Christmas at Grandma's House

    Christmas always makes me remember being a child; the carefree times of no school, no homework, no presents to buy, no worrying about the commercialization of the holiday, just the glorious, no-holds-barred selfishness of getting presents and having fun. Remembering Christmases past also always makes me remember my maternal grandmother and the Christmases spent with her. My mother comes from a very large family, I believe she had 10 brothers and sisters (I hope I didn't miss anyone when I counted) and a Christmas gathering was a big deal. Over the years we celebrated some times at the old fellowship building adjacent to the cemetery over at Ross Grove Baptist Church, which housed many fun and fond memories of it's own, and sometimes at grandma's house and to me those times were the most memorable and magical of all.
     Grandma lived in an old, green farmhouse on what was once the edge of town, the town has now grown all around where it use to stand; it was big and rambling by today's standards but not fancy or for show, a very utilitarian house, built to make a puritan farmer proud. There was a wide front porch that ran the length of the main rooms, there was a porch swing, rocking chairs, gliders and folding chairs enough to sit many a aunt and uncle on nice Sunday afternoons while all us kids ran about the yard. It was a Norman Rockwell front porch if ever one existed. The front door opened into a shotgun hall that, when all the doors in between were open, allowed you to walk in the front and see clear out the back; doors opened to all rooms off this hall to allow for cool evening breezes to blow through on warm summer days. That long hall was divided in two, with the door between usually closed making more of a sitting room than an entry hall, it housed a couch and later on a piano and a bookshelf with old Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books that my aunts and uncles and maybe even my mom read as kids. The first door to the left led to grandma's bedroom,(it was grandpa's to as well, I suppose, but he passed away when I was young and I'm afraid I don't have many memories of him, the main one being him sitting in a chair on the front porch drinking water from a mason jar and giving me a penny any time I gave him a hug) you had to pass through her room to get to the living room; there were heaters in those two rooms, I suppose that's why they were laid out the way they were. As you entered the living room you passed a foot powered sewing machine on the left and the door to the back hall on the right. There was a very uncomfortable foldout couch that my cousins and I tried to sleep on from time to time (that now resides in my mother's den) a recliner, the furnace, an small t.v. where we'd watch Ma and Pa Kettle reruns after Sunday lunch, and a shelf with a telephone and a tape deck. The only tapes I ever remember seeing there were of Jimmy Swaggart preaching, stacks of them. From the living room you went into the kitchen, small for such a big house and family, but man-o-man the food that was made there was food to fit a king. It was an eat in kitchen with not an once of room to spare. (Not to blame my grandmother for anything but I can't help but wonder if her constant supply of homemade fried apple pies, snacks, and you'll hurt my feelings if you don't clean your plate looks haven't led to my overeating habits of today.) There was also a medicine cabinet in the kitchen beside the fridge where grandma like to hide her candy, not that she'd ever refuse to give it to you if you asked. Off the kitchen was a back porch that had been built in, you could tell by the window that looked into the bedroom that faced it. Out on the back porch was the bathroom, a latter edition to the house, and a small room where some of my uncles old toys and things were, it was a room in which we'd like to, and grandma would tell us not to, 'ramble' (her word). Coming off the back porch was the back hallway, always dark and dim, lit with a single bulb hanging form a cord. There were shelves stacked high with home canned fruits and vegetables from the garden out back, one door leading to the living room and one leading to another, very large bedroom and a set of stairs going to the attic. The bedroom, I don't remember much about, I never spent much time there, I do remember there was a door that was never used that led to a veranda of sorts that connected it to the front bedroom. The stairs in the hall led to a bewildering and sometimes scary place, to me anyway, the unused and only partially finished attic. There were alcove windows and a chimney that was opened to the sky and, worst of all, a gaping opening that led to open attic space that was always, even in the brightness of a noon day sun in the summer, pitch black as the pits of hell, where a young boy with an overactive imagination could just about see the devil standing just out of view. Not that the devil would ever show his face at grandma's, she walked so close with Jesus why she'd have the devil by the ear making him sing Just a Closer Walk with Thee in no time at all. Not everyone saw her as a saint I'm told but to my young eyes she was everything that was good and holy in the world wrapped up in a short spit fire of a woman, a cross between Aunt Bee and Mother Teresa. If we were Catholic I'm sure she'd been canonized by now. As we leave the darkness of the back hall back into the light of the front we come to the last door, it would have been to the right when we first walked in, and for all my life it was know as the front room. Even today when I talk to my cousins we call it the front room and it was there that Christmas would happen.
     The front room was as big as the back bedroom that it shared an unused veranda with and it was split into by the layout of the furniture. Half was a sitting area and half was a guest bedroom with a dresser where Christmas presents were hid behind, don't know if I was suppose to know that, but I did. The sitting area featured some couches, a coffee table with a nut shaped bowl of nuts and a nutcracker (not the toy soldier kind but the good silver handled kind), a coal burning stove, and (wait for it)... a Christmas tree. I'm told that at one time the tree would make a yearly journey from the attic to the front room but as far back as I can recollect it lived there all year long, just waiting for Christmas to have it's lights lit so it's magic it could work. Since we were only allowed in the front room on special occasions we never saw it too much during the year. On Thanksgiving we'd go in there and draw names for who you were going to buy a present for (there were way to many of us to buy something for everyone) and then on Christmas we'd all crowd in to see who got what from who. After the Christmas meal we'd wind our way to the front room where us kids would fight over who got to be 'Santa Claus' handing out the gifts to everyone and then we'd rip into em, merciless we were, caring not how long it took someone to wrap the present. Then it was time to play, thankfully in those days you didn't need a tool kit to open a toy package, we kids would play, fight, make up and cry, you know, normal kid behavior until our parents dragged us back to our respective homes. Of course Santa was coming so I'm sure we didn't put up to big a fight. One toy I got  in particular I can remember from those days, it was an Evil Kenevil play set (yes, I was a child of the '70s). It came in a plastic container with a handle and the container would open up to reveal a grandstand of cheering fans and a track for Mr. Kenevil to ride his bike across, his cape whipping in the wind.
    I'm glad Rainey got to know my grandmother and got to spend at least a few Christmases at grandma's house. The two of them are a lot alike in some ways, not the least is how important they have both been in my life. Time, as they say, waits for no one and marches right along; we grow up, get married, and start having families of our own. Grandma passed over the great divide in 1991 (I think that's right) and even though mom's family still gets together every year (good luck figuring out who all those kids are running around), it seems each year the gathering is a bit smaller. Now we meet at someone in the families church, the old fellowship hall at Ross Grove is no longer in use, and grandma's great old house has passed on as well, it was just going to be to expensive for the new tenants to update everything.
    Now my kids get to spend Christmas at their grandma's house (and grandpa's still here alive and kicking too, thank God) making memories that will linger with them when there old and bringing their children here to visit us for Christmas. They play with their cousins and fight over who's going to play 'Santa Claus' and give out the presents and all the other things that kids have long loved to do on Christmas. Until eventually we drag them home, because, after all, Santa Claus is own his way.
     Looking back it seems like that house was just as much a character in my life as the family that lent it their life and love. You know there are lots of stories told of what awaits us beyond the grave, even among Christians the ideas vary depending on who you ask, some say that when we get there will get to meet and see our loved ones once again. If that's the case, then I hope some day will gather in an old green house on a street of gold, over looking the crystal sea and spend Christmas with grandma once again.
    

