Gleaning Facebook: Some Susannah Pics

 

Our republic is in real danger.

Sports celebration (Yay Braves!) is tempered tonight by the sad news that racism and authoritarianism have won the day in a squeaker in Virginia. This should be a wake up call to those of us who are small-r republicans, who love the principles of the Declaration and the Constitution, who believe We the People must safeguard our republican institutions. The truth is, of course, that complacency and ignorance are enemies of democracy. When prejudice and fear is played upon by sophisticated computerized "social media" we must care enough to work, give, speak out, and VOTE. The two or three percent of Virginians-who-know-better who stayed home have given the Trumpist Lie new life.

Those hot-under-the-collar about "Critical Race Theory" are ignorant of what it is and have fallen into a sad trap. The Trumpists in Virginia won votes of just enough well-meaning ignoramuses to tip the balance.

Democracy is under attack worldwide, and in my seventies I am watching republicanism crumble dramatically in the land I love. I pray I can live long enough to see this repaired. We MUST fight as hard or harder than we did from 2017-2020 to defeat the authoritarians and their enablers in the (so-called) Republican Party.

Every other issue MUST come second to the one primary issue: Save our republic from the Trumpists.

We have one more year of a VERY scant, VERY philosophically diverse, majority in Congress. We must repair and strengthen the republic's institutions first. That is really all we have majority agreement on. Without Sen. Joe Manchin, who at least agrees that Trump is a traitor and that elections should matter, the Trumpists would have a complete veto on legislation. I sincerely wish he were more open to altering the filibuster and passing more of the Build Back Better agenda that the people voted for in 2020, but politics is the art of the possible.

So to the progressive wing of my party:

Yes, speak out for the fullest possible implementation of the 2020 platform,

BUT do NOT let the perfect stand in the way of the good. The Senate is the Senate. A three vote margin in the House is tiny. Don't let America fall into Trumpist hands again just because we cannot have all we want right now.

And quit being a circular firing squad. 

Joe Biden has been a very bold president. He has actually lived up to his promises despite the disappointment of the narrowed majority in the house and the 50-50 split in the senate. No president with such a slim margin has fought so hard for such a transformational set of legislation. It is not President Biden's job right now (nor ours) to go out and publicly scream against those who support democracy but disagree with us on policy. The president DOES speak out on policy BUT his persuasion must be aimed at a very small group, maybe only two senators, who must be negotiated with, not harassed, to find what part of the program they can support. Then we need to take that for 2021, claim victory -- as we very legitimately can -- and work like hell to elect MORE Democratic senators and congressfolk in 2022!

Ulithi

Cpl. Charles Columbus Shaw, USMC on Ulithi atoll.

The location of Ulithi atoll in the Pacific where my Daddy served in 1944/45 as a Marine.

 This post for now is just a storage site for anything I find about Ulithi, the tiny atoll 1700 miles due south of Tokyo where my daddy, Charles Columbus Shaw was stationed during 1944 and 45. The transformation of Ulithi is a fascinating story.

A newsreel video from WWII found on Youtube:

Another with some similar footage called a "secret film":

6 December 1944 A report from Ulithi:

Don't miss this written article about the creation of the Unlithi naval base:

A few of Daddy's pictures some, maybe all, from Ulithi:

S

Kneeling at right end - Cpl. Charles Columbus Shaw, USMC on Ulithi atoll.

Cpl. Charles Columbus Shaw, USMC on Ulithi atoll.

Cpl. Charles Columbus Shaw, USMC on Ulithi atoll.

One of the emblems used for the "Red Mouse Squadron" (from Google)

and the north anchorage of Ulithi atoll, late 1944.

Halloween 2021

We started Halloween with a daybreak walk to Clocktower Hill.

The green-faced princess is in California...

... with her kitty-cat ...

... and pumpkin sisters.

Granny Witch is minding the candy stash...

...at home in Rome, Georgia

.

Halloween Morning on Clocktower Hill

Our iconic city clock was specially lit for Halloween. I took these pics on our before-daylight walk up Clocktower hill this Halloween morning.

