The Trickster

With deliberation and precision I’ve placed each piece upon my upturned palm.

Mind you, this is no ‘house of cards.’ No, no my friends, this is a carefully engineered edifice which is safe, secure, solid & sound. As I stand there with my hand held out, at arms length, and admire my revivification, I fail to notice his presence. With a single, smooth upward move, he smacks the bottom of my hand.

Again the trickster has upended my carefully crafted work. “Oh yeah? Oh yeah... Well, just look up the word ‘resilient’!” I finally manage to shout out to him, even though I know he’s long gone.

Nothing unites...

...quite like a common enemy. We are one nation again... for a while anyway...

Thank you Boston Police Department, Massachuesetts State Police, F.B.I., Diplomatic Security, U.  S. Armed Forces, health care workers, citizens of the Boston area, etc., etc., etc.!! To all who walk toward danger in order to assist and save others... a humble thank you.

She Loved To Dance

Even with the automobile window closed and the door shut tightly, he could hear the music from the dancehall. He would sit there for just over four hours on this fall evening. When he became stiff or cold from sitting in his unheated car, or when the air in the car became stale, he would get out and stretch and do a few jumping jacks, then climb back in the car and sit. He didn’t mind the sound of the music, in fact he’d come to enjoy quite a few of the melodies, like “Begin the Beguine,” which to him had a catchy beat. So to his own chagrin, would find himself humming along. But, what he didn’t like was the sound of the laughter, and the clinking of the cocktail glasses. So, he kept the car shut up tight.

All evening long, people came and departed, and that’s when he’d catch a glimpse of the interior of the hall. Otherwise he saw only the lights that shone from within. Sometimes a male and female couple would arrive, but mostly he noticed that the females would arrive, in two's or three's, usually giggling and huddled together.  Then a couple of men would arrive, walking an arms length apart, heads down, hands thrust in their pants pockets, slowly headed for the door almost with a sense of dread. An occasional man would arrive alone, gracefully bounding up the stairs.

While he sat there, all alone, he often thought back to the day he first met her. He could even remember the date, April 22, 1932. At his best friend’s insistence, he’d allowed himself to be dragged to the dancehall, even though he abhorred dancing of any kind. He’d told his friend that he didn’t know how to dance and that furthermore he hadn’t any intention to ever learn. “Yes, but you never know who you’ll meet,” were his friend’s prophetic words.

The large ballroom was crowded with people, but she immediately caught his eye. She was wearing an assemblage of off-white, starting with a dress that modestly covered her petite form. She wore a matching hat and shoes and she carried a small handbag and a pair of gloves, both off-white. When his friend introduced them, he’d find that she also wore a necklace of off-white clamshells and coordinated earrings. He offered to get her a glass of punch, which she accepted. They chatted for a bit. He took her empty glass back to the bar and when he returned she was off dancing with another young man. They were doing the Lindy Hop. In between dances, he talked with her, but he never asked her to dance.  Except for the few minutes here and there, when he’d a chance to talk with her, he quickly accepted that he was uncomfortable enough with the dance hall to know that he would never return. During one of their conversations, she mentioned that she also enjoyed roller skating.

From his best friend, he discovered that the roller rink she frequented was not too far from the neighborhood where he’d lived as a child. He’d grown up on a farm just outside the city limits. He’d hated the farm and the hard work it entailed. To top it off, his family, which consisted of himself, his younger brother, and his mother and father, weren’t all that well off, as far as he could determine, given the amount of physical labor and long hours they'd collectively put into the farm. He wasn't a lazy man, you see, but he knew there had to be an easier way to earn money. He hadn’t told his parents yet, but he was in the process of obtaining a bank loan to finance a business of his own.

During his free time each evening, he went to the roller rink. On his fifth visit, he saw her. He chuckled to himself, alone in the car, as he recalled that she’d known all along that he’d been waiting at the roller rink, hoping to see her. Her girlfriends had tipped her off. And she’d purposely waited a few days before showing up. But she liked him and she didn’t want to discourage him to the point of hopelessness. She was only “testing his mettle.”

They married in 1940. And even long after they were married, he faithfully drove her each and every Saturday evening to the local dancehall. He'd park his car just outside the door. He sat in the car and waited for her. By now his business was showing a good profit. He now owned a brand new automobile, one with a good heater, and much more comfortable seats, so the wait wasn’t all that bad, or so he told himself.

***

I knew them both to be people of few words, so I was touched that this couple, married nearly fifty years, chose to share with me the story of how they'd met. After hearing the story, I looked directly at him, as if seeing him for the first time. He smiled at me and shrugged. “I loved a woman who loved to dance.” Then, “She can dance all she wants, with whomever she wants, because she will be  going home with me.  I am the one who will hold her each and every day and each and every night.”

I kept their story in a place in my mind where I store such thoughts. I like to pull from that file drawer in my brain every now and again, like when not so nice things happen, like the horrendous bombing at the Boston Marathon. It helps to remind me that most of the world is filled with plain, ordinary decent people,.

