Some Moments Weigh Against a Lifetime

It’s one of my favorite quotes, probably because I know it to be true. Pamela Tudsbury, troubled daughter of a media star, says that to Victor Henry in Herman Wouk’s wonderful novel The Winds of War. She’s in love with Victor, though he’s a married man and twenty years older than her. She tells him of her love, and offers to settle on being his mistress. He refuses. But she is undaunted, and bides her time.

They are in London, during the Blitz, when Pamela declares herself. She is in the British military at that time, and almost goes AWOL just to be with Henry while he’s there on special assignment. Finally, over the phone, he tells her she has a job to do and go do it. She agrees. They chat for a few minutes about their couple of weeks of casually being together. Finally Pamela says, “Some moments weight against a lifetime, don’t they?” That may be an approximate quote, as I’m writing this at work and don’t have the book with me.

Yes, some moments weight against a lifetime. The deaths of my parents, marriage, birth of children. The major news events I’ve lived through. Other special events, good or bad. The day I met my Lord and Savior. One such day was September 1, 2014. Not because that was the 75th anniversary of the start of World War 2, but because it was the day it was confirmed that I have a previously unknown half-sister.

Yes, you read that right. This has been brewing in my life since August 11. I’m not going to go into full details here, but as a result of DNA testing that some New York cousins had done a few years ago, and that this half-sister had done more recently, this has all come about.

It turns out my mother had her in 1945, four plus years before she and my dad were married, about five years before my other sister was born. Mom was unwed and pregnant. She had moved back to Providence RI from Boston MA and probably found out there, but went to Worcester MA to have the baby. The information on the birth certificate matched my mother’s info, except for a bogus last name—but it was a last name of her step-grandfather and grandmother. I was contacted about this by the cousin (who I already knew), and then my half-sister and I talked. I agreed to DNA tests. The results of those tests came back on September 1, confirming that we are half-siblings.

Her name is Deborah Burnham Harris (Burnham being her adopted name). She has two children, four (almost five) grandchildren. But except for those, her only close family was two adopted brothers, neither of whom had children, from whom she’s somewhat drifted away in her adult years. Now, she’s part of a larger sibling group, her children are part of a first cousin group, and her grandchildren are part of a second cousin group.

We have made plans to meet soon, sooner than we might have expected at first. The photo shows my mother on the left and Deb on the right, at a similar age. I see a strong resemblance, as do most people I’ve shown it to, though others have told me they don’t see it. Judge for yourself.

So yes, Pamela, I agree. Some moment do weigh against a lifetime. I've experienced another one.

Apologies Once Again

Sorry, loyal readers, about not having a post yesterday. I was sick over the weekend, with nausea and vomiting (probably an on-going but suddenly more severe reaction to my medications). Also we have preparations for receiving grandchildren. All three of them, ages 6, 3, and 1, will be staying with us all week. They should be there when I get home from work.

I'll be taking vacation beginning tomorrow afternoon, to help out and spend time with them. It will be a stay-cation. Hopefully I'll find time to blog and write as well as do my grandfatherly duty.

Family Time

This has been a different holiday weekend, sort of. July 6 is the birthday of my mother-in-law, Esther Moler Cheney Barnes. So we are normally close to home on this weekend, spending time with her. It's no. 89 this year, so next year will be a big one.

This year our weekend included work. Friday Lynda and I worked in the yard. I'm still working on clearing away from the tree trimming, while Lynda is planting flowers and vegetables in pots. She has some nice flower arrangements, as well as two pepper and four tomato plans, all in pots. Next year, possibly, I'll have prepared some ground down in the back yard for a real garden, but this year it's just pots.

I drug a bunch of leafy branches far down into the woods. Cleared off the outer-most row of brush piles. then I hauled some from the upper part of the backyard to the street and loaded the pickup to take to the stump dump. I rested a while, then trimmed some of our front bushes, which were way overdue for trimming. They look good, though I only got about half of them trimmed. Next Saturday, perhaps, I'll get to the rest. Lynda also planted some hosta in the planter under the overhanging windows.

Saturday we did more of the same, though not as much and not as long. All in all, the front yard is looking good, and the backyard doesn't look quite so much like a disaster zone. Two more weekends of similar production, with a few hours of evening work, and the two yards will be in pretty good shape.

We also watched our neighbor's little dog this weekend, which has been enjoyable. He's easy to take care of. In fact, he seems to like being alone in the day time, so we just left him in his house most of the day and kept him here at night.

