Script Problems

I have a lot of problems with this stupid script, one of the primary ones being that although it becomes fairly obvious that originally back in the beginning someone called someone a "bitch," that person was not me. Yes my dog had puppies but anyway that is not a word that I would have thought of applying to anyone that I know regardless of the irritating sound of fingernails on a chalkboard. It is just not a word that Christians like me would think of using ordinarily even if I do not like you personally and I really think your overbearing attitude is a serious problem. I would just not dare to verbalize that or even think of doing so under normal circumstances. I have to clarify this change of working because apparently the script writer did not know that and so all this "bitch" scripting was built into the overwrought and worthless fictional narrative that must needs be dismantled and returned to sender postage paid. I really don't think it is fair that I should have to pay postage on your stupid script that I didn't write but life is not fair obviously. Still, there ought to be justice somehow in my opinion.

Rabbit Hole

That is quite a rabbit hole there, all about Junius Brutus' treatise on the place of the monarchy and who really wrote it — Philip de Mornay, Hubert Languet, or, as the Jesuits claimed for years, Theodore Beza. I really don't know, nor do I care to spend too much time contemplating these insignificant matters in my uncluttered mind. If you want to shut yourself into a labyrinthine prison and throw away the keys, which we don't recommend but it's a free country, perhaps you are among those Irish whiners who imagine our nation's capital as a sort of transplanted private Emerald Island, its secrets all shut up in a Freemason box for your Irish Catholic enjoyment alone. Perhaps you have the Emerald tablet locked in a box so that only you can decipher the Hermetic texts, the rites and ceremonies of the various secret societies that are frequented by your countrymen, the Irish-Italian Gnostics who brought with them a lingering antipathy toward persons of English ancestry, as if we were not also immigrants in our day, a fact which we continue to celebrate and memorialize on Thanksgiving Day. We cannot continue to imagine you our countrymen when you are acting in such bad faith. Thus something has to give. I am just saying.

Et tu, Brute?

I said this to you in some forgotten conversation. I was responding to one of those many verbal digs and/or darts that you are always throwing at me. People like you are always flinging these mechanized verbal darts at me for some mysterious reason and Julius Caesar's dying words seem like a fitting cliche for responding to your meaningless attack cliches. You think that you know something, some deep dark family secret, about me that gives you the upper hand, in your own mind at least. You imagine that you will use this deep dark secret to stab me in the back or crush me into a grinding lifelong slavery to your mafia overlords or something like that, I somehow imagine. You have designated for me the role of sex slave or prostitute, a strictly bad and dishonorable place in your southern Italy scenario, frozen as it is in time in the stagecraft of Pompeii's ashes, buried under the eruption of Mount Etna or Mount Vesuvius or something like that. You play only hardball and I play only softball so you imagine that my disadvantage is insurmountable in this boring field of sports which have no point or meaning that I can see, just that you hated my guts from day one, which is all I can figure. Thus, I personally see no reason to care about the stupid opinions of mentally retarded sports dogs. The truth is that these people cannot possibly know anything about me as we never met before and never had any personal conversation. Which is why I don't understand why these people are so hateful to me. Are we not fellow Americans and fellow citizens of the U.S.? It makes no sense and thus it does not matter. My future life will have nothing to do with these high school classmates from hell. They will have no voice in my future success because they were so utterly mean and nasty to me in the early years. They chose to act like garbage so I will be throwing them out with the garbage when I leave high school days far behind me in the dust of history. Have I made myself clear? How many times do I have to repeat the obvious?

Library Books

So perhaps someone went through the records of the school library in regards to who checked out Marcia Davenport books and my name was on the list. So? Are not these books there on the shelf waiting to be read? Are we not encouraged to read books? I fail to see why reading books should result in lifelong harassment by everyone on the planet. It's just ridiculous.

Which Reminds Me...

Yes, I may have also read the other novel by Marcia Davenport, "The Valley of Decision," which has to do with a steel tycoon's family in Pittsburgh and the adventures of the Irish maid. I don't remember the details of these books. I do not want to remember or bring to mind such forgettable books as those, books best forgotten. They say something about the turbid values of mid-20th century American rich people but they say more about what not to do and the mixed-up values of gold-digging uppity-ups than anything else. These things never happen to regular folks like me.

