In the Outhouse

“What is funny?”

“Oh…poop is funny! No, really poof is almost always funny!”

Well, poop on your shoe is not funny but poop on your brother’s shoe – that is hilarious.

Years ago when I was board at church I could easily entertain myself and get though any boring service by simply picking up the hymnal, start reading song titles and add to the end of each title the simple phrase, ‘In the outhouse.’

“Joy Everlasting” in the outhouse.

 “Peace like a River” in the outhouse. 

“Blessed Assurance” in the outhouse.

“Made Free” in the outhouse.

“Each Day I’ll Do a Golden Deed” in the outhouse.

“Eternal Peace” in the outhouse.

GRAYQUILL STOP!

Just one more….”Trying to get a Glimpse” in the outhouse….”Climbing Higher and Higher” in the outhouse. Sorry, I know that was two but I couldn’t help myself.

As you can see a 10 year old boy and a long boring sermon could be handled easily. I remember giggling and my mother pinching me to be quiet. If she had a clue the depths of depravity her young son had sunk, a much stronger deterrent would be been applied. Now my dad if he knew what I was up to, he would probably have dived right in to my sea of debauchery.

I guess I should apologize for this poopy blog post. It is hard to describe what sewer I pulled this out of but am relieved that it is now over and that it has all worked out.

So, if you are sitting in church and your son or grandson is giggling with his head buried in a song book. Turn a way, ignore him….you don’t really want to go there.

Hmmm....this was way funnier when I wrote it. What happened?
 

Complication, Develop, Resolution

Studying and learning are completely different. A fellow blogger suggested the book, “Writing for Story” by Jon Franklin. Her post thoroughly convinced me to go forth and buy the book ASAP, which I did.

Excited, when the book arrived, I dove right in. NO!! I did not follow the rules…I read the introduction, and then the last chapter. Discouragement hit me almost from the get go. I did not want to hear how hard it is to become a good writer or how long it takes! Hey I don’t have that much time, I am almost old. I want simple, easy, fast!. Do ABC and presto chango, and instantly I can become Steinbeck or Twain. But NOOOOO, all I hear is, you will be dead before you write anything good and writing something great is you being delusional.  Well delusional comes easy for me so at least I am in familiar territory.

Now that you have had that positive introduction, don’t you just want to jump right up and go beg, borrow or steal the book? Sorry Mr. Franklin…hang in there this can only get better from here.

A bit of truth might be good at this point. Nowhere in the book does it say any of those negative thoughts. Those are all just me being me.  In fact chapter three Jon Franklin reprints the Ballad of Old Man Peters. This short story encouraged me quite a lot. The story is true and demonstrated how learning and improving never need stop. It was one of the most inspiring short stories I have ever read.

Side note: I just looked outside it’s snowing….AWEEEEESOME!!! Mr. Franklin would never have told you about the snow. He says leave out anything that does not add to the story.

In a nut shell Mr. Franklin lays out a simple (I didn’t say easy) structure for writing a good story.   He ought to know a thing or two about writing a good story after all he has won the Pulitzer prize twice. And, I am really doing my best to pay attention and learn from this magical person.

Mr. Franklin says every good story has to have three clear attributes. First the Complication, second the Development or the conflict. Lastly, a resolution to the complication is an absolute requirement.  His book is easy reading and the proof should be in the simple fact that I have made it to page 137.

One interesting point Mr. Franklin makes is how many stories do not have a clear resolution to the complication and that causes the story to be weak. He says, find the resolution first and work backwards, there you will find the complication, and in between lies a great story.

Even though I am only half way through reading Writing for Story, I am convinced this was the best $9.00 I have spent in the past many weeks.  Well, those two fly rods I bought might beat it out but it’s hard to top a new fly rod. 

Now in the beginning of this post, I wrote studying is not learning. The proof of that might be in how this post did not follow Mr. Franklins structure….at least completely, but then I have not finished reading his book yet. With that in mind let’s all have hope Mr. Franklin’s instruction can help Grayquill’s writing improve. If any of you are curious, I did try to follow his structure in writing this post and maybe I did a bit. I am sure several of you will set me straight.

BTW: GQ has left his delusional state and now knows he can get better even though he’s almost old - he is beginning to learn structure…Yahoo!