Lynda's two step sisters and their families came to town, one from Kansas City and one from OKC, for the birthday celebration. They all came over for supper last night. Ten of us gathered around our dining room table for taco salad and fruit salad for dessert. We had expected only eight, but two who weren't coming did. One family of four stayed with us last night. That gave me less time to prepare for Life Group lesson today, but that worked out okay, as we had to cut off the lesson a little early so we could head to the restaurant for the last part of the birthday celebration.

I'm full of Bob Evan's Sunshine Skillet breakfast. Would love to take a nap, but I know that as soon as I lay on the couch the to-do list will pop up in my mind and I'll be too restless to sleep. So, onward now to finish dropped plot lines in Headshots. Then maybe I'll take some time to format In Front of Fifty Thousand Screaming People for a paperback edition. Then, maybe, I'll work a little on my budgeting spreadsheet. Or maybe I'll leave that for tomorrow night.

So many things to do, most good choices. I guess I just like to keep busy.

So Much News

We babysat grandsons at our house, beginning last Saturday through yesterday. Ephraim is 6 and Ezra is 3. They seemed to have a good time. Grandpa and Grandma seemed to have a good time. On Tuesday Lynda had them pick up a lot of the toys they had out, which was a good thing. That made Wednesday morning easier to get ready to go. We drove to Tulsa; their mommy drove there from Oklahoma City, where we made the transfer at a Wendy's restaurant. Great-grandma made the drive with us. That capped off five enjoyable days. I took vacation days Monday and Wednesday, and had lots of fun with the boys.

Before bringing the boys to northwest Arkansas, Lynda had been a week in Oklahoma City to help the kids out with things. She had the three grandchildren alone for about 54 hours. So for her this was a ten day stretch with the kids. Last night, as soon as we were back at the house, she turned on the television to get some news. Later, just before bed, she said she needed a good night's sleep and then tackle her work hard tomorrow.

As the news reports came on, we were surprised at some of the things that had occurred. The Bergdahl story had been much in the news before the kids were here, so I knew something of it, but she hadn't got much of that in Oklahoma City. New information had come available in the days the kids were here, such as his journal or other writings, but we didn't turn on the news so didn't know about it. There were stories of Hillary Clinton, or the Veterans Administration scandal, of Eric Kantor being defeated in a primary (though we did get that news on Tuesday, it having preempted everything else during the brief time we had the television on), of children illegally streaming across our southern border, of the government doing nothing about any of it and stonewalling in providing information, and other news of seemingly equal importance.

Here we were, enjoying the grandkids, oblivious to a world that was raging with controversy. Ezra and I, at his bedtime, were blissfully playing roll-over blanket, then praying, unaware of all this important stuff going on. The radio played the easy listening music as background noise for him, giving us three minutes of headlines, including a 24 hour weather report, at the top of each hour. Clearly we were sinking into ignorance of world events.

My grandmother used to say, "Ignorance is bliss; it's folly to be wise," which I always thought was a tongue-in-cheek saying. During the days of grandkids we were tired at the end of the day. The evening after the grandkids were gone we were wiser, but also angrier because of what we knew.

I'm not saying I preferred the ignorance to being informed. Being hit with so much news at once was the problem, not the news itself. But I can sure see how a large amount of the US population and electorate knows next to nothing about our current events, the issues of the day, and whether their government is doing a good job or now. It's no wonder we continue to make a host of questionable choices with our elected officials.

How a Boy's Mind Works

Ezra goes home today. He's been here nine nights, and would have gone home Tuesday except Lynda took sick and couldn't take him, and I couldn't get off work to do so. He's three, and has all the negatives of a 3-year-old. He resists potty training, and we more or less gave up (though we had a few successes with it while he was here). He wants his food at a perfect temperature, and served in the form he likes, though he eats almost anything. Don't stick his cantaloupe wedge with a fork, we discovered. He does not like holes in it. He doesn't like the taste of the toothpaste his parents sent with him; consequently it was a battle most mornings and evening to brush his teeth. Also, whatever book you pick to read him is the wrong book for that time.

But, he is a joy to be around most of the time. It's been amazing to watch him play. He loves the iPad, and, if left to his own devises, never do anything but watch it. So we had to be careful about how much we let him watch it. He's very adept at pushing a button or two and using the touch screen to get the game or children's show that he wants.

One thing we noticed is that he doesn't get into things he shouldn't. He seems to understand what are his toys, and only plays with them. All week he never touched any glassware or papers or things we have strewn about our most un-child-proofed house, all the more so right now as we are dealing with Lynda's mom's papers and surplus things from her moving to her smaller apartment. This is so unlike his older brother, Ephraim, who when he's here is always picking up glassware or trinkets to see what they are. We have some glass bells at different places around the house, and don't think to put them away before Ephraim comes. He's broken one, when he was about Ezra's age. But Ezra? He could care less. Toys and iPads are what he wants.

