FIFTY YEARS AGO: THE MOON LANDING

[NOTE: Ten years ago I made a blog post about the 40th anniversary of the Moon Landing, which I include below with some ages/numbers updated.  Back then, I had responses to this posting from the following current Facebook Boyd Gatlin, Elizabeth Moon, and Nan Strohminger.] 

    Fifty years ago, in July of 1969, my parents were 39 years old—twenty-seven years younger than I am today. I was sixteen, my sisters were thirteen and eleven, and my maternal grandmother was 66 (my age now). The six of us were on vacation, riding in a Rambler station wagon and pulling a small travel trailer. As Apollo 11 made its descent, we were in Arkansas, driving up into the Ozarks, on our way to Devil's Den State Park. My father had the radio tuned to a broadcast from Mission Control in Houston. From time to time, the station would fade out and one of my parents would retune the car radio to pick up a closer, stronger station. I don't think we three kids ever kept quieter in the car than that afternoon. We were in the mountains, on a narrow, twisty road of the kind that always made my mother nervous (me too!) when we heard the words "The Eagle has landed."

   Sometime later we got to the campground, and set up early for the night. Ahead of time, my parents had located a state campground that had electrical hookups, because for the first time ever, we had brought a television with us on a camping trip. There was no way we were going to miss the broadcast of the first step on the moon. After we were settled in and it began to get dark, there were some anxious minutes while the tv was tuned in. I seem to recall aluminum foil on the rabbit ears antenna to augment the not-very-strong signal. I remember that I was worried that we wouldn't get to see the broadcast, that the signal would not come in. However, what I remember most was my grandmother's reaction to the historic first human step on another world. Her mother had taken her and her brother Rossman, when she was a little girl in New Orleans, to see the Wright brothers, who were touring the country with their new invention. It was amazing, she said, to think that in her own lifetime we had gone from the first flying machine to landing on the moon.

   So now it has been longer since that first moon landing than my parents lived before it. All of my sisters' children and grandchildren have been born after mankind last walked on the moon in 1972. Currently (still!) orbiting the moon is the LRO, which took the picture accompanying this post, showing the landing site of that first landing in 1969. (So much for the conspiracy theory that it was all a special effects show!)

   I'd like to say my own lifetime spanned from the first man orbiting the Earth to the first permanent occupation of the moon. Here's hoping that mankind's next visit will lead to a permanent outpost on our closest neighbor, before another century draws to a close!

Photo: NASA/Goddard Space Flight Center/Arizona State

First Selections for 2017 – Year of Poetry

Because so much of the social media traffic has been about how horrendous 2016 has been in terms of prominent deaths and political upsets, I thought I'd start out the first day of 2017, a Sunday, with something serious.  So I got out my copy of Cowper's poems, and started reading the Olney Hymns.  I limited myself to the first twenty-five, and of course there were two very familiar ones in that section:  "O! For a Closer Walk with God" and "There is a fountain filled with blood"—both mainstays of English hymnody.  I was a little surprised how much I found to appreciate in some of the others, since by reputation in most of my college studies they had not been very fairly characterized.  They were full of a sense of conviction of sin, but not in a judgmental or accusatory way.  They're very out of fashion, but I enjoyed them. The two most famous worked for me as poetry more than did the rest, which were more gnomic or advisory—versified discourse more than what I'd call poetry.  Very different from lyric poetry or even the Psalms; maybe "domesticated" (in the best sense) would be a better description.  I decided none of them were appropriate for posting without a much longer commentary than I felt up to providing today, so I cast my eyes about for something else.

There's a book of poems called PANAMA PATCHWORK that I've had for more than 25 years, but never really looked at much.  My copy is the 6th edition, 1920, of a collection first published around the turn of the 20th century.  James Stanley Gilbert, edited by his friend Tracy Robinson.  I found two poems appropriate to the passing of a terrible old year (De Profundis) and hope for the new year (A New Year's Rainbow). Here I offer them for your perusal:

De Profundis

                                Almighty Dispenser of good things and ill,

                                       Purveyor of foods that delight or annoy;

                                Thou that doth every man's little cup fill

                                       With draughts to be drained of sorrow or joy:

                                Disgusted we come to the Presence to-day,

                                       Sans flattering speeches of moment and pith,

                                But simply and briefly and bluntly to say

                                       That we firmly believe that Job was a myth.

