Spring Fling!

Sheila and I had a great time at the annual Rome Council for the Arts Spring Fling. We enjoyed visiting with  Arrowhead Environmental Education Center director Vivian Davis and her friend Tyler.

 

Thanks to all our fellow RACA folk for supporting the art of storytelling by a generous grant to the Big Fibbers Storytelling Festival! 

 If you haven’t made a donation to this great arts umbrella group for the arts please think about doing that now.

Gleaning Facebook: Clemmie Today

The ball pit has been converted to a pool again. Clemmie likes it.  

Comments

Judy Barnett Hayes

So adorable!

Sandra Pride
look at all those teeth.She is growing so fast.

Anita Stewart
Sweet smile and happy baby.

Lizabeth Jolly
I feel the happiness and energy she glows with when I see that beautiful smile!!

 

Garrison Keillor on Easter and the Con Man

 From Garrison Kiellor's Facebook:

Church was packed on Easter morning, brass players up in the choir loft, ladies with big hats, girls in spring dresses, and when the choir and clergy processed up the aisle, the woman swinging the censer looked like a drum major leading the team to victory, which is what Easter is about, the triumph over death. Resurrection is not something we Christians talk about in the same way we talk about our plans for summer vacation or retirement, but it is proclaimed on Easter and the hymns are quite confident (with added brass) and the rector seemed to believe in it herself and so an old writer sitting halfway back and surrounded by good singers has to think along those lines. It’s right there in the Nicene Creed and in Luke’s Gospel — the women come to the tomb and find the stone rolled away and the mysterious strangers say, “Why seek ye the living among the dead?”

And then, on my way back from Communion, the choir struck up a hymn, “I am the bread of life,” with a rocking chorus, “And I will raise them up. And I will raise them up. And I will raise them up on the last day.” As the congregation sang, a few people stood and some raised their hands in the air, a charismatic touch unusual among Anglicans, and then more people stood. I stood. I raised my right hand. I imagined my long-gone parents and brother and grandson and aunts and uncles rising from the dead and coming into radiant glory, and then I was weeping and my mouth got rubbery and I couldn’t form the consonants. I stayed for the benediction, slipped out a side door onto Amsterdam Avenue, and headed home.

That’s what I go to church for, to be surprised by faith and to fall apart. Without the Resurrection, Episcopalians would be just a wonderful club of very nice people with excellent taste in music and literature, but when it hits you what you’ve actually subscribed to, it blows the top of your head off.

This was a good thing after a few days of redactions, acts of collusion and obstruction, corruption in high places, and the president saying, in a bad moment, “Oh, my God. This is terrible. This is the end of my presidency. I am flunked.” Or something along those lines. The New York Times, despite being a family newspaper, decided that the Leader of the Free World deserves accurate quotation, and so printed what he said without dashes, and it was jarring to see it, over and over, except I felt that we were more flunked than he was.

Watergate was a minor traffic accident compared to this, but onward he goes with the full support of his party, and when you consider the likelihood of his re-election and what this would mean for the future of the planet Earth, as global warming continues unacknowledged for four more years and the Supreme Court is owned by originalists who will take us back to plantation days and a dozen countries decide they need nuclear arsenals of their own, it is a good time to go to church and renew your faith in a Higher Power who will not allow His Creation to be corrupted by ignorance, cruelty, and evil.

The good people of Lake Wobegon voted for Mr. Trump, just like the residents of River City bought musical instruments from Professor Harold Hill to keep their boys out of the pool hall, but if their man’s secrets are revealed, they might have to think twice. He’s a New Yorker who made his way up with mob connections, hung out with showgirls, was chintzy with charitable giving, and flaunted himself as Midwesterners were taught not to do. After 9/11, he boasted that his building at 40 Wall Street was now the tallest in Manhattan, this while smoke was still rising from the ruins of the World Trade Center.

But they are still backing him. My cousin, a good and intelligent man, texted me that the Mueller report was an attempted coup d’état by Hillary Clinton and top officials of the FBI. If the president declared a national emergency and called out troops to take over the Times and the Post and MSNBC and CNN, I imagine my cousin would go along with it.

So I stood weeping, singing, hand in the air, at the thought of being raised up. I’m 76. I simply cannot believe that this con man is the end of the story. I refuse to accept that.

Gleaning Facebook: My Choice is Joe

"The core values of this nation… our standing in the world… our very democracy...everything that has made America -- America -- is at stake."

He is honest.

He is kind.

He is a patriot.

He is an inspiring and effective leader.

Having served as vice president for eight years he has the best experience.

He will choose a running mate ready to step in at a moment's notice.

He is older than ideal but he shows his age much less than the corrupt and confused star of the Mueller Report.

His administration will be made of leaders from all parts of American society not just the "one-percent".

He easily leads polls against to Mob-Boss-In-Chief in Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin. He puts Ohio and Iowa and Arizona and even Texas in play. Every poll I've seen gives Vice President Joe Biden the the strongest chance to end the nightmare of the criminal enterprise that is the Trump regime.

