Christmas 2024: A Tradition

Every year at Christmas I used to leave this site for a few days.  Just sort of to take in the holiday and enjoy it with friends and family.  And the last post that I would make was a reprint of column that I wrote for Elon's student newspaper.  It kind of became a holiday tradition of mine to publish it again, now twent-six years after it first ran.

I'll be honest.  I'm just not feeling much of the Christmas spirit this year.  There are a lot of reasons for that, which I haven't talked openly.  Maybe if I share this, it will make me feel better.  Perhaps it might lift up the hearts of other people who deserve to be happy.

Well, here it is.  Merry Christmas.  See y'all soon.

Originally published in The Pendulum, Elon University, 12/03/1998

Celebrating the Christmas season means celebrating the memories

Chris Knight
Columnist

 
     Some of the best memories that we take through life are about the times we cherish the most. And sometimes, it doesn’t take much to bring back the joy.

     Last Friday as I was driving around Greensboro, the all-time coolest Christmas song ever came over the speakers.

     Who knows what this genius recording artist’s name is? Does it really matter? Whoever he is, he’ll forever be remembered as giving us the immortal sound of “Dogs Singing Jingle Bells”:

 
Arf arf arf,
Arf arf arf,
Arf Arf Whoof Whoof Whuf…

 
     Ahh... you know how it goes.

     And there’s the ever-beuh-beuh-beauh-beautiful rendition of Porky Pig singing “Blue Christmas” and the Chipmunks and of course “Weird Al” Yankovic’s “Christmas at Ground Zero,” but hearing those dogs singing “Jingle Bells...” ahhhhh.

     It brought me back to the very first time I heard that: on the radio coming back from school just before Christmas in 1982. I was in third grade at the time. And it brought back memories of the Christmas we had.

     It was cold and very cloudy. I remember that because Santa had brought me a telescope and I didn’t get to use it that night. Which wasn’t too big a worry, ‘cause me and my sister had our brand-new Atari 2600 to play with!

     Another Christmas memory: To this day, I’ll never forgive Anita for the pounding she gave me in “Combat.” I don’t care how fancy Sega or the Playstation get... they’ll never touch the 4-bit pleasures of the Atari!

     There have been many a Christmas since then, and I remember each one well, for all the little things they had with them.

     I’ll never forget Mom and Dad taking me and my sister to see Santa Claus at the mall in ‘84. That morning Dad asked if I’d come with him to cut firewood, so we rode the tractor into the woods. There had been snow earlier in the week, which lay around us in the crisp, cold morning.

     Dad also brought his 30-30 rifle, why I still don’t know. After we had the wood loaded, Dad asked if I wanted to try shootin’ the gun.

     There I was, a ten-year old kid, holding what looked like an anti-aircraft cannon in my tiny hands. Well, I aimed at this tree like Dad told me to, and pulled the trigger.

     To this day I cannot describe the colors that flashed before my eyes, or the sound in my ears. When my existence finally returned, I was flat on my back in the snow, and blood was gushing from between my eyes where the scope had hit my nose from the backfire.

     That night Santa saw the bandages and said “Ho ho hoooo, and what happened to you, little fellow?”

     “I got shot, Santa,” was the only thing I knew to say.

     Hey, was I gonna lie to the Big Man? Uh-uh, no way was I gonna lose all that loot!

     The following year’s Christmas I remember for many things, but especially feeding the young calves on our farm. It would be the last year our family would be running a dairy farm, and I had started helping with some of the work around the barn.

     Dad set up a Christmas tree in the milking room, with wrapped-up boxes beneath it.

     Tinsel hung from the front doors of the barn. And there was something about the feel of the place there, that has always held a special place in my heart, as if we knew that there would not be another Christmas like this one.

     I wish there had been another Christmas on the farm, because there’s something I wish I could have seen. And as silly as some people might find this, I really believe that it happens.

     You see, if you go out at midnight on Christmas Eve, you will see all the animals in the farmyard, and in the fields, and in the forests, and wherever else they may be, stop where they are.

     And then they kneel.

     They kneel in remembrance for another night, long ago. It was Christmas, but how many people could know it then?

     Nothing remarkable, to be sure: Caesar had decreed a census through the land, and each man went with his family to his town.

     One man in particular took his wife, a young woman quick with child. But there was no room for them at the inn. So that night, in a dirty and filthy stable and surrounded by animals, a child was born.

     You see, it’s easy for us to forget. At this time of the year, we are too overwhelmed by the consumption and the material and the glitter and all the customs that come with Christmas.

     And it’s too easy for us to forget that Christmas is, before everything else, a birthday.

     But the animals, who watched over Him as He lay as a newborn babe, two millenia ago... the animals have not forgotten.

     And so they kneel every Christmas and give glory to the newborn king, and in awe that God would send His Son to live among us in the greatest act of love.

     And to teach us many things, but especially to “love one another”. And to bridge the gap between man and God.

     The birth of Jesus Christ: the greatest Christmas present there will ever be. His birth, which would give mankind the greatest present it could ever ask for.

     Who in the world on that night could know the price that this present would someday have?

     Heaven and Earth sang praises to His glory on that night. The animals have always remembered that night. And Heaven and Earth still praise and sing unto Him.

     And if you only take a little time out from how busy things become at this part of the year, you can hear the singing, too. And it is a great temptation to join in that chorus.

     And perhaps in hearing, we will not forget the real meaning of Christmas, either.

     This Christmas Eve night I plan to be outside, with the same telescope that I got for Christmas all those years ago, and trying to envision a bright star over Bethlehem. Around midnight, I’m going to take a walk over to my aunt’s farm.

     Merry Christmas. Peace on Earth, and goodwill toward men.

Dedicated to the memory of W.C. “Mutt” Burton, for whom Christmas was always “In My Bones.”

It's the first trailer for Superman!

And, ummm... little on the fence about this.  I think David Corenswet is definitely tapping into the Superman mystique.  When I see him as Superman and then as Clark Kent it really is like looking at two different people, which is what Christopher Reeve - the gold standard for the character - pulled off magnificently.

I'm wondering if this trailer packs in too much for a teaser.  This is our first time looking at James Gunn's Superman, due out this coming July 11.  It doesn't give us as much sense of wonder about Superman himself as I was anticipating.  But, Krypto is awesome!  Who doesn't love dogs? :-)

Anyhoo, here is the teaser, which dropped a little while ago.  See for yourself and feel free to leave a comment.

