The First Chapter Is Finished

Well, maybe not totally finished. The 13,000 words will have to be gone over by my chief editor -- lovely wife Joan -- and I will have to accomodate her corrections and suggestions by re-reading it and touching practically every space. It is an arduous task for me since I am anxious to plow on. But if I do not correct it now, the process will get away from me.

Among the challenges, is that the first chapter is in the voice of an eight year old boy. Plus, it is set 1,000 years ago. So, the adult terms, expressions and contemporary meanings must be excised and more appropriate words chosen. I leave the reader with these final paragraphs of Chapter One. The scene is between the young boy and his father, who has just been made Chief.

“Having said that to you, I now must confess something to you, my son.” Father knelt down on his one knee as he had in the town square to accept his headdress. We were eye-to-eye.

“I never want to lie to you, or participate in what appears to be a falsehood, so I admit this in truth to you. Tomorrow night, I will lead a war party out of this village in search of the young girls taken from us. This is what is expected of me—that I should find them. But if we do not find them, I will be forced to take girls from another village—a village that we suspect of having abducted our girls—to replace what has been taken from us. This will send a signal to other marauders that we are not to be taken lightly. Hit us and we will hit you back!”

Father knew and I knew that only days earlier, he had said to me that our village did not take young girls from other tribes. But now that he was Chief, he might actually lead such a raid. He was turning his own statement into a falsehood.

Neither of us spoke; I did not know what to say. “I ask you not to judge me, my son, but rather to know that I have such deep respect for you that I would tell you this,” he said, quietly.

There was more silence between us. “May the Great Spirit be with you and be your guide,” I said, not knowing where the words came from.

Father looked me in the eyes and opened his wide arms. I went to him and embraced him and he embraced me in return. His chest heaved and he sighed loudly and his face was warm. He whispered, “I love you, and always will, no matter what may come."

The Pennsylvania Turnpike

Yesterday, Joan and I returned from our daughter's house near Venetia PA to our home in Eastern PA. Counting lunch, it took five hours to travel the 282 miles. The fall colors were spectacular and the day was gorgeous -- in the lower sixties. I havetravelled the Turnpike many times since moving to Eastern PA for my work at QVC in 1986, and although I knew something of its history, I decided to look further into the matter -- after all, I was a History major at Ohio University in Athens, Ohio.

George Washington was a proponent of building roads into the interior of the new country, to encourage commerce and to facilitate the travel of settlers; In Pennsylvania, there were early "log roads" or Pikes, the longest being 62 miles from Philadelphia to Lancaster. It wasn't until after the Civil war, however, that massive projects were undertaken.

In the 1880's William Vanderbilt and Andrew Carnegie began the construction of a private railroad bed from Harrisburg to Pittsburgh through the Allegheny Mountains, which posed an enormous barrier to railroad expansion. Before his project was abandoned, his company had built over half of the two-track roadbed and had started over seven tunnels. Twenty-six people lost their lives in the effort, known as "Vanderbilt's Folly."


In the early 20th century, automobiles and trucks were becoming the favored method of transportation. Yet it wasn't until the Great Depression that the Turnpike idea became a reality. With planning starting in 1935, ground was actually broken in 1938 and in 20 months, a 160 mile stretch of "Super Highway" was constructed, stretching from Harrisburg to Irwin, just North of Pittsburgh. Much of it followed the Vanderbilt route and completed the seven tunnels they had started or that were being used by contemporary railroad companies. The Turnpike was also known as "the tunnel road" because of these holes through the mountains rather than roads over them. The original seven tunnels were -- Laurel Hill, Allegheny, Ray's Hill, Sideling Hill, Tuscarora, Kittatinny and Blue Mountain -- and they were two lane tunnels; the twin tunnels would come later.



