Gary Presley

Modern Love 18: "Would My Heart Outrun Its Pursuer?"

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 12 May 2016 18:04:00 +0000

The actor Colin Farrell reads my essay published in The New York Times several years ago.

It still resonates with me, the essay, but Farrell's Irish lilt and the superb editing by the staff at WBUR deepen the essay's resonance.

Character Assassination

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 13 Oct 2015 15:15:00 +0000

One thing I've liked about growing older is that I've become less of a jerk. People's attitudes, comments, and perceptions don't matter as much. I don't need to correct. I don't need to respond. I don't need to be right.

I've learned that people strike out because there's a bit of hell in their lives. Illness. Divorce. Financial troubles. It's easy to cobra-bite anger when an innocent passerby strays into strike range. I've done it.

Yesterday an editor accused me to "character assassination" in a book review, and I thought about it all night.

He may be right.

He may be wrong.

Whatever the case, I don't want to be a character assassin. I still want to be able to say a book stinks, which this one did, but I don't want to make someone feel damaged because their writing skills are not at the level to accomplish a readable novel.

I try to live by Abraham Lincoln's aphorism, "Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."

I think I should add one more. Jewel's " ... only kindness matters."

The 25-Year Adventure

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 06 Oct 2015 14:43:00 +0000

Belinda D. Presley, Ph.D.

The woman I married almost a quarter a century ago had then recently confronted a crisis in her life, losing the chance to enter a doctoral program at Texas A&M in entomology.

Life treats us unfairly at times, but being the determined person she is, she knew she could reach her destination even though it might require a detour.

The destination: becoming a doctor.

She'd grown up with the ambition to become a registered nurse, but the Americans with Disabilities Act had yet to become law, and she had a significant hearing impairment. Nursing schools wouldn't accept her.

She decided she would pursue an education despite being told science was no place for someone with that sort of disability. She obtained a bachelor's degree in biology.

Then came the doctoral opportunity, but that door closed.

She persevered.

She enrolled in Missouri State University and earned a Masters degree in microbiology/immunology. Her sponsor happened to mention in the process, "A lab is no place for a woman."

She persevered.

Next came certification in Medical Technology. That was another year of school. Then certification in Histo-technology. Both of these are certifications and licenses gained through the American College of Pathologists.

Then a Masters degree in Health Administration and appointment as director of hospital and clinical laboratories for a healthcare facility serving multiple counties in southwest Missouri.

Why stop there? Why not a Ph.D.?

And so it went. More studied. More perseverance.

Although the graduation ceremony won't be held until January, Belinda's thesis was recently accepted and approved, and she can officially say, "Hello. My name is Dr. Belinda Presley."

Affair and Honor

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 28 Sep 2015 20:27:00 +0000

Affair and Honor

Based on the True Story of JFK in World War ll

Reviewed by Gary Presley

June 25, 2015

The early life and WWII adventures of Jack Kennedy entertain in this powerful narrative.

In Affair and Honor, Batt Humphreys sketches historical fiction by delving into the life of Navy ensign John F. Kennedy as he ships out from desk duty to captain PT-109 in the South Pacific, all while the future president is entranced by a woman who may be a Nazi spy.

Read the review

A Few Facts about the Alleged Area 51.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 20 Sep 2015 16:32:00 +0000

image linked from wikipedia

What use is the internet if you don't browse? Shopping? I don't buy much. I read a lot. And when I want to read about the quirkiness of modern life, I often go to The Chive. It's a fun site. Today I read this, "A Few Facts about the Alleged Area 51.

Employees used to enjoy a once-a-week steak night, with oysters and lobsters. They apparently tested military jets by asking them to fly cross-country and stopping in Maine to pick up the foods.

image linked from wikipedia

It reminded me of long ago when my father was assigned to an anti-aircraft battery guarding Fairchild Air Force Base outside of Spokane, Washington. To suggest how long ago it was, the bombers stationed there were B-36s called the Peacemaker and the weapons my father's battalion used to guard the air force base were M51 75mm radar-controlled automatic cannons called the Skysweeper.