A Christmas Story: The movie about who we were, and could still be again

I have a lot of fond recollections stemming from A Christmas Story, that 1983 film about nine-year-old Ralphie Parker (delightfully played by Peter Billingsley) and his ever-hapless quest to obtain a Red Ryder air rifle.  I was in fourth grade when this movie came out and we - Mom and Dad, my sister, and my best friend Chad and I - saw it on its opening day, at the movie theater at the old Carolina Circle Mall in Greensboro.  A few weeks later our Cub Scout troop made an outing one Saturday and saw it, so A Christmas Story is the first movie that I saw more than once during its theatrical run.

Then a few months later, in the weeks leading up to my tenth birthday, Dad started hinting that he had a special present for me.  He wouldn't tell me anything about it.  Mom did tell me that he had told her and that she had thought it was going to be a real treat.  Well, we had my birthday party at Roll-a-Bout skating rink in Eden, and almost my entire class came.  The last present to unwrap was from Dad, and my anticipation by then had intensified dramatically.  I took the wrapping off at one end and saw the word "Daisy" and knew instantly what it was.

It was indeed an official A Christmas Story edition Red Ryder air rifle.  With a compass in the stock and that thing that tells time.  And when my classmates saw it they all started singing "You'll shoot your eye out!  You'll shoot your eye out!"

What a beautiful time that was, for all of us.

I still have that Red Ryder rifle, too.  More than forty years after Dad gave it to me.  It's in excellent physical condition and a few years ago I got off a few shots from it.  It works perfectly.  It, along with the telescope that I got for Christmas in 1982, are very precious artifacts from my childhood, and I've kept them in great working order all this time.

I don't yet own a "major award" but it's safe to say that my life, especially at this time of year, has been touched by this movie.  In some profound ways and others, more subtle.  And with growing older has come ever-fresh appreciation for A Christmas Story.  And maybe it's because I'm a life-long student of history...

This is truly a special film and that it is set in 1940 makes it even poignant.  1940 was the last Christmas that America got to have before the attack on Pearl Harbor.  That event marked the United States' final and irrevocable entry into world affairs.  After that attack, nothing was the same anymore.  We became a very different people.  We had to.  There was no choice but to "grow up" and accept that we had a role to play in the matters of mankind.

A Christmas Story is not just a tale about one family.  It's about who we all were as the greater American family.  A Christmas Story depicts one boy's playful plight in the final days of American innocence.  There would be no Christmas like that again, ever.  That was the last Christmas that a kid like Randy could get a toy such as a metal zeppelin, symbol of German industry that it had become.

I've wondered sometimes what happened to the characters of A Christmas Story the next Christmas, as people from sea to shining sea prepared to go to war full-bore.  What a completely different holiday it would have been for each of them.  The Parkers and their neighbors emerged from the Great Depression seemingly none the worse for wear.  How would their holiday be with the gloom of global conflict hanging over their house on Cleveland Street?

That last shot of Ralphie holding his beloved Red Ryder air rifle, when he says that it was the best Christmas present he ever got... he's not kidding.  When he tells us that, he's really saying to us that this was the final time he got to have Christmas with childlike wonder and that his BB gun is a precious relic of that time in his life.  I haven't seen the recent sequel but it wouldn't surprise me if Ralphie kept his Red Ryder after all these years, as a sacred trophy of his childhood.

A Christmas Story is a movie about who we were at our very best, before the larger world intruded upon our relative peace and calm.  It is a memorial to a bygone era of American society that there has been no going back to.  But I like to think that there is still a bit of that spirit at work amongst us.  Movies like A Christmas Story play a part in keeping the flame going.  And it is for that reason which I believe makes A Christmas Story a true classic film.

In the end, A Christmas Story is about something wonderful we once had, and have lost along the way.  But I like to think that somehow, we might still have it again.

Anniversary of a premonition

I've carried something for a very long time now.  Rarely have I shared it with anyone.  It's bad enough that I have manic depression.  I don't need delusional thinking or "seeing things" added to that pile.

But there have been unusual occurrences that have happened during the course of my life.  Things that I've never been able to explain.  At best they are events that defy mathematical probability.  At their worst, they are very dark to a degree that I don't like to ruminate upon them.  What I've thought about writing this time isn't the most peculiar incident in my life.  But it is right up there.  People died, and I've never been able to shake feeling a connection with that.

Maybe after all these decades I should openly talk about it.  Every year around this time I feel haunted.  Wondering if I could have done something different.  Perhaps the occasion has come that I should get it out of me, and like so much else in my life these past many years commit it to the scrutiny of others.  Who knows, maybe someone else will see these words and offer up comfort or explanation or condemnation, or... something.

It was on this night thirty years ago, December 12th, 1994.

Dad was putting together what would become his knife shop, adjoining his original house a short walk from home.  I was helping him.  Mostly holding up bits of lumber in place while he hammered them into place.  It was a fine little project and his eyes were all lit up like a schoolboy's, dreaming of all the things that he was going to create once the shop was finished.  Indeed, in years to come it did become his most favorite spot, where he crafted not only countless knives but also the occasional piece of furniture.

So I was helping him that night.  And I was holding up a beam for him to bang into position.  And then...

It happened faster than it takes to think about it.  I was suddenly back inside our home.  The television was on.  It was turned to WFMY, the CBS affiliate in Greensboro.  It was the evening news.  And the anchor was announcing that they had just received word that there had been a plane crash west of Raleigh.

It was a vision.  There was more to it than that, bits and pieces of flotsam surrounding the "heart" of the imagery.  But so help me I can still see that in my mind's eye thirty years later.  I can even tell you which journalist it was who made the announcement.

The next thing I knew Dad was shaking me.  I was back in the shop.  Dad said I had just been standing there for several minutes "looking like you're out in space."

I told him I was fine.

I went on helping him until about 8, then went back home to study.  Our finals were coming up in the classes I was taking at the community college and I wanted to brush up for those.  Not that I really needed to: history was a breeze for me.  But I wanted to nail those suckers.  My plan was still to transfer to a bigger school and major in journalism.  As I note in the book I finished writing a few weeks ago, "We plan and God laughs."  But I digress.

(My guidance counselor and I had been talking earlier that day about where I should transfer to.  He suggested Elon College.  He said I could really thrive there, if I couldn't get into Chapel Hill's journalism program.  You may understand why that's germane to this essay a little later on.)

The truth of the matter is, I was not fine.  What happened in Dad's shop had rattled me to the core.  It had seemed so real.  It was as if I had momentarily been transported a hundred yards from Dad's shop into our living room and I had seen... well, SOMETHING on television.  I remember the news anchor, "plane crash" and "near Raleigh".  And that's all that was on my mind for the rest of the night.