The original estimates of Turnpike usage were wildly underestimated. On a beautiful Sunday afternoon in October 1940, so many black sedans were on the Turnpike that they ran out of the dime tickets and resorted to handwritten paper tickets. The toll plazas were backed up for miles and the congestion did not ease up until 10:30 at night. The problem wasn't getting people on -- it was getting them off the Turnpike. 25,000 vehicles drove on the turnpike that day when they had projected 5,000. In the first year, the planners had calculated 1.3 million vehicles would use the Turnpike; actual usage was 2.4 million or 85% more vehicles than they had predicted.






Today, the original 160 miles has grown to 512 miles of Turnpike and yearly usage is now at 156 million vehicles. Yesterday, Joan and I were one of those traveler/statistics, glad to be home and happy not to have had to use the old Lincoln Highway -- Rt. 30 -- or the National Road -- Rt. 40-- but instead availed ourselves of the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

Immutable

Today is Reformation Sunday, marking one of the important events in Western History. Although Jan Hus in Bohemia (now the Czech Republic) had stood fast against the Catholic Church and was burned at the stake, it was Martin Luther a century later who nailed his 95 Theses on the door of the church in Wittenburg who finally initiated the separation from the Catholic Church.

The years since Luther's solitary act in 1517, were filled with change and the change continues today. Throughout the years of exploration and Renaissance and Revolution and Industrialization and World Wars, the pace of change has quickened. The technology of 20 years ago seems as dated as saying my computer is a Commodore 64.

Today the cycles of change interacts with each other as the ripples in the water from various pebbles, creating confusing merging half-circles. Social Engineering, Human Engineering, Governmental Philosophy, and Technology are all proceeding in a rapid collision course with each other.

Throughout all of this, the concept of "immutability" has sustained many people. These people believe that the passage of time is the real agent of change and that those of us who live in a temporal world will always be subject to change. These people also believe that God is eternal and outside time, not subject to change, and that God is immutable. Therefore in times of rapid change, these people can take solace in the immutable God; I am one of these people.

"Time is God's way of preventing everything from happening at once."
~ Anonymous, quoted in "Cottonwood Pass" by Ronald D. Giles

Special Places -- Special Joys

As a kid, occasionally, I would place a blanket over the back of the couch and stretch it over to the window sill. Then I would crawl on the floor in the space between the back of the couch and the wall. Laying inside, I would feel, well ... nice. It was my special place, provoking a warm emotion.

As an adult, we have many special places. Some special places are geographical or travel related like Artist's Point in Yellowstone or Uluru in Australia or Westminster Abbey in London.

Of course, there are personal special places that make us quiver, convulse and shake with pleasure or special events such as funerals or weddings or births that can evoke tears of sadness or tears of joy. Even the special place in minds devoted to memories can trigger the same emotions, causing us to laugh or smile or tear up.

And then there is the special place created by being held in someones arms. The gentle hug of a three year old can melt the heart of a 280 pound NFL linebacker or the comforting embrace of your lover can ameliorate the most distressing news.

In this world of increasing empiricism, I have to ask "how is it that we are possessing of these emotions?" They are precious gifts, not accountable by any science. Every human, from Aleut to Congolese share these same feelings. Education, experience or philosophy cannot purchase them; they are innate -- a gift from our creator.

My own special places and the joys they provoke are therefore -- to me -- Divine.

On Birthdays

Yesterday was my birthday, and it was the best one yet -- cards from family and friends, singing phone calls from friends, greetings from my children, friends on Facebook, Internet greetings, taken to lunch, gifts and a birthday dinner at home with my son and his family. And it isn't over. In Pittsburgh tonight, I will be with my daughter and her family and we will go to dinner. It is almost overwhelming.

As I was dressing to go to lunch, I thought about my parents. I was an only child. Mother said that they had hoped for more children; I was every one of their hopes rolled up into one. They lavished positive energy upon me and gave me a lot of love, common sense and values.

We lived together for 21 years, a long time, really -- and yet, in the scheme of things, not very long, really.