On Fairchild AFB, we happened to live next door to an aircraft commander. In that era, as I recollect, the squadrons would often be sent out on "forward deployment," that is, spend a few weeks at air bases closer to those nasty communists. That had the effect of not only dispersing the aircraft but also putting a few of them closer to possible targets.

What I remember about that was the fellow next door bringing home goodies after a deployment. By goodies, I don't mean a nice piece of jewelry for his wife but rather crates of stuff for his family—furniture, bicycles, a motor scooter, etc. Apparently, while on TDY ("temporary duty) on Guam for example, the crew would load up with stuff to haul home to Spokane in the B-36's cavernous bomb bay, although probably not all 86,000 pounds of stuff. But after all, the B-36 had a crew of 15 men.

It was probably against ten regulations, and violated more than one customs code, but ... no one cared, and I cannot see that it did much harm. Eisenhower was president, and no one thought about drug smuggling or terrorists. The crews worked hard and were away from home and family for extended periods. It was, I suppose, "The CO turns a blind eye ..." situation.

And a good memory.

Dogs

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 17 Sep 2015 19:14:00 +0000

Smooch the Boston terrier

Folklore says every little girl goes through a horse stage. They love ponies ...

I don't know if that's true. I've been around horses a bit. I have family who treasure horses. I always make it a point to watch horse racing when it hits the television.

For me, however, it's dogs. I love dogs.

Presently we have three, all purebreds. A Boxer. A Standard Poodle. A Boston terrier.

The Boxer is a neurotic. The poodle is too smart for her own good, as witnessed by food thefts ranging from the bread top of sandwiches left unintended to stealing a stick of butter (wrapped) when the refrigerator is left open.

Smooch the Boston is a different kettle of canine. Her predecessor was all bulldog, tough and fearless. Smooch is the opposite, wary, overly friendly, and yet not so needy of human attention.

I thought of these dogs recently on a visit to a local zoo. The zoo displays a coyote pair and a small pack of wolves.

The coyotes prowled the fence line of the enclosure, warily watching me, mostly over its shoulder.

The wolves gathered 20 feet or so from the fence line, with one—the dominant female, or male—patrolling the fence, watching me especially.

Of course, I use a wheelchair. If a wolf has memory, I suppose it might have remembered seeing me previously, but this wolf was particularly curious about me. I was in a large group, but the wolf followed my every movement. When I turned an d headed in the opposite direction, the wolf followed.

I think these animals—and the big cats as well—are bored in zoo enclosures. No doubt they live longer, perhaps healthier, lives, but no matter how dog-like they appear in their behavior, I know they shouldn't be confined.

It may be necessary, of course.

I said to my wife, "I don't know why they don't feed them naturally."

"What do you mean?"

"Turn rabbits or chickens or other prey loose in the pens."

I know the authorities, let alone ASPCA or PETA, would not allow such behavior, and I suppose it's no more unnatural to stymie their prey drive than it is to pen them, but ...

I cannot see my dogs without thinking of those coyotes and wolves. Deep in the eyes of these pets, these tame companions, there lurks the glow of the wolf, and I treasure that.

Funnily enough, there are people who want wolves, or wolf hybrids, for the same reason other people want pit bulls—to fill some sort of psychological hole.

I don't. A wolf, a coyote, is a wild thing, and belongs in the wild. I will take Smooch the Boston, Pinky the Poodle, and Daisy the Boxer and the 10,000 years of domestication.

Shape Shifters

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 16 Sep 2015 23:39:00 +0000

That's cell phone companies for me ...

There seem to be a big push now to raid customers from other providers, evening to the point of one cell phone company paying off contract fees to gain a new customer. That apparently means the end of the low-priced cell phone.

We renewed a contract, and I got a decent iPhone 5S for $49 "service fee." My wife didn't want one, then. She was busy with her PhD.

Now she wants one. We're eligible, but to get her the same iPhone 5S it will require $15 a month for 30 months.

Enjoy this conversation and tell me what it means, for I politely signed off without understanding how to get a one-generation-older cell phone without paying a monthly fee. I think it means I can get an iPhone 5S for a flat fee, but I lose some sort of discount.

