This week was my Dad’s birthday - he would have been 85. Normally, that would not be in the front of my mind, but a couple of things had me thinking this week. Early in the week, I was at my Mom’s, she was talking about the Masonic service at his funeral. I thought of the tiny emblem (the square & compasses) that he wore on his lapel for nearly 40 years. She looked, found it, and gave it to me. I remember when I was a kid asking him what that was, what it meant, and that was my first introduction to the Craft. There was another emblem in the box that will go to my brother. And then, when I went to pick her up today for a get-out-and-see-the-world shopping expedition, she gave me several books that she just found in the bedstand. I guess she hadn’t been able to open it, or hadn’t thought to open it in several years. Of particular interest was two daily devotionals and, again, one of them goes to my brother. There was other memorabilia in the jewel box, notably Uncle Earl’s watch. Uncle Earl was quite a guy. He lived in a trailer up a remote run in Taylor County, and was on VA Disability since WWII. My Dad used to tell the story of Uncle Earl at basic training, which was at a facility where Dad was also posted. People from Uncle Earl’s unit (platoon? I’m not sure) sought him out to complain and see if Dad could talk to him. Uncle Earl was a walker. He used to get a notion in the morning to go visit his brother (my grandfather), who lived about 15 miles away. Uncle Earl would take off through the woods and walk to my grandfather’s house pretty quickly. After his visit, he would walk home. At that time (and maybe today, I don’t know), when military units marched, there was someone up front with a “guidon,” some sort of flag, and that guy set the pace. The complaint from his buds was that Uncle Earl was walking their asses off. Dad said that there was nothing he could do about it.
Memorabilia, memories - do they keep crashing in on you as you age?
My “second father” (also a Brother) was visiting the Governor’s office last week, and was talking to the chief of staff. That guy is using Governor Bill Marland’s desk. Bill Marland was the most brilliant student ever to attend WVU College of Law, and rose like a rocket politically. However, he had a serious drinking problem, which inundated him when he left office. He was destitute, without friends he was willing to talk to, so he moved to Chicago and became a cab driver. Years later, a West Virginia newspaper person was in Chicago, recognized Gov. Marland, and there was some small publicity. What I see here is a hell of a lot of honor – the guy could have bitched, moaned and faded away, but he pressed on doing honest work.
I was in Court a lot this week with new lawyers. They look lost, as a rule, trying to cover it with cockiness. I suppose that it’s a matter of getting adjusted to a new place. I find that difficult- whenever am going to try a case in a new place, I go to the Courthouse some weeks before a trial, and sit in the empty Courtroom and just become accustomed to it. Is this common? Does everyone have this sort of sensitivity to unfamiliar places? Well, I was in one of the same Courtrooms I’ve inhabited for 30 years, so it feels like home. I remember trying a murder there in 1982 (wow, I was only 29), a case involving a penitentiary escape.
Sometimes, I tell my police friends a story that some people assume came from the representation of that guy in 1982. However, they have never, never heard me say that. The story (which could be true for all I know) is that there was this fellow, who coincidently was on the run, having escaped from a penitentiary. He was on a “most-wanted” list, and presumably his face was on wanted posters all over the country. (I honestly don’t know if police now-a-days actually read wanted posters.) In any event, he was stopped by a trooper, let’s say in Virginia, for something innocuous like a taillight out. He had no ID, but he did have his pistol on the passenger seat covered with a newspaper. He was charming to the officer, and reportedly later said that he looked into her eyes, and if he had seen a flicker of recognition there, he was going to kill her. Perhaps that’s a thing that will only happen once in a quarter of a million traffic stops. The trouble is, the police don’t have prior warning which one it is. If you are stopped by police and they seem a touch careful, that’s the reason.
A bit of schooling. If pulled over by police, they don’t mind if you seek out a lighted place at night. At night, turn the interior light on, have your paperwork ready, and stay in your car. These people are justifiably nervous, and will appreciate it. Oh, and if you are armed, FIRST hand them your permit THEN tell them that you’re armed. I honestly consider all police officers to be my friends – they labor in the same vineyards that I do. Seldom have I been proved wrong.
Down 165. Clothes has become a pain in the ass, as I am in between what I have. Well, that’s not such a bad problem to have.
Tim Son continues to talk to Dad-san about his concerning calls. He had a 45 y.o. guy this week with no medical history arrest on him in the ambulance, and that was somewhat traumatic. Do we ever adequately consider that there are bloody awful things that happen out there, and SOMEBODY has to deal with them? It is so worrisome when young people have to be introduced to Mr. Reality.
I’m doing a lot of “social work” at No. 3 ,the sort which generates zip for fees. But dammit, that’s who I am and what I do. If I were rich, I could freely choose only the clients who really need help but can’t get it. I don’t mean to sound pious, I’m certainly not. Quite the contrary, I often feel quite helpless trying to make seemingly impossible things happen. It’s no surprise that the lack of money is to some extent behind ALL of these problems.
I’ve talked a bit about writing about the obesty experience. I am struck by a question from Rosary “I'll start with a question I ask all of my writing students--just why are you wanting to write about this subject?” Answer: I wish I knew. I feel compelled to do so. Perhaps it is cathartic, I don’t know. I have been running some of the very sensitive stuff by intimate friends, who are uniformly supportive and think that my reluctance is silly.