I had never had a hangover before.  But the next morning I came pretty close to approximating one.  Those elements were still in my head.  I checked the newspaper. Nope, nothing about a plane crash in there and Raleigh was close enough that the News & Record would probably have had it on their front page.  Neither Mom or Dad had mentioned it to me.  It just didn't happen at all.

Maybe it was all the stress I was under at the time, pushing myself to do well in school.  And also working whenever I could at the restaurant.  I was juggling a lot.

It was about noon, the day after the vision, that the thought crossed my mind that maybe I should call the authorities at the airport near Greensboro.  Try to get connected to someone with the Federal Aviation Administration.  Talk to anyone, about the...thing... that I had seen and heard.  But reason prevailed and I told myself that I was being ridiculous.  I could call them and they would hang up before I got any further than "last night I had a vision..."

I stuck around in the college's library with some friends for a little while, then headed back home.  Mom made us pepperoni pizza that night.  The Chef Boyardee brand.  The kind of pizza you just have to make in your own kitchen, nothing else tastes as good.

It was cold that evening.  And rainy.  But undaunted Dad asked if I'd like to help him out at the shop.  I told him that I would really like that.  It would get my mind off of things.  By now the "vision" was fast retreating in the rear-view mirror of conscious thought.

We had been working at the shop for a little while, and it was getting chilly.  I told Dad that I was going to go back into our house and get my toboggan.

I returned to our home.  Opened the kitchen door.  Was just about to the living room.  The television was on.  Tuned to the evening news on WFMY.

For a moment I just stood there, for no particular reason.

And then the news anchor said that there was late-breaking news.  That a plane had gone down west of Raleigh.

To be honest, I really don't remember much of what happened after that.  I found myself sitting on our sofa, feeling dazed.  Dad came in a little later and asked if I'd forgotten about him.  I said something about how there had been a plane crash.  Aviation buff that he was, that got his attention.

That's all I could think about all the rest of the night.  I didn't sleep one wink.  I just kept thinking about that news report that, it was like I had seen less than 24 hours before it really happened.

So it was on December 13th, 1994 that American Eagle Flight 3379 (sometimes called Flagship Airlines 3379), a commuter plane, took off from Piedmont-Triad International Airport en route to Raleigh-Durham International Airport.  Shortly before it was due to arrive the pilot committed a serious error in judgment regarding a possible engine failure.  The plane crashed near Morrisville.  Twenty people, including the crew, were aboard.  Fifteen perished.  One of them was a student at Elon.  Another student was one of the five survivors.

It was a horrible tragedy by every measure.

For thirty years since then I've wondered if I could have done something about that... I guess "premonition" is the right word for it.

The answer I keep coming up with is "no".  And the people I've shared it with have each said that there was nothing that could have been done.  They've also said that I shouldn't dwell upon it too much.  That it shouldn't be examined to any great length.  Down that way lies madness.

There have been times... many more than can be counted... during my life when I have "known" something was going to happen before it transpired.  A week and a half before 9/11, my girlfriend/future wife and I were leaving a performance of The Phantom of the Opera.  And it was like a bolt out of the blue hitting my mind: the notion that this was going to be the very last weekend that I would get to have that things were normal.  That I had better enjoy it while I could.  I wasn't able to drive to Athens to see my girlfriend the next weekend, because of some stupid thing about the upcoming Windows XP at the Best Buy store that I was working at.

Two days afterward came the attacks.  I found out later that a young woman my girlfriend and I had been having dinner with over a week earlier had been on the street right below where the first plane hit the World Trade Center.  She turned her head up to look and she saw it happen.  She ran for cover into a nearby subway entrance and heard the debris hitting the ground above her.  Which, isn't really here or there so far as what this post is most concerned with, but again I digress.

That's what I've carried, since thirty years ago tonight.  The foreknowledge that there was going to be a plane crash, right smack in a particular geographic location.  Something that claimed the lives of fifteen people.

I've tried to make up for that, in my own ways.  But it never fails to haunt me about this time of December.

Maybe now that it's out of my head, perhaps it will stop.  Perhaps there can finally come some peace.

It's over now.  I can go no further.  But if any of y'all have any thoughts or comments about it, feel free to share.  Anything at all.

What's up with my book's manuscript the past few weeks

Still doing editing and revisions.  But I'm comfortable enough with the first several chapters that I'm including them in some of the queries I've started sending out.  This is the next step in the life of a new book: looking for someone to represent it to a publisher.  I could self-publish, and there are a variety of ways to do that.  But ever since Dad especially told me that I should write a book about my life, my dream has been to see it sitting on a real "brick and mortar" bookstore's shelves.

So, I'm looking for an agent.  And that isn't going to be easy.  But it's part and parcel to the process of seeing any book get traditional publishing.  And really, would I want it to be any different?  This entire thing has been something to grow and develop from.  It took a lot to finally commit to finishing ten-some years of on and off work, and that's what I did between August and November.  I've grown from the journey already and now it's time to grow with the next part of it.

I'm discovering that querying for a fiction book and then for a nonfiction book are two entirely different matters entirely.  An agent looking for fiction usually requires the first few chapters to look over and grab their attention, along with a query letter describing what the book is about.  Someone looking for nonfiction like a memoir wants to see a proposal: a document describing the book, a short biography, qualifications for writing the work, how and where it would fit in the competitive book marketplace, and maybe the first ten or so pages if the manuscript is complete.  Which for nonfiction doesn't have to be 100% complete, but it helps.  My manuscript is like 95% finished.  All that's required is for me to make a short trip out of state to fulfill a "secret mission" and it will be all done.  With the vast bulk of it written I've decided to go ahead and start querying.

I'm also discovering that agents looking for nonfiction works have wildly different requirements for the proposal.  Some are fine with the proposal being five to ten pages.  Others call for fifty, and that includes summaries of each chapter.  Which would be a challenge for my book.  There is a point in it where the chapters come very fast and hard.  It's how I'm depicting having manic depression at its worst, from the period of 2004 through 2010 or so.  It's a lot to cover and I did my best to keep the manuscript well within the suggested word count for a memoir by a first-time author.  But it has to be this way.  The driving philosophy of this has been to show mental illness with as much brutal honesty as is possible.  In that regard I believe that it succeeds.

