Before we left for the airport Sunday morning, Wray began reminiscing about the times he and Mary Veazey spent with my parents in Fentress, in the late 1940s, when the siblings were ten or eleven years old. Mary Veazey tossed in a few of her memories, too.

Note: Wray and Mary Veazey are my mother’s nephew and niece. They lived in Dallas. Fentress is my father’s hometown, and the aunts, uncles, and grandfather mentioned below are from his side of the family. Practically speaking, however, the two families sort of swamped together

Here’s an overview of the conversation:

Wray and Donnie mixed up some gunpowder and made firecrackers. There was a lot of gunpowder left over, so they poured it into a Coke bottle and made a fuse. It was a short fuse, and Wray almost didn’t make it to safety behind a tree when the bottle exploded. Donnie’s house was glass-studded ever after. (I suppose it still is.)

Mr. George Meadows wanted to show Wray what a possum looked like, so he caught a possum, hit it with a club, tied it up, and left it in the yard. Then Mr. George went into the house. Left alone, the possum stopped playing possum, chewed the string in two, and waddled back home, probably down in the pecan bottom on the river.

Wray was not allowed to go near the parrot that lived downstairs in Mrs. Bertie Smith’s house, where my parents had an apartment, because the parrot was mean. (Note: My mother went near the parrot and it caught the flesh between her thumb and index finger and clamped down and wouldn’t let go. Mother was pregnant at the time. She said she thought she would deliver before the bird finally released her.)

Mrs. Bertie’s house was right on the river. When my parents moved to a house down the street, Wray and Mary Veazey took a shortcut to the river by walking through the front door of Mr. George and Miss Minnie Meadows’ house and then out the back door. Mary Veazey said they were polite and always said Hello when they passed through. But they never bothered to knock.

They played among the cotton bales on the gin yard and, unbeknownst to anyone else, borrowed cotton from some of the bales to use in various other pursuits.

They found a mangy dog at the river bridge and coaxed it to come with them, then told my mother it had followed them home. The dog was foaming at the mouth. Moments later, it had some kind of fit. Mother hustled Wray and Mary Veazey into the house and called for my father, who ambled around from wherever he’d been and paused to size up the situation. The pause went on too long for Mother, who said, “Don’t just stand there with your teeth in your mouth. Do something.” (Note: Those encouraging words are still alive and well among certain members of the family.)

My grandfather took Wray trotline fishing once and they caught 149 pounds of catfish. A fish fry ensued. Wray described for his daughter how a catfish is prepared for the skillet. I won’t describe the process here, but I’ll add that I, too, used to help my grandfather skin catfish. (I was a cold-blooded little thing.) Wray could clean a fish in under a minute. I took a lot longer.

My Uncle Donald taught Wray to drive his 1947 Chevy pickup. When Donald was taking Aunt Ethel’s 1951 Buick roadster to Martindale, about seven miles north on Highway 80, for inspection, he told Wray to follow in the pickup. Because of a miscommunication, they were separated, and Wray had no one to follow. On the way, he discovered the pickup would go 80 miles per hour over the washboard road. By the time he arrived in Martindale, so many things had fallen off the pickup that it didn’t pass inspection. (Note: I later learned to drive in the same pickup, but if you think Donald let me out of his sight when I was behind the wheel, you have another think coming.)

One memory which wasn’t mentioned Sunday, but which I remember from before, took place several years later, after I had finally made an appearance: Mother looked out the kitchen window and saw Wray drag racing down the street with me in my stroller. She hollered at him to stop that before he killed me. He said I was having fun. I’m sure I was.

I always had fun when my cousins visited. They were considerably older than I and so were extremely interesting, and they were nice enough to pay attention to me and to behave as if they didn’t mind the fourteen-year age difference. They’re still nice to me. I appreciate that more than I can say.

I also appreciate their sharing memories of a time when Fentress was a child’s paradise. Not many remember those days, and it’s important we talk—and write—about them to keep them alive as long as possible.

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Another note: Lest it be thought I have Fentress memories similar to those detailed above, I’ll clarify: I don’t. I never made gun powder, blew up Coke bottles, dismantled cotton bales, urged mad dogs to follow me home, invaded unsuspecting neighbors’ houses, or went roaring up Highway 80 in any make or model of pickup. And no one ever caught a possum for me. I was an obedient, unimaginative child, and I led a quiet, dull life of no adventure whatsoever.

And Veazey is my grandmother’s maiden name. In case anyone is wondering. Most people do.