                                We are weary of patience and all of that cant

                                       About love that can chasten love gasping for breath.

                                We are minus that faith that can cheerfully rant

                                       Of the blessings of life in the presence of death.

                                We do not believe in the silver that lines

                                       The horse-blanket clouds spread above us for weeks,

                                For we know all the silver is safe in the mines

                                       That is not in the pockets of somebody's breeks.

                                We are weary of funerals, weary of tears,

                                       We are weary of pushing unpushable walls;

                                We are weary of leveling mountains of fears—

                                       Of building a Hope that instantly falls.

                                We have given to Misery more than her half,

                                       We have rendered to Gloom more years than are his,

                                We have moped long enough!  Great God let us laugh

                                       Before we forget what a laugh is!

A New Year's Rainbow

                                            It rose this morning out of the sea,

                                                   Just as the sun was peeping,

                                            With glances bright at the distant night

                                                   That still in the West was sleeping.

                                            The rain that in the sombre dawn

                                                   Like tears from the clouds was falling

                                            Had passed away while the god of day

                                                   The darkness was enthralling.

                                            And it said, "Faint heart, take cheer!  Take cheer,

                                                   And behold the sign and token

                                            I bring to thee from over the sea,

                                                   Of the promise never broken!

                                            The grief I follow shall ne'er return:

                                                   Oh, list to my joyous message!

                                            Dost thou not know that my gleaming bow

                                                   Of a glad new year is presage?"

Catching Up a Few Years

It's been a long time since I posted on this blog, and I won't try to completely catch up on events.  A lot has happened.

I held a one-year faculty appointment at UNT.  After my term as "Professor Gatlin" in the Department of Technical Communications was complete, before I had time to really look around for something else, I was asked just before the Fall semester 2015 to take a couple of first-year writing classes in the Department of English as an adjunct professor.  Since this was a different curriculum and different textbooks, I agreed thinking that I'd teach the first half twice before taking classes for the second half.
Where my thinking was not clear was that in the "off" semester, there are fewer sections of the first half of first-year writing, and there was no section available for me to teach.  That was okay with me, because I really didn't think I was doing so well with the English writing curriculum, after my more satisfying experiences with the Tech Comm equivalent.

So about the time I started looking for something new (insurance coverage was drawing to a close, and COBRA looked expensive), I got a call from a highly placed executive from my former employer (see the earlier postings about getting fired for "tardiness" after 33-1/2 years).  She told me my name had come up in a meeting about a problem, as a possible solution.  She wondered if I would be interested in doing some work along the lines of my former job.

Everything came together on this fairly quickly in HR terms, and I am now employed by a contract house at my former aerospace employer.  All the unfriendly faces of the past are gone, and a few of the old friendly ones are still there, along with the new friendly faces.  They have already extended the original term for which they estimated they would need my help, so it looks like I'll continue to be employed there (well compensated) at least several months into the New Year.  Which I am going to refer to as ...

THE YEAR OF POETRY

By that term I mean that I'm going to be making a special effort to read, study, post, and maybe even compose more poetry this year.  I'll be posting about what I'm reading, or at least that's the plan.  Check by and see how it goes!

. . .And the Beginning of a New Chapter

So a few weeks ago, I was surfing the web, reading blogs and Facebook, checking out the SF markets on Ralan.com—you know the sort of thing.  I had been thinking that I probably should start looking for some sort of part-time employment to bring in a little income, rather than continuing—as they used to say—"living on my capital." So I looked at the web sites at TCU, Tarrant County College (what we used to call TCJC), and the University of North Texas, my Alma Mater for both BA (1974, under its former name, NTSU) and MA (1996). I actually applied for positions at TCC and UNT, although it was so late in the summer.  "Surely," I thought, "All the hiring has been completed for the fall semester."  To my surprise, I was contacted for interviews for both.