 

Gleaning Facebook: Tribefest

 It seemed like all of Floyd County crowded through the upper level of Armuchee's old gym between 10 and 2 today. What fun to get to show off our animals from Arrowhead at Tribefest and to see so many old friends and former students. I love my Armuchee "family". And I am so pleased with our new Arrowhead intern from the Berry College Bonner program, Ali Jakobsen, who was an enormous help on this busy weekend. And after Thea's kindergarten sang for the crowd, she and her mom, Vivian Davis, joined us for the rest of the time. So good to be with them at the Arrowhead booth for this event. Poor Shoestring, the Corn Snake, was her usual imperturbable self as she was held and petted far longer than I should have allowed, to the delight of MANY trick-or-treating kids and their parents.

Gleaning Facebook: Lies & Pies

The old courthouse in Hayesville has been renovated into a museum
and the courtroom itself into an event space.

 I had a great time hearing great stories and music at Lie & Pies in Hayesville, NC last night. There were two great songwriters, a very short written story, and great storytelling from Kanute, Amanda, Tom. Denise, and Melanie. It was a ball getting to tell my tall tale "Yellowtail" to a new audience. The old courtroom floor was spread with tables and was pie and soup and other goodies available on a cool night. Thanks, Kanute Rarey for organizing this event! I cannot believe I did not take a single picture. I was too busy having fun.

Spooky Stories 2021

From Jessica Weaver-Stoll's Facebook page: "Spooky Stories in the garden. Stars of the first story."

I've enjoyed telling some silly "spooky stories" to kids at the Rome-Floyd County Library
during the Halloween season in recent years.
Here's this year's program.

 
 

Songbird Couldn't Wait

 Welcome to our hearts little impatient Songbird. 

I woke up at about four this morning and noticed there was a message from our son-in-law marked 2:17. That woke me up good. Sure enough it was this picture with this message attached:

"Born in Sue's car on the way to the hospital."

We have another beautiful little granddaughter. She was born about 10:45 Pacific time yesterday, October 25, 2021.

I had spoken with Brannon just last night while Clemmie and Ruth joyfully ran around the kitchen and teased me via Facetime. Clemmie even demanded I tell "Ghost With One Black Eye" again, and then demanded that I make her "brave" in the story. 

Princess Clementine is ready for Halloween.

Peanut butter faced Ruth

She had a great time virtually stealing my nose. 

I've got to re-write "Ghost With One Black Eye" to make Clemmie "brave" in her encounter with the ghost.

And while we talked Brannon was dealing with contractions. She thought it might be "false labor"; turned out it wasn't. 

It is hard being a long-distance parent and grandparent. We've had an anxious day as Brannon tried to get some much needed rest between feeding and tending a newborn and putting up with the usual distractions of a hospital stay; she understandably had no time to call Mom and Dad. So we wondered and worried about this new little piece of our heart and her mother 2000 miles away.

Finally this evening another Facetime call and we had a nice long talk with Brannon while she held her new little bundle. There are more details: They almost made it, not to the intended hospital but to a nearer one, as John drove Sue's car and Sue (a wonderful nurse/midwife and dear friend of the Carlins) tended to Brannon in the back seat. But the baby would not wait. John pulled the car off the freeway near the Emerald Drive exit, and our little bright-eyed songbird arrived right there. 

A Facetime screen capture of our little songbird this afternoon.

We think we know what her name will be, but the decision isn't quite final. When I heard what the middle name is likely to be I teared up. You will have to wait a few more hours to learn it. Since her "due-date" had been set at October 31 I had proposed "Morticia". And all day today I have been calling her "Camry" though, in truth, I do not know what make of car Sue drives. Knowing her likely middle name I am nicknaming her "Songbird" for now.

Gleaning Facebook: Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire!

This ol' double Methodist PK (Preacher's Kid) is so proud, despite his Georgian nativity, of his new title as South Carolina's premier liar. My Carolina forebears would share my pride, I'm sure.

Congrats

to Melanie and Denise, two of my favorite fellow storytellers. And I'm thrilled to be scheduled to tell several stories at next years 21st Annual Hagood Mill Storytelling Festival in Pickens, SC.