In my heart, I carry my parents with me each day, wherever I go. Yesterday, on my birthday, I wore Dad's watch.

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."

~ Lao Tzu, Chinese Philosopher (600BC-531BC)

The First Chapter Continues

The first chapter of my third book continues to get larger, having passed 11,000 words or about 40 book pages. I am finally past the toughest slogging and have the end of the chapter in sight -- a dramatic moment when the Council of Women throw out the old leader and install a new one, the main character's father.

The final straw for the council came when the former chief took his guards on a ceremonial junket and while they were away, the village was raided and five young women were taken captive, not to be found again.

"An author should ...
12. Say what he is proposing to say, not merely come near it.
13. Use the right word, not its second cousin.
14. Eschew surplusage.
15. Not omit necessary details.
16. Avoid slovenliness of form.
17. Use good grammar.
18. Employ a simple, straightforward style."
~ from "The Literary Offenses of James Fenimore Cooper"
by Mark Twain

A Day of Music

Yesterday, Joan and I were up early for a rehearsal at 8:45 am. She was accompanying three men's four-part pieces and I was one of the seven singers. Two of the three selections were difficult but beautiful; the third piece was a Canon or round, in four divisions. The church was in 1723 stone barn, converted to a sanctuary. The service lasted until 11:15.

Then we were off to a three hour rehearsal with a Lutheran Church Choir, filled with 80 energetic singers. The rehearsal is for a Christmas concert on the afternoon of December 6.

Throughout the day, I was reminded of the debate in the early days of the Reformation about the best way to present church music -- either as Unison singing or singing in parts.

John Calvin was against singing in parts, which he thought distracted from the words. The best vehicle for a text, he thought, were many voices - male and female -- singing as one.

Others who had thoughts on the matter -- such as Martin Luther -- encouraged singing in parts, believing that the beauty of voices in harmony, emphasized the meaning of the words.

The debate went on for over 200 years. John Wesley, who with his brother Charles Wesley, founded the Methodist Church, was a proponent of Unison singing -- that is until he heard Handel's "Messiah" performed in London in 1742, with the composer conducting. After that, he thought that "fugueing" was acceptable.

Joan and I were exhausted when we finally returned home at 5:00, collapsing on our accepting couch and love seat for the remaining football games. Running through our heads from nine hours earlier, though, were the strong strains of "Contate Hodie," meaning "sing today." And Joan was still complaining about having to play the piano accompaniment in four sharps (the complaining started two weeks earlier and will continue on into the new week) although she handled it beautifully. Sleep was close at hand.

An English singer (named, Gordon) complained of Handel's method of accompanying during the Messiah. If Handel persisted in accompanying him in this manner, the noted singer threatened to jump on Handel's harpsichord and smash it to pieces. Handel is said to have replied:
"Oh! Let me know when you will do that, and I will advertise it.
For I am sure more people will come to see you jump, than to hear you sing."

On a rainy, chilly Autumn day

The sky today on the East Coast is overcast, producing a darkness in the house that a lamp brightens. Rain is falling lightly outside, knocking down some leaves whose time has come to fall. The clock ticks loudly on the wall as my wife rehearses on the piano.

Dear reader, I give you today some thoughts about rain and Autumn:

A wind has blown the rain
away and blown the sky
away and all the leaves
away, and the trees stand.
I think,
I
too, have known autumn too
long.

~E. E. Cummins

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.

~ Emily Dickinson
Nature XXVII, Autumn.

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold,
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

~Robert Frost
Nothing Gold Can Stay.

Autumn wins you best by this, its mute
Appeal to sympathy for its decay.

~Robert Browning

The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold
Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall.

~Johnny Mercer.
Originally a French song "Les Feuilles Mortes"
with lyrics by poet Jacques Prevért.

The Chinese Restaurant

I have a favorite Chinese Restaurant that I visit for lunch about once a week. Yesterday, while sitting in their nicely decorated space, I was struck by the contradictions of the lunch.