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ROW80 report: My reports for the past few weeks disappeared into a cloud of juniper pollen, but there wasn’t much to report anyway. While I was in MO, however, I began a story board, made notes, worked on organization. The next step: Take my list of scenes, pick one, and write it.

James Madison, Author of the First Amendment, "Father of the Constitution" - Image via Wikipedia

“Knowledge will forever govern ignorance; and a people who mean to be their own governors must arm themselves with the power which knowledge gives.” ~ James Madison

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Register your protest TODAY:

http://americancensorship.org/

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A picture of Internet censorship:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Henry_Faulk

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• On January 18, 2012, Wikipedia, WordPress, and other sites will go dark to protest the Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA) and the Protect IP Act (PIPA), proposed legislation that critics say could lead to censorship of the Internet. Senate Bill 968, PIPA, will come before the U. S. Senate next week.
• SOPA and PIPA are supported by the entertainment industry concerned about online piracy. Critics, however, say both bills would go about fighting piracy in the wrong way.

“Copyright holders want to give themselves and the U.S. Department of Justice the power to block websites accused of infringement. They want to force Internet service providers to create a wall between their customers and these websites. They want to force banks and payment services like PayPal to cut off these websites’ money. They want the websites removed from search results and to ban people from linking to them. And all of that, WITHOUT ANY KIND OF FORMAL HEARING.” [Emphasis added]

http://www.sdcitybeat.com/sandiego/article-10012-pipa-is-the-new-sopa.html

• Congressional support for SOPA has been weakened somewhat by negative feedback from the public, but PIPA is still in good health. San Diego CityBeat states,

“…[B]ills often come in pairs, and SOPA’s twin in the U.S. Senate is the Protect IP Act, or PIPA. Both bills threaten to rip apart the fabric of the Internet, compromise the planet’s digital security and open the doors for China-class censorship. While the SOPA brand is damaged, PIPA has yet to attract similar levels of negative attention. It’s scheduled for a Senate floor vote on Jan. 24 and could easily sneak through under the radar. The most important thing for Internet activists to do, right now, is spread the word that PIPA is the new target.” [Emphasis added]

http://www.sdcitybeat.com/sandiego/article-10012-pipa-is-the-new-sopa.html

• Alternative legislation—Online Protection and ENforcement of the Digital Trade Act (OPEN)—is being proposed. It is the result of a bipartisan effort to protect against online piracy without the threat of censorship.

“The OPEN Act secures two fundamental principles. First, Americans have a right to benefit from what they’ve created. And second, Americans have a right to an open internet. Our duty is to protect these rights. That’s why congressional Republicans and Democrats came together to write the OPEN Act. But it’s only a start. We need your help:sign up, comment and collaborate to build a better bill.” [Emphasis added]

http://www.keepthewebopen.com/

• americancensorship.org provides ways to register opposition to SOPA AND PIPA. Anyone not in the U.S. may protest by petitioning the U. S. State Department. Online forms appear on the site.

http://americancensorship.org/http://www.keepthewebopen.com/

• The following links compare and contrast SOPA / PIPA and OPEN. As the quotation above states, it also requests input from citizens who want to help create a better law. 

Keep the Web #OPEN

http://www.keepthewebopen.com/

SOPA vs PIPA vs OPEN

http://www.keepthewebopen.com/sopa-vs-open

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http://vimeo.com/31100268

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More information about SOPA / PIPA:

• Regarding WordPress’ protest, Jane Wells writes, “…if this bill is passed it will jeopardize internet freedom and shift the power of the independent web into the hands of corporations. We must stop it.”

http://wordpress.org/news/2012/01/help-stop-sopa-pipa/

http://wordpress.org/news/2012/01/internet-blackout/

• “Wikipedia Blackout: Websites Wikipedia, Reddit, Others Go Dark Wednesday to Protest SOPA, PIPA”

http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/wikipedia-blackout-websites-wikipedia-reddit-dark-wednesday-protest/story?id=15373251#.TxZNY6WXTM9

• “Google Plans Homepage Protest Against SOPA”

http://technolog.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/01/17/10175792-google-plans-home-page-protest-against-sopa

• “Internet Blackout Against US Law Fails to Enlist Big Sites”

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/46032361/ns/technology_and_science-tech_and_gadgets/#.TxZP-aWXTM9