Gleaning Facebook: Pumpkins!

I wonder how many punkins Sheila and I have passed in these lines over the last three decades. Y'all bring the kids and come enjoy the huge variety of sizes and shapes and colors of punkins, take a few pictures, maybe hear a story, and buy a few punkins to decorate your yard, AND simultaneously support out great youth program at Trinity United Methodist Church.

Gleaning Facebook: Found Objects

 Rummaging around in old boxes today I found a few merry nudges...

I'll bet there are others of these old bank bags scattered around town. My Daddy started banking at National City Bank in 1962 when we moved to Rome for him to begin his ministry at Trinity Methodist Church. Jim Formby, a banker at NCB was an active layman at Trinity and became my Dad's friend. That account was never closed until, after the bank had gone through MANY name changes during 59 years, we closed it, now my Mother's, just a few weeks before she died this year. National City always used the City Clock in their ads. When Sheila and I moved back to Rome eight days after our marriage in 1971, I naturally went to Mr. Formby to open our joint account at NCB.

A paper coaster from the Aloha Restaurant from, I think, the mid-sixties. I am a pack-rat-bordering-on-hoarder and I saved this coaster from a date or a banquet from that era. I remember at least two West Rome sports banquets at the Aloha; one was held at the original location in the little triangle formed by West Second Avenue, Martha Berry Blvd., and Turner McCall Blvd, and the second at the Martha Berry Blvd location near Robin Street.

More ancient history from rummaging around in boxes this morning: this is one of the many signs I created with “magic markers” as a college-volunteer at the RFK HQ in New Albany, Indiana, on the weekend before the 1968 Indiana primary. They were intended for supporters to hold at the Louisville airport when he arrived or in other of his appearances nearby.

A bit of history I stumbled upon this morning- Lillian’s note to Tooth Fairy. As I recall the fairy was forgiving concerning the lost lost tooth, and quite generous.

Mildred, gone dancing.

Mildred at Pine Tree Cottage with my beloveds.

I have mentioned our friend, mentor, inspiration, wonder Mildred many times in this blog. 

Sheila and I talked of driving to Helen to see Mildred again this fall, as we did for her 100th birthday last October. But that wasn't to be. Teressa called us this morning to let us know that Mildred died yesterday. Teressa said Mildred was having a pretty good day until thirty minutes before her death. She was only a few weeks from her 101st birthday still living there on the Greear place in Pine Tree Cottage that she and Phillip built after they retired and moved back to Helen from Rome

I treasure our copy of Mildred's poetry collection: Moving Gone Dancing, that she published in 2007. I'll post more about Mildred later, but for now here's the poem that is the "Gone Dancing" part of the title; I don't think Mildred would mind my quoting it.

Gone Dancing

Hey, 

watch out

when I dance.

When I dance

from the inside

my dance will begin

with an earth-on-axis whirling

everything centered

spinning like mad.

At first I may look like a kite

before my arms become blurred

and disappear out there

as I dance right through fingers

right through tight skin everywhere.

Up, up on toes, I will be taller

than I have ever been;

everything gone north and south.

Let me tell you,

it will be good

reaching that high

after touching so low.

You may look out and say

there's a whirlwind out yonder!

When already it was likely me

blowing your hat off

as I danced right by you.

Right by you!

and that's no whirlwind out yonder

kiddos, that's me,

your mama

gone dancing.

- Mildred White Greear

My life is poorer for her absence, but so much richer for the last half century as her friend.

When a breeze kicks up and I reach up to secure my hat, I'll think of Mildred, gone dancing.

 

PTSW: Daddies

I never wrist-wrestled my Daddy. 

But this poem struck home as it resurrected in my imagination a role-reversed experience with him one day about 1974. We both knew the world had changed that day. 

