Kit and Rosanna v.2.

  This a re-post: The comments from readers are even better than my fictional story. I urge you to read all of them. 

                                 Kit and Rosanna 

In the mythical country of Abolana lived a young man who was named William Carson. Because his last name was Carson, classmates nicknamed him “Kit” after the famous American western hero who was named Kit Carson. Kit enjoyed the nickname and often thought about how he could be a hero of his life. In high school the path to his future began to take shape; he enjoyed reading, science, math, and writing. Many of his male classmates thought him weird.  

Rosanna McCormick was a fickle, yet beautiful young woman, who was willing to cast her charms upon the next male suiter she met. Kit knew of Rosanna’s proclivity for emotional and physical folly; yet, he was captivated by her heart-stopping beauty. Over the years, Kit and Rosanna enjoyed, if you can call it that, an on-again off- again relationship. Rosanna was always looking for the next car to slow as they negotiated a sharp turn nearly in front of her house---maybe a good-looking guy was driving the slowing vehicle. Kit was never able to speed down life’s emotional road as fast as Rosanna wanted. In spite of her passion for all the gents, Kit believed that if she would just wait, he would attempt to more adequately express his love for her.   

A few years after school, Kit was working alongside a classmate who sarcastically remarked that Rosanna had gotten married to a man they both knew. Kit felt like a cowboy in old western movies who had been shot in the stomach who was hurting so bad, yet he had no means to hasten his own death. There are pains of various kinds; Kit felt he had just discovered a new off-the-chart level of emotional heartache. 

Sometimes in life when a person misses one train, a better one comes along. Kit married a wonderful woman who had a most winsome personality and a genuine sense of love, trust and devotion. Kit attended higher education institutions one after another and developed a talent, maybe a divine gift, of sensing the needs of others and providing the exact combination of empathy and common sense. 

Six decades of children, grandchildren, and the very stuff of life past with a normal mixture of joy and setbacks. During those three score years Kit often thought of Rosanna in terms of wonder and fantasy. He knew he and Rosanna would meet again and he might once more describe his once held feelings for her. 

Life often has predictable courses of events, just like the seaward flow of all streams. At a planned meeting of students who had attended Abolana schools, Kit and Rosanna would meet again. At that meeting, Kit attempted to talk with Rosanna about her life. She sharply and sarcastically said she did not want to talk to Kit. For a very few minutes, Kit was once more back in time six decades ago when he had learned Rosanna had wed another. Thankfully, these feeling quickly dissolved and faded painlessly into the night. The relief came within 60 minutes, not sixty years.  

Rosanna appeared unhappy for her life choices and Kit was now beyond joy in the choices he had made. She had made the wrong choices; he had made the right choices. Maybe she regretted her choice of husbands, her lack of additional higher education, maybe she was jealous of Kit’s total life. Regardless of the reason, this once whimsical boy-chaser was now captive to a life of bitterness and resentment. Kit, on the other hand realized he was free, wonderfully free, of any memories of Rosanna.  

Glenn <>< 

IN RESPONSE TO THE MANY REQUESTS...

I am once again publishing my Bio !!!

I was born in a log cabin that I helped my father build! We were so far back in the woods we didn’t receive the Grand Ole Opry until Tuesday night on a large battery powered radio! We didn’t have electricity then. Coal oil lamps, wood cook stoves, and gasoline at 20 cents per gallon. The gas prices made no difference to us—we never owned a car. Some fellow named Jerry told us that if God had intended for folks to drive, we would all be born with a parking space! It is hardly a stretch to say I was raised on Retro.

When I was in the third grade, the Statute of Liberty was still a little girl. Years later, I started a military career and the crossbow was still a Secret weapon! I often joked with my barracks buddies about getting a letter from home in which Mom said they had a fire in the bathroom, but fortunately, it didn’t spread to the house! I sure hated those cold winter nights to visit a Sears and Roebuck catalog.

We were very, very poor; we couldn’t afford a traditional pet. As a result, my father captured a tumble weed for us. We named her Windy because every time the wind would pick up she would run away from home!

The wind really blew hard on our little hillside rocky farm. Two summers ago it blew so hard that one of our laying hens laid the same egg twice!

My father deeply regretted he could not buy a large display of fireworks for the 4^th of July. Instead, he bought a single hand held sparkler and we took turns running around in the yard. He often said that one year he was going to light it!

Yes, we were poor. In fact, I was adopted by an Oriental family. Every two weeks I would get a shipment of fish heads and rice. Our rural mail postman said he didn’t have to read the address label---he just knew the smell meant Glenn’s Care Package was in his Jeep.

Since the school busses were afraid to travel our roads, I road behind ‘Old Rivers’, I called him “OR”, on his mule to high school. I believe the mule was named “Midnight.” OR was such a poor student, we were in the same class. He was a better VOAG student than me; however, I was a better basketball player. In fact, one Friday night, I went 18 for 23----got the ball 23 times and shot it 18 times---nobody kept any records on how many went into the basket!

OR and I were really close friends; he would often loan me Midnight so I could go spark Sally Olsen, who lived up Graham Creek. She was pretty; however, her folks never had enough money to fix her buck teeth. Her teeth were so misaligned; she could eat corn on the cob through a picket fence! When we broke up, I now regret saying some hurtful things, “Sally, with winter coming on, I would like to know, do you sleep with your buck teeth outside or under the covers?” Doctor Green said I would be up and around in about three months. He was wrong, it took 6 months.