After an initial telephone interview with UNT, I was contacted for an in-person interview in the form of teaching a demonstration lesson from the syllabus used in the entry-level technical communications class taken mostly by science and engineering majors. A day later an offer of employment was made and accepted, and just ten days later I was in the classroom on the first day of the fall semester.

It had been sort of a dream to someday teach again somewhere like North Texas, but with the collapse of my PhD studies I had about given that up.  Now, after a sometimes exhilarating and sometimes terrifying few days, I'm not only employed but full time and on the faculty, at least for a nine-month contract.  I've made it through the first week. I've been dealing with a great group of people in the Department of Linguistics and Technical Communication. I'm looking forward to next week and the weeks to come.

The End of An Experiment . . .

Some of you already know that I have dropped out of school, withdrawing from UTA this past spring.  The reasons are complicated, but suffice it to say that I had dug myself into a hole from which I decided it was not worth expending the effort to remove myself in order to continue.  Mostly this can be attributed to my own dislike for the current emphasis on critical theory, much of which I find difficult to believe. The situation was not improved by the changing in midstream of some rules about participating in the program.

I enjoyed much my experiences at UTA, especially meeting and dealing with smart, young people and engaging professors.  With one exception, I was treated with consideration and friendliness by my fellow students and my teachers, and I remember them with fondness.  But that chapter is closed; it was an experiment that failed.  Keep watching for information about the next chapter.

Eripe me de inimicis (Psalm 59)

6.  For our Enemies
O God, the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies:  Lead them and us from prejudice to truth; deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in your good time enable us all to stand reconciled before you; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

In the previous posts, I mentioned the person who fired me last March from my job of 33-1/2 years, and said that I'd probably flip him off if I saw him face to face, although I had "let go of most of the anger."  I was not ready to forgive him, not least of all because I figured he was not in the least repentant about the thing he did.  Some of the verses of Psalm 59 described the way I felt:  "For the sins of their mouths, for the words of their lips, for the cursing and lies that they utter, let them be caught in their pride.  Make an end of them in your wrath; make an end of them, and they shall be no more." Not that I wanted him to die, but I wished for him at least to feel a little bit sorry about what he did (firing me,  and even more, lying about me to keep me from collecting unemployment), even if I never learned about it.

Today I found out that he was having brain surgery, to be followed by chemotherapy.  My immediate reaction was "Damn! Now I can't even wish retribution on him any more."  My next thought was "There's the explanation for how irrational his behavior has been."  That has been followed by a few hours of feeling alternately guilty and angry that this has come up.

I wouldn't—and don't—wish physical harm, especially this sort of sickness, on anyone.  That said, I have to admit that if I had heard that he had died, I would feel, at most, mild regret that something so bad had occurred. Since instead what I heard was that he was sick, I hope he recovers fully.  But I will always wish that he hadn't connived against and lied about me.

Why I'm Happy Not To Be Going to Work Every Day

As mentioned in the previous post,  I lost my job in March.  The reason given me, after 33-1/2 years working in the aerospace industry first as a specifications writer and then as an editor, was tardiness.  Naturally, I believe that the real reason was something else, mainly the personality conflict between me and my supervisor—a man with no background, education, or ability in the field of documentation, someone who was basically a computer equipment and facilities planner.  Nothing about the situation was different than it had been at other times during my years at that company, and although I sometimes came in late, I always got in at least my required 40 hours.  The only difference was the supervisor.  The nature of my work—which I really enjoyed—meant that it was not unusual for me to need to stay later in the evening, depending on the project. 