An ALJ (Administrative Law Judge) made a stunningly stupid, cliche comment about literacy in West Virginia in a hearing this week. Do I bitch or remain quiet? Which is better for the client?
And there are a few unbloggable things going on that are taking up an awful lot of space in my heart.
Mizpah. Pippa passes.
R
Memorabilia, memories - do they keep crashing in on you as you age?
My “second father” (also a Brother) was visiting the Governor’s office last week, and was talking to the chief of staff. That guy is using Governor Bill Marland’s desk. Bill Marland was the most brilliant student ever to attend WVU College of Law, and rose like a rocket politically. However, he had a serious drinking problem, which inundated him when he left office. He was destitute, without friends he was willing to talk to, so he moved to Chicago and became a cab driver. Years later, a West Virginia newspaper person was in Chicago, recognized Gov. Marland, and there was some small publicity. What I see here is a hell of a lot of honor – the guy could have bitched, moaned and faded away, but he pressed on doing honest work.
I was in Court a lot this week with new lawyers. They look lost, as a rule, trying to cover it with cockiness. I suppose that it’s a matter of getting adjusted to a new place. I find that difficult- whenever am going to try a case in a new place, I go to the Courthouse some weeks before a trial, and sit in the empty Courtroom and just become accustomed to it. Is this common? Does everyone have this sort of sensitivity to unfamiliar places? Well, I was in one of the same Courtrooms I’ve inhabited for 30 years, so it feels like home. I remember trying a murder there in 1982 (wow, I was only 29), a case involving a penitentiary escape.
Sometimes, I tell my police friends a story that some people assume came from the representation of that guy in 1982. However, they have never, never heard me say that. The story (which could be true for all I know) is that there was this fellow, who coincidently was on the run, having escaped from a penitentiary. He was on a “most-wanted” list, and presumably his face was on wanted posters all over the country. (I honestly don’t know if police now-a-days actually read wanted posters.) In any event, he was stopped by a trooper, let’s say in Virginia, for something innocuous like a taillight out. He had no ID, but he did have his pistol on the passenger seat covered with a newspaper. He was charming to the officer, and reportedly later said that he looked into her eyes, and if he had seen a flicker of recognition there, he was going to kill her. Perhaps that’s a thing that will only happen once in a quarter of a million traffic stops. The trouble is, the police don’t have prior warning which one it is. If you are stopped by police and they seem a touch careful, that’s the reason.
A bit of schooling. If pulled over by police, they don’t mind if you seek out a lighted place at night. At night, turn the interior light on, have your paperwork ready, and stay in your car. These people are justifiably nervous, and will appreciate it. Oh, and if you are armed, FIRST hand them your permit THEN tell them that you’re armed. I honestly consider all police officers to be my friends – they labor in the same vineyards that I do. Seldom have I been proved wrong.
Down 165. Clothes has become a pain in the ass, as I am in between what I have. Well, that’s not such a bad problem to have.
Tim Son continues to talk to Dad-san about his concerning calls. He had a 45 y.o. guy this week with no medical history arrest on him in the ambulance, and that was somewhat traumatic. Do we ever adequately consider that there are bloody awful things that happen out there, and SOMEBODY has to deal with them? It is so worrisome when young people have to be introduced to Mr. Reality.
I’m doing a lot of “social work” at No. 3 ,the sort which generates zip for fees. But dammit, that’s who I am and what I do. If I were rich, I could freely choose only the clients who really need help but can’t get it. I don’t mean to sound pious, I’m certainly not. Quite the contrary, I often feel quite helpless trying to make seemingly impossible things happen. It’s no surprise that the lack of money is to some extent behind ALL of these problems.
I’ve talked a bit about writing about the obesty experience. I am struck by a question from Rosary “I'll start with a question I ask all of my writing students--just why are you wanting to write about this subject?” Answer: I wish I knew. I feel compelled to do so. Perhaps it is cathartic, I don’t know. I have been running some of the very sensitive stuff by intimate friends, who are uniformly supportive and think that my reluctance is silly.
An ALJ (Administrative Law Judge) made a stunningly stupid, cliche comment about literacy in West Virginia in a hearing this week. Do I bitch or remain quiet? Which is better for the client?
And there are a few unbloggable things going on that are taking up an awful lot of space in my heart.
Mizpah. Pippa passes.
R
3 comments:
I ask that question, Roger, because it defines purpose. If your purpose is cathartic then you might want to change the venue of your writing to something more like a journal, but since it's sounds like something you're sharing, it's doesn't seem to be purely cathartic. However, what you might consider is the parts you consider "disturbing" first purely for yourself in a journal, and then go back to them and see if they are as disturbing as you think.
Roger dearheart, I'm sorry your heart is hurting so. Know that you are loved. On writing about the obesity experience ... I have a thought if you'll permit me: I imagine the physicality of weight loss is well marked. The visual witnessing; the changes in size of clothing; the way one feels and is received by others. I imagine your inner life is altered in less definitive ways. That there is psychic weight shed in less marked ways. Perhaps there is some sense of grieving that you are undergoing on some level. Your identity is changing yes? Whatever the case, writing it out can only serve to aid in your letting go, I would think. I hope I'm not being annoying. Sending so much love and aching adoration your way, Sarai
With regards to the stupid comment...could you remain silent until sentence is passed?
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