Mural of Stars

It has been difficult all of my life for me to accept compliments. I am embarrassed when someone says that they liked this or that that I did. I get tongue-tied and sort of hang my head in an "aw shucks" attitude.

My family will be surprised by this, since numerous times they have seen me in front of audiences appearing confident and in control. I have been performing in one way or another since I was three, so one would think that I would have developed a graciousness about taking a compliment -- but no, I never did.

Well, it's happened again. I have been officially notified by the Mayor's Office in Portsmouth, Ohio (where I was born) that my name would be added to the Mural of Stars -- 44 citizens of note from Scioto County, Ohio. Among those with stars are some noteworthy names -- Branch Rickey, Roy Rogers, Kathleen Battle, Al Oliver, Larry Hisle, Verne Riffe, Jr., former Speaker of the Ohio House and Ted Strickland, the current Governor of Ohio.

The Stars are on the Ohio River side of the flood wall, which is the recreational side, complete with a marina, a concert stage and picnic/camping facilities. The flood wall is a huge construction by the Army Corps of Engineers that has protected Portsmouth and environs since the 1940's, after the devastating flood of 1937.

Image courtesy of the Southern Ohio Museum, the Carl Ackerman Collection. From "On Harrisonville Avenue" by Ronald D. Giles, 2008.

This year, three stars will be added: Teresa Ruby, athlete, women's softball champion and coach of ASA and USSA Championship Teams; Candy Berry, athlete and Coach of Greenup County Cheer leading Squad that has won 12 national cheer leading championships, including touring China at that country's invitation. And, the third star, me.

On the city side of the flood wall, 66 murals were painted on the 20 foot high by 40 wide concrete panels of the flood wall by the muralist/artist Robet Dafford of New Orleans. He worked there from 1993 steadily each year until 2003. The murals depict 2000 years of history around the confluence of the Scioto and Ohio River. They are stunning and worth your time, if you are ever in the Southern Ohio area (90 miles South of Columbus).

The ceremony will be on Saturday September 5 at 3:30pm. I truly am thrilled and I congratulate Candy and Teresa.

I guess part of my low-key demeanor could be attributed to the fact that I/we will be lifted up to sign our stars -- in a bucket truck. (I have acrophobia.)

Plato's Five Regimes

In my book, "Cottonwood Pass", a secretive Foundation headquartered in Colorado has a complicated operational philosophy, centered around Plato's Five Regimes. Plato, a Greek Philosopher, lived from 428 - 348 BC. Among the many influential writings of Plato, his dialogue, "The Republic," remains today as an important and influential treatise on Political Theory. In there, he describes the five states that a nation's government goes through.

In order from Plato's most desirable to the least desirable, they are:

Aristocracy -- Rule by Philosopher-Kings

Timocracy --- Rule by the honorable and wealthy

Oligarchy ---- Rule by the wealthy

Democracy -- Rule by the people, through hired representatives

Tyranny ----- Harsh and unjust rule by one who has seized power amid turmoil and civil confusion

Each form of government devolves to the one below. Democracy is never far from unhappiness since a simple majority rules; therefore potentially 49% of all citizens are unhappy at any given moment.

"A government big enough to give you everything you want, is strong enough to take everything you have".

~~Thomas Jefferson

The Crib in the Pink Room

For eleven years now, we have had a crib in our "pink" bedroom. At various times and visits, it has held Morgan (now 10), Delaney (8), Jason (5) and Cameron (3). Cameron is going into a "big girl" bed this coming week at her home, and when she comes to our home at Thanksgiving, she will need to sleep in a bed, not a crib. So, the crib will be taken down and stored, since our niece now is blessed with an infant. We will have until Thanksgiving 2010 before the crib will be needed again.

Over the eleven years, parents have crept up the carpeted stairs to the crib in the pink room with their sleeping babies, put towels over the two windows to block the light so their baby can sleep through the afternoon, used a CD Player with no CD to produce soothing "white noise" so the baby can sleep through the night, placed baby monitors near the crib to listen to the noises of sleeping, changed countless diapers and swabbed and dabbed numerous "power pukes" as their parents affectionately referred to the event.

Babies rolled around in that crib, kicked and rocked, banged their heads, thrown things, pulled things; they have smiled, laughed, cried, made their first cooing noise, made unintelligible noises that the parents interpreted and then, as the babies aged, spoke loudly,"words" towards the monitor, for Mom or Dad to come get them.

The crib is still strong, despite four active children going after it. We'll take it down now and replace it with a big bed. But when baby Gabby comes to visit next year at Thanksgiving, the crib will go back up (someplace) for the next generation of babies in the house. What a joy !

