Not all elements of every Christmas are perfect. That’s a good thing. Where would Hallmark Christmas movies be if they were?
Following is a rerun of a newspaper column originally published in December 2009. Be honest; it makes you think of something in one of your Christmases. Please share your story.
There’s a monster in our house … and we put it there.
What were we thinking?
I have long enjoyed strolling through cemeteries, reading memorial markers and considering life.
Following is another old newspaper column of mine to fill the void while I’m out of the country and with limited Internet access. I do not have the exact date it was published, but it would have been toward the end of the 1990s. Enjoy.
New life in a cemetery
I plop down onto a park bench in the middle of a cemetery, taking a break halfway into my morning walk. Not so much a resting break as a thinking break.
One year ago, I posted on Twitter and Facebook the following, “Reason to celebrate Dec. 3: On this date in 1833, Oberlin College became first coed institution of higher learning in the U.S.”
I followed with another the next day and pretty soon settled on the lead, “Note for” the date – Twitter’s character limit forced me to find the briefest possible introduction. Yesterday was my 365th post citing some significant or at least interesting event on that date in history. (OK, I might have missed one or two in the early going.)
As promised in yesterday’s post, here is the story of our paint can.
It is a newspaper column I wrote in 1998, give or take a year. I learned to never expect much feedback from columns, but this article received more than normal. It seemed people related to it.
What do you see in this photo?
The thing filled with popcorn. It’s a pan, right? Just an old, maybe even ugly, pan. But, of course, there’s more to it than that.
It has history, a background story.
I ran across one of my old newspaper columns yesterday. It made me think of all the folks who will be tempted next month to make a deal with the devil in order to put together toys on Christmas Eve.
You know, those with the “simple” instructions, those in a box that proclaims, “Can be assembled in 5 minutes with household tools.”
That’s like being in the photo above and being told, “Simply reach down and dip a cup of water.”
I have a problem.
I suffer from wanderlust and it appears any treatment of the symptoms is rather short-lived. I am always looking for the next place to go, the next place to be.
Some years ago, Leah and I had been talking about a life change that would free us up to not only travel but to experience some of it more deeply.
About the same time, we found a tumor in my bladder. I was lucky to catch it early and it was successfully removed by a couple of surgeries, but it proved to be the tipping point. We decided, knowing tomorrow is never guaranteed, to move forward with our plan.
I’m running a quick, name-the-characters contest on JP’s Facebook page. All I need are two nicknames, no character details.
Click here and enter now; I’ll pick a winner this weekend.
Few things affected the early settler days of the American West as rapidly and as broadly as did the implementation of barbed wire fencing.
On this date in 1873, an Illinois farmer named Joseph Glidden submitted an application to the U.S. Patent Office for two-stranded barbed wire. Suddenly, farmers had affordable and practical means to protect their crops from herds of free-ranging cattle and sheep.
I love it when small inventions change the course of history. As a young boy, I fancied myself a future inventor. When I was about 10, I drew a design for a monorail train. Looking back, I had probably seen a photo somewhere, but at the time I thought it was my idea.
But there is one incredibly practical idea of mine I’d like to see one of you pick up and run with: multi-colored salt.
Every time I shake white salt onto a food and cannot tell how much, if any, is coming out … and then I end up catching some in my free hand just to test it … I think, “Someone really should invent multi-colored salt so I can see how much is hitting my food.”
What would you like to see invented?
Fifty years ago today, we took a step in cleaning up America.
On Oct. 22, 1965, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Highway Beautification Act. While the most trumpeted element of the act was an attempt to limit billboards, it also included an effort to clean roadside messes and beautify natural spaces.
Let’s set the stage for those not old enough to remember. As our country became more mobile and developed a more throwaway style of consumerism, roadways became lined with trash and litter.
Sure, they are still trashy but nothing like they were back then. Decades earlier, the thought seemed to have been that nature could handle anything we threw onto the ground. As we’ve come to learn (and are still attempting to grasp … see global climate change), man’s ability to mess his nest is almost unfathomable.