This may be the last of the weekly-or-so book statuses that I post for awhile.  There isn't really much more to report, other than that I'm sending out query letters.  I'm only making this report to keep my readers informed about what I'm learning about the book publishing process, from the start on through its hoped-for conclusion as a real volume for sale at your friendly local book store or an online retailer.  Maybe as what happened when I ran for office, my sharing about this will encourage others to begin to write their own books.  If I have helped motivate others to hopefully finish and publish their work, I would really be honored to know that.

And when I know more, if it is wise, I'll have more to share in the fullness of time.

Back from seeing The Best Christmas Pageant Ever movie

"HEY!  UNTO YOU A CHILD IS BORN!!!"

I needed to see this movie right now. 

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is a story near and dear to my heart.  I played the head firefighter in two productions of the stage play for Theatre Guild of Rockingham County.  That was years ago and I still  have very fond memories of  those shows.  So I was curious about how this new adaptation, directed by Dallas Jenkins, would be.

This new film (there was a television movie back in the early Eighties, so this is the second time that The Best Christmas Pageant Ever has been formatted for the screen) pretty much follows the plot of the original novel.  The Herdmans, AKA "The worst kids in the history of the world" are the juvenile blight upon the whole town.  But a series of events leads to them not only coming to church one Sunday morning, but also demanding to be in the annual Christmas pageant.  The uppity church folks want nothing to do with the Herdmans.  But as the story progresses we find that the Herdmans maybe "get" the Christmas story better than some ever do.  This is a story that is both heartfelt and hilarious.  A perfect holiday tale out of the Seventies.

I thought the movie was great, although maybe a bit slow-going at first.  I was expecting more "nasty" from the Herdman kids, but what is shown in the movie is pretty much in keeping with their depiction in Barbara Robinson's book.  This is a story more than fifty years old and what seems tame today was no doubt quite shocking then.  So my expectations were biased, through the lens of modern sensibilities (if only we could go back to that more innocent America).  It's a well-cast film, especially the child actors.

I saw it with a pretty large audience for a holiday movie that's not necessarily a "tent-pole" spectacle.  Obviously most of the people at the theater today were there to see Wicked (a film I'm hearing only crazy good about) but in the showing I caught there was still a substantial crowd.  I did notice that I was the only single person, unaccompanied by anyone else, at the showing.  But that's okay.  This story is a part of my life and I was going to be there for that sake.

Is The Best Christmas Pageant Ever on the level of a true holiday classic film?  I'll say it has potential for that.  This is the kind of Christmas movie that there isn't made much of anymore.  You know, films like A Christmas Story, and even National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.  I can see this movie becoming something families enjoy together every year about this time.  Hey, it took a long time for A Christmas Story to come around to the level of holiday tradition, too.  I think this movie can make that list, too.

Anyhoo, after all the craziness my life has had lately, my brain very much needed something sweet and endearing and comical to distract itself with.  And that is just what The Best Christmas Pageant Ever delivered.  I'll give it three stars out of five.

Excellent article in The Assembly about Popcorn Sutton

It's quite difficult to believe that more than fifteen years have passed since Marvin "Popcorn" Sutton left us.  He was a man who I had come to very much want to meet, after hearing so much about him from both the web and people who knew him firsthand.  When I told my best friend from college that I had heard about "this guy Popcorn Sutton" Ed's eyes lit up and told me all about him.  It only made me want to meet him that much more.  Popcorn was the kind of American that they just don't make anymore, and I wanted to sit in the company of that kind of greatness.

Unfortunately that was not to be.  Ten days before he was due to report to prison to begin serving a two-year sentence for illegal alcohol production, Popcorn took his own life.  It is something that still makes me seethe with righteous fury to this day.  Popcorn was never hurting anyone.  He was by all accounts a man so gentle that it's hard to imagine him even swatting a fly.  But the government wanted its cut of "the action" and Popcorn was too obstinate to give up what he believed was not only his right, but his very heritage.  Here are the many articles about Popcorn Sutton that I've written over the years and here especially is the post I made following his "death by government bastards", still to date the first and hopefully only time that I'm driven to use the "f" word in a piece of published writing.

It seems though that the past few years have proven that you can't keep a good legend down, because Popcorn has become a bona fide icon.  A symbol, of what was good about America once upon a time and could still be good again.  I was in a pizza joint near here last year and one of the employees was wearing a Popcorn Suttong t-shirt.  I just had to compliment him on his attire.  He also said that he wished he could have met the man.

Filmmaker Neal Hutcheson, who produced several documentaries about Popcorn Sutton and his craft, has written an amazing piece over at The Assembly about the life and times (and crimes?) of the mythic moonshiner.  I thought I knew most everything there was to know about Sutton, but Hutcheson really surprised me with this one.  It's absolutely well worth your time.  I certainly came away from it a little more saddened, that I never got to meet Popcorn.  But maybe generations still to come will discover Popcorn and in doing so will come to appreciate and admire the Appalachias culture that he proudly represented.

I don't do political posts as much as I used to...

I found some time ago that I seem to resonate more with people for whom politics is not the most important thing in the world.  That it isn't the be-all and end-all of the human condition.

Those are the people I tend to write more for.  The ones who are like me: interested in ideas, not ideologies.

So maybe this post will come across as an outlier.  Or maybe not.  I'm only sharing what's been on my mind the past day or two.

I believe that President Biden pardoning his son Hunter for any and all crimes going back to 2014 is establishing a precedent that will come back to haunt us all.

I could say something about how much this demonstrates the wickedness Joe Biden, and even the Democratic Party in general.  In a sane world someone like Biden should never have been allowed to get as far as he did.  The man has a half century of corruption to his name.  A responsible political party would have not given him any path to power whatsoever.

Then again, the American people, from the citizens of Delaware on up, should have never trusted someone like Biden.

And now Biden has damaged the rule of law in this nation, perhaps irreparably.

This pardon will be seen as one of the worst examples of abuse of power in American history.  There is no excuse or rationale for it.  Biden could have put the best interest of the United States over his own.  It was his last chance to prove himself to have some semblance of being a statesman after all.  And he failed.  Miserably.

This pardon will forever hang around Joe Biden's neck, and will ever after be a mark of shame upon his entire family.

Now, I wonder what this portends for the future.  And some president yet to come who may feel so emboldened as to abuse the authority granted him.

