October 31, 2008
I was curious about the origins of the term Jack-O-Lantern, so I looked it up on Wikipedia:
"An old Irish folk tale says that says that a lazy farmer named Jack was getting chased by some villagers from whom he had stolen, when he met the Devil, who claimed it was time for him to die. However, the thief stalled his death by tempting the Devil with a chance to bedevil the church-going villagers chasing him. Jack told the Devil to turn into a coin with which he would pay for the stolen goods (the Devil could take on any shape he wanted); later, when the coin/Devil disappeared, the Christian villagers would fight over who had stolen it. The Devil agreed to this plan. He turned himself into a silver coin and jumped into Jack's wallet, only to find himself next to a cross Jack had also stole in the village. Jack had closed the wallet tight, and the cross stripped the Devil of his powers; and so he was trapped. Jack only lets the Devil go when he agrees never to take his soul. After a while Jack dies, as all living things do. Of course, his life had been too sinful for Jack to go to heaven; however, the Devil had promised not to take his soul, and so he was barred from hell as well. Jack now had nowhere to go. He asked how he would see where to go, as he had no light, and the Devil mockingly tossed him an ember that would never burn out from the flames of hell. Jack carved out one of his turnips (which was his favourite food), put the ember inside it, and began endlessly wandering the Earth for a resting place. He became known as "Jack of the Lantern", or Jack-o'-Lantern."
You gotta love those folk tales.
October 29, 2008
October 24, 2008
October 23, 2008
October 22, 2008
October 18, 2008
Next is a rare picture of my maternal grandfather, Gilbert Jones. He wouldn't look natural without the ever present cigarette in his hand and a pack of Kent filters in his pocket. He was a farmer and his main money maker was tobacco. Back then every man, woman, and child in the state of Kentucky smoked cigarettes, maybe even a few babies.
My late big sis Janet McClain Johnson (Tricia's mother).
The McClain family circa 1963. The goofiest looking one is moi. Left to right: Joyce with Amy in her lap, Janet, Clueless, Bradley, and Bobby B McClain. The actual physical picture looks rather ordinary but when scanned and viewed in it's digital format it's rather unsettling to look at on a computer, at least to me it is. At the time this picture was taken, IBM had developed the first main frame computer which was almost as big as a small home and had far less computing power as the one I'm typing on now.
October 17, 2008
I remember the first move from their first home in Shelbyville. It was a very sad affair after all the work we had all put into it. When they first bought it we painted, built new closet space, refinished the hard wood floors, tore out paneling in the basement, put in new ceiling fans, base moldings…etc, etc, etc.
A while after Abby’s first move to Dorsey Lane, I went to the Shelbyville house to bury a tiny statue of St Joseph in the back yard in our hopes that it would help sell the house as well as to pick up a few leftover stray items. I walked through the empty house which was no longer a home and almost cried. How could he, how dare he leave Abby and one year old Tristan like that. Didn’t he know what he had? He left for another woman, married only five years and he left. He dropped the bomb on his family and left.
This weekend we’ll all but finish moving Abby and Tristan into their new home, a home where Tristan will have his golf course bedroom, start grade school from, start high school from, play high school football or basketball, and have his first crush on a pretty little girl. We all have high hopes that this will be the last move for a long time for the sake of stability and consistency in Tristan’s life.
October 16, 2008
I watched the final debate last night and was thinking what other people were probably thinking….Are the huge problems facing America too big for our future president and the present congress to handle? Is it economic fate that no one can do anything about and the time has come to pay the economic piper for our past easy credit sins? I tend to think the answer to both is yes.
October 13, 2008
October 10, 2008
On the way home a couple of days ago my blackberry slipped out of my holster on the van and when I got home I noticed it was gone. The next day I drove myself to work and emailed Robert and asked him if he had noticed an abandoned blackberry on the seat of the van. He replied yes and I told him I would pick it up in the morning. When I arrived home that day Charlene, having forgotten that I had told her it was missing, said she had called me and a female voice answered. Charlene asked for me and the female voice said “who is this?” Charlene almost obediently replied, but then her native assertiveness kicked in, and she said “who is this?” Then Charlene remembered my missing blackberry.
On the van this morning Richard handed my blackberry back and I sat down next to Kevin (female). She told me that she was the one who answered my blackberry yesterday and when she got Charlene’s strident reply, she realized it was my wife and then back-pedaled and told Charlene she rode on the van pool with me and so on and so forth. Almost everyone on the van had a different scenario in the way Kevin could have answered the phone.
(In a smoky sexy voice) “Hellooo, who is this? Barry’s married? He never told me that!”
(In a man’s effeminate voice) “Hi, who’s this…Barry’s married? (squeals) He never told me that!
“Herro….I sorry, you have rong numba”
(In a threatening gangster voice) “Hey lady, put 10,000 dollars in unmarked bills in a brown paper sack and place it beside the light post in parking section Matthew at Southeast Christian Church or your husband sleeps wit da fishes.”
“Pizza Hut, home of the stuffed crust pizza. May I help you?”
It went on and on and put some big laughs in our Friday morning van ride to work and was a welcome relief from the usual talk about the endless electioneering and the dreary economy.