"Wrist Wrestling Father" ~ Orval Lund

for my father On the maple wood we placed our elbows and gripped hands, the object to bend the other's arm to the kitchen table. We flexed our arms and waited for the sign. I once shot a wild goose. I once stood not twenty feet from a buck deer unnoticed. I've seen a woods full of pink lady slippers. I once caught a 19-inch trout on a tiny fly. I've seen the Pacific, I've seen the Atlantic, I've watched whales in each. I once heard Lenny Bruce tell jokes. I've seen Sandy Koufax pitch a baseball. I've heard Paul Desmond play the saxophone. I've been to London to see the Queen. I've had dinner with a Nobel Prize poet. I wrote a poem once with every word but one just right. I've fathered two fine sons and loved the same woman for twenty-five years. But I've never been more amazed than when I snapped my father's arm down to the table.

United We Stand.

In the last half of the seventeen hundreds a large number of white landholding men in America were feeling that their natural rights were being trampled. They decided that they must unite or die under the tyranny of King George. E Pluribus Unum: Out of the many weak colonies they represented they united to create one federation. 

They were smart men, educated men, men, men who in their best moments were high-minded and principled. They spoke nobly of the rights of man, of equality, of liberty. But, like you and me, they were creatures of their time. Like you and me they were susceptible to greed, selfishness, prejudice, and short-sightedness. If they considered blacks or native Americans or even immigrants from other societies or the poor in general, or even their own mothers and daughters at all, it was mostly with the condescension of real men toward something less.

As the decades passed those noble writings filtered down to those "lessers" and they began to claim those natural rights to themselves. And as the agrarian society gave way to the industrial revolution the greed and unfairness of unrestrained capitalism became more and more obvious and its victims became more and more restive. They wanted their natural rights too. And they realized that they must unite or die, that they could be strong only if they could unite the many. The great American labor movement was born and the "all men" in the Declaration and the "general welfare" in the first sentence of the Constitution came, more and more, to refer to more than just white landholding men. 

Today we celebrate that great perfecting of America. Even in 2021 we are not finished. Lord knows we have taken some backwards steps in the last 30 years and especially in the last five, but we keep re-bending the arc of history toward justice and liberty.

I love America not because it's perfect; it's not. I love America because it is founded on the goal of ever-perfecting the balance of liberty and the common welfare. 

----

Here's a Labor Day post from 2007:

A Labor Day Acrostic

It seems to me there is less respect today than at anytime in my life for the labor of common folk. The air of entitlement among some folk only a generation or two removed from "linthead" and "clodbuster" ancestors is downright shocking. People who would still be tied to farm or mill had there been no union movement or New Deal or GI Bill are adamantly anti-union, anti-Democratic, anti-government programs period. There is very little awareness or appreciation for the incredible number of hands responsible for each little luxury and convenience we partially consume and largely consign to metastasizing landfills. There is great disdain for those whose labor is necessary to our wasteful lifestyles. And how dare our tax dollars be used to provide health insurance to common laborers who contribute less than us to the tax coffers.

On Labor Day this year I had the rare privilege of listening as several of my older relatives discussed the work their parents did in the cotton mills of Georgia and South Carolina. I am very proud of those folks. They sacrificed much to give their children better lives.

One interesting story was about how, when the small Methodist Church (the graveyard of which holds my grandparents) in Porterdale was used for a union organizing meeting it was burned down.

On the 1900 census of Spaulding County Georgia you will find my 10 year old Uncle Ervin listed as "elevator boy" and my fifteen year old grandmother as "mill worker". Think about that my young friends as you clip on your iPods and head to the gym to workout in your 75 dollar Nikes.

I interviewed Uncle Ervin when he was in his nineties back about 1981. He mentioned visiting Ashland, Alabama (from Griffin, Georgia) in his youth. I asked him how he got there. I thought perhaps he took a horse or wagon or maybe a train. No. "I got there the same way I got anywhere else," he said, "I walked."

I'm sure it was good exercise. I do not think he wore Nikes.

So here's my response to Tricia's Monday Poetry Stretch, an acrostic for Labor Day.

Little Uncle Irvin, ten-years-old,
A new employee, runs the mill's
Big elevator, up and down, hour after hour --
Our grandmother, fifteen and fatherless, an old hand upstairs --
Raising the bosses and the bossed,

Day after 1900 day,
And Will, and Fanny, and Molly, and Cora,
Year after non-union year.

by Terrell Shaw