Turkey frying: I just can't even... (Thanksgiving 2024 mishaps)

Longtime readers of this blog know well my fondness for deep-fried turkey.  It's an art that I've been doing since Thanksgiving 2002 and I take it very seriously.  For me there is no finer way to cook a bird as magnificent as the American turkey than to fry it in a cauldron of hot peanut or cottonseed oil (your preference) for forty minutes or so.  It makes the meat VERY juicy and tender.  And there's the machismo thing going there: Turkey frying really is quite a manly task to perform.  It's so potentially dangerous.  Precautions must absolutely be taken to ensure safety for all involved.  I'm as professional as one is apt to be without doing this for a full-time living but keeping everyone safe is something I don't mess around with.  Unfortunately there are always the troublemakers that turn up every Thanksgiving who have to show us now NOT to deep fry turkey.  And here are two examples from this year's holiday that have me shaking my head in disbelief.

First up is this story out of Connecticut where some people attempted to fry a turkey inside the garage of their $4 million mansion.  Here is the result:

The people survived but the mansion was reduced to a smoldering ruin.  To quote Beavis and Butthead: "Huh-huh-huh, dumb-asses!"

This next one, has me really scratching my head.  In video he posted to his social media accounts, none other than incoming Health and Human Services secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr.  is deep frying a turkey of his own.  Can you spot what he's doing wrong?

Let's see... for one thing he has no shoes on!  He's also frying in a short-sleeved shirt.  And he is not wearing gloves!  Any one of those is a major no-no.  Especially operating a fryer in bare feet.  WHAT is he thinking?!?

Without seeing the burner itself it looks like RFK Jr. might be using a tripod-based fryer... which is something I for one would NEVER use.  I've owned two fryers in my time and they've each have a wide square base.  Much more stability with that.  A three-legged fryer is too top-heavy and at risk of tipping over.

I would also recommend wearing eye protection.  I've worn sunglasses (if I have any) most of the times I've fried.  I've never seen hot oil pop anywhere that high up, but you just never know.

I wish that I could report that I've had fried turkey this Thanksgiving.  Unfortunately I haven't been able to make any since Christmas 2019, before the COVID plague cranked up.  And the price of both peanut and cottonseed oil has more than doubled: One of the more expensive things that has come to cost more in the Biden-era economy.  Maybe things are going to get better now.  Make America Fry Again, President Trump!  Anyhoo if you want to see what it's looked like when I'm at work here are some pics that my girlfriend at the time took during Thanksgiving in 2012.

Public domain is destroying my childhood (Look at what they've done to Popeye!)

In the past couple of years some beloved characters have begun entering public domain.  And that's led to them being abused by people with less than noble intent.  The worst example probably being the recent film Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey, in which Pooh becomes a feral bear hellbent on revenge for Christopher Robin abandoning him.  It's a horrible thing to do to such a revered children's character and of course it found an audience, probably of people who never cared to even watch the Disney movie much less read the original book.

But what "they" have done to Popeye has got to be worse than that.

Here is the trailer for Popeye the Slayer Man:

This is actually one of two movies coming up featuring a murderous Popeye.  The other is Shiver Me Timbers and it looks more horrible than this one.

I'm sure the people who do this think they're being "cute" but they're really not.  It's almost pitiful: They could be using their talents and their tools to make something much more original and endearing to a larger audience.  And instead they are giving us this... crap.

This isn't something being done in tribute to a beloved franchise.  It's not like this is a "fan film".  A true fan film is done out of care and devotion and appreciation.  Star Wars has had tons of fan-produced movies, some of them even full-length features.  Nobody who has made a serious fan film ever expected to actually make money for their effort.  It's something you do because you have a neat idea that you want to express your love of that particular setting and its characters with.  And because making movies can be a fun experience for everyone involved.  There is a kind of child-like innocence that happens when making a sincere fan film.  We certainly had that vibe when my friends and I made Forcery years ago.

Popeye the Slayer Man is not any of that at all.  It's a cheap cash grab making a mockery of the source material.  There is nothing whatsoever "funny" or "horror"-filled about its premise.  Just like the other movies being derived from characters now lapsing into public domain.

I certainly won't be seeing this.  Any more than I saw the Pooh "film".  And I sincerely hope that nobody involved in this dreck ever gets taken seriously by the entertainment industry.

Betty Boop enters public domain next year.  God only knows what some sick minds out there plan to do to her.

Restaurant Review: Stax's Drake House in Landrum, South Carolina

Because of a number of factors I wasn't able to have Thanksgiving yesterday with dear friends as is the usual custom.  But they resolved that we were going to come together today and celebrate all the things that we have to be thankful for.  So a little before noon they arrived at my front door and we headed off to the nearby town of Landrum, South Carolina for a meal at Stax's Drake House.

Folks, I'm not lying.  I hadn't had real food in over three months.  My selections at the grocery store have been pathetic.  I had been so focused on finishing the manuscript of my book that proper eating simply hasn't registered at all.  So all this time I've more or less been making do with French bread pizzas purchased at the nearby Aldi.  My dog Tammy, with the food in those little foil cans that I've been getting her, has been eating more delectable fare than me.

With the manuscript "in the can," it was high time that I eat properly.

So we got to Drake House today and I was immediately charmed by the place.  The restaurant is in a large-ish domicile built in the early 1900s for railroad workers.  My friends and I went inside and were taken to our table.  The drink selection was easy: coffee, tea (sweet and unsweet), and water.  I chose the sweet tea.  That alone was a pleasure.  Too many restaurants can't brew sweet tea properly.  Drake House does it absolutely right.

The Drake House has a buffet.  Coming right after Thanksgiving the selection was much in keeping with the holiday.  I helped myself to the turkey and I don't know how they cooked it without it being deep-fried, but that was the most tender and moist turkey that I have ever put into my mouth!  It was a sheer delight.  I also got a few pieces of the chicken, which is hailed by many as among the best in the world.  This also surprised me by how good it was.  The ham was almost barbecued, it was much juicier than most that I've had.  The green beans were a fine bit of country goodness and the mashed potatoes were spot-on perfect in texture and taste.

There is quite a selection of desserts to choose from after the main course is completed.  I went for the pound cake.  Tasted just as good as Granny used to make.

I was thoroughly satisfied with the meal.  Indeed, I felt completely stuffed!  I think my stomach has actually shrunk over the past few months.  It needed something proper in it.  Drake House really was the best place to come to for serious food after a full season of self-denial.

My friends had been to Stax's Drake House before.  It had been a "hidden treasure" that their own family had discovered awhile back.  And now I know about it.  I'm looking forward to taking others to dine there in due time.  And after you're done, maybe you can take a stroll through downtown Landrum.  We spotted quite a few nice little places, including a bookstore that I am eager to visit sometime.

