STOLEN

IT ISN’T THE GRINCH THIS TIME. So, who or what is stealing Christmas and Thanksgiving and so many other treasured times and traditions.

It would be easy just to say: Covid. But New Zealand, much of Canada and others have shown Covid to be containable. That doesn’t matter though.

Here, where we live, who we are, virus spread has caused us to miss watching our Grandkids at the Hinton Fair, and piano recitals and dance recitals. You might think I’m being sarcastic. Nope. I actually love recitals.

Our kids have been wonderfully understanding. They know old Pops is old and wired shut after heart surgery a few years back. They have found ways for us to be with them in the safest ways possible. Through love, creativity, grace, frustration, prayer and cursing we’ve gotten from March to November.

I know, I know. Many will say I am stupidly overreacting. That this is not real, just made up and politically driven, or, as some believe, “we’ve turned the corner and it will just disappear soon.” I’m happy being a live and well stupid overreactor.

Each year we gather with our kids on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. We eat, play, watch TV and live like we’re thankful, because we are, without taking that for granted. We all gather round for a family picture which we will have printed and sent along with our annual Christmas card to a long list of people, many of which probably say, “Why are these people still mailing Christmas cards and why do they think we would want a picture of their family?”

At some point, during holiday-time My Amazing-Missus will lay out for the kids an abundance of building materials (candy and frosting) and the basic structure so they can all make their very own gingerbread house. No rules. You get to make it just like you want to.

It is a beautifully free and creative process. It’s good that our clan is good at that because it is going to take some creativity to celebrate the holidays this year in a safe and sacrificial way. But if any crew can do it—ours can.

Here are some of the ideas we’re tossing around: Mimi (aka: My Amazing-Missus) is strategizing how to make a gingerbread house building kit for each our two groups: Corey-Kara-Karlee-Harper-Nora and Kyle-Brooke-Haddi-Everly-Malachi-Jeremiah. This year we’ll sit back and watch the fun on Zoom or FaceTime. Then when it comes bedtime we’ll rejoice just a bit that the kids are at their own houses high from all the sugar they’ve consumed that should have gone into the building of their house but went into them instead.

We’ll watch the weather closely and hope for an unseasonably warm day when we can travel to see them and spend time together outside. Maybe we’ll tail-gate around a fire, eat turkey hot dogs with chili, make s’mores and open gifts. Maybe we’ll sing a song or two and we’ll read that story—the one about where it all started; in a manger.

And that important family picture? In our bunch we have photographers, Lightroom experts, and one who teaches Photoshop for a living (along with a few other subjects).

We’ll be fine, and Thankful and Merry. Who knows? Maybe a new tradition will emerge.

L to R: Malachi, Haddi, (Jeremiah), Karlee, Nora, Harper, Everly

GOOD TIME TO CARPE DIEM

OR, THOUGHTS ON QUARANTINE

Mr. Miyagi: Go, find balance.
Daniel: [starts to drive away]
Mr. Miyagi: Banzai, Daniel-san.
Daniel: Hey, banzai!
Mr. Miyagi: [louder] Banzai!
Daniel: [louder] Banzai!
Mr. Miyagi: [shouts] Banzai!
Daniel: [shouts back] Banzai!

ban·zai /ˈbanzī/
exclamation: banzai
1. a Japanese battle cry.

That’s the way I picture the beginning of my days in Big Q—going to find balance! Banzai!

What is this supposed to be about? Ideally, I wanted to contribute something on the subject of making the most of the time if you’re stuck at home (as we should be) as a “non-essential”. (That sounds unduly harsh.)

I thought of looking to the scriptures, but so many have that covered already.

I thought of looking to others to see how they are doing the Carpe Diem. Apparently most everyone is watching something called “Tiger King”.

I thought of looking to Shakespeare who survived the plague, but I was afraid of losing both of my readers. There is this to ponder though:

“Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.” ― William Shakespeare, King Lear

So, as I often like to do, I turned to pop culture, more specifically the movies. I asked a few “friends” for recommendations of good “seize the day” movies. Here are samples from a few of their suggestions:

From Goonies:

Mikey: We had our hands on the future, but we blew it to save our own lives.... Sorry.

Mikey: Goonies never say die!

Mikey: Don’t you realize? The next time you see the sky, it’ll be over another town. The next time you take a test, it’ll be in some other school. Our parents, they want the best of stuff for us. But right now, they got to do what’s right for them. Because it’s their time. Their time! Up there! Down here, it’s our time. It’s our time down here. That’s all over the second we ride up “Troy’s bucket”.