Which reminds me that I was doing some cyber-spying on former high school classmate from hell Wicked Witch Heather Catto and I noticed that her husband had posted some information on the web about Czechoslovakia. Ok, so? Am I to assume that Heather has also read these books and that they have some "special" meaning for her? I really would not know anything about that, obviously. I have no social acquaintance with those pagan trash Episcopalians, obviously. Why would I want to be part of the lukewarm and meaningless "Union" church?

What Central Planning Committee of Christianity is going to decide about cutting off the wicked dogs of U.S. Episcopalianism? Who can say whether Episcopalians are really Christians by a definition that we can all agree upon? In a nightmare I heard this discussion going on but it is really not my place to say what will happen to them in the days to come. God is gracious and merciful and slow to anger. Perhaps there is still time, and life and hope, for the Episcopalians of the U.S. also to repent of their wicked ways and to be counted among the redeemed of the Lord, among those who have placed their faith in the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross for the forgiveness of sin. Thus we see that U.S. Establishment talking heads who live in glass houses and Harvard liberal-Baptist professors who write mixed-metaphor book titles, "Fire From Heaven," should not be throwing stones at Pentecostals lest they themselves be devoured also in the onslaught they are calling down upon themselves. I am just saying...

Maranatha! (1 Corinthians 16:22)

Novel Reads

I vaguely recall during high school reading a novel by Marcia Davenport. I believe it was titled "East Side, West Side," and it tells the story of the unhappy heiress to a Pittsburgh steel fortune, confined to a loveless marriage, who for a short time finds happiness by having an affair with a Czech musician, a violinist perhaps. She describes their illicit relationship which did not last very long. The Czech violinist, feeling his own soul owned by his native country and his gift of music the property of a government locked behind the Iron Curtain, in some sense feels himself obligated to stay there in Czechoslovakia after the conclusion of his time spent in America. Some reference is made to the historical events of Czechoslovakia after World War II although I have forgotten the details. Sin is a moment of fleeting pleasure followed by years of agonizing guilt and despair, as Jessie Bourne's story so vividly illustrates I suppose. I forget where this novel came from, whether purchased by mother or checked out from the library at high school or something. It was sort of depressing to read this but anyway this book is only fiction and the characters are not real people, just a mishmash of stereotypical boilerplate and artificial plot twists and turns who often are illustrations of what NOT to do. This is a typical dynasty-type novel in which the heiress has a vast fortune at her disposal with which to flit around the world and do whatever she wants. Obviously this book has nothing to do with me and my life. Just because Mike the violinist was in some of my college classes, that does not mean that I would have any great desire to have a personal conversation with him or to pursue a deeper relationship with this person, not that I would want him to feel insulted by my verbalization of this thought. I am just not interested. I really don't need to say anything more. Exploring a deeper relationship with Mike would create a lot more problems than it would solve, that is certain. Obviously.

The Monk's Cellar

Which reminds me that there was at one time a restaurant in Miami called "The Monk's Cellar." We know this because some people from church took us there to eat for lunch after church on a Sunday when we had first moved here and did not know our way around. Later we ate there again once or twice because, well, it was so highly recommended by others, but it was so expensive for us and we really had no use for a monk's cellar, being teetotalers anyway, so eventually we found other places to eat Sunday lunch. Naturally our patronage would not be all that lucrative as to be encouraged by the restaurant owners, not that that would stop us from going there if the food and the great homemade gread were good enough to justify the bill, but anyway there are so many restaurants with good food and not that much time and money to get around to all of them. We heard that they really do make huge profits emptying those wine bottles but we really would not know anything about that.

No Crystals Wanted

Someone was asking me if I wanted to buy crystals but I said no thanks. I do not have any use for such whacky pagan bobbles. This minor social block delivered by me occurred during a part-time job that I had during my first semester of journalism. I tried telemarketing but I did not last because I could not sell. Anyway, a success that would be dependent on having to tell lies over the phone or buy crystals would not be a success worth having, like I always say.

Serendipitous Discoveries

How fortunate for me that I was browsing through eBay this weekend and happened to notice Charlotte's picture there. Things could have gone on forever, myself constantly badgered by them regarding some mysterious reference to Charlotte, and then something clicked and suddenly I knew that this was another key, another piece of evidence proving that I am not the source of these ridiculous things but rather I am more like one of the victims of some very sick minds. It is not like I ever had any personal conversation of this type with those sick people so I really can only deconstruct the tangled web by some very hard work, just as I helped untangle some sort of net in the backyard of my grandparents' backyard in Modesto. Some strange man whose name I don't recall remarked that I seemed very patient in doing that but anyone could do it if they would just try. It's just that they don't want to even if they know full well. They don't care. They are just stonewalling it because they are utterly obnoxious gutter-brained people, as I was saying before being rudely interrupted.