Daniel C: Hello, this is Daniel C with AT&T! I'll be happy to help you today. May I ask who I have the pleasure of chatting with?

Me: Gary Presley

Daniel C: Hello Gary! It is a pleasure

Daniel C: There is both time and cost associated with activating or upgrading a customer regardless of the contract type. The activation/upgrade fees help AT&T recover the marketing and operational costs associated with acquiring a customer.

Me: So an upgrade to an iPhone 5S is $15 a month for 30 months now when I paid a $49 upgrade few three or four months ago to get the same phone on the other line?

Daniel C: The upgrade fee depend on the purchase option you selected for your phone.

Me: Explain that more clearly. We always take the 2 year contract. We stick with ATT. We like the coverage. We also like to upgrade at the end of the 2-year contract. So, there are no more "free" upgrades for long-time customers?

Daniel C: Smartphones purchased with 2-year agreement savings pay the full upgrade fee of $45/mo.

Daniel C: Smartphones purchased with AT&T Next or No Contract (full price up front) receive a discounted upgrade fee of $15.

Daniel C: The upgrade fee is a one-time charge that applies when you purchase a new wireless device at a discount to replace an old device. It's added to your next bill.

Me: I'm looking at a page that says I must pay $15 a month to get an iPhone 5S (not the latest phone) to upgrade.

Daniel C: Can I ask what page you're currently on?

Me: <give the page url>

Daniel C: One moment please.

Me: Okay

Daniel C: Thank you!

Daniel C: AT&T Next is purchase and upgrade system that gives you control of how soon you can upgrade your device, and how you pay.

Daniel C: The tax showing due today is the estimated sales tax base on your zip code, and the retail purchase price of the phone that you have selected.

Daniel C: You can select from the following installment terms on a smartphone:
* Next 24 - 30 monthly installments with the option to upgrade after 24 payments.
* Next 18 - 24 installments with the option to upgrade after 18 payments.
* Next 12 – 20 installments with the option to upgrade after 12 payments.

Daniel C: When you’ve reached the upgrade mark you will give back your current phone and pick a new one to upgrade to. You’ll stop paying the previous installment plan and start paying on the new plan for the new phone.

Daniel C: AT&T Next is not a contract, but you are agreeing to pay off the full price of your device over the course of monthly payments. If you cancel service, the remaining balance of the device will be due in full.

Daniel C: You can upgrade even earlier if you choose to pay off the minimum installment balance early (24, 18, or 12 payments’ worth) in as little as two months from the start of your last AT&T Next plan.

Daniel C: Keep in mind, your phone must be in good condition and fully functional in order to qualify for the early upgrade option. Otherwise, you’ll need to finish paying off the full balance before you can upgrade again. I definitely recommend adding our Mobile Protection Pack so that you can keep your phone safe and insured.

Me: So there are no more flat fee, one time payments to upgrade if I agree to a two-year contract?

Daniel C: Absolutely!

Me: "Absolutely" Yes? Or No? I like ATT service. I intend to stick with ATT. I don't want a brand new phone. I want a one-time upgrade payment.

Daniel C: Yes.

Daniel C: I also want to make you aware that by choosing to upgrade to a new smartphone with a two-year agreement contract, the Mobile Share Value plan discount you have been receiving will no longer be available for your line. Upgrading to a new two-year agreement contract removes the discount on the smartphone access charge ($15 goes to $40 on 10GB or higher or $25 to $40 on lower than 10GB plans).

Me: Okay. That's all I need to know. As noted, I like ATT's service. I simply want to continue with ATT with the least amount of expenditure. Thank you for your time.

Oh, Say Can You See?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 14 Sep 2015 19:30:00 +0000

Apparently not, at least with the left eye, which cannot be corrected to better than 20/40.

Cataract.

Never had eye surgery, and I'm a "squeezer," as the technician put it—the type who must have some pry eye lid open before I can put in eye drops.

I also have astigmatism. The opthamologist tells me the lens to correct astigmatism is $850 and will not be paid by insurance. It's considered "cosmentic."

The doctor wants me to pay the extra for it, even though I suppose he makes little from its sale. It's the same work, after all, to insert a regular lens or an astigmatic lens.