Unfortunately, the supervisor had documented his "counseling" sessions, and I never documented any of his behavior.  The next two levels of management up from the bad guy were new to those positions, and didn't know me from Adam, although I had good working relationships with my coworkers and the people I did work for, my customers.  The universal reaction expressed, both to my face and communicated by several third parties, was disbelief that I had been fired. 

Because I was discharged "for cause," the State of Texas turned me down for unemployment compensation.  I pursued the appeals process, as far as possible without hiring a lawyer, but dropped it after the second level of appeal was denied.  One thing I learned from all this was that you should document your side of the story if you're having problems with a supervisor. 

All during that time (from March until sometime in August) I was actively but unsuccessfully looking for a job.  Fortunately, I was fully vested in the retirement program, and was able to take a lump sum that I rolled over to avoid a big tax hit (since my termination was involuntary, I avoided the tax penalty for withdrawal before age 59-1/2).  I'm still covered by COBRA, although the really ironic aspect is that at age 60 I could have retired and continued my insurance to age 65 at the same cost as if I were still employed.  Insurance had been the chief reason I turned down a fairly generous voluntary separation package in 2011.

Once I got past the initial hurt and shock, I let go of most of the anger.  Oh, I'd still probably flip off the creep if I ever saw him; but since the first quarter of 2011, out of fewer than ten employees over whom he has supervisory responsibility, six or seven people —not counting me—have either left on their own or been discharged by him.  At some point when that company is looking to thin out lower-level managers, he's going to come under some close and uncomfortable scrutiny. 

During the time I was looking for a job and appealing the state's decision, I realized that I was feeling so much better.  Don't get me wrong, I loved the work I was doing, and was proud of the job I did; but I realize now that I hated going in to deal with all his crap every day—and all the seemingly ill-advised decisions being made every day by the management farthest from the day-to-day work.  I miss the work, I miss the people, but I don't miss the situation.

After looking into several universities, things came together so that just in time for the fall semester, I was unconditionally admitted to the University of Texas at Arlington.  So I'm back in school, my first semester underway, working on a PhD in English.  I'm running as fast as I can, having a very busy but very enjoyable time.  

End of an Era

For those of my friends and family who haven't heard the news yet:

Monday, March 5, I was suddenly let go from my position as Engineering Technical Administrator Specialist ("technical editor") at one of the major aerospace companies here in the Fort Worth/Dallas metroplex. (It has long been my policy not to mention my employer online by name.) After 33-1/2 years, in the middle of the busiest season of the year for my particular job, this out-of-the-blue decision has not benefited the company or anyone else that I can determine. But it is an accomplished fact.

Thanks to all the colleagues and friends who have expressed their surprise and good wishes. I'm confident the future holds new and interesting opportunities for me. (Certainly I'll have more time to post to this blog!)

Spring Babies

Here's Sweetpea and her little colt, Bully Boy (after the Mississippi State mascot, I think), who's about three weeks old. Sweetpea was featured a couple of years back in a post with her mother and little sister. The little sister hasn't had a foal yet, but another of the mares just foaled about a week ago.

That would be Shawnee, the first miniature pony that my sister Janet bought back in the former century. Here's a picture of Shawnee's little colt, Geronimo.

Janet's been gone ten years now, this past week; but she would have loved these little reminders of how life goes on.

Except for February Alone

So far I'm keeping to my posting resolution, to post at least once a month, by posting on the last day of the month. I guess that's just-in-time posting. February brought a record snowfall, most of which was wasted on me, as was the Christmas snow (instead of being sick, for this blizzard I merely had to mostly be at work during the daylight hours). I did manage to fall down in the snow once, losing my house keys until the thaw; but as I was on the way out of town for the weekend, and didn't drop my car keys, there was no inconvenience, if a little worry. Here are a few pictures, though.

I didn't get as much reading done this month –it was a shorter month, yes, but not that much shorter. It just seemed like it. I only have seven titles for February, compared to eleven for January. As before, an asterisk (*) indicates a book that I've re-read.