Sir Walter Scott, 1771 - 1832

In an earlier article (The First Spider's Web of August, August 15) I quoted Sir Walter Scott. I hadn't thought of this Scottish author since the 4th of July weekend when we drove through Waverly, Ohio, on our way to Portsmouth, on the Ohio River. Sir Walter Scott's works were so popular and so widely distributed in the mid-1800's that this little farming village on the Ohio-Erie Canal named itself after a series of Scott's novels called "The Waverly Novels." An Historic Marker reminds me of that each time we travel through Waverly on Rt. 23.

Surprisingly, today, I ran into Scott's name again while reading Michael Quinion's weekly e-column, "World Wide Words." Mr. Quinion is an Englishman and an etymologist who is an expert on the derivation of words. He is also a writer on the subject. Some of his titles are "Ballyhoo, Buckeroo and Spuds," "Gallimaufry," and "Why Is Q Always Followed By U?".

Words, of course, are the building blocks of writing. Finding the right word can be exquisite:
"the tintinabulation of the bells" -- Edgar Allen Poe.

Or stringing words together to invoke a physical reaction:
"... his mouth was full of the taste of pennies" -- Ernest Hemingway

Or, from the bard:
"If music be the food of love, play on ..." -- William Shakespeare

Quinion reminds us of Scott's contributions and innovations beyond "Ivanhoe" as the first historical novel:

He's credited with either popularising or inventing many words and phrases, to the extent that he is marked as the first user of more than 700 in the Oxford English Dictionary and he lies third behind the Bible and Shakespeare in innovation in that work. He's recorded as the first user of, to take a few terms at random, Calvinistic, blood is thicker than water, clansmen, cold shoulder, deferential, flat (meaning an apartment), Glaswegian, jeroboam, lady-love, lock, stock and barrel, Norseman, otter hunt, roisterer, Scotswoman (in place of the older Scotchwoman), sick-nurse, sporran, weather-stain and wolf-hound.

And, for those of us in the business of media, Walter Scott was the first to use the term "free-lance," as in he and his lance are for rent.

I leave you, dear reader, with these other words from Sir Walter Scott:

O! many a shaft, at random sent,
Finds mark the archer little meant!
And many a word, at random spoken,
May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!
~~
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
~~
If a farmer fills his barn with grain, he gets mice.
If he leaves it empty, he gets actors!

Cottonwood Pass

The corrections have been returned to me and I have approved them. The next phase will take 1-2 weeks; a proof copy of the book will be produced again and I will re-read it and approve or disapprove. Assuming that I approve, it will be another 1-2 weeks before the book is available for purchase. All of that could mean mid-September before the release.

As I did in an earlier post ("Waiting," July 17), I will share little pieces of the book. This one is a very small piece, but an important and complex one. As a foreword to the book, I included a paradox:

All Cretans are liars; I am a Cretan.
~~~ Epimenides of Knossos, Sixth Century BC

Epimenides supposedly fell asleep for 57 years in a cave that belonged to Zeus and when he awoke he had the gift of prophecy. This has nothing to do with my book, but I thought you might find this interesting.

Phlebology

It was time -- according to my Doctor -- to have another blood test and see how my good and bad cholesterol were getting along. I have never liked this procedure, starting with fasting for 12+ hours. But the Doctor gets cranky if I don't follow through, so I tough it out.

At dinner with our Son and his family, I brought up the subject of having blood drawn. His wife, watches the needle go in and the tube fill up with blood, while her two teenage Daughters whimper and cry. I lean more towards their behaviour than their Mother's.

The practice of bloodletting -- purposefully for health reasons -- has been a human practice for centuries. There are many drawings of where to poke the patient with patented and improvised devices. Here is a 1517 drawing by the Surgeon von Gersdorff.


Ouch!!!

And, of course, there is the medical leech which is experiencing a renewed use, particularly in microsurgery for the re-attachment of things like fingers and ears. These little devils can live for a year after a feeding -- uuuhhh, application.



Bloodletting for years was recommended by Doctors and Surgeons but carried out by Barbers. The old fashioned barber's pole is a reminder of this -- the red stripe represents blood, the white stripe represents bandages and the pole is like the small baton that the patient held on to while the blood was "let."


It seems to me that someplace in the latex-free labs that practice drawing blood, there should be a barber's pole, just to let the hapless sorts like me know that this was an ancient art proudly practiced there, populated with people who understood crying and whimpering.

"Just take this and squeeze," said Kathy, my blood-drawing-technician. "Harder... harder... now, you're going to feel just a little pinch!"

RiiiiiiiGGHHT!!!

Postcards

Postcards have been around for quite a while. The earliest post marked card is dated 1848. A Philadelphia man patented them in 1861 and they were primarily advertising vehicles and in black and white. The Post Office got in the business in the latter part of the 19th Century, issuing their own Postcards with the postage of 1 Cent already printed on it. If you used a non-government Postcard, the postage was twice that or 2 Cents. (There is a political comment available here about business competing with the government, but I will resist, letting the reader draw their own lesson here.)




Eastman Kodak cleverly created a personal camera that allowed one to take a picture and have it come out as a Postcard which took Postcards into a new league as people took pictures of their families, tragedies and events and mailed them -- something like Facebook today, but with stamps affixed.




When color printing became affordable, Postcards adopted color. Some of the more striking ones are the hand drawn and tinted ones printed on linen card stock.





While Postcards today are mostly of the "wish you were here" variety, advertising using postcards is still a vital part of many marketing campaigns, and mine is no exception, as I will soon join the ranks of Postcard marketing.








Of course, I can't send my Postcards out yet! I'll have to wait until my book is actually published!!!

Wild Strawberries

I once asked a horticulturist what a weed was and he replied "a weed is a plant out of place." Like most Americans, we have a yard that we take care of (meaning spend money to fertilize, cut, trim and weed). The views of our yard after it is cut is a pleasure and a matter of pride.

The yard is large and rather than have a pool or significant plantings in it, we have chosen to keep it open and uninterrupted like the old "bowling green" of English landscapes. The openness of the back yard attracts large numbers of things like Deer and large things such as the hot air balloon that dropped in amidst loud "whooshing" for an emergency landing.

My aforementioned wife, Joan, keeps the places in our yard where mulch is spread, free of weeds by pulling them out, individually, one-by-one, roots and all. There is a lot of complaining during these weeding sessions, but I think she takes an odd pleasure in the annual battle with the crabgrass and thistles, the wild onions and clover, and secretly looks forward to the next campaign.

However, one weed has recently risen to the top of her list, causing Joan to be extra vigilant in the inspections of the yard -- wild strawberries. The name sounds innocent enough, but left alone, it will choke out Kentucky Bluegrass and Rye Grass, leaving brown patches where nothing can grow. So, there she is, tediously and tirelessly extracting each root of the latest batch she has found.

When in such close conflict as Joan and the Wild Strawberries are, combatants often develop a deep respect for each other and so it is in this case. Here are Joan's words describing her foe:

Tentacles, inching/creeping along under the cover of blades of grass, even their tiny, yellow flowers often going undetected. Always mindful of their awesome power to destroy entire sections of lawn. Then, ultimately, filled with such pride at the accomplishment, they display their bright, red fruit--glistening success beacons in a sea of green, announcing their conquest.

And then, she rips them out of mother earth, roots and all -- victory is hers.

As for me (drawing a lesson from the Wild Strawberries) , I just try to blend in -- no flashy display, no creeping tentacles, no beacons. And, so far it has worked for 43 years.

(And you thought that this was going to be an insightful critique of Ingmar Bergman's, 1957 film, "Wild Strawberries." Naaahhh!)

Changes

On the drive back from singing at Spray Beach Chapel, I made the decision to resubmit my book for corrections. This is very difficult for me since I feel the need to press on to the next phase of the book and get on with another book.