Charlotte's Big Adventure

From Convent to Pentecost

I really do not remember Charlotte. I do remember during high school or some time thereabouts reading an article or book about a former nun who described in her book putting on normal clothing for the first time in many years and walking down the street unsupervised possibly for the first time in her life. However, I somehow doubt that article was written by Charlotte, whose escape narrative appears in print only in 1999 it would seem. I seriously doubt that this book was written by the Charlotte who was a music major at my college although we never really had any classes together. Charlotte was confined to classes with Rusty and that gang, all of whose names I probably would not remember anyway. I was a year or two ahead of them and was not aware of what Charlotte did for the most part. I think that I did once sing in a women's trio with Charlotte and Sheryl but that was just a one-time thing for chapel. Beyond that, I really do not know anything about Charlotte and her buddy Sheryl. Obviously this book was not written by Mrs. Kramer in Venezuela but there is still hope, I suppose, that a future book explaining the curse of the Kramers could help in the unraveling of them. At least it might be helpful to know who we are talking to and dealing with when it comes to these unsigned comments distributed throughout the building. Under these circumstances it would seem unwise and unnecessarily aggravating and inflammatory to say what we really think about the rather thin and shrill voice of Mrs. Kramer. How did those people ever get appointed anyway? Unbelievable.

It's Cora Colbert

Oops, I think the name is Cora Colbert. I only figured this out by reading the diaries. Otherwise, I would have no clue about the Long Beach people. I never met them and they never introduced themselves in a polite way to me so I really cannot be expected to explain what their problem is. Ok, so Cora Colbert of Long Beach is obviously not the Canadian missionary to Hong Kong. So what? I have more important things on my mind than this Long Beach trivia. Last I heard the old Long Beach is being bulldozed for redevelopment, like so many other faded and crumbling suburbs. So?

There are many Coras

In my great-grandmother's diaries the mysterious figure of Cora appears from time to time. Most likely this is a reference to Cora Colby of Long Beach, not the Canadian missionary to Hong Kong, Cora Haist, whose book is titled "How Great Oh God Thou Art," but then again sometimes no surname is given. In her book Cora describes traveling to China by ship in 1917, which was the same year that my great-grandparents left China by a ship traveling in the opposite direction. Cora mentions Sarah Kugler in her book. Cora describes leaving China in about 1924. We have a photograph of my great-grandparents in China in 1925. If their paths crossed somewhere along the way, I really cannot say.

Soap in the Mouth

Yes, I vaguely recall at some time before we went to the mission field, so I must have been about age 7, hearing about the little boy down the street who got his mouth washed out with soap. How shocking! What a traumatic experience it must have been for you to have your parents shoving a bar of soap into your facial orifice and making you endure the bitter taste of your own foul words. At age 7 or younger I cannot imagine how that could happen. I would never do that, I am pretty sure. I mean, I cannot even imagine at about age 7 what those words might be that could have earned you such a humiliating punishment, one that still resounds throughout the neighborhood even now, whatever your name was, although I don't think we ever met. You were a very bad boy, obviously, because your parents were forced to resort to such dire measures in order to bring you face to face with your own wicked mistake, as we heard. Ok, so maybe I exaggerated in retelling of the story. I don't have a brother so I don't have any family obligation to look the other way and pretend that I didn't hear that. Still, I imagine that you paid dearly for that verbal mishap. Perhaps my cousins or someone told you about this conversation, but if you were expecting me to repeat that same conversation in high school then you were sorely disappointed. Obviously I am not going to repeat in high school a conversation that I had at age 7 or thereabouts. In high school we don't see Miss Marken or some other teacher handing out bars of soap during study hall. No, obviously, beyond the initial shock of realizing what you actually said if you actually were thinking about what you were saying and not just mindlessly parroting something someone else said, which happens, we see that you are bound and determined to do whatever you want, even if we are not particularly impressed with your lack of vocabulary. I can see where you might have a very successful career dropping F-bombs as an army pilot,  but I would not think of recommending you for some diplomatic post which would require actual thought and social skills. I am not trying to be mean. I am just describing what I saw in high school.