1. The Four Last Things – Andrew Taylor

2. The Judgement of Strangers – Andrew Taylor

3. The Office of the Dead – Andrew Taylor (these three make up The Roth Trilogy)

4. Gil's All Fright Diner – A. Lee Martinez

5. The Automatic Detective – A. Lee Martinez

6. Literary Life: A Second Memoir – Larry McMurtry

7. Moon Flights* – Elizabeth Moon

I reread the collection by Elizabeth Moon based on something she said at ConDFW, where she was Guest of Honor, about dragons in the world of The Deed of Paksenarrion (and of her new book, Oath of Fealty, which comes out in a few weeks).
She's sitting at the left of this picture. The man on the right is A. Lee Martinez. I'd been aware of his books, but hadn't quite brought myself to buy any of them before. He was on several of the panels at the convention, with interesting things to say. All of his books are stand alone novels. After one of the panels where someone pointed out that his mother was in the audience, I went up to her afterward and asked her which one did she usually recommend to someone starting out to read his books. She asked me a few questions and them described them five or six. I ended up buying the first one and one of the more recent ones. She described the first one as a story about a pair of friends, and the other one as a mystery novel. I enjoyed both of them, and there were very different. He did a really good job writing a hard-boiled detective (who happens to be a killer robot). I'd recommend either one of them as a good read.

Reading, So Far, in 2010

I thought I'd make a quick posting today, thus not breaking a New Year's Resolution to post here at least once a month in 2010. So I'm going to list the books I've read this year. Usually, during the week off between Christmas and New Year's Day, I get a lot of reading done. But starting before Christms, I felt so bad that I didn't feel like reading—just lying around watching television—until December 29th or so. This picture is an illustration of me making a pecan pie on Wednesday, December 23, as I started feeling worse and worse. (I'm not sure the relevance to the subject, but here it is anyway.)

So here, in order of reading, are the books I've read in January 2010. To be more precise, these are the books I've finished reading in January 2010. I started the first one on December 29 and started one today that I won't finish before tomorrow. An asterisk (*) indicates rereading a book.

1. Bad Boy – Jim Thompson
2. Roughneck – Jim Thompson
3. A City of Bells – Elizabeth Goudge
4. Rumpole Rests His Case – John Mortimer
5. The King of Schnorrers – Israel Zangwill
6. The Deed of Paksenarrion* – Elizabeth Moon (three book omnibus)
7. Surrender None* – Elizabeth Moon
8. Liar's Oath* – Elizabeth Moon
9. The Unbearable Lightness of Scones – Alexander McCall Smith
10. Talking About Detective Fiction – P. D. James
11. The Private Patient – P. D. James

The Elizabeth Moon volumes were reread in anticipation of a new book set in the same world, which is coming out in March. I've already pre-ordered it (Oath of Fealty) from Amazon.com. I've had The Private Patient since Christmas 2008, but hadn't yet read it because there's a good chance it may be the final Adam Dalgliesh mystery, and I hated to finish off the series. Then I got her book on detective fiction, and it was a natural progression to pick up the mystery and read it.

Yes we did eat the pie, and it was good.

On His Feets Uneven

Here it is, the Feast of Stephen, the Proto-martyr, and I am somewhat on the mend. I still haven't gone out, but I was feeling pretty great by the time I went to bed last night. So then waking up was a slow and expectorantish process this morning. Now that it's almost midday I'm back to last night's level, and might even go out for the evening meal. We've dined and supped and breakfasted on the ham from Christmas dinner, and will probably continue to lunch on it today. Someone* defined eternity as two people and a ham, but we aren't feeling that way yet. I'm sitting here listening to Sibelius—good music for frosty weather—and contemplating the delicious crunch of pickles on my ham sandwich.

William took these pictures of our house, the Corner Red Dwelling (so-christened in honor of Ursula Le Guin), on Christmas Eve with the snow coming down. And here is a better look at the Christmas table. (It's clear who's the more accomplished photographer!) I finished looking throught the photo book that I got yesterday—finished the first look through, I mean—and have be browsing in the other one (it's on Northern Mythology). No sign of two turtledoves yet.