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• Let’s bury SOPA and PIPA (piedtype.com)
• Wikipedia, WordPress & 1,500+ Sites to Blackout Tomorrow in Protest: SOPA/PIPA (hudsonhorizons.com)
• SOPA vs. PIPA: Anti-piracy bills, uproar explained (digitaltrends.com)
• Wikipedia, many other websites, will blackout tomorrow in protest of SOPA and PIPA (dailykos.com)
• WebHostingBuzz to Blackout on January 18th in Protest of SOPA and PIPA (prweb.com)
• Wikipedia Blackout: Official Statement Released on January 18 SOPA, PIPA Protest (blippitt.com)
• Websites Protesting SOPA, PIPA (disclose.tv)
• SOPA/PIPA Internet Protest: Web Sites go Black (magsx2.wordpress.com)
• SOPA and PIPA far from dead, despite concerns of White House and changes to bills (news.consumerreports.org)
• Wikipedia to protest SOPA/PIPA with 24-hour shut-down (techradar.com)

Image via Wikipedia

Here’s my progress report for the first week of January:

• On Tuesday, I attended Austin Mystery Writers. I had not submitted anything for critique, but I took a bit of the newsletter I was editing for CP to proof. My printer had cut off an inch or two on the right side of the document, so CP had difficulty proofing. I learned to look at documents while I’m still able to try again.
  
• On Wednesday, I saw I’d made no progress, and I was lethargic, wanted to sleep all day, so I postponed reporting until Sunday.
  
• On Thursday, I fell victim to cedar fever and wanted to sleep all day, but I went out and bought a stationary bike and allowed David and the cats to assemble it while I slept in a chair. I woke up and rode the bike for twelve minutes, whether I wanted to or not.
  
• On Friday, I attended the Just for the Hell of It Writers, where CP and I discussed changing the name of the group. We discussed several other things as well, including the fact that I had made no progress because I was perpetually sleepy. I rode three minutes on the stationary bike before sitting down and going to sleep in a chair. I woke up and posted on my blog that cedar fever was upon us.
  
• On Saturday, I developed a light case of allergy flu (I rarely have hay fever, I prefer to host a virus) and sat around the house feeling miserable and moaning and sighing several times an hour so David and the cats would know I was miserable. David decided to visit a friend. They cats hid upstairs. I didn’t ride the bike. I finished putting together a newsletter, prayed for accuracy, and published it.
  
• Today I woke up feeling better, no flu, but looking disgusting enough for David to offer to cook breakfast. He prepared dinner several times during the week, too. I updated the blog for my writing practice group and posted the link on Facebook. Then I corrected the date and posted the correction on FB. Then I corrected the address and posted the correction on FB. Then I corrected the address in the address correction I’d already posted on FB and posted that to FB. Then I made a correction to that correction; I had said it was the fourth correction, but it was really the third. The correction process having taken a lot out of me, I considered going to bed but decided to post my report instead.
  

Summary: I did not meet my goal of working on my novel every day. Instead, I coughed, moaned, and felt sorry for myself. To my credit, I did not eat a gallon of Campbell’s tomato soup made with condensed milk and further gooey-ed up with smashed saltine crackers. Said soup is the only halfway effective palliative for a condition involving the sinuses, but it is chockfull of sodium, preservatives, coloring agents, and various other chemicals I’ve sworn off. So ate baked chicken, salad, fruit, and cough drops. And suffered.

So that’s my report. Cedar fever isn’t the best excuse in the world, but it beats the dog ate my homework.

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Note to my former students (and all others who monitor my grammar, usage, and punctuation): I know this post contains a comma splice, and I know I told you all that using a comma splice qualifies as sin. But I’ve loosened up a lot over the years, and now I find that the judiciously placed comma splice can be just the ticket for getting my meaning across. Using run-on sentences, on the other hand, those jammed together with no punctuation mark at all, still constitutes sin.

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Image by DonES at en.wikipedia. Later version(s) were uploaded by Hohum at en.wikipedia. [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

The mountain cedar is ‘splodin’.*

Juniperus Ashei Foliage and Pollen Cones, Austin, Texas -- Image via Wikipedia

We are not amused.

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*Thanks to “Ricky Ricardo” for ‘splodin’. Considering what these vile trees are doing, it’s the only accurate word.

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Image of Juniperus Ashei Foliage and Pollen Cones by micklpickl at Flickr (Flickr) [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

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Related Articles

• ‘Tis the season – to suffer cedar fever (mysanantonio.com)
• Millions of dead cedars leave allergists scratching their heads (mysanantonio.com)

A Green Tree Frog (Not Yet Boiled) Sitting on a Palm Leaf--Image via Wikipedia

A friend says resolutions should be brief. Her resolution for 2012 is Move.

Ten years ago, when she was into metaphor, she adopted, Boil the frog slowly.

The former refers to being more physically active. The latter might be phrased, Make small, incremental changes.