One day Lynda said he couldn't have the iPad, that he needed to play with his other toys. So he took his vehicles and made a line out of them. A bus was first, a tow truck second, and a helicopter was the last of the fifteen or so in the line. Once he had them all in a line, he moved them across the room, one at a time, and formed a line in another part of the living room, in the exact same order as the first line. Then, vehicle by vehicle, he moved them back to the first location. Moving them one direction he rolled them across Lynda, who was laying on the couch, going up the "hills" her knees and hips made. Or, if she wasn't there, he did that to me where I was sitting with my legs crossed in my reading chair. He did this for what seemed like a couple of hours.

What's going on in a boy's mind that causes them to be so organized, so methodical about their play? How does he do that same thing over and over again, with only the variation in the words or noises he's saying? How does he make his decisions? When we went on walks he always wanted to go downhill on our circle, not uphill. Then, on the other side of the circle—the "big hill" going up—I always had to carry him up the worst of it. When we finally got out to the next road, which takes a fair amount of traffic, he insisted on going all the way to the end. Then, on the return trip of the 1.5 miles total, he wanted to be carried some. Why insist on going the full distance and then want to be carried. A boy's mind. Who's to understand?

Yesterday when I got home from work I drug him away from the iPad, out to the driveway with his cement truck, airplanes, and trikes. He played with them for a while, but then wanted to walk. Fortunately, he accepted going up the circle from our house instead of down, and off we went. At the main road he wanted to go to the right instead of the left. We did, until we were getting ready to go down the big hill that takes you to the foot of the dam. I told him we had to go either left or right at a crossroads before going too far down the hill. He chose the right, and we walked down this road I've never been on before. It was a very pleasant road, with gentle grades and expensive, well kept houses. It circled back to the main road, and we turned left and headed home.

Except, when we came to the road to turn on to go home, he wanted to walk straight ahead, on this main road, as we did other times. I said okay, and we continued. Now, I'm walking on the edge of the pavement, but Ezra wants to be off the pavement, down in the grass, the leaves, the ditch. So his walk was harder on him than mine was on me. But he goes slowly, plodding through, having fun ducking under mailboxes and stepping over sticks, looking in culverts under driveways, sometimes picking up a rock from a xeriscaped yard and dropping it in a slightly different location. We went almost to the highway, but I talked him into taking a certain side road that looped back to the main road, and then to head home. I pointed to the sun low in the sky, and he understood darkness was coming and we had to head home.

As we got closer to the house he walked slower and slower. Yet he insisted on climbing up open areas on the back side of the ditch. He still resisted my taking his hand when cars came in our direction. I finally explained to him that I did that not because he might bolt out into the street, into the oncoming car, but so that the drivers of the cars could have confidence that he was under control. After I said that, he didn't object again. When we got to the house he still wanted to play some in the driveway, iPad within the house far from his mind, supper seemingly unimportant.

I eventually got him inside, he ate an enormous amount of food, and went back to his line of vehicles. Getting him to bed was a challenge, as he was over-tired, but all in all it was an evening I can't complain about. I figure we walked about three miles in just under two hours. I observed him closely, wondering all the time how his mind was working, never figuring it out. I hope, however, that my mind will always be as active as his, my methods as organized, and my energy as high.

Happy VJ Day

Happy VJ Day everyone! The memory of this has faded, it being 68 years in the past now.

I'm on a short absence from the blog due to having to get my mother-in-law's income taxes in. I filed an extension in April, and of course then waited till the last minute. I came close to finishing them last night. Have to finish them tonight and mail them tomorrow.

Hopefully I'll be back to a more reasonable schedule this weekend.

Elise Marie

As a point of personal privilege, as blog owner, I take time today to post pictures of my first granddaughter, Elise Marie Schneberger.

about a week old, from the official studio pictures

I kept pushing for eyes-open pictures, and Elise (a.k.a. E3) finally complied.

First time I held her.

E2 with his little sister, around May 30, 2013

Thinking of Mom

This mother's day I should be thinking about the living mothers in my life: my wife, my daughter (who just blessed us with our third grandchild and first granddaughter), and my mother-in-law. But my thoughts are drifting to my mom, now dead for 48 years. Normally my strongest memories come forth on August 19, the anniversary of her death, or on September 30, which was her birthday. I posted a long story about her here, and a shorter remembrance here.