*I found the quote attributed to Dorothy Parker, but no one has any specifics. I ran into it on Lois McMaster Bujold's MySpace blog just yesterday. Of course the title of this post is from Walt Kelly's Pogo: "Good King Stanislaus walked out/On his feets uneven" (sung to the traditional tune of the spring carol Tempus adest floridum). With that bit of trivia I come full circle to the very first blog postings I made, which must be a sign to stop this and go get that ham sandwich!

I'll Be Home for Christmas . . .(Sick)

This Christmas has been a little different. We put up our créche inside the china cabinet. I got sick beginning late last Saturday night, worsening all week. I kept putting off the final shopping in hopes I'd get better. A visit to the doctor on Tuesday let me know that it was a sinus and ear infection, and despite going on antibiotics that evening, I woke up Thursday with no voice and a painful cough and sore throat -- like fire every time I swallowed. I didn't feel like going out to breakfast with Merrill, nor was it possible to finish up the last minute shopping. To top it all off, the "unlikely" snow materialized and it snowed most of the day. So last night William went to church (he was helping with the hand-bells and singing in the choir), and I stayed home.

Today we had Christmas here, instead of going up to be with the family in Springtown. I missed them all very much, but it was a very good if quiet Christmas, as I felt better (except when I coughed). Slight exertions caused me to break into a sweat, of course. I got two neat books and a new shirt, and Christmas dinner was the ham and a pasta salad we were going to take to Springtown, plus green peas with mushrooms, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls, and buttermilk pie for dessert. Here's a picture of what our table looked like. Susie will notice the things on the table that were Christmas presents from her, of course. The gravy boat wasn't one of them -- I wonder if they make a Spode gravy boat for Christmas (a Spode boat)?

Next week I'm off work, so I'll make a trip up to Springtown to see Dad and Peggy, and around Tarrant County to the other nephews and nieces to bring them their presents that they couldn't get today. I sure hated to miss the usual Christmas with the whole family, but our little Christmas at home was pretty good!

The Nobel Peace Prize

My first reaction was, "What? He hasn't had time to do anything yet!" However, after hearing some remarks from the man announcing the award about the committee's reasons, I think I understand.

Whether you thought the previous administration's policies were great or horrendous, the fact is that to much of the rest of the world (the civilized part, that is; the opinions of our enemies are irrelevant to this particular discussion) America was perceived as having become a bully. Whether they are right or wrong is also irrelevant; it is true that such was the opinion of much of the developed world.

This award to President Obama shows that this opinion is changing. It says a lot more about how America is perceived than it does about anything particular that the president has done. It says that the rest of the world believes that America is trying to live up to its position as the greatest country in the world, the longest lasting republic, truly the land of the free and the home of the brave.

I believe that, at the least, President Obama has attempted to mend a lot of fences that needed mending, whether or not they were damaged because of necessary actions or unnecessary actions (again, irrelevant). I believe that this attempt is a noble one, and that it will help America, not hurt it. I may or may not agree with particular policies and decisions of this president, but the fact is that he won the election, and deserves our support when he represents us to the world at large.

The decision of the Nobel committee is an action that honors the United States of America. It is unseemly and ungracious to criticize our president for being the particular occasion for the world to honor our country.

Health care meme

No one should die because they can't afford health care, and no one should go broke because they got sick.

If you agree, please post this in all your social networking accounts.

(I found this in Elizabeth Moon's "Moonscape" blog.
http://e-moon60.livejournal.com/198586.html )

Obviously I agree. It's time to stop arguing about the details, and just do it. It's never going to be a perfect solution, but anything is better than the greed-based rationing we have right now.