In addition to the glass, paper and tin being tossed out of car windows – and the furniture and appliances dumped alongside country roads – the post-World War II era also brought a broad proliferation of plastic products.
In the mid-1950s, the Keep America Beautiful campaign began. Its initial primary focus was public awareness, attempting to reduce litter through public service advertising. It has had many successes, the most prominent of which was the 1971 campaign featuring Iron Eyes Cody, a popular Native impersonator actor, as the “crying Indian.”
So, yes, there was already a movement attempting to address America’s litter problem, but the effort that undoubtedly had the most influence on the president came from within the White House, Lady Bird Johnson.
The First Lady was integral in programs promoting natural beauty, most notably the planting of wildflowers along highways and in cities. She was such a driving force behind the Highway Beautification Act that it was known as “Lady Bird’s Bill.”
Fifty years ago, we took a “step” toward beautifying America, but the long journey continues.
Thousands of volunteers turn out every few months to pick up trash along highways. Contractors are often hired to do the same, along with regular public employees. People with minor legal problems are commonly assigned public service sentences that sometimes put them to work picking up garbage.
Why all of this? Because we’re still tossing trash to the curb. Leading the trash parade is tobacco products, doubly befuddling because of the accompanying risk of wildfires. Grocery store plastic bags are particularly obvious due to their tendency to take flight on a slight breeze and get stuck in tree limbs. Our society’s fixation on drinking water from disposable plastic bottles create a litter problem that will last forever.
However, while the quality of our trash might be worsening, there genuinely is less of it. There was a time that shoulders of a road were fairly well highlighted at night by a car’s headlights gleaming off cans and glass. It’s just not that bad now, in most places.
So, maybe there’s hope but not without continued vigilance. Don’t litter. Speak up to those who do. Reduce, reuse and recycle. Take an extra step and pick up someone else’s trash. Employ reusable grocery bags. Carry water in a washable, refillable bottle.
“Beauty belongs to all the people,” President Johnson said at the signing ceremony. “And so long as I am president, what has been divinely given to nature will not be taken recklessly away by man.”
Or, perhaps more eloquently by Lady Bird: “Where flowers bloom, so does hope.”
Last Sunday, sitting in our little church, some internal struggles were eating at me.
I can’t even state clearly what they were, but it had a lot to do with what little I’ve done with my winters. One hears of retirees going crazy if they don’t keep busy. Well, I’m sort of semi-retired, so maybe I’m only half-crazy.
Actually, I steer away from the “retired” label. We work full-time jobs in the summer and my winters are … supposedly … dedicated to writing, but I’ve not really thrown myself into it. I think these wasted opportunities are what bothered me.
Like I say, sitting in church, I was picking up on things that were being said and sung and something inside of me was clear, “I need to go to the beach.” OK, I’m not about to tell you God commanded me to visit the beach, but I knew I needed to be alone and think. Some of my best thinking has often occurred while walking the shores of the Gulf of Mexico.
Driving home, I mentioned this to Leah and she responded just like I knew she would: “Go.”
Reality and the ability to relate to it became more and more elusive for my dad in his final few weeks. Indeed, it had been a slippery slope for some months.
However, there was one last lesson he had for me, one that’s taken me more than two years to recognize and might take the rest of my life to understand.
“I don’t know.”
Yes, I’ve chosen a title for the next book … subject to change, of course.
As promised yesterday, here is the lead section of “The Reporter and the Marmot”:
—
“Absolutely amazing. This is exactly what I hoped to see. The mountains go on forever.”
“Not hardly. The Black Hills take up a relatively small area. Look on the horizon there. See a narrow brown strip?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“That’s the Badlands we drove through this morning.”
“You’re kidding. Listen, I so appreciate you bringing me to this ridge while everyone else is eating lunch.”
“No problem. Move over here and look off to the right.”