Although it was a Chinese Restaurant, I was there to have Japanese Sashimi; my waitress, a pleasant college-aged young woman, was neither Chinese or Japanese -- she was from the Philippines. And, the music playing in the background, was a "smooth jazz" saxophone slurring "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." By the time I had finished my last morsel of pickled ginger, Frank Sinatra was kickin "New York, New York."

Aaaah, my Fortune Cookie -- half vanilla and half chocolate. It read, "The world will always welcome talent with open arms." Perfect...but vague.

You can only go halfway into the darkest forest; then you are coming out the other side
~ Chinese Proverb

Fearing the "Plot Dump"

Even though my days seem full and the yard work that needs to be done is embarrassingly large, I still have found time to write a page of my third novel, pretty much every day. Much of what I am doing is "exposition" -- setting up characters or situations in the plot for later resolution and/or action.

Because this first chapter seems so long, I fear that I am guilty of a "plot dump," although I am hoping that it is really an "info dump," which is a less sneering appraisal. Here is an example of character dialogue one should avoid:

Joe: Who's at the door?

Mary: Oh, it's my uncle, who was released from prison yesterday after serving ten years for stealing the family jewels from this very house, although the jewels themselves have never been found and are rumored to be buried in a secret chamber guarded by the ghost of my late grandmother.*
* quoted from "the Free Dictionary by Farlex"

I have not re-read my writing so far, but ... could be. Let's hope for info dumping, instead of the above.

Over 10,000 words and counting.

Sippenhaft

Last evening, I watched "Valkyrie," starring Tom Cruise. Although I was aware of this unsuccessful 1944 attempt to assassinate Hitler -- headed by a Nazi military officer, Count Claus von Stauffenburg -- I wanted to see the dramatization of it to understand more about it, and also because I generally like Tom Cruise movies.

Count von Stauffenburg's plot was foiled and he was executed along with others involved in the event. I then wanted to know about the Count's wife, Nina Schenk Grafin von Stauffenburg, and what happened to her, after her husband's anti-Nazi treachery. They had four children when he was executed and his wife, Nina was pregnant with their fifth child, born after his death.
As the result of Count von Stauffenburg's failed attempt, his wife and family were subjected to "Sippenhaft." I didn't know this word, but it didn't sound good.

Sippenhaft means "bad blood" and/or "kin liability." It is an ancient concept that many other countries developed and used before the Nazis incorporated the practice into their laws. It is among the ways that the Nazis kept discipline in their country during the war, because if you were convicted of some heinous act -- treason, cowardice, espionage -- you could cause your family to be severely punished also, as a way of eliminating the "bad blood" in the perpetrator's lineage -- and the "bad blood" in future generations.

The rule of Sippenhaft exposed your family and extended family to horrible punishment -- perhaps even death -- as the result of your act. Count von Stauffenburg's wife, Nina, was arrested and imprisoned; her children were taken from her as the result of the Count's attempt on Hitler's life. Later, after the war, Nina was reunited with her children.

Nina von Stauffenburg never remarried and lived to the age of 92, passing away in 2006.



Nina Schenk and Claus von Stauffenburg in 1933. They were married two months after this picture was taken.

Today's Page of the Third Book

As the sun is shining but it is raining, I managed to write a page+ today. I am still on the first chapter -- 9,000 words, probably 30 book pages. I have used 6 Fleurons so far to indicate a passage of time. I'll reconsider this as a chapter when I re-read it, but for now, I am going on.

For your amusement, here is a part of what I wrote today -- totally out of context. It is a partial recounting of a Native American Flood Story:

One morning as Eagle and Crow awakened with the rising sun, they were surprised to find a Turtle swimming around their stump. With interest, Eagle and Crow watched as the Turtle disappeared under the water, out of sight, and then popped back up on the surface with a fish in his beak. Chewing and waving his head back and forth, the Turtle enjoyed his catch. The Turtle went down again. This time, when he returned, the Turtle had a fish AND mud in his mouth. Crow and Eagle looked at each other excitedly.