     Merry Christmas Everyone.

Why I'm in School

I had to write a personal narrative about why I decided to go to school for an English class I'm taking; I thought it'd make a pretty good blog, so here it is. (For you grammarians that may read this, I've already turned it in, so you can leave the correcting to my prof.)

Why I’m in School

            There’s an old folk-tale about a man named John Henry; John Henry was a steel driving man. The story goes that John Henry would swing his hammer from dusk till dawn, and never slow down. Then one day, in a Herculean effort, John Henry beat a steel driving machine. Some versions of the tale say Henry died the next morning, others say he died right there with the hammer in his hand. Now I’m not a steel driver, but I am a carton slinger and I don’t want to die with a carton in my hand. So I’d say the main reason I’m in school is to gain the skills that will allow me to move on to a better, hopefully, less labor intensive job.

            As I contemplated this assignment I came up with many an idea to use. Some I thought of for their elegance. Some I thought would sound good in a narrative. But there were three reasons that, like common denominators, all the others reduced to. The three reasons are: money, acquiring skills, and, as stated above, a physically easier job.

            I believe I’m very skilled at the job that I do, but it’s still classified as an unskilled position. Most people could come in off the street and learn to do it in a few days time. While there are a handful of higher paying jobs I qualify for, they are few and far between; you have to have a good bit of seniority built up to acquire them. So I realized that I’ve got to be satisfied with where I am or I need to learn the skills that will help me get a higher paying, skilled job.