I don't think I have a whole lot more to add to those posts. I wanted to put a photo of Mom with this post, but I guess the few I had digitized are on the computer one table over, mostly dead. I don't think I'll try to retrieve them. I'll try to add one or two later, but I think I'll post this now.

She's Alive





E1

E2

We are officially on grand baby watch. My wife is in Oklahoma City, helping out with grandsons Ephraim and Ezra while waiting on E3 to be born. She will be our first granddaughter. Since Ezra (E2) was three weeks early, our daughter was hoping E3 would be too. Her official due date is May 18, so obviously she won't be three weeks early. We'll see. It was about 10 days ago that the baby dropped.


So here is E3 (who might be named Elise—not sure if the final decision has been made yet), calmly gestating in her amniotic fluid. Well, our daughter will say it's been anything but calm. This tomboy has been kicking and squirming from very early in the pregnancy. She's anxious to get out. We're anxious that she be to term and I know our daughter, despite of the tiredness of being very pregnant, wants her to be to term as well.

I'm heading to OKC this weekend, for E1's 5th birthday celebration. Possibly it could be for the birth as well. I'm kind of hoping it is. I'm kind of hoping I get the call today.



E3 (with Mommy) at 37 weeks

I'm thinking of what I said a couple of paragraphs ago. E3 is kicking and squirming. She's alive! She's a child who is even now doing all the functions a child is supposed to do except breathing and eating by mouth. She's probably sucking her thumb. She could see if all that fluid weren't in her eyes. I'm fairly sure she can hear what's going on outside her comfy berth. She's probably having times of sleep and dreaming, and her learning has already begun. Someday soon she'll add those three functions and take the world by storm. I'm sure she'll charm her two brothers into becoming gentlemen. I'm sure she'll have her two granddads wrapped around her little finger in no time.

She's in the world—not independently so, but she's here. And I love her already. I loved her the moment our daughter announced she was alive. I don't know that I could love her any more once she becomes a breathing girl, or later a talking, walking, running, jumping, rope-skipping, laughing, crying, reading, thinking girl.

Some of my Facebook friends, family and non-family, make posts about political and social causes. Two of these are abortion and abuse of animals, mainly dogs. The latter is a horrible scourge on our society. The uninformed breed dogs like crazy, they can't find homes, and are abused or abandoned. I'd like that to stop.

But the same people (sometimes the same, sometimes others), have no problem with killing a baby within the womb. I don't get it. I just don't get it. How can your heart ache for an abused dog but not for an aborted child? A million or more babies a year killed, most for convenience of the parents.

Yes, I suppose an expecting mother has a right of privacy and that translates into her being allowed to do what she wants with her body. But that helpless baby growing inside her, it seems he or she has rights too. When rights clash, should not a humane society say the rights of the weaker party supersede those of the stronger party? It seems we have it just the opposite.

Those of us who believe abortion is a moral evil do not have a war on women. We just believe in protecting the life of the weakest among us.

"Mom died"

It's been 47 years. Very few years that I've fogotten and not mourned again. I wanted to paste in her picture, but I don't seem to have one electronically on this computer, and can't access my nephew's database where I know there are some.

Remembering Mom and Dad

Mom died at night; a painful death, they say.
Three children mourned. Then age thirteen, I cried,
though not as much as Dad about the way
Mom died.

Despite his nightshift job, this hero tried
to raise us right. He faced the world's array
alone. Steadfast, he took no second bride

who might divide his time. Would he betray
that sacred trust? No way. I've much relied
on what Dad taught, and always kept the day
Mom died.

New Passage in Life

This week our children got together for vacation. One lives in Chicago; the other in Oklahoma City. We are in between, but 45 minutes south of the most direct road between them. This is the second time they've come together. The previous time Charles (and maybe Bis) went to Oklahoma City to see Richard and Sara. This time R&S loaded up their two sons, left the cats in good hands, and made the thirteen hour drive to the northeast. Reports we are seeing on Facebook and hear on the telephone indicate it's going well. Although 4 and 1 year-olds haven't yet grasped the concept of sleeping in while on vacation.

This is a new passage for Lynda and me in that we are not involved in our adult children's vacation. They are getting together without us. Prior year Thanksgiving celebrations have been at our house, with one or both of the kids coming from east and west to gather. We've driven both ways with some frequency, more often to OKC than to Chi-town. But this time they made their plans and didn't ask us to join them.

And that's fine with me. Each year results in a little further distance for them from the nest. The empty nest seems a little emptier. But we survive, and our children march on into a greater distance from their upbringing. That's the way of the world. In The Winds of War, when Warren Henry complained that his family had become a bunch of tumbleweeds scattered by the winds of war, his very wise fiancee, Janet Lacouture, countered yes, and in the scattering new families resulted.