From Ferris Bueller’s Day Off:

Ferris Bueller: Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Ferris Bueller: The question isn't 'what are we going to do', the question is 'what aren't we going to do?'

And from Dead Poet’s Society, the movie that spawned the idea for this essay:

John Keating: They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.

[the scene is here on YouTube if you want to have a look]

There are so many people making a difference. As silly as it sounds, staying home can be a significant contribution too. I’ll admit thought, I’m in awe of those on the front line of this: the medical heros, those who are delivering goods to stores and our stuff to us, those who are stocking shelves, and all those who keeping us up and running. Their mission is clear and daunting and fraught. I hope they remain safe, healthy, fulfilled and rewarded.

If you’ve been to visit for Facebook for 45 seconds or more you’ve likely seen this:

If you don’t come out of this quarantine with:
-A new skill
-Your side hustle started
-More knowledge
You never lacked time, you lacked discipline.
[strike that]
You are doing just fine.
We are going through a collective traumatic experience Not everyone has the privilege of turning a pandemic into something fun or productive. Stay healthy.

I should consider myself schooled by this but I’m a bit confused. I think the lesson in that is: at the end of the day or the Big Q, if all you’ve accomplished is watching Tiger King: it’s okay. But, then I excel in missing the point.

Discipline or not, available time or not, we can still learn something new, right? I do understand lack of discipline, focus and commitment. I have a dear friend who makes amazing sourdough bread. She has encouraged to “make a starter” and that apparently leads to something in a jar that you have to “feed”. I watched a YouTube video. Nope! Sorry I don’t have what it takes. And I’m not just talking about King Arthur flour and a jar.

Carpe-ing the Diem is an individual matter—I think. I have a great friend, named Doug. We talk on the phone every few days. He told me he is spending his time “practicing the art of procrastination.” He also told me of a friend of his that would choose a life theme for a period of time. Once his theme was, “I don’t gave a darn.” The next year his theme was, “I’m going to give a darn, I’m just not going to do anything about it.”

My theme, my motivation, the intensity of my carpe depends on the diem, or the minute. One last movie quote that pretty much sums up my approach to it all:

Kid on the school bus: What are you going to do today Napoleon?
Napoleon Dynamite: Whatever I feel like I wanna do, GOSH!

Can You Hobby Without A Lobby

YOU KNOW THAT NOT EVERYONE WHO TALKS, knows what they’re talking about; right? I have a hunch that the louder, the bolder, the more dogmatically someone talks, the greater the chance they don’t know what they’re talking about. But don’t take my word for it; I don’t know what I’m talking about.

This little essay falls smack dab in the middle of me talking about something I know very little about. But that hasn’t stopped me before. Don’t look at this as so much advice or guidance but more like a cry for help. So, with all of that disclaimed, let’s dive in. I’ll admit it, I fall into that category of weak, frail, old-people who need to stay at home, even though I feel like a fraud because I see myself as active, hip, wise, virile, and cool. Now I see that is the fraudulant persona. The more accurate one is the old, weak, vulnerable one. But enough of the self-misdiagnosis.

For now, we are “shut-ins”. That’s what the church used to call folks like this. “Let’s pray for the shut-ins.” Then the title was upgraded to “homebound”. Sticks and stones. I’m one of those persons for a while and maybe you are too.

My Amazing-Missus is much better at this than I am. But she has a hobby! She’s a sewing machine—not like the actual Singer or PFAFF, but in the productivity sense. Every now and then I go to the door of her sewing room and look in and wish I had a hobby. I’m sure she also wishes I had a hobby because when I get bored I play my drums.

I do have options: I have a guitar, a ukulele, but arthritis in my fingers. Thankfully I can still hold drumsticks, type and use the TV remote. I used to paint a little; watercolors were my medium of choice. I still have my brushes, paper and water, but lack the paints.

I’ve noticed a number of online offerings and ideas for learning new tricks. But nothing is ringing the bell yet.

Classes from MASTERCLASS

Which brings me to this: for a while it looked like the Green’s would be keeping their lobby for hobbies open. Experts are advising that social distancing can be more fun with a hobby. If we all need a hobby. We need a lobby, right? But alas…

I’m sheltering in place so I need to ponder a hobby from the safety of home. I’ll need a soundtrack for this. Maybe Spotify has a playlist of Hobby-Lobby-esque music or as I like to call it: “Kenny G Plays Through the Baptist Hymnal”.