The tourist followed directions and moved closer to the edge of the cliff. His momentum never came quite to a complete stop. Just as he was bending his left knee and leaning over it to maximize his view, he received a firm shove, one hand on his left shoulder and another above his right kidney.
There really wasn’t much of a scream; it was more of a gasp, followed by a slight cry when the victim first made contact with rocks below.
Now alone on the cliff, the other man quickly looked around, as he had done mere seconds earlier, reaffirming nobody was there to challenge his version of the terrible mishap that just occurred. He carefully moved to a safer spot and peered over the edge. There was no movement to the body. At least two limbs were at unnatural angles and there was blood around the head.
“Oh, my,” he said, his hands following nervous tracks to nowhere. “Help. Help me. There’s been a horrible accident.”
He continued yelling as he quickly worked his way down the path to the parking area and the rest of the tour group.
I made a decision yesterday to try being less of a bur under the saddles of many of my Facebook friends. I’m taking it to Twitter and, to a lesser degree, here.
(Note: I’m speaking here of my personal Facebook page – steve.martaindale – and not the page of my books’ lead character, JP Weiscarver, which is linked to in the right column. JP is much better at keeping out of things like politics and religion.)
Over recent years, I’ve become more and more convicted about the ways humans abuse and destroy other humans. To a far lesser degree than I’ve actually wanted, I have engaged in Facebook quarrels over a lot of topics, knowing fully well I would achieve little but hoping “a little” would make it worthwhile.
If you’ve been on here at all, you know I write a series of mysteries and I like to use realistic settings. That’s why my central character is a reporter on a small daily newspaper on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. That’s why one story is set in Antarctica and another involves a flower delivery scenario.
I know those things because I’ve lived them.
The book I’m (slowly) working on now is set partially in Mount Rushmore National Memorial and in Yellowstone National Park, places my wife and I worked the previous two summers. This year, we’ve been working at an amusement park in western New York.
Does your Internet browser anticipate what you want when you begin entering a url? I suppose it’s an option and maybe it’s the beginning of the Skynet computer network, but it saves me keystrokes.
Here’s a fun exercise. On a blank url field, type “A” and see what site your computer thinks you want to visit. I ran through the alphabet and here’s what I got. Leave a comment to give us your highlights and/or lowlights.
A: http://aggieathletics.com/ Because I’m a Texas Aggie, of course.
B: http://bestbuy.com/ This one might be a little skewed because I recently researched there for a new computer.
I’ve been asked how I keep information straight in my books.
Things like:
* Sunday services at JP’s church begin at 11 a.m.
* Palmetto Club members Selma Brewster and Essie Baldwin have been engaged in a long-running feud.
* JP’s landlords do not own a pickup truck.
* A city park frequented by JP is J.M. Qwilleran Park, known as Qwill for short.
* Lydia Murray calls her mother Mom.
* Jennifer O’Hanlon is almost 5 feet, 6 inches tall.
Those are six of hundreds of facts small and large that I’ve pieced together during the writing of the JP Weiscarver Mystery Series. They’re all together in one large file that grows with each story.
The question came up, “What’s the most important thing you learned in college?”
My lesson came from my first journalism professor at Texas A&M, Bill Harrison. He was a good mentor for the written word and one of his pet peeves was misspellings, which he punished heavily, something like dropping your score on an assignment by 10 points for each mistake.
But here’s the birthplace of my lesson.
He told us he never marked a word as misspelled without first looking it up to make sure he was correct.
July is hot, historically, as proven by the past month’s glances at history. Follow them daily through @smartaindale on twitter.com, link in the right column.
July 1: In 1979, Sony sparked a revolution in personal electronics with the introduction of the Walkman stereo cassette player.
July 2: In 1937, aviator Amelia Earhart and navigator Fred Noonan disappeared over the Pacific Ocean.
I was saddened reading this story, “Catholic priests to leave Antarctica because of decline in church-going,” from The Press of Christchurch, New Zealand.
To be clear, the U.S. Antarctic Program will continue sending a Protestant chaplain (who is willing and able to minister to all faiths) during the summer months; it’s not abandoning the faithful on the Ice, just narrowing the program for reasons given in the article.