In my past professional life, I could easily multi-task, but with writing, I haven't become that nimble. I have too many ideas and questions rattling about that need resolution. To be sure, with experience comes agility, so perhaps someday, I may be able to write while awaiting the next proof. At the moment, I cannot.

I have to wait.

Hymns and Their Stories

Today Joan and I traveled to the Spray Beach Chapel on Long Beach Island in NJ. This was the 111th program we have presented since beginning in 1997, and the 7th year at Spray Beach.





Long Beach Island is a resort Community and has been so since after the Civil War. The Chapel at Spray Beach was built in 1895 to serve the tourists who came to enjoy the sea and the sand; consequently, the Chapel is only open, June - September, when the Island is fully populated.



The Board of Directors of the Chapel have chosen over the years to keep it as it was originally built. This means that there are no bathrooms, running water, nor air conditioning.

At 9:30 this morning when the service began, it was 79 and humid with no breeze. By 10:30 when the service was over, it was 83 and more humid. I was uncomfortable but had an enjoyable time. Joan, of course, was neat and orderly. Her accompaniment was unphased by the heat.

My format explored Hymns from various countries: England, Germany, Japan, Ireland, the US, and Sweden. It went well. The Chapel was full -- 100 people or so -- and the Spirit was present.

I'm tired and I know it shows. We got up at 5:00am for the 2:30 drive and returned at 1:30 after another drive of 2:45. Time for a nap.

The First Spider's Web of August

Today is the birthday of Sir Walter Scott who was born in Edinburgh in 1771. His most famous novels were "Ivanhoe" and "Rob Roy," and among his famous quotes is:

"O, what a tangled web we weave, / When first we practise to deceive!"

Outside our house in the corners, Spiders are busy weaving webs for the purpose of entangling prey. Someplace in the dark recesses of my fading memory comes the note that a strand of spider's silk is stronger than steel of the same weight. I often wonder how Spiders start these complicated constructions and finally, I think I have an answer -- they float their first sticky strand out on the breeze towards the desired anchor bush/window/gutter and when it attaches they walk across it carefully and attach more and more strands until the web is finally complete.

The Spider then retreats to an inconspicuous corner and waits. They patiently wait with his (or her) foot on a test strand of the web to detect the vibration of a hapless, struggling insect that has flown into the gossamer contraption -- Dinner is served!

A Spider's Web, however, can be a danger to the Spider, for the sticky strands that hold the insect ... can also hold the web's builder/host. The Spider must show restraint and care as it moves forward towards its main course or else it could become a victim of its own making.

There is a moral or lesson in here someplace, but, instead, I would rather remember my Grandmother, Flossie Rickey Giles, who upon seeing the first Spider's web of August, would always smile and say "It must be time for school to start soon."

As a kid, her smile always struck me as odd, since school didn't sound like so much fun in the bright sun of August. As a parent, I began to understand -- and smile, myself, when I saw The First Spider's Web of August. Please follow the link below, so that you can smile also.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFsTPx5UrbA

The Giles Family Garden

Each year, I plant a vegetable garden. It is small -- about 15 by 30 feet. Perhaps the garden is a recognition of my familial roots, as my Giles ancestors and my Borders ancestors were farmers. But I tell myself that I do it for the Grand Children, who take such pride in struggling to carry large, over-ripe Zucchini back to the house.

Each year, I battle the animals that live over our stone wall in the woods, who recognize the nutritional value of tender green leaves. The fox, the rabbits, the skunks, ground hogs, possums, raccoon and deer have developed a taste for the fruits of my labor. This year, the deer discovered that they like Blue Lake Green Beans!



Each year, when I begin harvesting the sweet and succulent bounty of the garden, I marvel at the vigor and the desire to live that is in each seed planted. Despite the animals, the lack of rain, my inattention, and the competition of weeds, the vegetables produce.

Each year, as I stand among the tomatoes in the garden, I remember the scene from "The Godfather" where Marlon Brando is playing with his Grand Son among the tomatoes... and wonder.

Uhhhh !

I'm not sure how President Obama's Calendar got in the location, but I can't seem to move it. So ... enjoy.

The President's Calendar

The Proof Copy II

It's depressing that I have found two "printing" errors in the first 63 pages. I cannot ignore them and let them interfere with the story. But, the correction will mean further delays in the release of "Cottonwood Pass." I still must read the rest of it as well to see what else lurks in the spacing, indents, and justification.

Aaaarrrgghh !

The Proof Copy

The "proof copy" of my book, "Cottonwood Pass," has arrived. It is gratifying and annoying all at the same time. The gratification is understandable, but the annoyance is that I have to read it ... again.

Each time I re-read it, I discover something -- maybe "demanded" would have been stronger or that I used "scare quotes" too many times on one page.

I am reminded each time I start reading it again, how much work there is still left to do -- marketing, bookstores, personal contacts, mailing to reviewers. And, then there is the rejection.

What I really want to do is to get started on the next one; the research will be extensive and fun, with whole new words to invent.