“Can we get Turtle to bring us dirt so that we can build land? How can we get Turtle to understand what we need him to do?”

Eagle had an idea which he explained to Crow. “Let us catch fish and give it to Turtle and when he understands maybe he will bring us mud for our land in exchange."

Over and over the two birds caught fish and laid it on the stump for Turtle. After time, Turtle began taking the fish, but still fished for himself. Sometimes when Turtle came to the surface, he had mud on him. Eagle with his long wings would scrape the mud off Turtle and place it on the stump. Through many attempts, Turtle finally understood that he could bring them mud and they would give him fish in return.

It was a long process, but they had nothing else to do, no place to go. Gradually, Crow had a pile of mud on his side of the stump and Eagle had a similar sized pile of mud on his side of the stump.

Turtle was a hard worker, keeping Crow and Eagle busy bringing fish to their side of the stump for Turtle, who seemed to be always hungry for more fish. Crow and Eagle shared the burden of feeding Turtle equally and each took their fair share of mud from Turtle, building more and more land beside their stump.

To stretch their wings and to satisfy their curiosity, Eagle and Crow would sometimes fly out over the water to search for any signs of land. Nothing had changed, but they knew their mud piles were growing and that over time they would each have built a new world. “We will share our world, equally,” they agreed.

At their stump, their mud piles were growing everyday. Turtle was tireless in his muddy work and also tireless in his hunger for fish. One morning Eagle and Crow noticed a slight change in the waterline on their stump; the water was going down.

“The flood must be ending,” Eagle said excitedly and off he flew to survey the effects of the lowering waters.

Since we no longer have flooded earth, Eagle and Crow must have succeeded -- but not without conflict. I hope you have enjoyed this unedited snippet.

Where are the Jobs?

In 1983, I was functioning as Vice President of Broadcasting Operations at Warner-Amex Cable in Pittsburgh. It was the first interactive cable system built in a major city. Our cable engineers laid the most sophisticated two-way and fibre optic cable at the time; I could see instant ratings on channels because our system touched the set-top boxes every ten seconds. It was the cat's meow of cable then.

When we started building the plant in 1980, Warner and American Express in a joint venture borrowed $100 million dollars at the prevailing rate of interest at the time -- 18%. When Joan and I bought a house in Peters Township outside Pittsburgh, our interest rate was 16.5% Of my monthly check as VP, 42% went to the mortgage. Not a good arrangement.

In 1983, Warner-Amex sold the Pittsburgh Cable System to TCI and John Malone. While we were meeting our subscriber goals, we could not make enough money to survive and the 18% interest rate was at the heart of the problem.

As part of the sale agreement, TCI renegotiated the cable contract with the city and got rid of many onerous, but unprofitable provisions of the contract; much of the work and the work of my department was taken to a centralized office in Denver, and all of were terminated. For the first time in my life, I had no job!

I found myself standing in a line in Washington PA, seeking unemployment benefits. The line was long and very slow as each man or woman who sat down with a counselor had their life story to tell, or had to explain how their job search was going or what their options were when the unemployment compensation ran out.

It was depressing and scary to stand in that line. How many weeks would I have to come back here? How much time would I have to commit? (I had already been standing there for over an hour.) My successful self-image was shot down by standing in that line. So, I got out of line; I could not take the cross-currents of guilt and fear and failure that were washing over me.

I did find work, thanks to my friend, John Mullin, who hired me -- but I have never forgotten the feeling and the fear I felt while standing in that line.

Today, millions of our citizens are standing in that same unemployment line, each day, each week. Earlier this year, our Congress and our President, acting in our behalf, passed a "Stimulus Package" to fund shovel-ready projects and get people back to work.

