MAY THE BIRTH OF THE CHRIST CHILD REMIND US THAT THERE CAN BE HOPE, PEACE, JOY AND LOVE ACROSS THE WORLD.
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
I've come to
the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element in the classroom.
It's my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher, I possess a tremendous
power to make a child's life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or
an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all
situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated
or de-escalated and a child humanized or de-humanized.”
Monday, December 24, 2012
Hello again, sports fans.
I have, by much urging from Jill the WonderSpouse, decided to begin posting columns and other tidbits on this site. Here is the latest, for Christmas, as it appears in the December 20 edition of The Independent News, the local weekly that I have been writing for since September, 2011. Not a bad idea to check out this nice little paper at www.flovalleynews.com.
Take care, and Merry Christmas to all.
A CHRISTMAS TALE
I had just scored a great deal on wrapping paper at Walgreens, and Jill was working on some presents for a family we were helping out through our daughter Katie’s school. Not being much good at the task of paper and tape, I decided to pop in "A Charlie Brown Christmas." This little piece probably comes closest to the perfect movie about the event that changed the world. It is one of hope and joy, forgiveness and love. And as Linus told the age-old story, I wondered about that night, and what it might look like if it happened today.
It was so, so cold. Not just chilly, but bone-reaching cold. The man was upset. That beat-up car they’d borrowed from his cousin was about to give up. They had just driven hundreds of miles to see about that carpenter job he found on the internet. With the housing market so bad lately, he’d been laid off from three jobs in the last six months. And now with a baby on the way, well, it was no time to be out of work. On top of that, it looked like his wife Mary might be starting into labor any minute.
"Oh, Joey. I’m afraid it might be tonight," moaned the young woman.
"I know, hon. Maybe that motel up ahead has a room, and we can find us a doctor," he said, trying to sound hopeful. He pulled the overheated Chevy into the lot, and took a deep breath.
"Wish me luck, darlin’," Joseph said, as the "No Vacancy" sign flashed above the front door.
Mary did more than that. She prayed, hard, to the Father of her child. This boy was going to be something special. The angel told her so back home. And once she convinced Joseph that she wasn’t out of her mind, and then he had that visit in a dream from the same angel, they knew. Of course, most of the townsfolk were scoffing behind closed doors at their story. But that didn’t stop them from believing. As her prayer ended, her heart sunk as she watched her husband slowly walk back to the car. Joseph climbed in, and put his head on the steering wheel.
"This is not good. They have nothing available. Some convention in town, something going on. But the old desk clerk said he knew of an abandoned farmhouse about a mile down this side road. We could check it out, at least for tonight. And his sister’s best friend, she’s a midwife. Said he’d give her a call, have her look in on us."
Mary was touched by the concern of the stranger. It heartened her, made her feel things just might be okay.
"Well, at least we’ll be dry. We can make a fire… old farmhouses always have nice fireplaces," said the girl, trying her best to raise the man’s spirits.
As they pulled up to the house, the light drizzle turned to snow.
Joseph brought in their meager belongings, and made up a bed by the hearth with a sleeping bag and some pillows. Mary managed to get a nice fire going and soon the dampness was turning. They shared a few of the canned sausages they bought at the Quickie Mart earlier. Mary had little appetite, in anticipation of what was to come. They drifted off to sleep, arm in arm, to the crackling of the fire.
Joseph awoke to a new sound. His wife was in pain! The baby was coming. He set a few broken pieces of an old chair on the fire to heat a pan of water he’d rigged above the flames.
"Hurry, Joey… it’s coming." The man bent low to help the young girl. No time to go for that midwife now.
Slowly, the small room filled with a bright light, brighter than any they’d ever experienced. Then a soft hum, as if a children’s choir was singing. Mary cried out once, twice, and the light and sound gradually dimmed.
And there He lay. The man and woman knew this was a special moment. This child was The One.
As they gazed in wonder, there was a shuffling at the door. The desk clerk, his sister, and the midwife poked their heads in.
"I… we heard this singin’," said the clerk, "and saw what looked like a sunrise, only it was midnight. So we hurried down here, but it looks like ya’ll are okay."
The man’s sister knelt by the mother, as her friend busied herself with the water and some towels. The old man set down a basket of fruit and chips and chicken sandwiches.
"We brought you a coupla gifts. Thought you might be hungry."
And so it may have been. No matter the time, no matter the age, His coming is marked by light and love, warmth and generosity.
So may it also be this year, for all of you.