With stuff we have on hand I could do a bit of macaroni art, but we might need to eat that. Papier mâché is out. We may need all of our loose paper. I could convert the garage to a den but I sold my circular saw to help pay for the Airstream® which we could take on a social distancing road trip but RV parks are closing too for some odd reason.

Back in my psuedo-hippie days, I did some freelance tie-dying. I also did some leatherwork—watch bands, belts, bracelets, etc. That was always fun.

Many, many videos later—YouTube leather crafters have encouraged and emboldened me. To the Tandy Leather website! It’s not working, apparently Tandy is in the same boat as Hobby Lobby. Some of the YouTubers recommended Springfield Leather Company. I gave them a call. Very nice, very helpful. I spent the evening filling a “shopping cart” with the tools and goods for my new hobby. The next morning I went back to the website to place my order; “Springfield Leather has shut down”.

Finally I found a couple of online shops still up and running. I talked to wonderfully helpful people like Emmy and Robin from Rocky Mountain Leather Co. They actually did a FaceTime call with me to show me some leather they were recommending.

So with apologies to my vegan friends, I have a hobby and I didn’t even need the lobby. COBBLE ON! (As soon as my order arrives and I open it with gloves and douse with Lysol.)

THE OLD SHOE COBBLER BY STEVE MCKINZIE. FINEARTAMERICA.COM

MY PENNY LANE

LAST TIME, I was talking creativity and Penny Lane. I threw out (or, down) a challenge, a prompt to do some creative writing or at least thinking: In the spirit of The Beatles’ song Penny Lane, write some thoughts about your own “Penny Lane” — the street(s), neighborhood, or town where you grew up.

I’ll get to that in a bit, but first… My Amazing Missus’ “Penny Lane” story is fascinating for a lot or reasons, but one of the coolest parts of the story is that her grandfather owned an amusement park! With a roller coaster, a train, a lake, Tilt-A-Whirl and all the rest. Her family and four siblings lived within a corndogs throw of the park. Oh, the stories of their Papa, F.H. “Red” Cox, and his amusement park; there’s a whole book right there.

If you ask my grandkids, “Tell us about Pops. Does he have anything like an amusement park?!” They might say, “He knows two magic tricks, but now we know how to do them because he showed us. He knows like three or four stupid jokes. He says he once had a sailboat. Oh, and he says he used to play drums in a band.”

But, they didn’t know me; back then; in the good old days, as I choose to remember them. I’VE WRITTEN BEFORE on growing up on Quincy Avenue in south Tulsa. At the time, in the 60s, Quincy was on a sort of pennisula created by the Arkansas River and Joe Creek, both of which tended to flood a lot back then. At the southermost tip of the pennisula was a slough, a feeding ground for boyhood adventure. I’VE WRITTEN ABOUT that as well.

It’s all urban sprawl now but then most of it was raw land, pecan groves and an emerging architectural mess they were calling Oral Roberts University. For those of you who don’t remember Oral, he was a TV preacher, faith-healer, evangelprenuer. That’s a word I just created to describe “evangelists” who make some serious money plying their trade and trinkets. I should mention that Papa, the amusement park owner, and Oral Roberts, the owner of the university that looked like an amusement park were friends, although they definitely did not share the same religious worldview.

from the ORU website. Used without permission or apology

There were roughly twenty homes along that part of Quincy below Seventy-First. In our neighborhood, was a small gas station, and the Riverside Drive-In movie threatre. On many summer nights we would sneak in the back to watch movies and create trouble.

Krause Auction was also on Seventy-First just off Quincy. I loved hanging out there. The pace of the whole thing was intriguing—the call of the auctioneer and the bidding. To this day I don’t know how he knew who was bidding through the smoke-filled, hot, greasy air, of the overcrowded room. On the days leading up to the auction you could go in and see what items would be on the block.

My most memorable and only auction experience was going in one day to see a go-cart among the items for the Thursday night auction. I set to work earning as much money as I could—doing odd jobs for people, picking strawberries for my uncle Bob. I think I had about five bucks by the time Auction night came. I stood at the counter to get my bid number. A man who I recognized as a regular asked me if I had my eye on something to bid on. I told him I was hoping to get the go-cart. When the go-cart came up for bid, the man was standing by my side. He helped me open the bid for all that I had. There was not a single other bid (as far as I know) and in a matter of minutes my number was called as the winning bid.

The next day I pushed that go-cart down the street, because it wouldn’t run, but later did, all the way to our little concrete block house on Quincy Avenue.

And as John Lennon says in the Penny Lane lyric:

“[Quincy Avenue] is in my ears and in my eyes”