storytelling for truth lovers

  • The Charleston Massacre


    The Sandy Hook Elementary School, Newtown, Connecticut. An army training center in Fort Hood, Texas.  The Washington, DC Navy Yard. A movie theater in Aurora, Colorado.  The Sikh Temple in Oak Creek, Wisconsin. Tucson, Arizona and the resilience of Rep. Gabby Giffords. An immigration center in Binghamton, New York. Geneva County, Alabama. Seal Beach in Orange County, California.  Mother Emanuel AME Church, Charleston, South Carolina.

    Massacre. Mass slaughter, indiscriminate killing, mass murder, mass execution – all of these are words that define massacre according to the Oxford American Thesaurus.

    Today as President Barak Obama addressed the country on national television, he did so for the fourteenth time in his presidency to try to offer words of comfort to a bereaved community and a bewildered country in the midst of the horrors of massacres within our own borders. To borrow a phrase from a former American President, Franklin D. Roosevelt who was speaking one day after the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1945, today is a “date which will live in infamy.” Yesterday in a sister city in the lowcountry of our state, the unspeakable happened; and we joined the names that will live in infamy in this country and around the world for years to come.

    I have watched President Obama in these televised messages to the nation on too many occasions, and I was usually struck by the powerful personal images of hope and comfort that he offered. Today, however, I witnessed an additional layer of anger and frustration as he once again spoke about our lack of ability as a nation to give up our guns. I saw a President whose hair is almost totally snow-white and a man whose face looks much older than his years. I wondered if this president’s legacy was going to be Paul Newman’s Cool Hand Luke’s character’s classic lines: What we have here is a failure to communicate.

    We have a President who rode into town as a new sheriff committed to compromise who found a posse determined to derail him. They just never mixed. And gun control? Well, that has always been just some people talking.

    We grieved for the massacres in the east and the west and states in-between. We truly grieved for these losses and for the families and friends that lost people they loved…people they never even had an opportunity to say goodbye to. But the closer the tragedies are – and this one couldn’t be much closer since the suspect is from the greater Columbia metropolitan area – the deeper the anguish and the anger.

    The world continues to rotate on its axis, but it seems slightly tilted to me. We are off track somehow. We have taught falsehoods to our children through our messages at home in the words we speak and the silences we allow. For example, it’s okay to hate people who are different from us. Nelson Mandela said we are not born hating, and he was right. We learn to hate as surely as we learn to ride a tricycle. Our parents teach us to hate. Our friends encourage us to be bullies. Our heroes send us conflicting images of who the good guys and bad guys are. We have national leaders in highly visible positions who don’t play well together in their houses of Congress. Shame on you. Shame on me for re-electing you year after year to continue cycles of contention and confrontation.

    And so tonight I am in mourning for the survivors of The Charleston Massacre, and I find no words to adequately express my sorrow for them, for their church family, for the city of Charleston, for my state and for my nation.

    Like my President, I fear for our future.

     

  • Call for Submissions: Second Annual Cyberspace Awards for Memorable Quotes


    Well, it’s that time of the year again – time flies when you’re having fun – a penny saved is a penny earned.

    Aha! We are off and running for the Second Annual Cyberspace Awards for Memorable Quotes. Who can ever forget the excitement of last year’s contest with its fabulous quotes that became internationally applauded through the power of  infinite cyberspace…

    I have made a slight change this year – we now have TWO Categories of Awards. In addition to our Most Memorable Quotes Category, I have added Most Memorable Quotes on Tombstones as a result of Jim Blanton’s infamous hilarious tombstone supplemental sayings in last year’s contest.

    Rule Review: Sorry to say but there will be no Cash Awards again this year. Unfortunately, the cash designated for the awards this year has been paid to a variety of special causes which include me, Teresa and our three needy dogs. There’s always next year.

    Deadline: June 30th. And I see I am giving an additional ten days notice for everyone to be putting on their thinking caps since some criticism arose over last year’s short notice.

    Please send your submissions to my very secret email address: smortex@aol.com.

    If you are submitting to both categories, please designate which is which.

    The top ten Quotes in each category will be selected by the same judge as our previous contest – that would be me. I will publish the Top 10 winners in this blog within a very respectable time frame.