Back to OR, Mom said in her last letter, “You know Old Rivers died?” Seems he was picking cotton in 110 degree heat and some guy named Ernie, she thought he was from Tennessee, gave him a 20 dollar bill if he could use his “Cotton Picker” handle in his next TV show. (Mom said his agent told him to change the “cotton” to “pea” and I guess the rest is history.)The heat didn’t kill OR; rather, it was the shock of seeing his first 20 dollar bill that stopped his heart!

My brother and sister were not as lucky as me. They received camel jerky from a Middle Eastern relief agency. They said it tasted terrible, but they only needed a drink of water every two weeks!

Imagine my shock when I went to Purdue University and discovered 7-UP was not green. The first time I heard the Tulane University fight song---Roll on Green Wave I thought it was a deodorant commercial.

Our cousin Wilford is the real smart one in our family. He told us the movie Men in Black was a documentary. I am sure he ought to know because he said he had graduated from the Bar, Magna Come Loaded.

The first time I booked an airline flight over the phone the travel agent asked, “Are you FLYING Round Trip?” I said, “No way, I am going there and coming right back!”

We recently had a mice invasion and I located an “Econo Exterminator” in the Yellow Pages. Promises of cheap prices and fast service closed the deal. The next day a high school guy comes up the driveway on a bicycle with a ball peen hammer in one hand and a paper sack in the other! I guess the old “get what you pay for” cliche is true for exterminators as well.

That’s my brief biography: I am very naive to this day. But like our favorite Oklahoma son---Will Rogers said, “I had rather be the man that bought the Brooklyn Bridge than the man who sold it.”

Glenn , Shawnee, OK <><

Just West of Yesterday

Gray Lady Down

                                  Gray Lady Down
 
To paraphrase a song from yesteryear, ‘The old gray lady ain’t what she used to be.’ For many years, the New York Times (NYT) was affectionately referred to as the “Gray Lady.” The NYT was once highly venerated and admired by journalist, politicians, foreign and domestic readers because of their in-depth and accurate reporting. Like many others, I purchased the NYT during the Cuban Missile Crisis, the JFK assassination and many other national and international events. In my opinion (after all this is an Opinion page) during the past few years, the NYT has become an ardent and unapologetic supporter of all things Liberal and Progressive---from their OP-Ed page to the Front page. 

A few days ago the NYT launched the 1619 Project. The project posits the United States did not start in 1776; rather, in 1619 when the first African slave arrived and this horrible institution of slavery permeated our Founding and many events since. What is the motivation for the NYT to attempt to reinterpret, yea, rewrite, our history with the critical 2020 elections looming ever closer? Again, in my opinion, for the following reasons: 

To serve as the protected public conduit to brand President Trump, and by extension his supporters, as racists. Unlike charges of Russian collusion which has been disproved many times, racism is difficult to objectively prove or disprove. Unless you have been asleep on Gilligan’s Island for too long, the potential impact upon the 2020 elections is obvious. Charges of racism are akin to an arrow shot from a bow---it can never be “unshot”!  

A subset of the above, the 1619 Project is a carefully worded, stealth-like attempt to mute or deny the current economic gains of African-Americans who have historically voted for Democrats. The rough translation, “Forget your pocketbook and never forget your past.”

The 1619 Project is much needed fodder for some of the issue-strapped candidates seeking to unseat President Trump.

The 1619 Project may be the Rosetta Stone American history revisionists have long been attempting to find. Academic research is one thing; indoctrinating generations of students to refute our documented Founding is something else. 

The NYT is constitutionally protected to print what they chose. However, I hate to see the once proud Gray Lady make such a blatant politically- motivated attempt to rewrite history by the 1619 Project.

Glenn  <><

PARIS CROSSING REUNION ROUND-UP

                    Paris Crossing Reunion Round-Up

                                                                                                                 

For some local Paris Crossing grads, the annual reunion of all classes is probably very common place. Duties and distance of the military and gospel ministry have greatly impacted my ability to attend. Fortunately, though 800 miles from Oklahoma, I was recently able to attend the third such reunion since graduating in 1959.The following observations were important to me:

1.     There was an unapologetic inclusion of gospel hymn, prayers, and old-fashioned Hoosier patriotism. 

2.     Class members who answered the last roll call during the previous year were appropriately remembered and honored.

3.     College scholarships were awarded to three promising young relatives of Paris Crossing grads.

4.     At 77, it is time to be very honest, especially with people who are of a similar age. As a result, I had to say to some unrecognized greeters, “You have the better of me, I don’t recognize you.” Nervous laughter often followed.

5.     Special acknowledgement is due Richard “Red” Young and his dedicated staff for a job well done. Kudos also to the Pines Restaurant in Seymour for hosting this annual event.

6.     I must publicly thank Ronald Harrison, my life-long friend, for his many continuing fine gestures of keeping me informed of Paris Crossing activities.

Somewhat related: Without a doubt, Indiana home owners have the best cared for lawns in America! Ditto the proud display of Old Glory.

Glenn <><

THE OLD SPARE BEDROOM

                      The Old Spare Bedroom 

                                  

A museum of mystery where many a secret did reside

In the dead of winter it seemed colder than outside          

The always pulled shades and always closed door

Was a cool cave in summer I could never explore

The furnishings were old from a time I knew not

Walls of framed relatives who were never forgot

A gnarled-fingered, hand-sewn quilt from Grandma

Was a bed covering for our company she never saw

On a solid cherry dresser was a long-stilled old clock

That seemed appropriate for a room time had forgot

A full-length framed mirror was on the wall by the door

That reminded visitors that where you are now is no more

When Dad died, I came home amidst tears and the gloom

And I slept for the first time in that old spare bedroom

Glenn<><