I have, by much urging from Jill the WonderSpouse, decided to begin posting columns and other tidbits on this site. Here is the latest, for Christmas, as it appears in the December 20 edition of The Independent News, the local weekly that I have been writing for since September, 2011. Not a bad idea to check out this nice little paper at www.flovalleynews.com.
Take care, and Merry Christmas to all.
A CHRISTMAS TALE
I had just scored a great deal on wrapping paper at Walgreens, and Jill was working on some presents for a family we were helping out through our daughter Katie’s school. Not being much good at the task of paper and tape, I decided to pop in "A Charlie Brown Christmas." This little piece probably comes closest to the perfect movie about the event that changed the world. It is one of hope and joy, forgiveness and love. And as Linus told the age-old story, I wondered about that night, and what it might look like if it happened today.
It was so, so cold. Not just chilly, but bone-reaching cold. The man was upset. That beat-up car they’d borrowed from his cousin was about to give up. They had just driven hundreds of miles to see about that carpenter job he found on the internet. With the housing market so bad lately, he’d been laid off from three jobs in the last six months. And now with a baby on the way, well, it was no time to be out of work. On top of that, it looked like his wife Mary might be starting into labor any minute.
"Oh, Joey. I’m afraid it might be tonight," moaned the young woman.
"I know, hon. Maybe that motel up ahead has a room, and we can find us a doctor," he said, trying to sound hopeful. He pulled the overheated Chevy into the lot, and took a deep breath.
"Wish me luck, darlin’," Joseph said, as the "No Vacancy" sign flashed above the front door.
Mary did more than that. She prayed, hard, to the Father of her child. This boy was going to be something special. The angel told her so back home. And once she convinced Joseph that she wasn’t out of her mind, and then he had that visit in a dream from the same angel, they knew. Of course, most of the townsfolk were scoffing behind closed doors at their story. But that didn’t stop them from believing. As her prayer ended, her heart sunk as she watched her husband slowly walk back to the car. Joseph climbed in, and put his head on the steering wheel.
"This is not good. They have nothing available. Some convention in town, something going on. But the old desk clerk said he knew of an abandoned farmhouse about a mile down this side road. We could check it out, at least for tonight. And his sister’s best friend, she’s a midwife. Said he’d give her a call, have her look in on us."
Mary was touched by the concern of the stranger. It heartened her, made her feel things just might be okay.
"Well, at least we’ll be dry. We can make a fire… old farmhouses always have nice fireplaces," said the girl, trying her best to raise the man’s spirits.
As they pulled up to the house, the light drizzle turned to snow.
Joseph brought in their meager belongings, and made up a bed by the hearth with a sleeping bag and some pillows. Mary managed to get a nice fire going and soon the dampness was turning. They shared a few of the canned sausages they bought at the Quickie Mart earlier. Mary had little appetite, in anticipation of what was to come. They drifted off to sleep, arm in arm, to the crackling of the fire.
Joseph awoke to a new sound. His wife was in pain! The baby was coming. He set a few broken pieces of an old chair on the fire to heat a pan of water he’d rigged above the flames.
"Hurry, Joey… it’s coming." The man bent low to help the young girl. No time to go for that midwife now.
Slowly, the small room filled with a bright light, brighter than any they’d ever experienced. Then a soft hum, as if a children’s choir was singing. Mary cried out once, twice, and the light and sound gradually dimmed.
And there He lay. The man and woman knew this was a special moment. This child was The One.
As they gazed in wonder, there was a shuffling at the door. The desk clerk, his sister, and the midwife poked their heads in.
"I… we heard this singin’," said the clerk, "and saw what looked like a sunrise, only it was midnight. So we hurried down here, but it looks like ya’ll are okay."
The man’s sister knelt by the mother, as her friend busied herself with the water and some towels. The old man set down a basket of fruit and chips and chicken sandwiches.
"We brought you a coupla gifts. Thought you might be hungry."
And so it may have been. No matter the time, no matter the age, His coming is marked by light and love, warmth and generosity.
So may it also be this year, for all of you.
Friday, July 22, 2011
SUMMER HAZE AND SUMMER DAZE
“Can you believe this weather?” and “Stay cool” are the catch phrases in use everywhere you go as our region dips its toe into the fringes of Hades. Not being a big fan of the heat, I’ve been hanging out in climate controlled environments, venturing out just enough to crank up the Fusion’s A/C to travel to Walgreen’s. Figure I’ve nothing to prove by playing golf in triple-digit heat, or accompanying the youngsters to a bacteria-infested public pool. Of course my sympathies and appreciation go to all who must work in this mess. But, not being one of them, I am doing my part for world peace by staying cool.