Why am I sad? For one, it’s simply because I have a deep appreciation for what the chaplains do there. (I wrote a story about them, “Chaplains unite to service Ice community,” which you’ll find on page 3 of the issue linked to here. Coincidentally, the Roman Catholic priest there at the time was the Rev. Dan Doyle, the same priest quoted in the above article.)
I’ve thoroughly enjoyed posting daily historical notes on my Twitter, Facebook and Tsu pages (check the right column to follow on Twitter).
Sometimes the entries are vivid memories, both good and bad, and often they are surprising tidbits or good old-fashioned “Hmm” notes. Today’s is particularly special to me and concealed behind it are two other little jewels. First, in its customary abbreviated form, here’s what you found on my social media pages:
“Note for July 20: In 1969, humans walked on the moon.”
Public service announcement for cigarette smokers: Many of your number willfully create an incredibly negative image.
While I detest tobacco and its disastrous effects on society, I also possess considerable compassion for the restraints we’ve placed on smokers. Not that I want to return to the days when every cafe and office is filled with smoke, but I simply feel bad you have to stand out in freezing rain in order to get your fix.
In case you m
issed it, we’re summering in western New York, where I’ve noticed they have incredibly disciplined wildlife, as illustrated by the warning sign pictured here. What does this mean? Watch for deer for the next half mile, but then abandon all caution?
Then, less than five miles away (both are in Genesee County) there’s this incredibly honest sign. Yeah, watch out for deer everywhere and don’t say we didn’t warn you.
The challenge was to blindly pick out a photo in an album – real or virtual – and tell about it.
The photo that came up was basically nothing. I’m not sure why I took it and it didn’t show anything in particular, so I cheated and moved one photo to the left and found this one.
Leah snapped it in June 2008 during our serendipitous Australian vacation. By that, I mean we scheduled flights, hotel and rental car but otherwise had no specific plans. It was an amazing experience.
This photo isn’t dramatic, but I suspect you’ll instantly see why we took it. I mean, where else in the world does one see a koala crossing sign? Unfortunately, we saw no koalas, crossing or otherwise.
A month ago, I posted a reference here about having high hopes attached to an application for a one-month writer’s residency in an exotic location I did not want to divulge at that time. Here’s the rest of the story.
The residency is sponsored by the relatively new National Parks Arts Foundation, which aims to help artists and maybe gain additional exposure for the country’s parks. So far, it has very few residencies, but the one that totally captured my fancy was in the Dry Tortugas National Park.
While sitting on pins and needles waiting to get a highly anticipated phone call, let’s review June’s glances into history.
For several months now, I’ve been tweeting each day a quick note on something that happened on that date in the past. To keep up with them in real time, use the link in the right column to follow me, smartaindale, on Twitter.
June 1: In 1967, The Beatles released the album “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”
June 2: In 1935, Babe Ruth ended his Major League baseball playing career after 22 seasons, 10 World Series and 714 home runs.
June 3: In 1965, astronaut Edward H. White became the first American to “walk” in space during the flight of Gemini 4.
Working in an amusement park this summer promised new experiences, but Saturday’s events were nowhere within my realm of expectation.
One, I looked into the eyes of a horde of screaming and crying teen and tween girls totally enraptured with a recording artist. Two, I feared being trampled by said horde.
Unless you’re close to a girl about that age, it’s likely you, like me, have never heard of Shawn Mendes. That’s understandable, considering the Canadian singer is only 16 years old. Here’s a great article in Sunday morning’s Buffalo News that probably tells you all you need to know for general purposes.
How did I get into such a precarious position? Ah, such is the life of a park sweep.
It’s the third Father’s Day that I won’t be able to call Daddy. Maybe that’s why he’s entering my thoughts about Charleston.
He was joined in my musings during a near-sleepless night by people sharing comments on social media that indicate a belief we no longer have racial strife in this country, that the Confederate heritage is nothing worse than sweet iced tea on a front porch and that the fact guns do not actually kill people means there should be no restraints on who can get one.