Later, I was alone with the wife, the “woman who loved to dance.” “Do you have any advice regarding the secret to a long and happy marriage?” I asked her. She turned to me with a smile, leaned over and whispered, “Marry a man who loves you just a little more than you love him.”

Duck Season

I don’t watch much television during the day or evening. Not for any sanctimonious reason. It’s just that my interest in any particular show dwindles pretty quickly. I might find a show to be engaging, but after a couple of weeks, I find I’m no longer interested. Although I found “Mad Men,” “Nurse Jackie” or “Dr. Oz” absorbing to begin with, I didn’t make it past season one.

Anyway, sometimes in the middle of night, I wake and have trouble falling back asleep.  I will then pick up the remote and flip channels until I find something of interest. And that’s how I found this show on the Animal Planet network, called “North Woods Law.” It’s follows the exploits of an elite group of game wardens in the backwoods of the state of Maine during hunting season. I’m not certain why, but I found it riveting.

Perhaps it interests me because I now know more about hunting since moving to rural America. If you enjoy walking or hiking out here, it behooves you to be aware of the various hunting seasons. For instance, even here in our private community, bow hunting of deer and turkey is allowed during an appropriate time in late fall or early winter. This method of thinning out the herd is beneficial to the remaining animals, or so I am told by hunters. Anyway for that reason, during the season, it’s best to stay out of the wooded areas and/or to wear some day-glo orange wherever you are when out walking.

So, late one sleepless night or early morning, while looking for the “North Woods Law” show, I came across a program with some guys who looked like hunters. It was on A&E. I paused to watch...

It was a shot of three or four guys, all with flowing shoulder-length hair, full ZZ Top-like beards and they were wearing typical hunting gear, camouflage hunting jacket or vests, their heads topped off with either a tight knit cap, a bandana, or a camouflage hat. With the aid of a hunting dog they were chasing wild hogs. And I do mean running-full-out chasing, leaping-over-logs chasing, through the briar and the brambles chasing. Interspersed with the shots of them running, seemingly amok, are “talking head” shots featuring three of the group as they tell the viewer of the merits of catching your own meat, as opposed to buying it in a grocery store. There is not a bit of uppityness or pretense about them as they dispense their information and insights. No, they joke easily about themselves in a self-effacing manner. In this episode, a hunter laughingly recalls, “Last time I ran this hard was from a game warden. Back when I was about 20. You know what I’m sayin’?” I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had taken the bait and the hook was set, captivated by the Robertson clan on “The Duck Dynasty.”

If you haven’t seen the show, let me give you a brief overview. The Robertsons are Phil and Kay Robertson, Phil’s younger brother, Si, and three of Phil and Kay’s four sons, Willie, Jace and Jeb, plus the sons’ wives and the couples children. They all live not too far from one another in West Monroe, Louisiana and Phil, Si, Willie, Jace and Jeb all work for their company, “Duck Commander,” in which they hand craft duck and other game calls.  According to the A&E website: “The show features a Louisiana bayou family living the American dream as they operate a thriving business while staying true to their family values and lifestyle.”

Now I get that so called “reality tv” is as scripted and contrived and thus as carefully edited as any sitcom. What I like about this show is that A&E has somehow happened across the perfect cast to produce a clean, mostly wholesome, family show. It’s an endearing look at a beautiful American family, who have, as A&E says achieved the “American Dream” of fortune and fame, yet are adamant in their desire to retain their core values, the heart of which is FAMILY.

They love, accept and loyally support one another. They accept the chaff with the wheat. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say, they appear to embrace each others idiosyncrasies. Instead of becoming irritated, they celebrate their differences. 

For me, clearly, two of the family stand out a bit, and again it’s for their differences, which are encouraged, embraced, emboldened, and enlivened on this show. The first is “Jace” the younger brother of the CEO, Willie Robertson. Jason Robertson has a deadpan look and a wry, George Burns-like comedic timing that serves him well as one of the main “talking head” narrators.

The second character is “Uncle Si,” who always carries a cup of iced tea in his hand. Si is, to me, somewhat reminiscent of a cross between Barney Fife and Kramer. In an unabashed manner Si will dish out his philosophies, sometimes with malapropisms or spoonerisms, that who cares if they’re scripted, they’re hilarious.

Each of the show's episodes ends with a shot of Phil and Kay’s family, their sons and wives and grandchildren, gathered around the Sunday dinner table, with patriarch, Phil offering a prayer of thankfulness that includes some reflection on the theme of that show, and as the prayer ends there is a fade-out of the family beginning to converse and dine, with a voice-over by Willie, the company’s CEO, offering his practical take on the whole situation.

On an episode that featured a bifocal look at Willie’s teenage son, John Luke, choosing to bring his father’s truck home, gas tank on empty, rather that risk being late for curfew; and on adult son, Jace, borrowing Phil’s boat and accidentally sinking it, Phil offers this prayer: “Lord, we thank you for another good day on planet earth. I do pray for ol’ John Luke as he ? his driving skills...”

Voice-over by Willie: “Parenting is a constant struggle between making your kids life better and ruining your own.... Life is full of detours...”

Me (as Jace): Will I soon lose interest in this show’s charm? Possibly. Have I DVR’d every episode? Absolutely.