No Audition

I do not recall ever auditioning for a role in the turbid and raunchy Dave Hoskins soap opera nor do I ever plan to do that so it was rather odd to have the crude and vulgar Cox family trying to thrust some bit role on me. I vaguely recall once saying hello to Rhonda at a church meeting but I really don't know her. I can see where the pathetically ignorant Wendy might think that all missionary kids are clones of Rhonda but that is not the case. Wendy really is nothing but a blip in the continuum as far as we are concerned. We see sad stories like this in the news from time to time. But just because Wendy fell for probably the worst example of MK on the planet, that does not mean that all of us are impressed with them or want anything to do with these Canadian transplants with attitude. We citizens of the U.S.A. are very modest people, always so careful not to boast of our somewhat unremarkable lineage, unlike those extremely boastful clans who imagine themselves descended from Spanish royalty, so it is rather odd that anyone would fall for these ruses and subterfuges planned obviously to detract attention away from their own grandiose schemes of reasserting Spanish claims on western lands of the USA and reestablishing or extending a monarchy in which their own families could someday hope to attain titles of knighthood and aristocracy. Their plan is to split the USA sort of in half, the browns of the West going to Spain and the whites of the East merging with Canada, or something like that. However, given that it is easy enough to purchase titles for sale on the market I really do not share this enthusiasm for adopting the dead ritualism of decadent Europe. We did very well for the first 200 years before they ruined everything but anyway nothing good lasts forever.

What Is Truth?

Much as I would like to explain the outcome of the oil & development fiasco of 1950, I really don't understand why these people imagine that we are their slave properties. Why do they imagine that I owe them something? That I would need to deliver some property or service to them in exchange for something that they never gave me in the first place anyway. Is this not America in the 21st century? Is not the lost money written off and the land likely paved over for housing or some other use? Who cares anymore anyway? It all means nothing to me, just one big nonprofit headache. Uncle Ariel's sons might imagine themselves the heirs of some nebulous oil and gas empire, but we all know that the David A. Barth who is Uncle Ariel's son is not the founder of the oil and gas empire, who was Uncle Ariel's father. That is a whole different story. No reason to explain further.

Permit or License Required

The lawsuit filed against my great-grandfather in 1950 includes a nine-page list of 25 counts typed on legal size paper, but at the trial on July 7, 1950, he pleads guilty only to Count No. 2, (which refers to an attempt to sell shares of stock in his company, the David A. Barth Oil & Development Co., on October 14, 1947, without first having acquired any permit or license as required by the state. Before soliciting money to fund corporate activities, he needed to acquire a permit or license from the Commissioner of Corporations of the State of California, as required by the Corporate Securities Law of the California Corporations Code. Even though the company's articles of corporation were filed with the state on July 31, 1947, that document alone was apparently not enough to fulfill the legal requirement for soliciting funds from outside sources. All other counts against him are dismissed at the trial. He is given a five-year probation.

Samuel Longwell pleads guilty to Counts 1, 5, and 17. All other counts against him are dismissed.

• Count 1: Conspiracy to violate Corporate Securities Act. This conspiracy constitutes conversations with Edward R. Riffle on Dec. 10, 1947 and with Adolph R. Schmidt on Nov. 15, 1947 at Riffle's home, then located at 1898 Market Street, San Francisco. Longwell also met and conversed with Riffle and Schmidt on June 13, 1949 at Schmidt's office in San Francisco.
• Count 5: On Dec. 15, 1947, Longwell attempted to sell a security or share of stock in Barth's company to Dr. Riffle without having the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 17: Longwell, on Dec. 16, 1947, did unlawfully take $2,500 from Adolph R. Schmidt.

 So this seems to explain why Longwell was sentenced to a year in San Quentin, although it seems that sentence was transferred to the San Francisco County Jail.

Other Counts Dismissed:

• Count 3: David Barth, on Dec. 15, 1947, through his agent Samuel Longwell, in conversation with Adolph R. Schmidt, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 4: David Barth, on Dec, 15, 1947, through his agent Samuel Longwell, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock with the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 6: Samuel Longwell, on Dec. 15, 1947, in conversation with Adolph R. Schmidt, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 7:  Samuel Longwell, on Dec. 16, 1947, in conversation with John Schmidt, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 8: Samuel Longwell, on Dec. 16, 1947, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 9: Samuel Longwell, on Jan. 17, 1948, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 10: Samuel Longwell, on Mar. 25, 1948, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 11: Samuel Longwell, on Mar. 29, 1948, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 12: Samuel Longwell, on April 5, 1948, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 13: Samuel Longwell, on June 21, 1948, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 14: Samuel Longwell, on July 13, 1948, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 15: Samuel Longwell, on Aug. 5, 1948, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 16: Samuel Longwell, on Sep. 16, 1948, in conversation with Dr. Edward R. Riffle, solicits the sale of shares of stock without the required permit or license from the state.
• Count 18: Samuel Longwell, on Dec. 16, 1947, did unlawfully take $350 from Dr. Edward R. Riffle.
• Count 19: Samuel Longwell, on Dec. 16, 1947, did unlawfully take $1,500 from John Schmidt.
• Count 20: Samuel Longwell, on Jan. 17, 1948, did unlawfully take $350 from Dr. Edward R. Riffle.
• Count 21: Samuel Longwell, on Mar. 25, 1948, did unlawfully take $300 from Dr. Edward R. Riffle.
• Count 22: Samuel Longwell, on June 21, 1948, did unlawfully take $500 from Dr. Edward R. Riffle.
• Count 23: Samuel Longwell, on July 13, 1948, did unlawfully take $250 from Dr. Edward R. Riffle.
• Count 24: Samuel Longwell, on Aug. 5, 1948, did unlawfully take $500 from Dr. Edward R. Riffle.
• Count 25: Samuel Longwell, on Sep. 16, 1948 did unlawfully take $200 from Dr. Edward R. Riffle.

The Nonprofit Question

Someone, perhaps Stacy or else I don't remember who, was saying something about the money to fund my nonprofit corporation assisting the orphans and street children of the world, as if I had ever contemplated the possibility of copycatting the rich and wealthy spinsters who build orphanages overseas, such as Angie Thompson in Romania or Sharon in Brazil. That 501c3 stuff may work fine for those dogs but the thought never crossed my mind. It is obvious to anyone that Sharon is too ugly and fat and dumpy and obnoxiously whiny and pretentious to ever be chosen for actual motherhood so obviously an orphanage in Brazil is such a nice and philanthropic way for her to spend the tens of thousands of surplus dollars available to her from being a hotshot human resources executive. And Angie found a Romanian orphanage to be a good place to spend the tens of thousands of dollars accumulated from working in Silicon Valley. But those spinsters are friends with Dave Hoskins, who possibly made a fortune dealing with the Russian mafia, so she has rich connections. Obviously, this picture does not fit me. My mother decided long ago that I should be single so that I could make lots of money and travel and stuff but the money never made its appearance. Thes boxes do not work very well when they are planned without taking reality into account and without faith that God will provide for me. Thus, there would be no reason for me to think of founding a 501c3, which is mainly a vehicle for rich people who are looking to avoid paying taxes, basically. It is nice that the money goes to fund good causes but anyway facilitating the tax evasion of mafia gangsters is not my idea of a good life. With a 501c3 wrapped around my neck I would have to answer to a board of directors staffed no doubt by the mindless patsies of the horrible Hoskins milieu. I would possibly have to take directions from such blithering idiots as Robbie Hoskins and thus I would not be able to listen to the Lord's leading. One would think that headquarters would by now have taken a clue and pulled the plug on the horrible Hoskins club but whatever. It is not my place to tell them what to do so I think they should get a clue and keep their own nonprofit nightmares to themselves because I am really not interested.

Speculations

Yes, it is sad that Samuel Longwell, by occupation a cook as listed, was possibly sentenced to jail and possibly spent time there although I really don't know what happened. Why did Sam take the money? Did this taking of money involve a burglary or forced entry? If so, why were these charges not included in the complaint? And if not, how could the money have been taken without the knowledge of the chiropractor? And if the chiropractor knew that the money was taken, then how could he and the other plaintiffs not know what the money part of an investment in drilling an oil well? And what did Sam actually do with the money if he did not hand all of it over to my great-grandfather? How much money in all did Sam take? What happened to the other money not accounted for by my great-grandfather's testimony? Yes, according to the diaries my great-grandfather, before turning himself in to the authorities, went out looking for Sam at some unidentified hotel or restaurant in downtown Los Angeles where Sam was employed. Why did Sam not want to turn himself in to the authorities together with my great-grandfather at that time and had to be arrested later? My great-grandfather came back and turned himself in alone. And how did Sam die? Was Sam murdered by someone, perhaps even my own Dad or other relative of mine? I cannot even imagine how that could happen but there was a hot gun floating around somewhere and lots of people have very vivid imaginations about these things, always trying to fill in the blanks with various worst-case scenarios about what might or might not have happened, as we can deduce. And then, sadly, my great-grandfather died shortly before the end of his five-year probation of some ailment. Hopefully it was not self-induced. Oddly, both his own brother and Samuel Longwell died the same year. And whatever became of Sam's daughter Yula Longwell and his son William Longwell? Yes, everyone pities them because their father was possibly sentenced to spend time in the city jail, possibly a year if that actually happened. And why are these reckless vigilantes and mobsters so convinced that my great-grandfather was not telling the truth or something? Sometimes the documents lie, too. We have to remember that. I probably would feel sorry for them too had I been aware of their existence. And why does everyone imagine my thoughts to be so much worse than reality and my high level of integrity and Christian character and my low level, yeah, non-existent level of knowledge of the facts of the case would merit. I don't think it is fair that I should be left ignorant of these events and thus left vulnerable to the antics of loudmouth sleazy mafia stooges masquerading as Baretta-like table waiters. Grandma liked watching the TV program "Baretta" but of course that was long before the actor's wife died so mysteriously. Anyway, you are perhaps wanting to get to the bottom of my Dad's smoking gun and all the things he is not telling us or pretending not to know about these events. And if there was a gun, who is to say that Sam was the target of it? I don't have a clue. You really should ask them. I do think my relatives know more about this than they are letting on.