In this era of having to do things so quickly that legislators haven't time to read what it is they are voting on, I ask -- where are the jobs? Why hasn't it been a priority to get the money flowing into the economy to fund small business opportunities and large projects?

Where are the jobs? Not ones that have been saved. New Jobs. Where are they? 9.8% of our citizens are unemployed. That is roughly 16,000,000 adults. What is the hold-up with getting the money to the projects? Where are the Jobs?

One Page a Day

So far, I have been faithful to my goal of one page a day on my new novel. Today may be the first break, however, as my son and Grand Son are coming over for Dinner.

My son loves a good steak so I will be preparing pan seared, oven-finished Filet Mignon. My Grand Son, at age five, is a picky and difficult eater, but I know he likes French Fries and Applesauce -- favorites for Jason. A Garden Salad will also be offered. Oh, and for the toast -- Sparkling Apple Cider.

I believe in ceremony and tradition; they bind people together and create memories which can be carried around for a long time -- even for generations. I am hoping that Grand Son Jason remembers dinners at Grammy Joan and Grampy Ron's house.

I know that he looks forward to coming over here, but I am pretty sure his motive is ... Ice Cream (no sugar added) with sprinkles, which will be dessert. Now, that's his idea of a tradition!

“Science and technology revolutionize our lives,

but memory and tradition frame our response"

~ Arthur Schlesinger, Jr

Hymns and their Stories

For the past 12 years, Joan and I have been presenting programs for churches and like organizations based on hymns and the stories behind them. This has been an interesting avocation -- and a joyful one -- since I am a singer and Joan is a talented pianist; additionally, hymns is an extension of my interest in history, which was my undergraduate degree.

Together, we have presented at over 110 churches and locations, ranging from the beaches of New Jerseys Shore to my birthplace, Scioto County Ohio. We have worked in auditoria, Sanctuaries, basements, and one of our favorite locations, a 1723 Barn turned Church.

Some churches want us to replace the sermon on Sunday, so we will present five hymns and stories; others want us to fill the whole morning service with music of the season, so we will present eight hymns. Organizations ask us to be their Holiday entertainment with a spiritual flavor and ask for a 45 minute program -- leaving time for Saint Nicholas' appearance.

Our busiest times of the year are Lent and Advent/Christmas. For the month of December this year, we have four bookings, calling for three different formats; one program will be repeated. I have begun working on these programs because of the lead time for us to rehearse and for me to organize and write the program into some sort of flow or theme, which is delightfully complicated by being invited back to a place and therefore not repeating what we did the last time we were there.

Among my favorite hymns of the season is "I Heard the Bells On Christmas Day." The text was written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in 1863 during the darkest part of the Civil War. Longfellow was the premier American poet of the 19th Century. The words that he strung together had a rhythm and a beat and a resonance that made them memorable:

"Listen My Children and You Shall Hear
of the Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.”

or

"By the Shores of Gitche Gumee,
by the shining Big-Sea Waters"

or

“ Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree
the Village Smithy Stands”

The year of 1863 had been a terrible year for Longfellow. His son, who had been in he war, was living now at home, recovering (but he never did) from a paralyzing wound. And in the summer of the year, Longfellow lost his beloved wife in a freak accident at home, a fire. Longfellow, himself, was badly burned trying to save her. Afterwards, he grew a beard to cover his burns.

And yet, the poetry flowed from him:

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to all.

President Obama's Priorities. What are they?

After writing yesterday's blog article on Management by Objectives, I wondered what President Obama's Objectives are? What is the shorthand list in his billfold? What priority is given those objectives? Is it ...

1. Health Care Reform
2. The Afghanistan War
3. The Economy
4. Energy -- Current and Future
5. Homeland Security
6. Immigration Reform

If your order or your objectives are different, Mr. President, go ahead shuffle my list around.

