington! Your orders Sir!.

And others came. Soldiers of the 1812, and the Mexican War. The Blue with Grant at their head, and the Gray behind General Lee. Grant and Lee rode up together, side by side and cried, “General Washington Sir! What are your orders Sir?” Pershing came with the doughboys of 1918 out of the stillness of Flanders Field and the Argonne Forest. Marines from the Pacific theater of WW2, Army units roused from their sleep near Normandy's beach. All assembled.

Washington then drew his sword. With that sword he pointed to the enemy swarming down over the land. As one, all the mass of the Brigades of the Dead moved into battle array and formation. The color bearer came to the front holding aloft the Stars and Stripes at which sight all in the Army of the Dead found tears swelling in their eyes; tears quickly replaced by steel determination and cold resolve.

General Washington, with Grant and Lee and all the other Generals of all the other wars beside him, lifted his sword aloft once more. Then with a sweep of his arm, he again pointed and the charge began.
....................................

"Yes, my son?"... "No. Now is not the time."... "Patience my son. The time will come soon enough... Patience" .... "Watch and listen... When it comes, you will know."
.................................

Words swirl and spiral. Whisking about were 'er they will...... What do you mean by this word "word"? What story doth this word "word" tell?
..................................

The barren wilderness stretched out before him, stark, dry, and seemingly lifeless. He knew better of course. Life was there, and could be found if you knew where and how to look. But you would only find it if you treated the land with respect. You must pay attention, be observant, and think clearly. He knew that more then a few men had perished in this place. Even if he was careful and observant and was able to keep thinking coherently, the odds were not exactly in his favor, but there was a chance, and that chance was better then the alternative. He looked about getting his bearings. Fixing his eyes on a distant landmark, he set out...
................................................

Where will the words go? Oh where, Oh where will they go? Words! Words! Flighty as birds, Oh where, Oh where will they go? In the ear and out. In the eye and about. Hither there, everywhere, Oh where will the words go?

Copywrite © 2009. All rights reserved.

The Three Billy Goat Gruffs
Once upon a time three billy goats lived together in a field on a hillside. They were the three Billy Goats Gruff. There was a Big Billy Goat Gruff, a Middle Billy Goat Gruff and a Little Billy Goat Gruff.

Beside the billy goats' field ran a river. One day they decided to cross it and eat the grass on the other side. But first they had to go over the bridge. Under the bridge lived a big ugly troll.

First Little Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the bridge. TRIP TRAP went his hooves.

"Who's that tripping over my bridge?" roared the Troll.

"It is only I, Little Billy Goat Gruff, going across the river to make myself fat," said Little Billy Goat Gruff in such a small voice.

"Now I'm coming to gobble you up," said the Troll.

"Oh, please don't eat me, I'm so small," said Little Billy Goat Gruff. "Wait for the next billy goat. He's much bigger."

"Well, be off with you," said the Troll.

A little while later, Middle Billy Goat Gruff stepped on to the bridge. TRIP TRAP, TRIP TRAP went his hooves. "Who's that tripping over my bridge?" roared the Troll.

"It is only I, Middle Billy Goat Gruff, going across the river to make myself fat," said Middle Billy Goat Gruff, whose voice was not so small.

"Now I'm coming to gobble you up," said the Troll.

"Oh, no, don't eat me," said Middle Billy Goat Gruff. "Wait for the next billy goat. He's the biggest of all."

"Very well, be off with you," said the Troll.

It wasn't long before Big Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the bridge. TRIP TRAP, TRIP TRAP, TRIP TRAP went his hooves, and the bridge groaned under his weight.

"Who's that tramping over my bridge?" roared the Troll.

"It is I, Big Billy Goat Gruff," said Big Billy Goat Gruff, who had a rough, roaring voice of his own.

"Now I'm coming to gobble you up," said the Troll, and at once he jumped onto the bridge, very mean and hungry.

But Big Billy Goat Gruff was very tough and strong. He put down his head and charged the Troll and butted him so hard he flew high into the air and then fell down and splashed into the middle of the river.

And the great ugly troll was never seen again.

Then Big Billy Goat Gruff joined Middle Billy Goat Gruff and Little Billy Goat Gruff in the field on the far side of the river. There they got so fat that they could hardly walk home again.

I was tempted to try to rewrite this "family" story in parabolic form, but have decided to let the story stand as is without comment. You are free to draw your own conclusions and make your own applications. ~ The Billy Goat ~
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

February 2009: Addendum from a recently discoverd manuscript fragment.

The goat stared coldly at the troll as it vaunted itself in its own pomposity astride the bridge. The cold stare reflected the steel resolve, determination and hatred the goat had towards the troll and all the troll stood for and all the evil the troll had done. The goat did not wait for the troll to advance. Head lowered, he launched into a deliberate and ferocious charge. The troll roared in anger. The goat paused not a whit, and in the force of the charge hit the troll square in the gut and with a up thrust of the head tossed the vile beast of a bully over the side of the bridge into the deep, swiftly flowing current below.