And I keep thinking about a high school playoff football game. And there was my youthful hope when our school was integrated in sixth grade.
The name for the car salesperson in my next book is Kat McFarlen, as submitted by Catherine Salazar. The winning doesn’t stop there, but more after this.
Kat stood out because she does not follow the car salesperson stereotype, but my real reason for selecting her was because Catherine’s character definition opened up great possibilities for interactions between Kat and JP Weiscarver.
I’ll give you one bit from the nomination: “She chose a job at the car dealership because, ‘well, why not?’” To learn more, of course, you’ll have to read the next book.
Oh, I mentioned more winning.
My two other standout suggestions played up to the stereotypes. Understand, I do not have a problem with that for a minor character because, as I like to say, there’s often a reason for stereotypes. These two did such a good job of defining the characters that I decided to merge them into one and make him the sales manager.
Luke Condie suggested the name Lucas Slicky and Matt Roberson submitted Dickey Funkhouser. Since I just cannot bring myself to go with Dickey Slicky, I intend to use Lucas Funkhouser.
So, that’s three winners and three free books. Lucas Funkhouser might say, “Hold on there, Slick, or you’ll be giving away more than you’re selling,” but keep checking back as I continue writing through the book because I really want to have another contest later.
Thanks for the entries!
With apologies to those who made the deadline and are awaiting a winner from Name That Character, I’m putting off judging until Thursday morning.
Good news to those of you kicking yourself for not getting in, I’m extending entries until 8 a.m. EDT Thursday and will have a winner posted here by noon.
So, get busy. Click here for the original info.
Here’s the post for which you’ve been waiting, the next Name That Character event.
Would you like to earn a free autographed copy of my next book? In each of the four previous, I’ve opened up a competition to name someone in the book and assign some characteristics and/or background story to that person.
Each has been an overwhelming success. If you’ve read these books, you’ll recognize Virgil “Moose” MacDuff, the lineman from “Hurricane”; Sandra “Sunny” DelSol, the dispatcher in “Penguin”; Gene Teller, the contractor from “Rose”; and Matt “Matty” Davis, the former pro baseball player turned sports store owner in “Sloth.” Continue reading Name That Character is back
For several months now, I’ve been tweeting each day a quick note on something that happened on that date in the past. Here is a compilation of May events. To keep up with them in real time, use the link in the right column to follow me, smartaindale, on Twitter.
May 1: In 1931, New York’s 102-story Empire State Building was dedicated.
May 2: In 1982, the Weather Channel made its debut.
May 3: In 1999, some 70 tornadoes roared across Oklahoma and Kansas, killing 46 people and injuring hundreds.
May I tell you something? It will only take a minute and I’m just dying to share it with someone.
I’m pinning some hopes on something special and … what? I’m not sure I want to say just yet. You’re right, that’s a bit cruel. Hmm, I’ll tell you what it is but not where it is. OK?
Last summer, while working at Mount Rushmore National Memorial, I got to know a wonderfully talented artist, Lane Kendrick. She opened my eyes to the possibilities of securing an artist residency. Yeah, writers are considered artists.
I finally did a bit of research this winter and found there are quite a few scattered around the world. Generally, each offers a place to stay from a week to six months free of rent. Some include food and some a stipend, but mostly they are opportunities to get away from it all and concentrate on writing.
OK, I promised to be quick. I’ve already been rejected by one program. It really didn’t interest me an awful lot and I knew it was quite competitive, so no big deal.
However, I filed my second application packet yesterday and this one is different. It is in an incredible location and lasts for one month this fall. Leah is allowed to accompany me (that was a requirement on my end) and we’ll be almost isolated. I’ve already worked up a promising angle for a JP Weiscarver story set in that location … something different but I think you and I will find it a rewarding tale.
While putting together my application, I made contact with someone within the sponsoring organization to clarify a couple of issues and we became engaged in a lovely email conversation, which excited Leah and me even more.