I know we had these temperature spikes growing up. We coped by spending quality time in the dark of the basement, making forts under an old kitchen table or playing run-ups with a rolled-up sweatsock ball, designed to not break windows. We nailed some pretty nifty hook slides into a folded-up throw rug base on that slick concrete floor. Our post-WWII bungalow was cooled with an attic fan, until we scored some window unit air conditioners, loud as 747’s, one in the dining room and the other nestled in mom and dad’s room. As we got older, and more able to branch out unsupervised, there was the Spanish Lake Bus trip to River Roads Mall, that modern wonder of it’s day, where an afternoon was spent trolling the concourse, annoying shop keepers and passers-by alike. It was there I perfected my two-fingered whistle, much to my friend’s amusement. Nice echo power in that mall, by the way. Then there was the bowling alley on the lower level, with its aromatic mix of cigarette smoke and lane wax. Spencer’s Lanes was known for its multiple pool tables with pastel cloth on the table tops, and sported a certain “rough” clientele, which to 14 year old boys, was the coolest thing about the place.
In the evenings, we’d trek up and down the hills of our neighborhood to the Dairy Queen on Bellefontaine Road, armed with a few bucks. The quarter cones were as big as a size 10 Chuck Taylor Converse High Top, and a cherry Mister Misty was a guaranteed brain freeze. Hours of our youth were idled by, sitting on the adjoining hill, making wisecracks about the patrons as they came and went, and hoping some girls would drive by and offer us a ride. Which, of course, never happened, but guys being guys, hope sprung eternal.
These days, I see sweet reminders of those lazy days when we visit the local custard stands with the little ones. Cold confections, hot pavement, steamy night air, the incessant buzzing of fat June bugs against the yellow neon lights, the “cree, cree” of locusts at sunset…
Some things never change.
But tonight, I’m gonna pop a cold frosty one and slide that thermostat down just a hair in my lovely central air castle.
Well, maybe some things do change, after all.
I know we had these temperature spikes growing up. We coped by spending quality time in the dark of the basement, making forts under an old kitchen table or playing run-ups with a rolled-up sweatsock ball, designed to not break windows. We nailed some pretty nifty hook slides into a folded-up throw rug base on that slick concrete floor. Our post-WWII bungalow was cooled with an attic fan, until we scored some window unit air conditioners, loud as 747’s, one in the dining room and the other nestled in mom and dad’s room. As we got older, and more able to branch out unsupervised, there was the Spanish Lake Bus trip to River Roads Mall, that modern wonder of it’s day, where an afternoon was spent trolling the concourse, annoying shop keepers and passers-by alike. It was there I perfected my two-fingered whistle, much to my friend’s amusement. Nice echo power in that mall, by the way. Then there was the bowling alley on the lower level, with its aromatic mix of cigarette smoke and lane wax. Spencer’s Lanes was known for its multiple pool tables with pastel cloth on the table tops, and sported a certain “rough” clientele, which to 14 year old boys, was the coolest thing about the place.
In the evenings, we’d trek up and down the hills of our neighborhood to the Dairy Queen on Bellefontaine Road, armed with a few bucks. The quarter cones were as big as a size 10 Chuck Taylor Converse High Top, and a cherry Mister Misty was a guaranteed brain freeze. Hours of our youth were idled by, sitting on the adjoining hill, making wisecracks about the patrons as they came and went, and hoping some girls would drive by and offer us a ride. Which, of course, never happened, but guys being guys, hope sprung eternal.
These days, I see sweet reminders of those lazy days when we visit the local custard stands with the little ones. Cold confections, hot pavement, steamy night air, the incessant buzzing of fat June bugs against the yellow neon lights, the “cree, cree” of locusts at sunset…
Some things never change.
But tonight, I’m gonna pop a cold frosty one and slide that thermostat down just a hair in my lovely central air castle.
Well, maybe some things do change, after all.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
TO TWEET OR NOT TO TWEET? IS THAT A QUESTION?
I have a serious confession to make. I have a Facebook account. Have for some time now. Much to my youngest daughter’s chagrin, I might add. I can’t remember when it started, but it was an effort to connect with potential buyers of my novel. Now it seems that I am part of this swiftly growing band of Baby Boomers who are taking to the social media sites in droves.