Forty Years Ago

Photo: NASA/Goddard Space Flight Center/Arizona State University

Forty years ago, in July of 1969, my parents were 39 years old—seventeen years younger than I am today. I was sixteen, my sisters were thirteen and eleven, and my maternal grandmother was 66. The six of us were on vacation, riding in a Rambler station wagon and pulling a small travel trailer. As Apollo 11 made its descent, we were in Arkansas, driving up into the Ozarks, on our way to Devil's Den State Park. My father had the radio tuned to a broadcast of from Mission Control in Houston. from time to time, the station would fade out and one of my parents would retune the car radio to pick up a closer, stronger station. I don't think we three kids ever kept quieter in the car than that afternoon. We were in the mountains, on a narrow, twisty road of the kind that always made my mother nervous (me too!) when we heard the words "The Eagle has landed."

Sometime later we got to the campground, and set up early for the night. Ahead of time, my parents had located a state campground that had electrical hookups, because for the first time ever, we had brought a television with us on a camping trip. There was no way we were going to miss the broadcast of the first step on the moon. After we were settled in and it began to get dark, there were some anxious minutes while the tv was tuned in. I seem to recall aluminum foil on the rabbit ears antenna to augment the not-very-strong signal. I remember that I was worried that we wouldn't get to see the broadcast, that the signal would not come in. However, what I remember more was my grandmother's reaction to the historic first human step on another world. Her mother had taken her and her brother Rossman, when she was a little girl in New Orleans, to see the Wright brothers, who were touring the country with their new invention. It was amazing, she said, to think that in her own lifetime we had gone from the first flying machine to landing on the moon.

So now it has been longer since that first moon landing than my parents lived before it. All of my sisters' children and grandchildren have been born after mankind last walked on the moon in 1972. Currently orbiting the moon is the LRO, which took the picture at the top of this post, showing the landing site of that first landing in 1969. (So much for the conspiracy theory that it was all a special effects show!)

I'd like to say my own lifetime spanned from the first man orbiting the Earth to the first permanent occupation of the moon. Here's hoping that mankind's next visit will lead to a permanent outpost on our closest neighbor, before another century draws to a close!

Horse Stories (Miniature Horses, that is)

Two of my dad's miniature horses were going to give birth this year. Here is one of them, Wendy, with her new foal Blossom. The other horse, Shawnee, is getting very large, but hasn't foaled yet. Two years ago she gave birth to a little colt, Comanche. The father is named Apache.

Wendy (or is it Windy? I'm not sure!) has a two-year-old daughter, Sweetpea. As you can see, there's sort of a system to the names. The other equines of my dad's are Shawnee's first daughter, Sassy, who is a mule (she's a little larger than Shawnee, who is on the large side for a miniature), and Rusty, who has never had a foal for all we know. There used to be another mare, Shasta Belle, but she disappeared a year or so ago, and it was assumed she had gone off and died in some inaccessible part of the 60+ acre place.

Here's a picture of mother and both daughters. The foal is about three days old in this picture, from April of this year. We had a scare with Sweetpea. Not long ago, something injured the mare Rusty. She had been staying to herself, to avoid being bothered by the stallions, away from the group. The vet said that it could have been a big cat, or maybe a pack of dogs -- not very likely to be a coyote (although I guess a pack of coyote-dog hybrids might be possible). Dad had been treating her wounds each day as instructed by the vet, and keeping her penned up. Then—as she was pretty much healed up—he let her and the younger stallion out together in one pasture, and had the other seven equines in the other pasture.

Next, Sweetpea started separating herself from the group, and then disappeared for a few days. When Dad and Peggy went to look for her, they found her remains — about enough to fill a shoebox. No rib cage, no skull, just some legs and hooves, a jaw and some teeth. The remains looked fresh, because the leg bones were still connected with tissue (tendons or ligaments).

Now a few years ago, when the place was being fenced, the guys putting up the fence showed my father some big cat tracks, too large for a bobcat. After consultation with a retired game warden and talking with neighbors about some other domestic animal killings, it looked like it must have been a panther that got her. No coyotes or dogs had been observed (by sight or sound), and the moving of the carcasses seemed like a cat. Also, a bobcat is too small to take down even a miniature horse.