We hope life will give us many years of visits to and from children, grandchildren, in-laws. Maybe next year we can plan to exchange our timeshare in Branson for another week in Branson. We'll drive a mere two hours northeast, cars will leave Chicago and Oklahoma City at the appointed time, and we can all have fun in a fun city. I'll look for situations to put into stories and books, and we'll all relax in the rush of vacation activities. I suppose that's an oxymoron.

Sometimes tumbleweeds all blow out of the same hedgerow and are caught at the same fence, not terribly far away.

The Ephraim Factor

Sunday I completed a good chunk of The Candy Store Generation, I think close to 1800 words. Along with what I wrote in the couple of days before that, I'm at 39,100 and change. I've been targeting to have the book 40,000—because that seems to be a good length of book based on attention spans and not over-doing the level of detail. I want to keep the book popular, not scholarly.
Yesterday, on the Memorial Day holiday, however, I got very little done. I'm blaming it on Ephraim, number one grandson who arrived with Lynda Sunday evening and immediately took over the schedule. A 4 year old boy can't wait to eat while you finish a chapter, or even a paragraph. His walks have to be done at certain times. Baths are the same. He has to potty regularly. And of course, there's reading him books while he's on your lap, pretending to sleep on the floor as he jumps on you, moving his toys to have a walking path. These are all essentials, and have priority on the schedule.

His bedtime is 9:00 p.m., which we sort of missed on Sunday night but made on Monday night. And he takes a good afternoon nap, from 2 or 2:30 to 5:00. So I had four to four and a half hours to get something done on the book, or on other writing. Did I get much done? No. I was tired and slept a little myself, and couldn't concentrate as much as I needed to. I added some words, and re-read some chapters, but I didn't finish the book.

And that's okay. I don't get to see Ephraim all that much. I can't pick up and go to Oklahoma City for any given week like Lynda can. So to have him with us for a fair spell is okay. He may be here until June 10, or more likely June 7 or 8, when Lynda will take him back. His dad heads out of town around then for the last residency module of his doctoral program, and Lynda will stay with Sara and the boys a couple of weeks to help out. That will be plenty of quiet time to get things finished.

Of course, this assumes he won't get so homesick for his parents and baby brother that he insists on going back sooner. I pray that doesn't happen, but if it does we will comply.

Actually I may be able to finish the book in the meantime, using my pre-work hour at the office, and maybe an hour in the evenings. Much of what I have left to do is read the book and go through the self-editing process. That I can do in bits and snatches.

But if the book is delayed a month, so be it. I will be richer for it.

Another Memory About Edward

[from the eulogy I gave]

Edward's entrepreneurial spirit first showed itself at scout camp. His first year at Camp Yawgoog was 1966, the year after my first year. He went to the commissary and made a very important discovery: They didn't sell gum. I suppose this was because gum on sidewalks, under tables, and under chairs can be messy. Not being a gum chewer, I didn't notice this my first year.

The next year, Edward came prepared, his footlocker containing lots of gum, of all flavors and varieties. He sold gum by the stick, no doubt earning as much from each stick as he paid for the entire pack. I hate to think about how much he made, and what he did with it. I suspect it mostly went to the commissary.

That wasn't enough, however. Edward also realized that the thing other boys were most likely to forgot to bring to camp was soap. So he also stocked up on soap. He sold these, also at a sizable mark-up. A worthy service to his fellow boy scouts, no doubt.

But even that wasn't enough. From time to time Edward would go to the washout, look for soap left behind by someone, and confiscate it. Then when a boy would come to him to buy soap, he would say, "I've got new soap for such and such a price, and I have used soap at such and such a price." I wonder how many times he sold the same bar of soap to the same kids.

R.I.P. Edward Oscar Todd 1st

On October 30, 2011, my brother, Edward Oscar Todd 1st, died at home after a long illness, at age 57. He fought excessive weight for years, then diabetes, then numerous complications therefrom. He was cremated and his ashes will be scattered at sea. That seems a suitable disposition for a commercial fisherman who made his living from the sea until his illnesses advanced to disability.

I want to put one of his childhood pictures on this post, but don't seem to have it electronically. I'll get it and add it later.

I asked to say a few words at his funeral mass, and was granted the privilege. My topic was the growing up years. I spoke without notes, but want to get the stories in writing so that others in the family could read them and have them. Here's the first installment.
=========================

I want to share memories of Edward during our growing up years. I know many of you knew him as Ed or Eddie, but in our family we never used diminutive names. It was always Norma, David, and Edward.