Stax's Drake House Restaurant is located at 511 N. Howard Avenue in Landrum, South Carolina.  For more information including dinner hours you can visit the website at staxdrakehouse.com.  I definitely recommend checking it out if you're in the area!

Teaser video for the final season of Stranger Things

Why didn't somebody tell me about this??  It was released three weeks ago!!

Oh alright, I guess I've just been so busy with things that I didn't notice.  The past three months or so have been so whacked on my end.  I'm sure an awful lot slipped under my radar.

But I'm glad to be seeing it now.  Stranger Things has more or less become the only pop cultural franchise that I'm interested in anymore.  Star Wars is now such a mess that I finally gave up being a fan.  And Doctor Who has gone completely off the rails in the worst way.

Well, there is one final season left of Stranger Things.  Feels like an enormous epoch of my life is winding down.  This show is going to leave a vacuum and I don't know what is going to fill it.

So here is the teaser for season five, with the titles of the episodes to look forward to.  Speculate away!

This week's book status

I need to start referring to it more as my "manuscript."  It's not a full-blown book until it's got a few hundred pages nicely bound together with a beautiful cover, and maybe a dust jacket if it's a hardcover.  Perhaps there will be a photo on the inside back cover.  Maybe a pic of Tammy and me.

That is still awhile ahead of us.

Since completing the manuscript nine days ago I've been doing some revisioning.  Right now I'm looking at part three, which is about my years at Elon.  It's now striking me that the depiction of that is a foreshadowing of the greater drama to come.  The bad things but also the great good.

(I'm coming to realize what the book's moment of climax is.  It's three words.  And I'm looking forward to the person it pertains to discovering it.)

I'm going over it all, seeing what things can be improved upon, where the prose can use some tightening.  I'm not sure at what point this escalates away from being "first draft" but it's definitely got forward momentum behind it.

Meanwhile, I'm writing other stuff too.  The last several weeks of finishing the manuscript thrust me "into the zone" and I want to make the most of that however long it lasts.  Which I hope will be for awhile.

Maybe I'll commit to posting more to this blog.  I feel like a neglectful parent to it sometimes, and that's not right.

More next week!

Ten years ago this morning

It was about this time, ten years ago today, that I held your hand.  That rough calloused hand that could never be still enough to heal.  You were always doing for others, especially in your shop whenever you decided someone deserved to own one of your handmade knives.

We held your hands as you slipped away from the body that had become a prison.  I knew it was the right thing to have done, to sign the paper that would let you go when it was time.  But it made it no easier.

I would have given anything to have you back, healthy in body and mind.

I've needed you.  I hope I've been able to make you proud.

I miss you, Dad.

Book Status: MANUSCRIPT FINISHED!

 It's time to celebrate!!

A little less than an hour ago I finished the draft of the manuscript of my memoir.  So very thrilled!  I had wanted to have this done by Thanksgiving and I beat it be a week and a half.

The draft is a little less than 133,000 words.  Well within budget for a memoir or most other books.

It is packed.  Pretty much every moderate to major event of my life, from birth to where I am today: An artificial intelligence trainer, op-ed writer, and crisis line counselor.

The next to last chapter, I'm particularly fond of that one.  It's a "where are they now?" of most of the characters who appear.  And there are PLENTY.  I'm turning a lot of people who have been in my life into literary characters.

What happens now?  I take a break for a week or so.  And then I'll return to the manuscript with refreshed eyes, no doubt making edits and revisions (I made one earlier today, of the beginning of the chapter about my wedding, that is much nicer than it had been).

I'm also going to let a few friends, sworn to secrecy, read parts of it.  I've already shared some chapters with them.  They have each responded that these chapters are everything from "powerful" to "raw and visceral".

And then, well... we'll see.

But in the meantime, it's really happened!  At long last I have written a book.  I've got a really positive feeling about this.

Book status for week of November 11th

Five chapters written this past week.  And three of those were written on Thursday.  Also, a chapter that I wrote over ten years ago now has a home in the manuscript.

The draft has now reached the 100,000 words mark.  As things stand now it's looking like it will all fit within 150,000 words, which is the goal.

At the rate this is going the entire first draft will be done by Thanksgiving.

It's been a lot of effort, but it really is quite something to see this all come together.  I'm soon going to have "written a full length book" notched on my belt. Maybe if this gets published that will give me street cred enough to sell my children's book too :-) 

"One, two, Freddy's coming for you..."

 Happy fortieth anniversary to Wes Craven's A Nightmare On Elm Street.

Donald Trump: Greatest comeback in American history

 

Well, I'll be darned.

After months of believing that the election would go otherwise, Donald Trump has won indeed.

I've rarely been so glad to have been so wrong.  Harris would have been an unprecedented disaster for America.  There would have been no end to inflation.  In fact, her policies would have made it much worse.  She didn't see that.  She basically ran on one issue only - abortion, which is ridiculous to believe Trump is going to pass a law banning it nationwide - and that wasn't enough to persuade enough Americans that she was going to be a competent leader.

Congratulations, Mr. Trump.  You and Melania are headed to the White House, again!  Just try to pick a better staff this time, 'kay?

My final election prediction

 

People will vote their appetites. They will vote for whoever scratches their itching ears. They will vote for the person who promises to protect their debaucheries.

 

I've lived long enough, have studied plenty of history, to know that our society is getting worse, not better. Because people will almost always choose what is convenient over what is right.

 

The candidate who I believe will win tomorrow, will cause more harm to be wrought upon the United States than any individual in her almost two and a half centuries of existence.

 

But that doesn't matter. Only that this candidate "wins". And that's what's most important, right?

 

I am almost tempted to say "damn the fools who would choose such evil." But as a Christian I am cautioned against calling anyone "fool".

 

Maybe, someday, if we survive what's coming, some people will remember that I and others warned about this. We saw it coming. We did our best to alert our neighbors. But it was all in vain.

 

"Those who do not learn from history are condemned to repeat it," indeed.

 

 

Six new chapters to report this week

Since last time I did a status report on how my book is coming along there have been six chapters added to the manuscript.

It is also nearly 100,000 words in size.

I've been trying to write something since yesterday but I'm having difficulty.  Maybe I've been pushing myself too hard?  Perhaps I need to take a break.  Spend some time in nature, play with my dog, read a good book.

Well, what I composed in the past week is good stuff.  Some comedic material also.  There is an entire chapter devoted to the delusions I had about my hair: one of the rationales I had for going off the meds.  Which ended in disaster.  It's funny and also not funny, if you know what I mean.

As things look right now, I may have the draft of the entire book finished by Thanksgiving.

