Just thinkin'

Rags is on my ass again to update my blog. But I don't feel like I have anything important to say. Darn it.

I've learned a lot in the last week. Perhaps I'll write about it sometime. It involves more people than just me, so now is not the time.

Yesterday and today, I was at the office most of the day. Part of that time was spent reading for enjoyment. Specifically, reading westerns. A few years ago, I wrote a semi-serious piece for a miniscule literary journal about the western as literature. I haven't a clue where the hell that journal is, or where any drafts of the piece might be lurking on my computers. I'm very lax about storing stuff and about backing up non-business records. (If anyone has a suggestion for a techno-tyro such as myself for safely and easily storing personal records, I'll be glad to listen.) Anyway, perhaps I'm rather plebian in my tastes, but by golly, I do like a good western.

The leading western writers are Zane Grey and Louis L'Amour. (One of my son's middle names is Zane, after Zane Grey.) What they write are stories that generally follow the familiar western formula - a feet-of-clay protagonist, presented with issues of evil and hardship, who uses personal strength and integrity to prevail. Mostly, these protagonists are males. (Grey had more female heroes than L'Amour did.) That is generally the case in literature until 1970 or so, with some notable exceptions. (My favorite is from Main Street, by Sinclair Lewis.) The morality of these tales is what counts, to me.

My habit of reading westerns has figured in at least one case I have done. Some years ago, I was a guardian ad litem for an elementary school-age child who was the subject of a family custody feud. At the time of the case, the child was living with her maternal grandfather. The paternal grandparents were asserting their claim to the child (I hate it when they talk about "the child," or, worse, "the kid," like she's a sheep or something), because the child's mother was dead from an accident, and the child's father was dead at the hands of the maternal grandfather. The grandfather had recently been acquited of murdering the father, not because he didn't shoot him, he did - but because the father was a nasty abuser who was immediately menacing the grandfather. (Note - the best fact to have in a murder case is an unlikeable victim.) The paternal grandparents reasoned that the maternal grandfather was a violent sort of fellow, and one could understand their viewpoint. Part of my job was to talk to the parties. In interviewing the paternal people, well, the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree. As I talked to the maternal grandfather, we were just chit-chatting, and I asked him what he liked to do. He replied that he loved reading westerns. We talked for a good while about Grey and L'Amour, and that opened the gate for this old fellow to tell me a great deal about himself. Ultimately, I recommended that the maternal grandfather have custody of the child.

Well, that's my little story of westerns.

Hmmm - Oh, I know something else that I've been thinking - Schell, darling, update your blog - we're worried about you, OK?

And Rags, how do you enlarge the bumper sticker art that you have on your blog to print? I'd like them large to post round my office.

And to all of you, I bid you a pleasant evening, and an enjoyable week.

R