The first memory isn't actually a memory, but rather a story Mom and Dad told. I imagine Edward was around two years old when this happened, so I would have been four. At the Church of the Epiphany, our Episcopal church in Providence, RI, the baptismal font was at the back of the church. Whenever an infant was to be baptized, the priest would invite all the children to go back to the font to watch. We sat in the front pew, left side, so the three of us made the walk all the way to the back of the church for a baptism. One Sunday we were back there to watch. The priest held the baby, dipped the sea scallop shell in the water, and baptized by pouring. At the end, Edward ran from the back of the church to the front, and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Mommy! Daddy! They washed the baby's head!"

The next memory fast forwards several years. I suppose Edward was maybe 8 years old, or at most 10. It was a quiet weekday night. Dad was at work at his night job in downtown Providence. Edward and I were watching TV with Mom, and Norma was somewhere in the house, probably in her room. It was getting close to bedtime, when Edward asked Mom, "Why do women wear bras?" Then, before she answered, he added, "Is it to make their breasts look bigger?"

Knowing Mom, I'm surprised she didn't answer, "Sometimes." But she didn't. She gave a good answer of the purpose of this particular woman's undergarment. Edward was satisfied, and trotted off to bed. I had the privilege that two extra years of age gave of staying up a half hour extra. So I told Mom that I would talk to Edward, straighten him out about what types of questions he should be asking. Mom said that I would do no such thing, that what he had asked was totally appropriate.

More to be added another day.

Excuses and Factors Revisited

Let's see, my last two posts to this blog—actually my last four posts—were excuses of why my writing production has not been higher, and tacitly why I haven't been making more posts here. One was my tick-borne disease, ehlichiosis. This did indeed slow me down. It's still slowing me down, as I'm not moving as fast as I used to, still have stiffness and pain in my neck. It's improving, but I'm not there yet.

Then there was the Ephraim Factor. I'm sorry, guys, but time with grandson #1 was more important than writing or keeping up with this blog, or any blog. We had a great time, watching Veggie Tails and Winnie the Pooh, reading books, playing Runaway Pillow and T-Rex this or Unintelligible that. But he's gone now, along with the wife, safely in Oklahoma City, giving me a quite house with nothing to do but vacuum up some spilled food, wash and put away a few dirty dishes, wipe down the spills of a 3-year old from the kitchen table, and get back to writing.

Then there's the "what the heck do I do with two blogs" factor. At friend Gary's suggestion, I added an RSS feed of each blog to the other. So the posts I make on one blog are linked to the other automatically. That means readers of An Arrow Through The Air can, if they look at the RSS feed, get to my writer's blog by the links, or at least see that I'm active there.

That doesn't fully solve the dilemma of whether to keep the two blogs or, if I keep them both, what kinds of posts to make to each. But I suppose I don't have to solve that problem yet. I posted a political piece earlier today to The Senescent Man blog. I've posted here. Time to hop on over to my writer's blog and post about my writing routines. And where these three paths in the woods will lead, whether they diverge or converge converge, still remains to be seen.

The Ephraim Factor

On Sunday Lynda and I drove to Tulsa, met Sara and Richard, ate a meal, and brought 3 year old Ephraim back to Bella Vista to spend a week with us. Lynda's cousin Trish Jackson was with us too.

He is a joy to have around. Lots of energy, lots of chatter, lots of questions. He sings often, normally unintelligible gibberish, known only to the mind of a small boy. He doesn't eat very well, though that will change naturally, I think, as he gets older. He loves when we read books together. We've read books the last two nights that require us to push buttons for a song to play. He loves those.

So, I don't think I'll get much writing done this week. I arrived home late last night due to BNC Writers meeting. Ephraim went to be late, about 10 PM. I went to The Dungeon, with him still making noise in his room. He got up a few times while I was downstairs. But I did not have the brainpower required to really tackle any writing projects. Nor did I have the brainpower required to work on family finances. Hopefully getting home on time tonight, and getting him to bed earlier, will result in more computer time and more brainpower to get some things done.

So how does that explain my lack of production last week? On Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday we attended the Country Gospel Music Association central division convention in nearby Springdale, Arkansas. Several of Lynda's relatives are in the CGMA: Trish Jackson, Leonard & Marina Pohl, and Faye Pohl. We saw them perform several times, as well as many others perform. On the nights we attended we generally did not get home till midnight.