I admire her artistry, but deplore her lack of clarity. They’re her resolutions, however. If they work for her, that’s all that matters.

A Round of Words in 80 Days #5 begins today. I was supposed to announce my goals January 1, but didn’t get around to it.  Whether such tardiness portends good or ill remains to be seen. I’m pretty sure I’ll accomplish more than I did during ROW80 #4, when I met about 1% of what I’d set out to do. I offer no apologies for the lapse. I remember 2011 as one long series of lapses.

A medical professional, and my hero, once told me, “You can’t tell your hypothalamus what to do.” Unfortunately, my hypothalamus has no problem at all ordering me around.

Anyway, while good old HT and I are on speaking terms, I re-enter the challenge and state my goals:

1. Write about Molly at least 5 days a week.

2. See #1.

There it is. Simple. Measurable. Doable.

Concerning goals for the non-writing part of life, I haven’t made it beyond the one that’s topped every New Year’s list since I was fifteen. I’ll come up with something else before the end of the month. The process is complicated this year because I’ve gotten so many good ideas from other bloggers:

Ariana at Pearl’s Twirl introduced me to “The Anti-bucket List.” Those resolutions are no trouble at all to keep.

Totsymae helped me with both 2012 resolutions and my anti-bucket list in “Things You Should Admit to Yourself Before You Enter the New Year (or Positively Negative).”  Totsymae knows what she’s talking about.

Kate Shrewsday, in “The Milestone Mirage,” reminded me that our small acts define us, and convinced me to write down my pebbles.

Pseu1′s Blog showed me how to record small stones and introduced me to River of Stones.

So. I’m off to tell ROW80 what I’ve decided.

And then I’ll visit Molly. She’s a delightful girl. If only she didn’t depend on me to choreograph her every move.

Frog (Possibly Boiled)--Image via Wikipedia

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To see what other ROW80 participants are up to, click here.

Image via Wikipedia

We’re watching, one more time, It’s a Wonderful Life. Clarence Oddbody, AS2 (Angel Second Class), aka Henry Travers, is showing George Bailey, aka James Stewart, how his hometown would look if George had never been born.

In a couple of minutes, George will learn that, because he never existed, his wife, Mary, aka Donna Reed, not only never married, but became a librarian. Judging from her granny glasses, frumpy hat, and bun, that’s a fate worse than death.

It’s a Wonderful Life isn’t my favorite Christmas movie. I prefer Miracle on 34th Street, in which Edmund Gwenn–whom I rank right up there with Henry Travers–is declared, in court, to be the real Santa Claus. No librarians were defamed in the making of that show.

Nevertheless, as soon as half the town crowds into the Bailey living room to pile money on the table, I start to cry. And I cry through the credits and the next three commercials. Even a not-favorite movie can stir emotions. Year after year after year.

Favorites aren’t easy for me. I don’t have a favorite novel or a favorite song or a favorite color. Or a favorite teacher, actor, or pet. I have multiple favorites. For me, those get-your-password questions–”What is your favorite television show?”–are useless. I never remember whether I said Andy Griffith or Law and Order or I’ll Fly Away.

I do, however, have a favorite Christmas carol: “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.” The melody is lovely and singable, but it’s the words that move me. They speak of peace and quiet and rest for the weary, of heavenly song floating above earthly babble. They speak of both ancient tidings of peace to one small group of men, and a promise of the world in complete harmony.

But the lyrics also speak of the present, of stopping, and looking up, and seeing angels. They’re there now, and they’re singing.

We have only to be still and listen.

It came upon the midnight clear,
that glorious song of old,
from angels bending near the earth
to touch their harps of gold:
“Peace on the earth, good will to men,
from heaven’s all-gracious King.”
The world in solemn stillness lay,
to hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come
with peaceful wings unfurled,
and still their heavenly music floats
o’er all the weary world;
above its sad and lowly plains,
they bend on hovering wing,
and ever o’er its Babel sounds
the blessed angels sing.

And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,
whose forms are bending low,
who toil along the climbing way
with painful steps and slow,
look now! for glad and golden hours
come swiftly on the wing.
O rest beside the weary road,
and hear the angels sing!

For lo! the days are hastening on,
by prophet seen of old,
when with the ever-circling years
shall come the time foretold
when peace shall over all the earth
its ancient splendors fling,
and the whole world send back the song
which now the angels sing.

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Image: Abraham Hondius [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Adoration of the Shepherds, 1663

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Reposted from December 25, 2010.

Image via Wikipedia

An I had but one penny in the world,

thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread.