Then Sweetpea showed up with the Rusty and Comanche, that is, in a different pasture than the one Dad put her in. She had some scrapes, although whether they were caused by the stallions or a predator or even by going through the fence, who can tell? So what were the remains? They must have been the long-missing Shasta Belle. The question still stands, though: Is there a big cat ranging out there west of Springtown, near Indian Knob?

Our Creche

A Poem for Christmastide

Tiny Tim's Song

-and bye and bye they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim; who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But the Christmas fire blows warm,
And Our Saviour came as a little child
To keep us all from harm.

1. The little child went through the snow,
While the winter wind came cold;
His way was lost in the snowy night,
Like a sheep outside the fold.

2. No light he saw in the forest dark,
No lamp nor taper lit;
The path he trod was covered deep
With snow in icy drifts.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But the holly's fruit shows red;
And Our Saviour came in the winter-tide
To keep us all from dread.

3. He came upon an humble cot
Where dwelt a man so old;
The wind it whistled through the chinks,
The hearth was dark and cold.

4. He came upon a rich estate
Behind a stony wall;
The gate was barred and though he cried
None answered to his call.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But the mistletoe hangs high;
And Our Saviour cried his seven words
When he went for us to die.

5. The child sank down in the drifted snow,
Sank down on his bended knee;
But ere he closed his eyes to sleep
A chapel did he see.

6. There lamps he saw in the chapel old,
Bright lamps and tapers lit,
To guide the weary souls at night
By the storm so sore beset.

7. And from that chapel there came the sound
Of the merry organ's voice;
And from that chapel the child could hear
All manner of joyful noise.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But the bellows blows a song;
And Our Saviour came to gather us back
To His loving arms and strong.

8. And in that chapel a goodly folk
Were singing praises loud;
And they took the wandering child into
The heart of that merry crowd.

9. They welcomed the child to the Christmas feast,
And fed him at their board;
They clothed him in a goodly robe
For the sake of Our dear Lord.

10. And ever after that he dwelt
Amongst that goodly folk;
Who passed each day regarding well
The words Our dear Lord spoke.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But now my song is done;
and Christmas-tide is here at last,
God bless us, every one!

Copyright (c) 2005 Charles M. Gatlin, Jr.

William and I were reading The Christmas Carol a few years ago, and wondered whether anyone had identified a particular song with the one Tiny Tim is said to have sung. Neither of us could find one, so I wrote this one to fill the purpose.

Merry Christmas, and God bless us, every one!

Insect Mortality

Here several months have passed since my last posting, despite numerous opportunities to comment on politics, literature, the Lambeth 2008, and so on. One momentous event that has taken place is that my father, widowed in 2005, has this week married again. Today was the family gathering to meet his new wife. Everyone seemed to get on very well, although it wouldn't surprise me if Peggy were suffering from sensory overload, meeting pretty much the whole family at once and in full volume. Pictures will probably follow at some point.
However, the inspiration to finally post again was prompted by something that happened last night, as I was making potato salad for the Meet Peggy Party. I saw something in the cabinet behind the two Rubbermaid spice turntables. It was the dessicated carcass of a palmetto bug, one of the big roaches that love to come inside when it is too hot or too cold outside. After its disposal, William said something offhand about "Perhaps you should contemplate its demise among the spices, and write a little something about it." This morning while the coffee was brewing I thought it out, and dashed off the following disgusting item, now presented for the world 's enjoyment or aversion:

Reflections on the Death of a Palmetto Bug Found Expired in the Spice Cabinet

"His face appeared almost human/Lying there behind the cumin." –A.M.W.

Few creatures e'er inspire
More fear and loathing dire
Than the great American Roach.
The hateful insect may encroach
Even among the spices rare;
But, trapped by an evil chance
On its back, legs in the air,
Fades at last its horrid dance
Amid the condiments and spices,
All its scurrying vices,
Until at last, a gruesome shell
Its insect soul departs to hell.