Complication: GQ is delusional
Development:
1.       Age makes learning harder
2.       GQ admits being lazy
3.       GQ fears he can’t learn
4.       The book helps GQ change his thinking
5.       GQ thinks his writing can get better
Resolution: GQ applies Structure

He Came Soft as a Whisper

Good morning Lord. This past week has been full of pressures and it has been hard to feel you at all.  If you are in it – I missed it. So here I sit this morning. The lights of the Christmas tree shining bright speaking of holiday, rejoicing and happiness; but I am weary.

Is this how it has always been? Is this what you expected and wanted? I know the questions I asked are stupid. But, what has happened? To shift my thoughts toward you I find it hard and uncomfortable, even scary. To even talk to you is uncomfortable and I feel afraid to come up close. Is it because of my smallness next to your vastness or your infiniteness and my finiteness? Or my unavoidable death and your forever? Or is it you being all powerful and I being fragile and weak? There is also your complete and unlimited knowledge and then my lack of understanding and the questions that haunt me. And of course, there is always your holiness lighting up my sinfulness and I want to hide.

I would have expected you to come in thunder or lightening or maybe even riding an asteroid, for after all you are God, the all powerful one. But no, you came softly in less than a whisper, as a baby, small, helpless, weak, fragile, in an obscure stable of all places.  Did you come in this manner so I would not be frightened and not run and hide? I wonder…..

I am trying to not hide, and I am thankful for the story, so sweet and I begin to inch close to you. But to read on, later the story turns sad, horrible, and I want to hide again. I read of your grief, your suffering, the tears you shed, the loneliness you felt, the rejection by those close to you, and then of course comes the real horror, a cross.

 If that was the end, the story would have no meaning. But, then the story changes and lifts the sadness and the power of death is torn down by your resurrection. If I continue to hide and miss the story, it does not change its power does it? If I hide and ignore the story, it does not change the fact you came.  And that whisper if I am not quiet or careful I will miss it and the story will have no effect.

Now that the rush is over, now that the presents have been place under the tree, help me be quiet, help me not miss hearing your whisper….

Grayquill going VEGAN?

The windshield wipers beat steady. The HOV lane was open, and we took right to it, staying at speed limit. The progress was fantastic for driving on a rainy Seattle night at rush hour.  Something new was in store for Grayquill. It was to be Vegan Pizza at Pizza PI.

On the outset vegan pizza sounded horrible to me but what do you do when your nephew and his bride to be buy a vegan pizza joint? You support it and them, that's what you do!

They say location is everything and the location for this business seemed perfect. It is located on University Way NE, five blocks north of the University of Washington where all those weird liberal granola young people congregated.  What would they love more than vegan pizza? I can’t think of a thing.

I dropped mom and dad off at the door and rolled through the rain looking for a parking spot. With the car parked in a back in only spot, I took the two block walk up University Avenue. I had my hat so it was all good.

Upon entering the restaurant I spotted them at the far end right across from the cash register. A fifty eight year old accompanied by two eighty eight year olds must have been quite a site in such an establishment. I would say, maybe we looked odd and out of place, but then I took a look around; have you seen the way young people dress these days? Upon perusing the crowd I felt quite normal. As for the patrons, there was certainly more than one odd duck in the room. Young people these days do not know how to dress – it is just plain odd. My own nephew wore pants that reminded me of Huck Finn with his jeans torn raggedly off at mid calf.  I checked to see if he was wearing leather shoes. He wasn’t, he was being consistent to his vegan life choice. I love a man of principle! My kids have upon occasion called me both quirky and goofy; I can only imagine what words the children of this group will use to describe their parents some day.  

The menus were passed out and it wasn’t long before we had a 100% vegan pizza pie right there on our table, freshly cooked in a 615 degree oven. I could have the degrees off a bit – I only half listen sometimes. Upon taking my first bite with some fear and trepidation, my taste buds started dancing. THIS WAS GOOD! I was shocked! The medium pizza fed the three of us and I even had two pieces to take home. Yahoo!

Do you remember being a little grubber and not liking anything if a grown up told you it was good for you? I can remember a couple of those moments. Well I had a childhood flash back when it was suggested that desert be Vegan Pumpkin Pie. That just seemed like an oxymoron. I didn’t want to be rude so I accepted the large piece of pie with a big forced smile. A friend once said, “if you have to swallow a frog, don’t look at it too long.” I decided to take that advice right off. Hmmm…. This was pretty good, the crust was excellent! I would like another piece please…oh, ooops, it wasn’t offered.