The CGMA was started fifteen years ago as a ministry to those who themselves were in full time gospel music ministry, those who tour the land and sing itinerantly at churches, camp meetings, revivals. Eventually it attracted more than just the full timers. They started having conventions that were competitions. The categories seem endless: best band, best vocal group, best a Capella group, best new group, best male vocalist, best male full time vocalist, best lyricist, best whistler, best reciter, etc. etc. This provides for a wide variety of performances, and lots of opportunities to win something.

County music is not my preferred style, so many of the songs I listened to and found enjoyment in the performer's spirit if not in the actual music. Some of it wasn't really country, though very little would be considered contemporary.

I tried to draw parallels for the writing profession. Except for readings of our work, we are not really performers. Our work is not in front of people in a way that involves the combination of written art and joining of vocal or instrumental art. I guess I drew a parallel between those who didn't win the award they wanted and the writer's accumulation of rejections. I can think of two older teen girls in one family, who sang contemporary, not country music. One song wasn't even Christian; it would be considered secular. She was an excellent performer who has lots of talent and lots of "stage savvy". She didn't win in her categories, however, nor did her sister. They are new to CGMA, and were perhaps enough off the core of the "genre" that winning was unlikely. Possibly another group would be better suited to what they want to do: reach the non-Christian world with secular music that is underpinned by a Christian worldview.

I applaud them for that. That's basically what I want to do with my writing. Writing overtly Christian books is preaching to the choir. Now, the choir needs to be spiritually fed, so preaching to them is necessary and valuable. That preaching might keep some of the choir from falling away. But it ignores a much bigger need, the vast unreached majority of the world, including in the USA. That's where I want the majority of my writing ministry to go, and I'll stick mostly to that until led elsewhere.

Congratulations Doctor Charles Norman Todd

Yesterday our son Charles received his PhD in Philosophy from the University of Chicago. I'm still waiting on him to e-mail a couple of photos so I can add them here.

It has been a long, ten year haul for him. After his bachelor's degree, he spent two years at Tufts University in the Boston area, and received his MA in Philosophy. Then on to U of Chicago, which was one of his main choices and certainly one of the top five universities to study philosophy in the USA. Eight years it took him here. He worked three of those years as prefect in the Master of Arts Program in the Humanities. No doubt that slowed him down. However, at the lunch I was talking with some folks at a nearby table, told them what he received his doctorate in, and they asked, "Did it take him twelve years?" When I said eight, they said that was much shorter than normal.

The day began with us leaving his apartment at 7:45 AM, walking the eight blocks to the main quadrangle and rushing to grab the five best seat we could get among the 20,000 set up. As soon as we left the building it began raining. The university provided cheap plastic ponchos for all attendees, since it rained on convocation last year. The convocation was good. The rain stopped except for occasional sprinkles. All degrees were conferred. The main address was short, the president's remarks were short, and we were off to the luncheon.

"Luncheon" is too strong of a word. Set up on one of the smaller quadrangles some blocks away from the main quad, the Humanities masters and doctoral candidates and their guests were fed sack lunches. It was good, even though cold and simple. Then we walked eight blocks to a coffee shop. Then back to a hall near the luncheon quad for the hooding ceremony. We took pictures there, then back to the apartment. I figure we walked at least two miles, maybe closer to three, in the nine hours we were gone. A few hours later and it was time for the party, not as wild as I feared. Just a bunch of Charles' and Bis' friends. Of course, it didn't end till after midnight.

So my boy is now a doctor. Congratulations, Charles. May this degree, representing knowledge gained, serve you and society well for your lifetime and beyond.
(pictures will be added soon)

Planning and Scheming

In early June two events take place in the Chicago area that are a lure for us to make the 10.5 hour drive there. Of course, with our son living there, attending grad school at the University of Chicago, we didn't need too many excuses. Still, the pull to make the 3.5 hour drive to Oklahoma City to see grandbabies is just as big of a lure, and the less cost and time means we make that trip much more.

The two events are the Publishers Row Book Fair and the Write To Publish Writers Conference. The book fair is in downtown Chicago, on June 4-5. We went to it a couple of years ago (or was it three?), and had a great time despite intermittent rain. Numerous publishers and booksellers set up shop on city streets and hock their wares, mostly used books, but some new as well. Some writer organizations were there, such as the Romance Writers of America. I know Lynda got to meet one of her favorite romance authors and get her purchases signed. Some readings were included. I got to talk to a couple of publishers, both of which turned out to be dead ends.

That year, on the same weekend, was a large art fair in the Hyde Park area of the city. We went to the book fair on Saturday and the art fair on Sunday. We bought on Sat. and looked on Sun. Both were interesting.