I won't need prescription glasses if I have it installed, but my right eye is 20/125 uncorrected, and I still need to wear glasses for its vision. My thought, "Since I'm going to need glasses anyway, why pay the extra?

His response? You're going to be so pleased with the left eye's new vision that you'll want the right eye done. I really don't need the right eye done, but it can be done according to the "payability" of cataract surgery.

Either way, I'll still need reading glasses, which he says, "Get a Wal-Mart cheapie. They'll do. I'll even be able to wear those trendy over-the-counter sunglasses—the Oakleys, the Raybans, etc.

I've never not worn glasses, at least as an adult. I begin wearing prescription lenses when I entered the seventh grade.

[Mind boggler: if this had been available when I was younger, and if I hadn't gotten polio, I could have qualified as a pilot.]

I'm confused about the lens selection.

I'm worried about eye surgery. I do not like anything touching my eyes!

Most of all, I befuddled that here I am, all 70-plus-years of me, ready to appear without glasses.

[Mind boggler #2: my wife has never seen me function without glasses, nor for that matter, without a beard.]

"The Question"

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 12 Sep 2015 13:31:00 +0000

We have a new priest at our parish, one from a foreign country.

That was sure to bring "The Question."

"Why are you in the wheelchair?"

Many wheelers don't like the question. I don't like it when it's nearly the first thing said after meeting me, but this priest has been here from several months, and I know he's curious—and I know he's young enough to have been taught modern Catholic doctrine, which means he's not going to lay his hands on my head and command me to "Walk!"

But English is not his native tongue. How to explain?

That's one of my foibles. I do not want to say "Polio" because the implication is that I was raised by parents who neglected my health. And I didn't want to go into the long, long speech of why I came down with polio.

"Vaccine accident," I replied.

I could see he didn't understand, and so I expanded to "I took a vaccine that my metabolism couldn't handle, or perhaps a vaccine that was contaminated in some fashion.

I could see his confusion, but like other folks who have rolled around for decades, "The Story" is boring to me. You? The priest? You both may be fascinated, but to me, the origin of "The Great Sit Down and Ride Out the Rest of Your Life" is old, old news.

I was kind. I was polite. But I didn't attempt to reduce his puzzlement.

"How long have you used the chair?" he asked.

"Fifty or so years," I replied.

When my Dad drove a '57 Ford Fairlane ...

When we had a black-and-white television and one channel ...

When he scratched out a farm payment selling Class-C milk ...

When the summer before I hauled milk and hay to get pocket money ...

When the isolated hill community where we lived still had a local telephone company and an operator who ran the switchboard from her kitchen ...

When I walked down the line of high schoolers getting the Salk vaccine from the local county health department ...

When I woke up in an iron lung and thought, I'll be back in school in a few days playing basketball ...

"I'm a Non-Attorney Spokesperson"

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 08 Sep 2015 18:27:00 +0000

We live in the boondocks, and satellite is the only way we have to get all the ESPN-TNT-TBS-19-Kids-And-Counting channels.

But we quit 'em about two years ago because the price was reaching car payment levels.

So now we have local broadcast channels, a circumstance which has brought me to notice the inordinate number of advertisements for attorneys.

I'm not referencing local attorneys. I can probably count them on a double handful in the 300,000 population metropolitan area, meaning those that advertise.

I'm speaking of those who advertise for class action suits or individual damage suits for asbestos poisoning, medical device failures, and pharmaceutical interactions.

It seems the advertisements never cease.

Now I realize Big Money is involved, but it got me to thinking of those advertisements we used to run on small town radio. The advertisements were sent to the small station, and the station was paid a portion of any order.

You sent in your $3.95 for a jar of "Aunt Betty's Magic Colic Cream" and the station would receive seventy-five cents or so.

I wonder if that's how these attorney advertisements are sponsored. If I call in Samuel J. Solicitor's office because I've been badly injured by Drug Conglomerate, Inc.'s foot powder—my toe fell off!—is it only then that the station gets paid for running the attorney's advertisement?