One source indicates that nearly half of us in this cultural demographic born between 1946 and 1964 are “members” of some sort of social network. Facebook seems to be the “drug of choice”, with Twitter and Linkedin following in hot pursuit. I’ve been invited to Linkedin several times, why I don’t know. I have been known to mispronounce the title as “Link-a-DIN”. It’s supposed to be “Linked-IN”, as in “connected”, right? It seems to me that someone who can’t even say the name correctly has absolutely no business belonging, so no “linking-in” for me.
I do get a kick out of how this phenomenon of uber-connectedness has changed the English language. Words that traditionally were nouns are now verbs. We “Tweet”, text, and email each other to the point of possible injury. Maybe this all started with the use of the word “impacted” as a verb. I always associated this term with a lower digestive ailment. But, as usual, I digress.
The Boomer set has embraced this media-madness by also diving into the Twitter arena. It’s been reported that teens are more the texter types, with “tweeting” going to the generation just below us. One recent article questioned whether Boomer’s joining up in record numbers might kill off these methods of communication. I say, no way. Since there are so many of us, it can only enhance the opportunity for marketers, and thus drive dollars to these sites. But my daughter did tell me, back in my early Facebook days, that I was absolutely not to “friend” her. (There’s that noun-verb confusion again.) Which I respected. Heck, I welcomed it. I really didn’t want to see all her business. Sometimes in this game of parenting, it’s best not to know too much about l what your kid is up to. And I’m not a prolific poster, feeling that no one truly cares that I just made myself this great egg sandwich with swiss cheese on a lightly toasted wheat bagel. I usually just “stalk” other peoples comments, (‘stalk’ being used here in a benign, non-creepy context), and make an occasional smarty-pants observation. Speaking of creepy, some of the stuff people put out there does NOT need to be shared with all the known world!
So it really should come as no surprise that Boomers are jumping on this technology wagon. We were after all the first to learn to program a VCR, embrace the garage door opener, and originally fund the technology of our offspring’s cell phone/laptop/ipod lifestyle. So don’t be too hard on us.
We just like to be seen as still relevant.
One source indicates that nearly half of us in this cultural demographic born between 1946 and 1964 are “members” of some sort of social network. Facebook seems to be the “drug of choice”, with Twitter and Linkedin following in hot pursuit. I’ve been invited to Linkedin several times, why I don’t know. I have been known to mispronounce the title as “Link-a-DIN”. It’s supposed to be “Linked-IN”, as in “connected”, right? It seems to me that someone who can’t even say the name correctly has absolutely no business belonging, so no “linking-in” for me.
I do get a kick out of how this phenomenon of uber-connectedness has changed the English language. Words that traditionally were nouns are now verbs. We “Tweet”, text, and email each other to the point of possible injury. Maybe this all started with the use of the word “impacted” as a verb. I always associated this term with a lower digestive ailment. But, as usual, I digress.
The Boomer set has embraced this media-madness by also diving into the Twitter arena. It’s been reported that teens are more the texter types, with “tweeting” going to the generation just below us. One recent article questioned whether Boomer’s joining up in record numbers might kill off these methods of communication. I say, no way. Since there are so many of us, it can only enhance the opportunity for marketers, and thus drive dollars to these sites. But my daughter did tell me, back in my early Facebook days, that I was absolutely not to “friend” her. (There’s that noun-verb confusion again.) Which I respected. Heck, I welcomed it. I really didn’t want to see all her business. Sometimes in this game of parenting, it’s best not to know too much about l what your kid is up to. And I’m not a prolific poster, feeling that no one truly cares that I just made myself this great egg sandwich with swiss cheese on a lightly toasted wheat bagel. I usually just “stalk” other peoples comments, (‘stalk’ being used here in a benign, non-creepy context), and make an occasional smarty-pants observation. Speaking of creepy, some of the stuff people put out there does NOT need to be shared with all the known world!
So it really should come as no surprise that Boomers are jumping on this technology wagon. We were after all the first to learn to program a VCR, embrace the garage door opener, and originally fund the technology of our offspring’s cell phone/laptop/ipod lifestyle. So don’t be too hard on us.
We just like to be seen as still relevant.
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
NO SUCH THING AS HEAVEN?
NO SUCH THING AS HEAVEN? SO SAYS FAMOUS PHYSICIST STEVEN HAWKING. HE GOES ON TO SAY THAT NOTION IS A FAIRY TALE FOR PEOPLE AFRAID OF THE DARK. WELL, DR. HAWKING, IN SPITE OF YOUR ENORMOUS BRAIN POWER, I SAY YOU GOT THIS ONE ALL WRONG, PAL.