We have a wonderful and huge group of candidates, and polls can change, but till someone can convince me he or she has a stronger chance to rebuild and reunite our republic, Joe Biden has my support.

Comment:

Julie Ingram Gatanis

I agree- although I am more progressive and will love the day when one of these youngins with all these crazy, wild save the world ideas takes over. If we can get all the young people to vote it will happen. 

At this point we just need someone that cringing Republicans and all Democrats can get behind to get the Orange Baffoon out!

Gleaning Facebook: Sheila and Ruth

What a joy to watch Sheila and Mother as they watch videos of Clementine playing in the water.

 

Anne-With-An-E

I’ve been to two funerals in the last week.

In 1962 a Methodist pastor died somewhere in North Georgia. In order to fill his position Bishop John Owen Smith and his cabinet created a chain reaction of mid-year reassignments that swept our family from Ellijay where my father was serving Watkins Memorial Methodist Church to Rome’s Trinity Methodist Church and its brand new parsonage in Summerville Park on Timothy Avenue. Soon I was commuting along Redmond Road to my new school West Rome High. Our beautiful new neighborhood was home to many of my new church friends and other school friends. Charlie Wagner was just up Redmond a few houses from Timothy. Paula Craven lived on Dodd just a block and a half away. The District Superintendent’s son Billy Segars lived on Charlton as did Alfred Fletcher. Esther Ransom, Robin Scarborough, Gretchen Lininger. Chastine Parker, Jr. and others lived nearby. 

Up on Robin Street, maybe four blocks away was the rock home of the Ergle family. Bill and Penny had four kids. Anne was my age, Freddy was about three years younger. Kathy was probably my baby sister Beth’s age, and Karl was the baby and about the age of my little brother David. The Ergle’s had moved to Rome so that Kathy would be near Georgia School for the Deaf.

When mother wrote a poem for our family Christmas card one year in the sixties, it’s not surprising that all four Ergle kids made it into the poem. But really mother, why did three of the seven Shaw kids not make the cut?

CHRISTMAS AT TRINITY
Our Nativity scene is live
In living color too!
With teen-aged Mary dressed
Of course, in blue!

She sits beside the manger
Carol, Beth or Anne,
With Joseph standing by
There's Terry, Bill or Dan.

The shepherds stand alert
A turban on each head.
There’s John and Sam or
Allen, Cleve and Fred.

The wise men are bedecked
In jeweled crowns alike -
That hide - the tousled hair
Of Robert, Karl and Mike.

The angels, Kathy, Fran,
Deborah... truly dear
But they can only qualify
As angels - once a year!

I watch the twisted halos
And am amazed to feel
In spite of pomp and pageantry
They somehow make Him real!

Bill and my Dad were both Marines and veterans of World War Two and so had much in common. So our families have known each other for 57 years. We lost my Dad in ’86. Bill has been gone at least two decades maybe more. Penny died eleven years ago. Little Kathy, who forgave my fumbling attempts at sign language and greeted me like a brother whenever she saw me, died of cancer about three years ago.

Today we buried Anne-with-an-E. My West Rome classmate, Anne Ergle (Tatum) died suddenly on April 1. Anne was a pretty girl and a quiet one. She was a gentle soul with a servant spirit who spent her career helping those with handicaps. I was touched that her family asked my mother to speak at her memorial service. Mother is 96 years old and has had some health issues recently, but she prepared a very nice message based on the scripture more often used in funerals than any other, likely, the twenty third Psalm. Despite the frustration of getting some of the pages of her notes jumbled Mother spoke from her heart about the very personal message we find in that psalm, the Lord is MY shepherd, and will lead ME, and walk with ME through even the shadow of death. 

I dug out the 1965 West Rome Watanyah (yearbook) last night and spent a nostalgic hour perusing its pages. Anne had written me a very sweet message on the title page. She was very generous, I must say; she called me “sweet” and “cute”! And wished me the best on that “long road of life.” Well, to this ol’ boy, her 72 years doesn’t seem that long from the current perspective.

Still I’m bright enough to realize that I am well into extra innings. My father and his father never saw seventy. My other grandfather died at the age I am now. And I attend funerals every few weeks. A few days ago it was Norris Gamble’s beautiful service. Today it was Anne’s. It’s a bit morbid I suppose, but can one avoid the question: When will mine come? 

I don’t want to waste any days.

I saw this sign on the wall of Alto Park Elementary when I visited there this week to tell stories for Career Day.

From what I knew of Anne I think she likely would have approved of these goals.  At seventy-two, I know I’ll follow Anne soon enough, even if I manage my mother’s longevity. So funerals bring that reality home to us — to me: 

Days are short. 

Be thankful for each one I am blessed to live. 

Keep it simple. 

Be kind. 

Believe. 

Try. 

Be polite. 

Help folks. 

Treasure family and friends. 

Do my best. 

Listen, laugh, and (the greatest of these) love.