She didn’t come right out and say so, but my impression is they have not received a ton of applications. Part of the reason for that may be all of the warnings they listed. Not only will we be isolated much of the time, but there will be no telephone, TV or … shudder … online service for a month. Oh, yes, we need to carry in a month’s worth of food, but water and electricity are provided, though we have to learn how to maintain the solar generator and operate the reverse osmosis magic water maker.
Sound like fun? I’m supposed to hear back from them by early July. I’ll tell you all about it then. For now, keep your fingers crossed.
“It’s been a good day, Bubba. We started out with a ceremony honoring those who died while serving the country during wars both noble and ridiculous.”
That line comes from the first chapter of my latest book, “The Reporter and the Sloth,” which begins on Memorial Day. The lead character, JP Weiscarver, is talking to his pet ferret while watching for stars from the Oldport beach.
I wrote that on purpose, the part about some wars being noble and some ridiculous. War and conflict are much too prevalent among us humans. Sometimes, they prove necessary to combat a great evil. Sometimes, they are merely the result of greed and pride.
For those on the front line, however, the results are the same. Regardless of the motive for starting or entering a war, the effects will include dead, injured and psychologically damaged men and women.
On this special day, we in particular honor and remember those who answered the call, whether as a volunteer or a draftee, to serve their country with their very lives. Even in an ignoble war, we owe unreserved honor to those who paid the ultimate price.
May they all find a peaceful rest.
(The photo, by Stephen Smith, comes from the Arlington National Cemetery web site. It shows a Marine Corps bugler playing “Taps” during a funeral ceremony.)
As much as we may groan, something inside us takes pleasure in a bad joke.
Don’t confuse this with a dirty joke.
Boy 1: “Wanna hear a dirty joke?”
Don’t take it personally, Commonwealth of Virginia, but my bladder wasn’t exactly pleased with our brief visit.
I’ve explained to my bladder that it shouldn’t apply its discontent to the totality of the state and certainly not to its inhabitants and I remain confident all will be forgiven and the bad memories will pass.
Since early December, I’ve been tweeting each day a quick note on something that happened on that date in the past. Here is a compilation of April events. To keep up with them in real time, use the link in the right column to follow me, smartaindale, on Twitter.
April 1: In 1970, President Richard M. Nixon signed a measure banning cigarette advertising on radio and television, to take effect after Jan. 1, 1971.
April 2: In 1968, the science-fiction film “2001: A Space Odyssey,” produced and directed by Stanley Kubrick, had its world premiere in Washington D.C.
April 23 is National Take a Chance Day, according to NationalDayCalendar.com, where the notice urges:
“On this day, take a chance on your dreams and your goals. Mark Twain once said ‘Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowline, sail away from the safe harbor, catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.’”
The timing is particularly poignant for me as my wife and I are setting out today for our third summer living our dream.
It began in 2013 living and working in Yellowstone National Park. Following a fantastic experience there, the temptation was great to return there the next year, but our dream was to keep moving, exploring and discovering.
Last summer was spent in Mount Rushmore National Memorial. This summer, we’re shuffling things a bit, working in a theme park in upstate New York.
Many people – some old friends and a great number of tourists with whom we interact while on our adventures – have said something like, “I would love to do what you’re doing,” but we know most of us get too comfortable in the day-to-day to take a chance. And that’s not necessarily bad; it’s what many really want.
We talked for some time about our dream and whether we could or should pursue it. Then, in the fall of 2011, I had a tumor successfully removed from my bladder and we took that as a sign to move forward. We drastically downsized our lifestyle, my wife retired from teaching as soon as she was eligible and we took a step off the cliff.
If you have a yearning to try a new career, to change what you’re doing with your life, to travel, to … whatever … what better time to start working on it than National Take a Chance Day?
It doesn’t have to be put into effect today (though it could) but start planning. Set a deadline.
Be sure and let us know what you want to do.
Steve Martaindale 