NOW, I DON’T KNOW IF HEAVEN’S UP IN THE CLOUDS, OR A GLORIOUS STATE OF MIND, OR IF WE REALLY CAN HANG WITH THE ANGELS WHEN WE SHUFFLE OFF THIS MORTAL COIL. BUT I’M PRETTY SURE THAT INEVITABLE DIRT NAP ISN’T THE END OF US FOR GOOD.
TO FOLLOW HAWKING’S WAY OF THINKING, WHY NOT EVERYBODY JUST DO WHAT THEY WANT, ROB BANKS, LIE TO THEIR MOM’S, STEAL LITTLE KIDS CANDY AND OTHERWISE VIOLATE ALL THEM OTHER COMMANDMENTS WHENEVER THEY FEEL LIKE IT? IF THERE’S NO HEAVEN, THERE’S NO REASON TO BE GOOD, IS THERE?
I SAY THIS IS KIND OF REASONING IS WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. HUMANS ARE THE ONLY BEINGS ON THIS EARTH THAT HAVE A CONSCIENCE. WE ALSO MUST HAVE A GOAL TO STRIVE FOR. WE FOLLOW THAT CONSCIENCE TO REACH THAT GOAL. AND THAT GOAL, DEAR SIR, IS HEAVEN.
I’M NOT AFRAID OF THE DARK, DR. HAWKING, BUT I AM AFRAID OF THAT OTHER PLACE WHERE BAD FOLKS GO. AND I HOPE THAT ONE DAY YOU WILL USE THAT INTELLECT GOD GAVE YOU TO COME TO YOUR SENSES.
(FROM 'I'M JUST SAYIN' " COMMENTARY, NEWSCHANNEL 5, KSDK, ST. LOUIS, JUNE 1, 2011)
Thursday, June 02, 2011
BACK IN THE (BLOG) SADDLE AGAIN
So wow, it's been a while since I hit this site. I have been busy, believe it or not, with retirement activities. Got into some subbing at a local school, did tutoring for kids out of school for various reasons. Got hooked up with a talent agency, with head shots and a resume and auditions. Kind of a shot in the dark, to see if anyone wants a bald guy with wrinkles and a crooked smile for any print stuff out there, or commercials. Had a few auditions, but nothing yet. All it takes is one, they say, and they also say that every "no" is that much closer to that "yes". It's been fun and a learning experience, so far, if not profitable.
Also have gotten on TV with a commentary segment on a local NBC affiliate. The segment is called "I'M JUST SAYIN'", and can be seen at http://www.ksdk.com/. Scroll all the way down and I have just put on the air about Steven Hawking saying there is no heaven. I will post it here as well. Now THAT has really been fun, and even pays a few bucks, enough for a couple rounds of golf, to which I continue to be addicted.
Jill and I have decided they will be carrying us out of this house, what with the market being so depressed, and where would we go anyway. So we have finished the basement, which turned out AWSM, as they say in tweet-land, and are getting the outside painted grey with white trim, what we wanted to do 19 years ago, except our kids cried that they would live in a "depressing house." So much for those brats who have all grown up and moved out and started their own gangs... Funny that our youngest, Joanie, 2o, said the exact same thing. Then again, she's been at Mizzou for two years and plans to be out of the house as soon as she can anyway, so I think we've learned our lesson.
ANYWAY, I am back at this, will post my columns from the Suburban Journals of St.Louis, and maybe even get into some videos. Once I find my way around youtube. And if I get a flipcam.
Back at ya'....
Tom
Also have gotten on TV with a commentary segment on a local NBC affiliate. The segment is called "I'M JUST SAYIN'", and can be seen at http://www.ksdk.com/. Scroll all the way down and I have just put on the air about Steven Hawking saying there is no heaven. I will post it here as well. Now THAT has really been fun, and even pays a few bucks, enough for a couple rounds of golf, to which I continue to be addicted.
Jill and I have decided they will be carrying us out of this house, what with the market being so depressed, and where would we go anyway. So we have finished the basement, which turned out AWSM, as they say in tweet-land, and are getting the outside painted grey with white trim, what we wanted to do 19 years ago, except our kids cried that they would live in a "depressing house." So much for those brats who have all grown up and moved out and started their own gangs... Funny that our youngest, Joanie, 2o, said the exact same thing. Then again, she's been at Mizzou for two years and plans to be out of the house as soon as she can anyway, so I think we've learned our lesson.
ANYWAY, I am back at this, will post my columns from the Suburban Journals of St.Louis, and maybe even get into some videos. Once I find my way around youtube. And if I get a flipcam.
Back at ya'....
Tom
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)