            While looking through the course catalog, trying to find what skill set I’d be interested in learning, I came across the Facility Maintenance Diploma Program. This program touches on a number of different skills: electrical, HVAC, plumbing, welding, carpentry, and machining. I thought not only will this provide me marketable skills but it will allow me to see where my interests lie; I can see if I’d like to specialize in one of the fields. Also, as a home owner, these could be very valuable skills in themselves, even if they never lead to a better paying job.

            The above reasons I’ve thought of for a couple of years now; they are very good reasons yet neither of them actually catapulted me up that long flight of steps to sign up for classes. I said I was a carton slinger, and while that’s not my actual job title, it’s more to the point. I throw cartons onto a conveyor belt eight hours a day, 40 hours a week and it’s beginning to take its toll. I’m a 40 year old man doing a job better suited for 20 year olds; the old joints don’t bounce back the way they use to. I had received the flyers, “It’s not too late to go back to school,” for years but this year they hit their mark. After a few, extra, rough days I signed for financial aid and as soon as it was approved I was here at CCC, signing up for classes. I may never get rich, or be the next Bob Villa but hopefully I can avoid dying with a carton in my hand.

 

Bartleby

Bartleby is a very strange and at times surreal movie experience. In came out in 2001 although I had never heard of it until recently. I found it while rummaging around on Netflix one night and finally got around to watching it yesterday. My 10 yr. old and my wife watched it with me, when it went off the 10 yr. old asked, "What was that about?" and my wife said, "That movie lasted about and hour and 1/2 to long." I liked it, it was weird and very strange and appeared to have been shot on a very low budget. I thought it was from the 80's, it wasn't until I looked it up on IMDB that I saw it had come out so (relatively) recently. The movie centers around and office manager played by David Paymer and his strange new employee Bartleby, played by the awesome Crispin Glover. Paymer's character runs a small public records office, he has a secretary and two employees until extra work load leads him to place an add for a new worker, the only applicant is Bartleby and so, despite his strange mannerisms, he's hired. He works well for awhile but then one day he's asked to do something and he responds, "I'd rather not." This becomes a sort of catch phrase for him and as the film progresses he begins answering, "I'd rather not." more and more often. I don't want to give away anything that happens but this progresses to it's furthermost conclusion. To answer the question my son asked, "What was this about?", I answered that I believed it was about non-conformity. I've thought about and talked about the movie some today and I believe my first assessment was right. Everyone at the office conforms to what their suppose to do and even though all the characters have their quirks, they conform to what their stereotypes are, everyone except Bartleby. Bartleby stands there staring at the air conditioner vent preferring not to work and it drives everyone else to distraction, especially the boss. Something is obviously wrong with Bartleby, but we're never told what or why he is the way he is, he prefers not to talk about it. His nonconformism goes to extreme measures (if just standing there preferring not to do anything can be considered extreme) and infects others. I loved the last scene in the film. The movie isn't a call to nonconformism because it shows what an outcast it can make you, it's more an illustration of how we all fall in line everyday without usually even realizing that we are.  The movie is based upon a Melville short story titled, Barleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street, I've not read this but I'll have to keep an eye out for it now.

3 things

    I thought I'd throw a blog up here, just for the fun of it, and three things came to mind. They are in particular order theater, the RNC and Doctor Who.
   First off lets discuss that demanding mistress the theater. Theater is a hobby and it's art and it's very time consuming. Performing is a thrill, it's a rush and a raw nerve. I'm sort of past the point of having butterflies but that doesn't mean I don't fret and worry when it's time to hit the stage. The biggest fear is forgetting the words (words, words(to borrow from Shakespeare). But that's what all the practice is for so that either you wont forget or you'll have the presence of mind to carry on if you do. Last night I sang both with an ensemble group and as a solo performer for the Greater Shelby Community Theatre's season opener and it was a lot of fun. From what I could tell everyone had a great time.
  Secondly the Republican National Convention (RNC) had their big convention down in Tampa last week, I didn't watch it mind you, but I saw bits and pieces of it on the news and on the Daily Show. I actually tried and failed to suppress a laugh when someone asked me if I was watching it. You might could tell from my reaction I'm not a republican but I also have no plans to watch the DNC either. I can think of a lot better things to watch than a bunch of mostly like minded people blowing smoke up their collective asses. Because as one the RNC folks said, and I'm paraphrasing here, we're not going to let facts get in the way of our convention. I'd like to make an appeal here to the RNC though, come back from the fringe. A few months back when the primaries were just getting started I was interested and was thinking I might could be swayed to the republican side (I've voted on both sides in the past) based mostly on the debt crisis in Europe and the fear that it could spread to us. But as the primaries wended on they began moving more and more to the far right and the crazies started taking over the party. I think now that Mitt has won the nomination he ought to say psych and flop back to the center to left repub. he use to be.
   Speaking of better things to watch, Doctor Who's new season premiered last night and it was awesome (like I would expect anything less from Moffat). We got a very curious look at the new companion (the very smart and beautiful new companion) that will be taking over in the Christmas episode this year. That of course means will be saying goodbye (as much as you can ever say goodby in a time traveling show) to Amy and Rory, which is sad but it's also a staple of the show. I saw an interview with someone involved with the show, I can't remember who right off, that said the show is really about the companions adventures with the Doctor, that we see the show through their eyes. So a new companion means a whole new world of possible stories. Doctor Who is such a fantastic show, it's drama and scifi and horror and comedy and the new incarnation of the show is even more fantastic than ever.
   That's it folks, three and out, time to punt.