I attended that writers conference back in 2004, the first national conference I attended. I haven't been back since, partly because it's on the expensive side. It's held in Wheaton on the Wheaton College campus. I think it's a beautiful campus, though in 2004 a lot of construction meant we were dodging and weaving on odd paths and not exploring the campus. I learned a lot at that event, and have been wanting to get back to it, though our trip to the book fair a couple of years ago did not include conference attendance. This year it's June 8-11.

This year is different. We actually have three events to attend. On June 11 Charles will receive his doctorate, a PhD in Philosophy. Last week he successfully defended his dissertation, so the degree will be conferred and he'll be "hooded" on the 11th. It's been a long haul for him. He earned his masters at Tufts University in 2003, and might have finished his doctorate a couple of years ago had he not had to work to make ends meet. We're happy for him. In a future post I'll say what his disertation title is and maybe describe it. I read one of his papers derived from the same subject matter. Actually, how about I just link to his website and let you look it up.

So that's the main reason for the trip. Knowing we were going, I applied for a scholarship to the writers conference, and was one of eight to receive one. I doubt I would have applied had we not been going to Chicago anyway, but I figured why not. So I will be attending that with all expenses paid (except transportation). I have an evening event on the 7th with the other scholarship winners. So we'll go up early and attend the book fair as well, make a long trip of it. If the art fair is also on, perhaps we'll drive up on the 3rd, attend the book fair on the 4th, the art fair on the 5th, the writers conference the evening of the 7th through the morning of the 11th, and graduation on the 11th. Lynda will stay with Charles, not with me at the conference.

Planning and scheming are in progress. It would be nice to have a print copy of Documenting America in my hands to show everyone. Maybe I could even lure a publisher into picking up future volumes in the series. Although I've decided to self-publish, I haven't completely given up the dream of being judged worthy of acceptance by a legacy publisher.

The Last Five Days

Yesterday afternoon when Ephraim got up from his nap he asked for "Grandpa Todd" to play with him. And last night he wanted Grandpa Todd to read him stories and put him to bed. Unfortunately, Grandpa Todd had left Oklahoma City as soon as Ephraim was put down for his nap. The four day weekend was over.

It was chock-full of activities. On Friday I took a day of vacation and drove there with my mother-in-law, Lynda already being there. Once in OKC we stopped first at the library of Oklahoma City University, where I accessed a certain periodical needed for my Wesley research, which I had electronically looked for in other places but found there. That was a half hour. Then it was on to Richard and Sara's house for the family activities. On Saturday we celebrated Ephraim's third birthday, with a family and church folks party. It was a madhouse, but fun. All the Oklahoma people had their ears glued to the radio for the Thunder vs. Grizzlies game.

On Sunday Ezra David Schneberger was dedicated, not by his pastor-father, but by the District Superintendent. I knew this DS and his wife from my brief single days in Kansas City, back in 1974-75, but we hadn't seen each other since. It was nice to be reacquainted. Then after church we celebrated Mother's Day by going out for Indian food. We figured most restaurants would be jambed, but this ethnic one would have seats available. It did, and the food was good as always.

Monday I took another day of vacation and we hung around until 2:15 PM, then drove back. In the morning Ephraim and I went for a walk, about 30 minutes, during which time he found many treasures to take home. Then I gave Ezra a bottle (pumped breast milk), and held him a long time outside, constantly moving him to help him work on his balance and exercise his arms and legs. He finally fell sound asleep and we didn't hear from him for a couple of hours. I'd have held him longer if I wasn't called in for lunch.

In still moments I read some in a technical paper for work, and about 30 pages in the first volume of John Wesley's Journal. This was all introductory material, not the journal itself. Talked with Richard, talked with Sara. Simply enjoyed the time.

So I know all of you wondered why I let five days go by without a post. I should have prepared a post or two ahead of time and scheduled them, and will try to do better the next time I'm to be gone. I didn't totally forget about writing those last five days, just subjugated it to family needs.

Of course, I told Ephraim when he went down for his Monday nap that I wouldn't be there when he got up, and that I wanted to read him a story and see him to his bed. "NO! Daddy do it" was his reply. That's okay. A three-year old has to learn lessons of opportunity. And he'll learn them, and I'll have lots of other times to read him stories.

Ezra David Schneberger

At 6:32 AM, in Oklahoma City, our daughter Sara gave birth at home to our second grandchild, Ezra David Schneberger. He was born at home, in a birthing pool, after just 1 hour and fifty minutes of labor. Mother and child are fine.

His brother Ephraim slept through the big event, and looks kind of sleepy holding his baby brother.

Off to write a cinqain commemorating the event.

ETA: 7lb 6 oz, 20 inches