There has to be some catch. I don't see how any attorney could afford to advertise ten times a day on three different stations otherwise.

Chilly on Top

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 07 Sep 2015 21:08:00 +0000

image taken from eBay

AC in public spaces is generally too, too much. We keep our our home at 80-82, finding the reduction in humidity the main factor in comfort.

Out new pastor keeps the church at 70. Mass requires me to wear a shirt, a scarf, and a sweater, and I'm still cold -- yes, cold -- because I'm cold natured. (Let's not mention the bone-chilling temperatures in hospitals and doctors offices or shops where the idea is to keep everyone moving.)

After Mass, I hurried to the van, which had been sitting in the sun, climbed in, and enjoyed the, ah, warm temperatures.

"I see you got cold again," my wife said.

"My bald head. The darned vent blasts right down on my head."

"You need a toupee," she said.

Logical, since we're Catholic rather than Jewish, and thus we cannot wear a hat in church.

Sentimentality

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 05 Sep 2015 11:00:00 +0000

I don't understand sentimentality.

I had a beautiful angora scarf, a Don Loper of Hollywood scarf, my mother bought for me in California perhaps 40 years ago. I loved that scarf.

It's disappeared.

I miss it. I can buy another scarf. An angora one, if I like. I could buy three or four scarves, but I miss that scarf because I liked it, because I had it for a long time, because it did its job well. I don't want another scarf. I want that scarf.

There's other things like that missing, things that I've had for years, for decades. A lamp. A dish from Japan. I could name more.

The odd thing is that I know that people are ruled by possessions. We buy them. We care for them. We soon need them in our lives.

And I don't like to be possessed by possessions.

I once read a writer who suggested a wise man would never own more than he could load in a car.

I probably would have loaded that scarf in the car were that my philosophy and my lifestyle, but best guess—it was left in the pocket of a winter coat given away to a charity.

The Wind, the Hilltop, and the Mist

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 04 Sep 2015 14:24:00 +0000

I live on a hilltop. The land drops off to the east, and so I see a beautiful sunrise, marred only by a neighbor's house and electrical wires and poles.

East and south of here is a little town called Pleasant Hope, and to get there, across the county roads, you must cross a small river. That means our hill, the highest point between here and Pleasant Hope allows me to see the mist gather in the little river valleys.

It's almost as if I'm in an airplane flying over clouds.

This morning was especially beautiful, but when I pulled out the trusty iPhone to photograph the valley mists, the picture was but a palette of gray. I suppose I need a camera, and a lens, and the ability to adjust timing and focus.

Until then, perhaps this will do to explain what I see from my window ...

"The Wind"
as it appeared in fringe magazine

OCD

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 02 Sep 2015 19:43:00 +0000

What's your, ah, compulsory fetish?

Ah, c'mon. Admit you have one.

I see stuff on TV and read in the news about people who are trapped in OCD. It's no laughing matter. I feel badly about saying I have OCD when I know I have, well ... minor compulsions.

I'm no hoarder. I don't wash my hands 1,000 times a day. I'll shake your hand without reaching for the sanitizer, but I like certain things certain ways.

It's numbers, mostly. Although that said, I don't like the color green. Green's bad luck.

Or not.

I like numbers divisible by 3. The number 4—which I once heard sounds nearly the same as the word death when spoken in Japanese—seems, not unlucky, but worthy of avoiding. Let's not discuss the lengths I venture to avoid any timing device landing on the number four.

Electric plugs. When unhitched from the circuit, the metal prongs must dangle in air.

Let's not continue. I will be forced to speak of rampant claustrophobia.

DRACHEN

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 01 Sep 2015 18:18:00 +0000

Drachen

Reviewed by Gary Presley
August 27, 2015

This all-action, all-the-time thriller will suit adrenalin junkies.

In Drachen, Brendan le Grange spins a modern tale of violent intrigue, telling the story of an intrepid female Indiana Jones-type who seeks treasure lost long ago when a medieval warship sank.

Read the complete review here

Regret

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 31 Aug 2015 14:26:00 +0000

I once wrote a memoir. I was reminded of that yesterday when I received a check for $26.93 from the University of Iowa Press yesterday. The memoir, published in 2008, sold six copies here in the USA and one copy internationally.