With our welcome running into the overdue limit and with paying patrons standing waiting for a table we called it an evening. First of course we had to argue about the bill – them wanting to give us free food and us wanting to pay. We took our leave and I for one will be going back to the Pizza PI. If you are ever in Seattle I suggest you plan on some Vegan Pizza and have a wonderful moment to watch today’s young people. It will all be good I promise.

I give Pizza Pi two thumbs up and the way young people dress two thumbs down.

Grayquill Keep Quiet

Do you ever do something with good intentions and then realize well that wasn’t very respectful? I had one of those moments this morning. A little background might be needed….

It was late. The weather man just mentioned we would have near freezing temps tonight. As usual my mind bumped from faucets to pipes to cars….oh yeah my truck!!!

 #$^@!!!

I forgot to add antifreeze to my truck.  I meant to do that. I just keep forgetting. Well, the news guy did say ‘near’ freezing. I can wait. I think I will go to bed now.

A few days passed with rainy, temps in the forties. Do you think I bought the antifreeze? Why would I? It’s not freezing yet.

It was again late and the weather man just mentioned we would have near freezing temps tonight. As usual my mind bumped from faucets to pipes to cars….oh yeah my truck!!!

 #$^@!!!

I forgot to add antifreeze to my truck.  I meant to do that. I just keep forgetting. Well, the news guy did say ‘near’ freezing. I can wait. I think I will go to bed now. Tomorrow I will go to the auto parts store at lunch and pickup the antifreeze.

Tomorrow came, lunch came and I had forgotten all about the antifreeze. The sun was out and there is no prettier place than the northwest when the crisp clear fall air allows the sun to shine on snow cover mountain peaks, highlighting the bright green evergreens contrasted by the reds and golds from the changing oak trees. It was a great lunch, but no antifreeze was purchased.

Heading home the guy on the radio said we would again have near freezing temps. That reminded me. Perfect, I would stop and pick up that antifreeze now, and I did. Now, with the antifreeze in my trunk I headed home with full intentions of taking care of the antifreeze truck problem as soon as I got home.  It was less than a minute or two and that thought was long gone, My mind now traveled down roads of who knows where.

Yip you guessed it. It was late and the news guy just said, we would have near freezing temps tonight. As usual my mind bumped from faucets to pipes to cars….oh yeah my truck!!!

 #$^@!!!

I forgot to add the antifreeze to my truck.  I meant to do that. I just keep forgetting. Well, the news guy did say ‘near’ freezing. I can wait. I think I will go to bed now.

I have this personal problem. Some would call it procrastination but I would rather say, I hold off until the need is directly in front of me. It saves so much planning.

By some miracle the next evening when I arrived home from work the antifreeze was added to my old trucks radiator. The process sparked a memory. I remembered my son telling me he had had a water leak also. He is a bit better than I am! He fixed his leak by putting in a new radiator. Now that’s a fresh idea.  Regardless, if it would have been me, I would probably have forgotten to buy the antifreeze when I bought the radiator. That would have resulted in a new radiator filled with straight water. I would have reasoned I can pick up the antifreeze later.  So, naturally I thought my son probably did not have antifreeze in his radiator. What do you think I did with that thought?  If he was still a teenager the question would probably have been okay, but still maybe a little insulting but at age 25? GEEZZZEE! What’s wrong with me?

I think my son is more gracious than I am, but he did ask me why I was asking such a question.

I need your help. How should I answer?

A 40th HS Reunion

WOW! He Once had Hair

Three large cookie trays were spread out on the counter. All were now greased and my daughter was beginning to flatten the stiff dough into the first tray. It looked like hard work. A slight smile was on her face as she methodically worked the dough.
This year it was just my wife and youngest daughter, for the traditional pre-holiday baking. Usually a few others show up for the occasion. Russian tea cakes, camel haystacks, chocolate covered almond bar things??? – I am not sure what they are called, and this year there was a new surprise truffle of some sort.
On these occasions I do my best to stay on the observer side of the kitchen counter.  All that activity looks way to much like work for my liking. And, staying out of the fray seems prudent, besides how many cooks does one kitchen really need? I thought two were plenty. 
My wife made the mistake of asking me to store the baking results in the freezer. Now, I know that is a lot of work, two trips to the garage, and a lot of responsibility, but she should know better. After all she’s had 38 years to learn my tactics. That said that smaller container strategically placed on the top shelf where short people cannot see, it could be empty before the holidays get here.
A woman’s ability to multitask has often left me with the feeling that we males are actually the weaker sex and that kind of rankles me. Like all God given gifts a person can become over confident in using such a gift and therein lies the opportunity. Sitting across from the ladies watching them do their cooking, I figured if I could distract, the possibility of a miss measure might occur. Yip, presto baloogal, one batch of goodies did not meet the quality control standard for the freezer. There is a nice batch of caramel hay stacks (my personal favorite) that do not hold together properly waiting on the counter for me. YES! I love it when a plan comes together.