    To get everyone started, I will share a couple of quotes I read recently in a little book of quotes entitled Reflections on Life and Living by James A. Williamson.

    There is more to life than increasing its speed.  (Gandhi)

    It is not wise to underestimate a so-called heathen.

    It is never too late to begin.

    And with that thought, I urge you to get those Quotes coming in!!

    PS. No repeats from the previous year, please.

     

     

  • Knock Knock – who’s there? The Irish, that’s who


    Irish Senator David Norris is a controversial politician who is often called the father of Ireland’s gay rights campaign spanning the past forty years. He is seventy years old and yesterday he lived long enough to see his nation become the first country to vote in a national referendum to support legalizing same-sex marriage. 1.2 million people voted yes with fewer  than 750,000 voting no. That officially makes it a landslide of 62.1%.  Senator Norris had a few words for us while he celebrated:

    “The people in this small island off the western coast of Europe

    have said to the rest of the world: 

    This is what it is to be decent, to be civilized,

    and to be tolerant!

    And let the rest of the world catch up!”

    In 1993 Ireland was the last European Union country to remove the laws that made homosexual activities illegal, but in what is now being called a social revolution, it is the first to take a stand on the right side of history for fairness and equal treatment of all of its citizens. To put this in religious context, “The last shall be first, and the first shall be last.”

    I am a negative nabob about cyberspace, or as my friend Curtis told me he heard an older woman call it the “interweb,” but I have to say I much prefer a revolution fueled by social media like texting and tweeting to one achieved by guns and drones.

    Knock knock, who’s there?

    I’m hoping it’s the Supremes in a few weeks on this side of the pond.

    Tomorrow is Memorial Day for us in the United States. It ‘s a time when we remember the sacrifices made by so many in our military families to preserve not only our own freedom and borders but to also defend the rights of freedom lovers around the world. I doubt there is a family in America that hasn’t been touched by military service.

    I know my father believed he fought in WWII for those he loved – and for values that included guarantees of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  We are a nation that struggles to define and implement those values, but we have an opportunity to make a major statement that will open doors very soon as our Supreme Court renders an opinion that will affect equal treatment for all citizens in who we love and choose to marry.

    Ireland has set the example – now is the time for America to catch up.

  • Laughs at Her Own Jokes


    I have an amazing ability to entertain myself. I believe it comes from being raised as an only child in a very small town before daycare, pre-school and kindergarten. My first organized social group was the first grade, so I had years of toddling around by myself followed by  standing alone during recess for the better part of my first grade year, according to my mother who never lied about things like that… plus she had a bird’s-eye view of the school playground from her kitchen window so why would anyone doubt her.

    One of the tools I learned to use to connect to other kids was humor. When I was growing up in the 1950s in the somewhat unorthodox household of my maternal grandmother, her two adult sons who were 20th. century pioneers  in the 21st. century phenomenon of grown children who refuse to allow their parents to become empty-nesters; my mother and dad, my dog Rex and me, laughter was the sound heard most often at any time of the day or night in the little Sears Catalog kit house we called home in Richards, Texas.

    My daddy was funny. My grandmother was a practical joker and always had a scheme that was designed to end in a good laugh at somebody’s expense. One of my uncles owned a metal detector and spent every day looking for General Santa Ana’s buried gold bullion in Grimes County and the surrounding Texas countryside because he had bought infallible maps that were better than a modern-day GPS for locating them. Needless to say, he was a daily inspiration for comedy.

    My paternal grandmother, who lived just down a small hill from where I lived with my other grandmother, was a true Texas storyteller with an amazing gift for mimicry. She could mock anyone in town –  or really anywhere –  if she knew them or was kin to them. She loved to laugh at her own jokes and improvisations. Sitting with her and my grandfather at the little round table in her kitchen was a recipe for laughing so hard tears rolled down our cheeks.

    With such a heritage it’s no wonder I became a storyteller myself and slowly recognized the transformative power of humor. As a young teenager, I couldn’t articulate what the gift was, but I had an inkling of how the ability to make someone laugh was a universal connection for me to them. People liked me when I told stories that made them smile, and I also laughed at my own jokes with them…just like my grandmother had done.