There are days I wish I hadn't written a memoir. I know people living and dead are offended by what I wrote, my thoughts, my opinions. I suppose if I get to Heaven I'll be lambasted. Perhaps there's no lambasting in Heaven.

I've written no more books. I've written essays. I've written hundreds of book reviews. I like writing book reviews. I liked writing the memoir, in fact, but it was difficult. Maybe I'm going through a stage of memoir regret. Still. Here eight years later, more or less. I was raised to never say "Look at me! I'm great!"

To write a memoir you must put that aside. And say "Look at me! My story my teach you something!"

I hope it did. I hope there was a karmic balance—one person made better for every person hurt.

Buried Treasure

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 28 Aug 2015 13:02:00 +0000

There's an interesting story on a site I visit regularly—The Chive—that brought back memories of moving to the little village of Hurley, Missouri.

No need to name names, or even I suppose to give the exact location, but my father bought what was called "The Smith Place," a 1920s era Craftsman bungalow on 15 acres.

"Ol' man Smith didn't trust banks," folks begin telling my dad. "His money's buried all over that place in coffee cans."

We never found any buried cans, full or money or not.

This was before the era of metal detectors. Maybe it'd be worthwhile to go back and walk the grounds with one now. Of course, that money—and those cans—would be close to 75 years buried now. I doubt a coffee can would survive that long, and once the can had rusted away, any paper money would rot.

Let's go look for silver dollars!

Interview

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 27 Aug 2015 13:20:00 +0000

Just because you do something doesn't mean you know something about the thing you do.

I am speaking of book reviewing. I review books. I review books as a reader.

Via the internet, I met a woman in Italy who wanted to review books for American publishers. That's a hard row to hoe, even if she is bilingual.

We exchanged emails. As a result, she wanted to interview me about book reviewing.

You want to read the interview?

You'll find it here.

If you have criticism, you should direct them to me, not the owner of that blog.

INCOMING

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 26 Aug 2015 14:09:00 +0000

Incoming

Collected Stories

Reviewed by Gary Presley
August 13, 2015

Characters are relatable and fully human, and their actions resonate with the choices humans must make.

Vic Amato’s sixteen tales in his Incoming: Collected Stories are literary explorations of the corridors of the human psyche, some familiar, some dark, all incorporating empathetic portraits of people, including married couples, young men on the cusp of adulthood, and even a sympathetic examination of the quirky among us.

read the entire review

Honor, or the Lack of It

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 25 Aug 2015 12:53:00 +0000

We were in Kansas City a few weeks ago, and among other things, we had an opportunity to visit Kansas City's Swope Park Zoo.

(An aside, those of you who like zoos should visit this one.)

I've used a wheelchair for more than five decades. I garnered the looks, the stares, the questions—all of the human interaction possible as we rolling monuments to fate make our journey through this world. All of them, I thought, until that day.

I was waiting for the rest of my family to finish with an exhibit when a man wearing a cap identifying him as a veteran of the Vietnam War walked by, reached out, grabbed my hand, and said "Thank you."

There's a such a thing as stolen valor—someone in uniform wearing badges and medals never earned—but I wasn't. The only thing I was wearing was a wheelchair, and a gray beard that might suggest I am of an age to have served in Vietnam.

I didn't. I've never been in the military.

I shook his hand. And said nothing.

It only occurred to me a few moments later that he might have thought I was a veteran, an injured one at that.

That made me sad. I don't know why. Perhaps there's a part of me who wishes I'd seen the elephant. I know there's a part of me that thinks be crippled by polio seems so capricious, so arbitrary, so useless.

Imagination

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 24 Aug 2015 16:34:00 +0000

I love to write. I have no imagination. It is hard to write without imagination.

I can write enough descriptive language to write creative nonfiction, given a subject. I don't.

I write book reviews. Book reviews are easy. Book reviewing makes me envious, especially when I read something like American Copper or The Great and Calamitous Tale of Johan Thoms.