*******

It was a small group, strangers, really. Yet there was a familiarity in the air. A laugh across the room rolled her way, her memory banks stretched, that was a laugh she knew. The face it came from confused her. There was nothing to connect that laugh with the face. Wait, there was something, there in the eyes, something tugged deep pulling it out of the archives of hardened brain matter. She glanced down at his name tag, “Is that you Grayquill?”
Last weekend was my fortieth high school reunion. Thinking about how long a forty year time span was made me just plain cranky but after a bit I decided I would embrace the whole affair with exuberance. Now, I gotta tell ya, my exuberance quotient falls a bit below what others might consider high-spirited, but I went forward determined to enjoy the time with old childhood friends. Having had kids of my own and now that they have passed their high school days, I understand the maturity I felt at 17 was nothing more than a feeling and I was still a child at that time. Knowing I was not unique, I went into this affair with the appreciation that my old class mates were also just children the last time I had seen them. Throughout the evening I found myself looking for the children hidden inside my classmates that were housed by almost old bodies. Bumps and bruises of life’s pot holes were either inferred or spoken of openly by the more humble classmates. Successes both professional and relationally were varied from person to person and in the wrinkle department the forty year span had been a great deal kinder to the ladies then us men.
The evening ended, the only disappointment as normal, a highly charged emotional time kept my taste buds from taking in the wood cooked salmon prepared by an accomplished chef. There was profoundness in seeing people who were a part of shaping my personality and values. Seeing them again was better than great. To all my classmates of 1971, I appreciate each and every one of you!

*******

 
Update on Grayquill Musings the book. Nine reviews have been posted on Amazon. Okay….most of them are from good friends and family but there are a couple that are mysteries to me. Thank you! The support is appreciated.  

Bow and Arrow Adventure

I was 13 years old. My neighbor and I had both acquired bows and arrows. We built a sod house on the edge of a 12-foot embankment. It was exactly like the sod houses that were built on the prairies back in early frontier days – exactly! Ours was not an actual house because it only had walls. We never did figure out how to build roofs. Soon after building this fine sod hideaway, we poked a look-out hole through the side of one wall.

One day, we decided it would be a really great idea for one of us to shoot arrows at the lookout hole, while the other looked through the hole.
It was a game filled with excitement and danger. The sod walls were about eight inches thick, so there was no real risk of the arrow blasting its way through the sod and impaling us. Also, we were not that great of shots, so the likelihood of the arrow actually entering the lookout hole seemed highly unlikely. At this point in time, no one had explained the law of averages to me. Well regardless, we reasoned that in the unlikely event that the arrow did fly into the hole, the person looking through the hole would simply move his head to the side, allowing the arrow to fly harmlessly by.
I wonder what age God actually turns the key to engage the brain of a teenage boy. Something to think about.
This game seemed logical, yet still thick with daring competition. Who could scare the other person the most? This question added a fine flavor of intrigue to the challenge. I was sure I would outdo my neighbor by sending him leaping sideways to the ground to protect himself from my arrows.
Sure enough, one of my arrows flew as true and pretty as a swallow catching a gnat out of mid-air. The arrow sailed straight toward the lookout hole, and my neighbor did the logical thing--he moved his head aside as my arrow flew harmlessly by inches away. What an adrenalin rush! This kept the arrows flying for some time.
There came a time in the shooting, I was looking through the hole. Suddenly, my neighbor let his arrow fly and as sure as a shot that could be made the arrow came straight for the hole. I saw it coming right for the hole and I swear that arrow hypnotized me. I did not and could not move. That arrow smacked me right in the middle of the forehead knocking me down.  

Our game ended as the sound of arrow hitting skull brought my neighbor dashing over to see the blood rolling down my face into my eyes. I was lucky that the light target arrow had not the momentum, speed, or weight to penetrate the bone.

It’s memories like this that give me a strong inclination to believe in natural selection, but the theory falls completely apart because here I am still writing.