    Fifty years later I began to write and incorporated humor in my writing.  It wasn’t  an effort to be funny – I never took classes to be funny. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know until recently that there were classes to teach techniques for comedy in writing.  However,  on my Facebook profile I listed my job as “essayist with humorist tendencies.” Since I’m a lesbian, I thought that was a witty play on words.

    Two months ago I had an interesting voicemail from a woman who publishes trade magazines here in Columbia.  She was looking for a “local humorist” to write something funny for an upcoming new publication she planned to launch this summer, and someone had given her my name. She researched my Facebook page and my blogs and determined I was funny so would I write something for her new publication. She would pay me for my contribution. I called her back, and we struck a deal for a short short of 500 words. I had an April 30th. deadline.

    This became an important learning exercise for me. For starters, I had never been paid to be amusing, and I found I couldn’t think of one funny thing to write about. I panicked. I talked to Teresa who gave me several ideas which I tried to use – but failed to be able to make them work. I stared at my blank computer screen for several days and totally understood for the first time what writer’s block was all about. I freaked out.

    Finally, FINALLY I wrote not one, but two, new pieces within her word count and sent them off with my permission to use either one or neither and I would try again. Luckily, she liked both pieces and picked one for the upcoming issue. She and her staff thought both of them were funny. Thank God.  Turns out humor can be a serious business.

    I continue to be the only child who has the ability to entertain herself. Blogging gives me instant gratification for my storytelling humorist tendencies, and I love sending my words into cyberspace with the hope someone will identify with them and connect to me.

     

     

     

  • Garage Sale Social Commentary


    Our neighborhood association sponsored a garage sale over the weekend, i.e., individual homes were invited to have their own sales and the association would supply a yard sign and advertising on Craig’s List and in the local newspaper on Friday and Saturday. The weather cooperated with sunshine and mild temperatures in the 70s – 80s range so a large turnout was expected. We weren’t disappointed. The traffic was steady from 8 a.m. until we shut it down 2-ish in the afternoon.

    Teresa and I are old hands at garage sales in our fourteen years together since we downsize twice a year as regularly as time falls back and springs forward. She now has a booth in an antique mall in Prosperity, South Carolina so we can sell our “better” items there and the “lesser” items are doomed to the garage sales. Sort of like separating the wheat from the chaff. She and her friend Shelley find all these activities highly entertaining and are just as apt to shop at garage sales as we are to have one which is why our inventory  remains fairly constant.

    My role in this process is the same every time we have them: I am the money changer.  I take in the dollar bills, coins and checks and am responsible for making sure our paying customers are satisfied and happy with their treasures. I am not allowed to negotiate lower prices under any circumstances – my job is to refer those seeking better deals to either Shelley or Teresa. Occasionally I break this rule, but nobody’s perfect.

    The garage sales at our house on the corner of Canterbury Road and Manning Avenue attract a diverse group of people. We are at an intersection of two downtown neighborhoods…Forest Hills on Canterbury and the Lyon Street Community on Manning. The demographics of the two neighborhoods are widely divergent in terms of socioeconomic conditions and racial composition, but our garage sale typically is a wonderful melting pot of folks looking for fun and bargains. Saturday’s crowd was no exception.

    In the midst of the minglers, a young tall African-American teenager with an Afro and a prominent gold tooth approached Teresa and asked her about a small older model laptop computer we had for sale. He wanted to know if it worked and she said it had belonged to her son who probably bought a newer model at some point and never threw this one away but she couldn’t guarantee it worked. He seemed to be willing to take a chance on it and bought it for $3.

    When he brought me the three one-dollar bills, he smiled a really sweet smile and asked me if I could please wrap the laptop in something and give him a bag to put it in. He said he didn’t want the police to see him walking down our street with the little laptop because he was afraid they might think it was stolen and shoot him.

    I was speechless but said something inane like I was so sorry and of course I could wrap it in newspaper and put it in a grocery bag – which I did. He took the bag, thanked me and I thanked him for stopping by. The whole conversation took less than a minute, but Teresa overheard it and we talked about it last night.

    We had no answers for the complex issues the young man innocently raised yesterday with his purchase in the driveway of our home. Teresa and I have ongoing philosophical discussions on social justice matters in our nation and in our neighborhood and are aware of the growing disparity between wealth and poverty in our country. Just for a moment, though, our consciousness was raised from the philosophical to the personal; and our garage sale was more valuable than we had bargained for.