~ William Shakespeare, Love’s Labour’s Lost

Image via Wikipedia

We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to.—Somerset Maugham

After two days of letting A. A. Milne and Mark Twain do my thinking for me, I buckled down this evening and composed an essay about my experiences teaching high school English.

Actually, I wrote about half of a draft in which I said that all except three of my students hated writing, and that when I became a better teacher about a dozen showed slight enthusiasm for writing, and that after the library (to which I had fled in search of a job that would allow me to buy books with other people’s money) connected to the Internet and let students open e-mail accounts, those who had formerly resisted picking up a pen skipped lunch to park themselves at my computers and e-mail students sitting less than a foot away when they could have just turned their heads and spoken face-to-face.

Of course, I said that in shorter sentences, but a lot more of them.

I was planning to say that kids who’d been telling their composition teachers, “But I don’t have anything to say,” suddenly found plenty to say. I was going remark that the novelty of the technology contributed to the verbal onslaught. I was going to mention that the definite sense of aim, mode, and audience also promoted fluency.

I was going to expand the discussion from students with e-mail to adults with blogs. I was going to say that two weeks ago I joined the NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) network and, following its dictates, have posted on two blog sites every blessed day for thirteen days straight, even when I haven’t had anything worth saying.

I was going to say I’m running out of pictures of my cats, and there are only so many poses they’re willing to strike, and I’d prefer not be pigeonholed as a chronicler of cute.

I was going to say that more than 12,000 other people are blogging at NaBloPoMo–poetry, journals, photographs, devotionals, stories, recipes, a plethora of words, words, words. I was going to marvel at what appears to be a compulsion among people who, like my students (and I was going to admit I had once shared feeling), would once have found it difficult or foreign or unimaginable to put pen to paper.

I was going to wonder about this desire to create, to share, to vent, to communicate, to play, to do whatever we’re doing when we contribute to the sentences flooding cyberspace.

I was going to say that some people tat or make doilies or whittle, and we write.

Then I was going to draw a lesson, wise and well-phrased, from all the foregoing, and end with a nod to novelist Somerset Maugham, whose words precede mine on this page.

That’s what I said and what I was going to say.

Unfortunately, about three hundred words in, I touched an alien key and deleted everything except the HTML for font, and I couldn’t find the Undo icon because I’d composed on a new blog I’d set up on a rival blog site and hadn’t read all the instructions and found out I’d have to undo with a keystroke rather than an icon.

So now, instead of referring to Maugham, I shall end by paraphrasing Blaise Pascal, Mark Twain, T. S. Eliot, and any others to whom the line has been attributed, and say that this post would have been shorter but I didn’t have time.*

*It would have had better sentence structure, too. But it’s a lot less pompous, ponderous, and moralistic in this who-cares version.

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Reposted from Whiskertips, July 23, 2009

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Image by Julitofranco (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Thanksgiving Postcard circa 1900--Image via Wikipedia

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Great-niece McKenna, two-and-a-half, recently announced that on Thanksgiving, the turkey will come down the chimney and give her candy for being a good girl on Halloween. 

Works for me.

I wish for you a blessed Thanksgiving. And may the turkey bring you lots and lots of candy.

Image via Wikipedia

Kaye George gave me a kick in the pants.

Exactly what I needed.

She sent me the link to Written? Kitten!, an app which provides positive reinforcement at 100-word intervals.* (Or 200, 500, or 1000, for writers who don’t like cats as much as I do.)

Several weeks ago, I downloaded Write or Die, an app supplying negative reinforcement. The writer sets a target word count, and if, at the end of twenty-five minutes, he comes up short, something bad happens. Bad ranges from gentle mode to electric shock.

I logged out before suffering consequences.

The Written? Kitten! designers must have sat in on the same lecture I heard in my first education class: Negative reinforcement promotes negative results. For positive results, use positive reinforcement.

When the pigeon pecks the lever, give him food.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtfQlkGwE2U

When the writer writes 100 words, give her a kitten. (I would say, Give him a kitten, but I suspect kittens are more of a girl thing.)

I’m composing this post on Written? Kitten! So far, I’ve earned one, a cute grey tiger with a white bib. He lives in Croatia.

And here’s–Kitten #2: an adult, a fluffy gray tiger with green eyes and a wicked expression.

I suppose I could prattle on, musing on operant conditioning and racking up cats, but I won’t. My own children have awakened for their evening snack plus wrestling match, and they’ve saved me a ring-side seat.

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* At one kitten per 100 words, a NaNoWriMo winner would get 500 cats.

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