And then I'll go back over it and edit and revise and add and delete stuff.  After that, well... we will see what we shall see.

Weekly book status: Wow!

Want to know a secret?  I haven't showered in thirteen days!  I've been that determined to work on this project.  If I haven't been sleeping or job or eating or taking care of and playing with Tammy, I've been writing.

I look terrible.  I've dry-shaved every few days.  That and brushing my teeth have for the most part been my only hygiene.

But what has come out of that has been amazing.

Twelve chapters written this past week!  But it must be emphasized that these were smaller chapters than most of what have been composed so far.  Still, I'm very happy with the progress made.

I'm still writing this book out of sequence.  But as of yesterday my life from birth up to winter of 2002 has been chronicled as thoroughly as is feasible for a project like this.  And I've also got 2016 on through the present day written about.

Also, the book is split into eight parts.  Other than a few chapters still needed for the one about my college years, and the very last chapters, there's only one part left to be written.  All the others are complete.

I'm striving to keep the manuscript within 150,000 words.  As of last night it's at 90,000 written.  Sixty thousand remaining to use on one part sounds like a lot, but this part, titled "Years of Heaven, Years of Hell" is absolutely the biggest of them.  Sooooo much happened in this period.  It's going to be tough to pack it all in.  I think the episode involving the newspaper may be two chapters.

I'm not making myself out to be a saint in writing this.  I'm already coming across as a very horrible person.  But that's just the truth of it all.  I'm only writing about what happened, and trying to be as honest and forthcoming as I can be.

No writing today.  I'm taking a break.  And there is my "real life job" that must be tended to also.  But I think I've earned a day's rest, after writing most during most of my free time for the past two weeks.

Okay, me go shower now.  And play with the dog.  She's earned a new toy for putting up with me as she has.

My thoughts a week and a half before the election

 

I'm beginning to believe that the presidential election is going to go to Donald Trump.  After stating for several months that I believe Harris will be the one who gets sworn in come January.

Harris right now is doing her damndest to appeal to the hard left.  That's ALL she really has that she's been consistently running on.  Especially about the abortion issue.  One would easily believe that abortion is her biggest concern.  But those voters were already a lock for her anyway.

Trump meanwhile is doing a very good job getting his message out to the unaffiliated and undecided voters.  The ones who have long been neglected too much by both the Democratic and Republican parties.  They also tend to be the ones in the middle class who have been worst affected by the Biden and Harris administration.

 

The number of American voters disaffected by either major party is a considerable one.  Trump has a lot of allure for them and after more than three years of disastrous leftist policies they are screaming for relief from that.

 

I am now prepared to say that the chances of Trump winning a week and a half from now are pretty substantial.

 Perhaps if Harris campaigns more on issues of relevance to most Americans, she would begin to pick up wider support.  This is not happening.

 

What does concern me however is election rigging.  It happened in 2020 and we all know it even if we won't admit to it.  What happened in the wee hours of the morning in Wisconsin proved that there was pro-Biden chicanery afoot.  The fix was in four years ago.  The "deep state" of the bureaucrats and the lifetime politicians have even more reason to tip the scales toward the Democrats than they had then.  So I'm expecting cheating that may dwarf what happened in 2020.

If so and "they" get away with it again, we will be saddled with Kamala Harris: the worst presidential candidate in American history.

 

That being said, right now things look very good for Donald Trump.

I really hope and pray that the legitimate voting will be in such enormous volume that election rigging will be rendered inconsequential.

Fortieth anniversary of The Terminator

It was forty years ago today, October 26th 1984, that James Cameron's science-fiction thriller (I'd also consider it horror) The Terminator was released.

Cameron was sick with food poisoning in Rome.  While convulsing in agony he had a fevered dream of a robot assassin with glowing red eyes hunting him down.  And that was the genesis of the Terminator.

This is a movie that has aged very well.  Including the design of the Terminator and the then-relatively distant future of the SkyNet-dominated 2029.  Ask a conceptual artist on a modern film to create an endoskeleton for a cyborg killing machine and it would be difficult not to envision something along the lines of the Cyberdyne Systems Model 101 Hunter-Killer.

I first saw The Terminator in 1986.  My best friend Chad had seen it on cable TV and was really raving about how good it was.  So I was able to rent it not long after.  I thought it was amazing.  It was definitely nightmare fuel for a twelve-year-old.  Especially that shot of the metal skeleton rising out of the wreckage to continue chasing down Sarah Connor.  I was like "Can't ANYTHING stop this guy?!?"

I've got this movie on DVD.  It's been awhile since I've seen it though.  Think I'll pop it in tonight.

Book Progress Report: Five new chapters and a home for the very first

A little over two years ago I wrote the first chapter of what was going to be the book I had always intended to write.  It's not one that the reader is supposed to find early on in the tome.  It's actually a chapter that comes in quite late into the book.

For various reasons I needed to write that one first.  It more or less establishes the tone of the work still to come.

As of a few days ago that first chapter written now has its place in the manuscript as a whole.  I didn't have to change a thing to it.  It just slid right into place without any mess at all.

It joins five chapters that I've been able to finish the first drafts of since a week ago today.

So far, it's gone well. I've consistently been composing chapters, around five a week. There have been three significant events in my life that I've been able to reach down deep and write about. I dare not say I'm feeling proud of myself but there is a sense of some accomplishment.

But this, all of this, is still just tip-toeing across the minefield.

 

There is something massive that I haven't come close to beginning to address, in this book. It's about the very worst place that I found myself in because of manic depression. All the grief and pain and worst, that *I* was causing even more horrible things to the people I cared most about.

 

I feel like a coward. How I've been able to work on a little of everything else so far. Except for that.

 

For the past few months I've been doing the best work on this project that I've been able to have since Dad first told me he wanted me to write a book. I'm grateful to have found myself in such a groove. After a very long period of being stuck, there has been a LOT of movement forward.

 

But really, so far I've been doing nothing but pulling rabbits out of my hat.

 

Now it's well past time that I be able to pull out an alligator.

 

 

A very good week for the book project!

Five chapters written in the past seven days.  And a strong start of another that I was able to compose on Saturday afternoon, the day before yesterday.

It can be noted that one of the chapters was written start to finish while I was suffering from conjunctivitis (also known as pink eye).

The drafts of the first five chapters I wrote are from the start of part three, which covers the years I spent studying at Elon.  A lot happened in that time and to be honest I hadn't been exactly sure what tact to bring to bear upon it goes.