Whatever the President's Priorities are regarding the major issues that he is spending his time on, shouldn't we -- the American People, the populace, the voting public, the tax-paying public, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, the multi-cultural employers of all politicians in Washington DC -- shouldn't we know what the President's Priorities are and in what order? Which one is most important? What is the next priority. The next one?

I don't want a speech. Please show me that President Obama is more than a gifted speech maker; besides, I've seen that.

I don't want generic statements that don't answer anything; I've heard enough of them from the Administration.

I don't want yet another appearance by the President on shows featuring NBC, CBS, and ABC anchors or late night hosts. I've seen that.

I don't want another Prime Time Press Conference/Joint Session of Congress appearance by the President. I've seen that.

I don't want to watch Robert Gibbs mesmerizing the White House Press Corps by massaging the answer from President Obama. I've seen that.

I don't want another Town Hall meeting arranged with school children/Firemen/Veterans/auto workers/immigrants/unemployed. I've seen that.

What do I want?

Give me the list of your priorities, Mr. President, printed in the newspapers -- not on the Internet -- officially from the President of the United States. Issue a Press Release that newspapers can print as is, with the same message and the same words on it, paper-to-paper, city-to-city, the same Press Release -- no chance for misstatements, no misunderstandings, no misinterpretation, no context, just a list. A one Page Press release -- ONE PAGE -- "The Priorities of the President of the United States." #1 is the most important; #2 next important, etc. It can be done in one page -- ONE PAGE. Sign it!

I pay my taxes. I always have. I deserve an answer; I want my answer. Show me and all Americans the list of your priorities, Mr. President.

Ronald D. Giles

One-a-Day

I have admired people who are so well-organized that the old saw "when you want something done, give it to a busy person" applies to them. I experienced this somewhat when I was working with Warner Cable and they instituted a Management by Objectives (MBO) program for its divisions. The division's objectives for the year/month dictated my objectives and those who reported to me, tied their objectives to mine. I won't bore you with the difference between Common Objectives and Special Cause Objectives, nor will I debate the merits of MBO versus modern quality management techniques, but I will say that I was organized--by day, by month and by the year.

After considering for a while, how I can manage promoting my current book, "Cottonwood Pass, A Novel of Suspense... ," work on creating four musical Advent Hymns and Carols programs, visit with Children and Grand Children, occasionally go shooting, write articles for this blog, perform routine maintenance on home and cars, pay attention to my wife, and write pages for my next book, finishing it by March of next year -- I have come to a conclusion.

I have decided to commit to the "one page a day" discipline of other writers. Name the time and get to it every day. Obviously, if you fulfilled this commitment, then one would complete a 365 page novel in 365 days. Of course, I might write eight or ten pages every so often, so maybe that works.

Truthfully, I don't set out to write a book of a certain length but rather let the story dictate the length. So writing for 365 days is arbitrary and it sounds long. If I think about it as writing a single page a day--400 words or so -- it sounds do-able. Yes I can, Yes I can, Yes I CAAAAN.

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
~ Ernest Hemingway

Cheerleaders

Recently, Joan and I went to a High School Football Game and were struck by the contrast between today's game experience and those of our high school days. Yes, the players were big and strong; yes, the coach was fired up; yes, the stands were packed. That part was the same.

What was different were the cheerleaders. Joan pointed out to me that the Cheerleaders did not "lead" the crowd in cheers, but were rather putting on a show or a display with not many people, other than the parents of those involved, paying any attention to them. In a time out, the Cheerleaders would create a lift and then toss a young teenage girl around, but at the same time the announcer was loudly promoting the concession stand over the PA, the band was playing in the end zone and the people in the stands were talking and joking -- all while the Cheerleaders were tossing and catching.

What happened to the megaphones and the cheers that everyone in the stands joined in on and the Cheerleaders led?