Completely 100% free of chicken controversies.

The GSCT season opener is coming up in a few weeks (I'm not sure of the exact date, although I should be) and I've been asked to once again impersonate the King of Rock n' Roll, Elvis Aron Presley. At first I didn't really want to because it felt like it was just a year or two ago when I'd done this but then I realized it's been more like 5 years. Still, personally, I think I'd rather do Perry Como or Dean Martin or maybe pull out a Broadway song but then I think about the audience and I think they'll eat up a return of the king (not Aragorn). Which reminds me of something completely unrelated the quote from Clerks 2 - " All right, look, there's only one 'Return,' okay, and it ain't 'of the King,' it's 'of the Jedi.'." Now keeping with the random free flow set up of this blog that reminds me of something else I discussed with a friend recently. When I was a kid I loved Star Wars and just sort of liked Star Trek, as I got older Star Wars (while still great) lost some of it's magic and Star Trek gained ground. And while I'm on Star Trek I had never watched more than one or two episodes of the original show while I became a big fan of TNG but thanks to NetFlix I'm now hooked on the first Star Trek. I think the difference is that Star Wars is more sweeping space opera/action movie were as Star Trek is more character driven and issue oriented. That's the tv shows not the movies. I should go back some time and watch the movies and see how they stack up (if memory serves, Star Wars would whoop up in that sort of apple to apples comparison).  Ben and Sam (6 and 3 respectfully, not that their usually respectful mind you) are playing rock band with the Rock Band drums and guitar but not with the video game, just with their imaginations, brilliant. Ben's playing drums and making up words while Sam is playing guitar singing, "Rock and roll, rock and roll." Alrighty I think it's time for the baby to eat, he's sitting on my lap gnawing on my finger and he's starting to get fussy.

ps
Niel Gaiman announced his next novel (not kids book or graphic novel) is coming out next summer. The good lord willing and the creek don't rise I know what I'll be reading next year.

Sunday Morning Coming Down

That's the title of an old Kris Kristofferson/Johnny Cash song about being alone and stoned on a Sunday morning. I'm neither alone nor stoned but the title kinda fit, perhaps it's more of a Sunday Morning Getting Me Down. Here's the crux of it, or rub if your feeling Shakespearean, I don't want to go to the church we've been going to for several years now anymore but I'm alone in my feelings. I'd like to go to the Episcopal church but my family doesn't want to go there. We've talked of going Methodist (we go to a very conservative southern baptist church now) but Araine is afraid we'll all start going there and then I'll be dissatisfied and want to move on again. Not an ungrounded fear. So a few weeks back I went to one church while Rainey and the boys went to the other, that was not a pleasant feeling. Neither one of us liked it, although I did enjoy the service at the Episcopal church. So each week I'm facing the same dilemma do I go where I want alone (my daughter may would go with me) or do I go where I don't like to be with my family. This week we all just stayed home, which is fine by me for the most part but I grew up going to church and it feels strange not to be going somewhere on at least a semi-regular schedule.

Whatever...

I wrote a pretty lengthy blog sharing my two cents on the whole fast food against gays fight going on and then deleted it with aplomb. Because I realized what really got on my nerves the last week or so wasn't the issues being discussed but that everyone seemed to be posting about it, over and over again. It was enough to make me regret having a facebook page. So I've discussed my views with my best friends and those of you who really know me can prob. guess them anyway.  This whole thing reminded me of one of the funny quotes I'd seen recently that read- I use to want to be able to read peoples minds, then I got a facebook page and I got over it.