Such a gift with words makes me envious, and yet more so the ability to imagine a tale. The first, I might, had I twenty-five more IQ points and a better education and decent research skills. The latter novel, another historical work, is beyond my admiration, drawn from a world event in a place most foreign, made real on the page in a story entirely believable.

Reviewing books makes me envious, humbles me, entrances me with the ability of a human mind.

Some books are like listening to Bach.

Outside

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 22 Aug 2015 18:20:00 +0000

Disassociation.

I'm piloting a body, one I am not really impressed with, around this earth, not even understanding my purpose, attempting to act with kindness and as much honesty as possible, to myself and with others, and I am only an observer.

An observer of self—watching as I speak to other people, the little boy who was once Gary watching the man who people think is Gary now, never sure of what I am doing, or how what I do will end, or wondering how the boy that I was became the man confused by the trip and by the destination.

Disassociation.

Flying

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 21 Aug 2015 13:35:00 +0000

I always wanted to fly.

That lasted until I was 11-or-12-years-old, and I returned to school and couldn't read the blackboard.

Glasses.

Slowly dawning recognition that military pilots, which after all is the easiest way to get into the air, must have perfect vision.

Now a person can slip in for laser surgery and eliminate the need for corrective lenses. Not then.

I wanted to fly the airplane shown, a Lockheed U-2, carrying itself far, far above the normal range of aircraft. No fighter planes for me. No bombers.

Why?

Ask Freud.

A withdrawn personality? Introversion?

I did fly. Across the US in a DC-3. Then across the ocean in a, I think, DC-4, or as the military designated it, since it was a military aircraft, the C-54. From New York. To Maine. To Gander, Newfoundland. To Shannon, Ireland. To Frankfurt, Germany.

And then in a 4-passenger Cessna from Springfield, Missouri to Omaha, Nebraska and back again 3 months later.

But never in a U-2.

God, Mortality, and Faith

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 20 Aug 2015 16:41:00 +0000

Logic, physics, science in general suggests we humans are each little bundles of temporary organization occurring in the entropy after the Big Bang.

It makes me afraid.

I will die. I will be created. All that is me—this thing I perceive as Gary when I close my eyes—will disappear.

I go to Mass. I cling to faith. I asked the priest if he ever had a crisis of faith, best exemplified most recently by the thoughts expressed by letters found in Mother Teresa's effects after her death.

He said, "No."

It was no comfort.

SHADES OF GRAY

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 19 Apr 2015 15:06:00 +0000

Today is the 20th anniversary of the terror bombing of the federal building at Oklahoma City.

Grow old enough, cynicism aside, it seems many moral and ethical issues fade into shades of gray. There is right. There is wrong. And there is rationalization.

One thing difficult to rationalize, that truly cannot be rationalized even in this day when the Tea Party asks to see a president's birth certificate simply because he is a man of color, is the terror bombing of the Oklahoma federal building by Timothy McVeigh.

Why?

I've recently talked extensively with someone who suggested many things I consider moral failing—like constant lies—are the result of psychological diseases. We lie because we have an inferiority complex. We lie because we are depressed and cannot face what we perceive as unchangeable sorrow.

Was McVeigh insane? He didn't seem so. Is hate—as exampled by McVeigh's hated of the evolution of our society and the errors of our government at Waco—a form of madness?

I do not know. I do know I've read many things about the Oklahoma City terror attack, both to rationalize and to explain it. I know McVeigh is dead, executed because of the atrocity, expressing only regret that the building did not fully collapse. I still don't know what would motivate a person to participant in the massacre of innocent noncombatants, especially in a pre-meditated, cold-blooded attack.

There is one thing particularly that I heard, and have listened to many times since, that speaks to me about the tragedy. It is Robert Earl Keen's song "Shades of Gray." It is a spare, hard-bitten allegory about the nature of choices, with but a bare mention of the date of the bombing at the end of the song. If I were smart enough to analyze the song, had the insight to deconstruct the allegory, I would wonder over the meaning behind the federal officer being a black man. I have a suspicion it is there because McVeigh was a neo-Nazi sympathizer. In any event, it is one of Keen's better narrative songs, and I cannot listen to it without meditating on the scope of human evil.