Push'em back, Push'em back, waaaAAAAAYYYY BAAACK!

or 2-4-6-8. Who do we appreciate? The Tigers.The Tigers. The Tigers! YAAAAAAY

Or, when the game was firmly in your team's hands, the Cheerleaders would lead the crowd in
Warm up the buses, warm up the buses, cause weee win. Weee win. Weeeee WIN!

From Pittsburgh, my son-in-law reports this cheer from 20 years ago when the Cheerleaders would sassily put their hands on their hips and point their fingers at the opposing side and the partisan fans in the stands would follow them, standing up with their hands on their hips and pointing, cheering ...
U-G-L-Y.
You ain't got no alibi, cause you Ugly.
Whaaaat?
You Ugly.
Whaaat?
You Ugly. You Ugly. You UGLYYYYYYY!

Everybody on your side knew the cheers and all joined in; everybody on their side all knew their cheers and all joined in. It was fun and not mean-spirited. At some point, the opposing sides' Cheerleaders would come over to our side and lead a cheer.
Thank you for having us, thank you for having us. Yaaay. Yaaay. YAAAYYY!
And we would applaud and they would strike a pose, shake their pom poms and then run back to their side, while all the people on our side would talk about them ("our girls are better looking," or "their outfits stink"or "I think there was something living in that blonde's hair.")

I appreciate the athleticism of today's Cheerleaders and their skill at lifting and holding and climbing and falling, but they are really not leading the crowd in "Cheers." Rather, they are ... well, performers. Nothing wrong with that, really. I... just prefer Cheerleaders.

"I guess he's simply becoming an old fart with his memories and his Pall Malls."
Kurt Vonnegut, "The Slaughterhouse-Five," 1966

Squirrel Stew

I have been reading other Author's blogs. I suspect that secretly, I am seeking sympathy while remaining anonymous. I have the urge to write, but I find other things that need to be done or things that I want to do and move them up on my list, pushing writing down; I have always been undisciplined.

Today, I am going shooting -- Sporting Clays. It may surprise some of you to find that I own and use guns. I grew up in a family where both my mother and father knew how to hunt; squirrel and rabbit stew were dishes my mother would prepare in the fall and winter of the year. Here is a short excerpt from my first book, "On Harrisonville Avenue."

My Dad loved to hunt and would take me with him. Mother would come too, sometimes, but stay in the car and listen to the radio and crochet.

Into the Bond Woods in September to hunt squirrels we would go,
tiptoeing quietly, avoiding sticks that would break or kicking dry leaves. Dad had a 12 gauge L.C. Smith double barrel shotgun; I was the spotter and retriever, since Dad’s eyes weren’t that good.

On one warm fall afternoon, Dad shot at three squirrels with 4 shells and didn’t hit one of them. As we were walking back, we were remarking nevertheless how good it was to be in the woods and breathing the fresh air. When we got back to the car, the trunk was open.

“Did you get anything?” Mother said cheerfully.
“No, but we scared three of them” said Dad as he looked in the trunk.

There was Mother’s Winchester 22 pump rifle and a dead squirrel.
“Dagnabbit, Gladys. Did you shoot this Squirrel ? “ Dad
sputtered.

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Paul,” said Mother.
“He sat there on the side of the tree and practically invited
himself to dinner.” And she chuckled and Dad laughed.

We had squirrel stew the next night.

Normally, it takes about one squirrel per person for a meal, but mother had ways of "extending" a dish when the situation called for it; mostly, her extensions meant adding more potatoes.
She would also add some canned corn. Of course, there were "scratchy" biscuits with her stews.

Ahhhh ... how easily I get distracted. I almost went for the recipe, but who among you needs a Squirrel Stew recipe?

So today, I will go shooting Sporting Clays with a friend from New Jersey. My guns are shotguns of all gauges; today calls for the Browning 12 gauge over and under. Or ... maybe I'll take the 16 gauge -- like the one Dad gave me.

Writing can wait until tomorrow, while I enjoy this day.