But so far it's almost wound up writing itself.  I'm just pouring my memory out upon the page (or the keyboards at either my desk or my iPad Pro).  Those are five chapters that build up to something and when it finally came to that... well.  I needed to step away from writing for awhile.  It took a lot out of me.  I haven't gone back to finishing that part of the tale but I did move forward to another section of the book and began writing that.

(Lots of authors do this with their own books. Tolkien wrote parts of The Lord of the Rings at various times in the period before, during and following World War II.  You write what comes to you, whatever interests you most right then.  And then you piece it all together.  I figure that I'm in good company :-)

So much has been done yet a lot of work still remains.  But I'm feeling really confident about this.  I've shared a few of the drafts with a select number of trusted friends.  I insisted that I need their most brutally honest thoughts.  All of them have come back with nothing but good about what they've read.  I'm taking that as a good sign.  If I can keep that kind of vibe going, I'll be quite pleased and thankful.

First Helene, now Milton

Got lots of friends in the path of this monster.  On either side of the Florida peninsula.

I'm praying that this might yet sputter out before it makes landfall.  Hurricanes have been known to be crazy like that.  Not often, but it does happen.

Please y'all, be safe.

One new chapter this past week, and a medical emergency

I am both proud of myself and a little let down.  I only wrote one new chapter for my book this past week.  

Maybe I should forgive myself?

For my own account of things, my life is still being impacted by Hurricane Helene, an hour or so south of the true devastation.  A few days ago on Friday I saw my psychiatrist and got refill prescriptions for my medication.  I assumed the scripts were sent over to the pharmacy as usual.  When I went to pick up the refills early that evening however, the pharmacy was closed and there was a note on the door saying that their Internet was down and they couldn't fill prescriptions at all.  I had gotten an automated text from the pharmacy several days earlier, saying the hurricane had knocked out their computers.  I just assumed they would have been back in business already.

That was a wrong assumption on my part.

There was one med in particular that I was all out of.  I was counting on getting the refill.  And I needed that med.

It might have been a long shot but I drove to the emergency room of the nearby hospital and explained my situation to them.  It was a very good idea, because a little less than an hour later they gave me an Rx for a "bridge" of the med I needed to get me through the next week.  A quick visit to the CVS practically next door to the hospital later and I had my medication.

That emergency averted, I went home and plopped down and tried to write something, anything.  Before I knew it I was working on a new chapter.  It's the final one of part two, which covers a nine-years span of my life.  I completed it last night.  And there are going to be some edits and revisions but the basic endoskeleton is in place at least.  I'm happy with it.

I'm going to try to write some more today, before my week begins in earnest and the opportunity to write before Saturday becomes diminished.  I'm supplementing my typical work with a part-time job, it lets me engage with more personal projects on weeknights and long weekends.  Maybe I'll get to knock something else out before returning to that job tomorrow.

Helene: After the storm

The past few days will go down in history.  The comparison I keep hearing is that "this is our Katrina" and that's not inaccurate at all.

If God saw fit to humble us, He certainly did with Hurricane Helene.

As I write this it's almost 7:30 pm EST on October 1st, 2024.  I was away from the house for much of the day so I don't know when exactly the juice came back on but when I returned an hour ago the power was restored.  It had been out since a little before 8 on Friday morning, four and a half days ago.  So that's about a hundred hours that we were without electricity.

I drove around the area on Friday night.   Didn't get too far.  There were big trees fallen all over the place, across the roadways.  I've never seen so many power lines down.

I had to conserve battery power on the various devices, like my phone and iPad.  Yesterday morning I ventured out and got to the library in downtown Spartanburg, found a spot on the floor next to a wall outlet and recharged the phone.  I've been limiting its use, employing it only when absolutely necessary.  Because there was no telling when power would come back to our homes.

My dog and I are in upstate South Carolina.  And it could have been much worse.

Asheville, North Carolina is a little less than an hour to our north.  As of this evening I-40 going east out of the city is open but nothing else.  The town is pretty much unreachable except by helicopter (Asheville Regional Airport is starting to get supply flights coming in but that's a bit far from the city limits).  At last count more than 60 people are dead from the storm in Buncombe County.

Half an hour to our west, we have friends in Greenville.  They have been without power since Friday.

The town of Chimney Rock has been wiped off the map.

Sections of highways in the western part of North Carolina have been destroyed.

Local schools are out until Monday next week.  Remote learning via Internet is also out.

The power crews are working around the clock to restore electricity.  They have come in from all up and down the country and some have arrived from Canada.  They can't possibly be appreciated enough.

As for my own account...

Restricting the use of devices meant that it would be unwise to write, no matter how creative I was feeling.  And the only flashlight I have is on my iPhone.  So  I spent the daylight hours doing lots of reading.  I try to read George Orwell's 1984 every few years and I was behind on that so Sunday afternoon I was engorged in that novel.  And yesterday, for whatever reason, I started re-reading Helter Skelter.  I did write a bit for my book, the old-fashioned way: with a pen and notebook.  So I guess it can be said that my attempt to contribute to the world's literature is sort of a multimedia effort.

It's been a wild past few days.  And I was expecting the power to be restored sometime late Friday.  So I'm very thankful that it's back.

I've been through hurricanes a number of times in my life.  Helene topped them all.  For it to come this far inland and still packing a punch is almost a freak occurrence.  It's being called a one-in-a-thousand-year catastrophe.

And that's pretty much my report.  Going to spend the rest of the evening getting my bearings back, take a LONG hot shower, give my dog Tammy some love and treats, maybe watch a movie.

Helene has certainly made me thankful for things that we too often take for granted.  And like I said, it could have been worse here.

Thoughts and prayers going up and out for everyone who's been affected by this storm.

Weekly book report for September 30th 2024

 Well, this turned into something interesting.  My home is in the upstate of South Carolina.  Three days ago the entire western Carolinas region got slammed hard by Hurricane Helene.  I lost power on Friday morning about 7:30 and 77 hours later it still hasn't been restored.  Based on what I saw on the way to the library in downtown Spartanburg this morning, it may be days if not weeks before power is turned back on 100%.

This was a catastrophe on the same level as Hurricane Katrina.  Our kids will be telling their grandchildren about this one.

So I wasn't able to work most of the weekend, because power is out.  Until yesterday when I started writing in a notebook with a pen, jotting some thoughts down that will go into further chapters.  It will honestly be able to be said that I worked on this book through a hurricane.

Anyhoo, since last week I have been able to fully write one chapter, along with editing the previous one and the aforementioned bits and pieces that have been jotted down.

And that's pretty much it, for now.