What I should be doing, however, is working on the Hymns Program at Spray Beach Chapel on Sunday. I know the first part will be about translators and the second part will be about Hymns as personal statements of faith, but I need to research and write about a Japanese Hymn that I am including, which is set in the "gagaku mode." And, then there is my voice. I have to get it prepared to sing for an hour. While I have occasionally exercised it, I am not ready for an hour.

The proof copy has arrived. I'll read it till Noon and then get on to the Hymns and rehearse at 4:00 for an hour. A plan!

Starting at Chapter 1 ...
***************************************************************

Chapter 1

She had betrayed me. I couldn’t get past this thought. My wife of six years had never said anything to me about needing more; she simply had slept with strangers, numbers of them. I was not bad in bed – other women had assured me of that – but there it was. Clear digital pictures, unphotoshopped pictures of Julie with three -- THREE other men. It was more than I could bear. I turned my cell phone off; I didn’t want to hear anything from her. I left quickly – a few clothes, my laptop. I left without regard for her. To get back at her, I placed one of the pictures on the table – no note, just she and the accountant on his couch ...

Washington DC, Williamsburg, and Montecello

First things first -- my wife (described in the last two days postings) from across the room has emailed me about an innacuracy in my Gene Pool posting. Here is her note:



The source of compulsive dating of photos has determined that our granddaughter, Cameron, was 5 weeks old on her first day at the shore in 2006, and Gabrielle was 5 weeks and 6 days--but who's counting!

Who's counting ... indeed.


*******************************************
Copying photos for family has caused me to get delightfully, willingly stuck on our Grand Daughter's trip with us. I am only too pleased to share them with you before I get back to what I should be doing ... preparing for this Sunday's Hymns presentation at Spray Beach Chapel on Long Beach Island in NJ -- but this is too much fun.

Found!

Cancel the Bloodhounds. Turn off the Klaxon Horn! Roll up your drag net: the camera has been found !!

The search climbed high and dove low; stones were overturned; fine toothed combs were used. I was even searched ... me. Yet, the camera was located in a very common place -- among the detritus of clothes and gifts and laundry, the result of being away and on the road for two weeks.

More moments in time can now be be frozen -- only when we have the time, after we recover from ... vacation.

RDG

Pictures

Today, I picked up our vacation pictures. They are precious moments frozen in time, which most of us are sure that we will never forget. The truth is, we do forget -- the year, the place, his face. And then, after we pass, our heirs dig through boxes and books, wondering who these people were and why they were smiling.

Was this my Dad's Uncle who lived on a Riverboat? Who is that baby Cousin Elbert is holding?

My Mom's pregnant in this one, but with me or my sister?

Joan, my wife, is compulsive about labeling, dating and order numbering our pictures. She has done this since were were married in 1966. Do you want a copy of Aunt Peggy's picture I took in 1973? Joan can lay her hands on the picture and the negative in a matter of minutes.

Her sense of order extends to letters and checks as well. Every letter her Father wrote to her while she was at Ohio University is in order and boxed, ready for a reference; each check we have written is likewise in little check boxes by month and year, awaiting some tax inquiry about a contribution to our church.

I am sure that Joan's genealogical pursuits have something to do with this need for the columns and decimal points to line up. Nevertheless, it is very impressive.

Having said this, I am sure you can understand her (and now my) angst over the fact that we have lost the camera! The search will be relentless.

Cottonwood Pass

I'm slowly beginning to work my way off vacation and back to the discipline of a daily schedule. My book is being prepped for printing an approval copy and I am readying my marketing materials, which includes postcards.

On my list of targets are Colorado Libraries, selected Newspaper Reviewers, selected Bookstores and an email campaign.

Any other thoughts?

Monuments, Memorials and Tweens

For the last three days, I have been traveling with Joan and an 8 year old and a 10 year old -- the first time such a mix has occurred since 1978. In the 31 years since our children were that age, some things have changed and some things have not. Things that have changed include personal electronics such as DS's (Double Screens, for the unititiated), IPODS, Nickelodian and Disney Channel Stars (Sponge Bob included), and the lack of wrist watches.

Things that have not changed -- the Washington Monument, the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, Mount Vernon, Monticello and the film at Williamsburg. Oh ... and the magic of enjoying your first Crème Brule (Joan chided me for ordering it 31 years ago for our children, and again tonight, for exposing our Grand Daughters to the crusty pleasure.)

I have also determined that scientists should investigate DNA twists to determine whether jumping on the beds at Hotel rooms can be passed from Mother to Daughter(s) as appears to have happened in our family.

I was pleased to see that despite the sleek, brushed aluminum conveniences of today, that they cannot mask or dull the monuments, memorials and life works of the past heroes and heroines of our culture who continue to live in our hearts -- one generation to the next and the next. May it be ever so.

Relaxing

Safely home. My own pillow. In the dark, I can walk with impunity to the bathroom -- provided I put my suitcase away!

A short stay and then off with two Grand Daughters to Williamsburg. Pretty and giggly, curious and bright, I hope they try the Rabbit and Peanut Soup at the Kings Arms. I will -- just to set a good example.

Cheers !!!