The Greedy Relatives

Yes, we are so disgusted with the selfish greedy Butterfields. They created this huge mess and then they run away and leave us here to pick up the pieces and try to figure out what on earth they are talking about. We really don't have a clue what they did to make so many people so angry at them about something although we are not sure what. And then they get upset with us because we are just not on the same page but anyway it's mostly their fault because they won't share information. They just sit up there in a tree yapping and howling about something but we don't understand so we can't help them. Sorry, but you have to communicate.

My Pre-Planned Demise

It is fairly obvious to everyone that my demise was preplanned. All of the authorities conspired together against me from an early age, especially after three, so obviously I never had a chance. It is not like anything I ever did right would matter and it is not anything I ever did wrong would ever be forgiven. Thus, nothing I do or say matters. That is the way it looks to me. I am not exactly deaf. I am not nearly as dumb as they seem to imagine. Thus, when I read the Bible and it tells me that if my brother has something against me, to leave my gift at the altar and go make peace and then come back and give the gift, I see that this verse really does not apply to me. For one thing, I don't have a brother, only one sister. Also, it would be impossible for me to make peace with them. Obviously no one is going to give me a break and write me out of the farcical drama staged by the Baptist Freemasons from Hell club, headed by the devil himself actually, so if everything depended on them I would never be able to attain the requisite peaceful condition and return to the altar to deliver my gift, whatever that means. It is just a Bible verse that may or may not apply to a particular set of circumstances. I strongly feel that this verse does not apply to my case. I vaguely remember discussing this verse with someone at some time in the past. However, I believe that the Baptist Freemasons from Hell are not my brothers in this biblical sense and I intuitively sense that their intentions toward me are entirely of a malicious and malevolent nature. I believe that a different Bible verse applies in this circumstance, which is the admonition not to cast my pearls before swine where my gift would only be trampled underfoot. Thus, it makes perfect sense for me to practice the avoidance of any Baptist Freemasons from Hell whenever and wherever they may be detected, even if they are high school classmates. They just would not understand. I could try to explain but....

The Price Connection

Yes, we fail to comprehend the public interest in the Price attached to our family tree. My great-grandmother's cousin, Nellie Ermina Smith (born 1897) was married to a doctor, Chester Arthur Price of Illinois and they had three Price children, Patricia, Joseph and Chester Jr. So? Obviously there is no connection between the doctor and the Canadian evangelist Charles Price. Obviously that is a whole different story.

The Divorce

Yes, it is rather awkward to have my uncle and his divorce problems clouding the family picture. He dumped Linda, the mother of his two daughters, and married Kay and now spends most of his time hanging out with her daughters. Browsing around in Ancestry.com, we learn that Linda's sister married a Hawkins man. Interestingly, I recall that a college classmate at SCC, Charlotte Rosser, also married to a Hawkins man. Hmmm.... I wonder if the in-laws of Linda are related to the in-laws of Charlotte? Yes, well, it would be too awkward to ask, obviously. We don't even socialize with Linda, who was always rather sour toward us and mean to my grandparents, so obviously there would be no reason for us to socialize with Linda's probably likewise soured Jenewein connections, even if they also may be conservative churchgoers of the Assemblies of God denomination, as are we, and even if my uncle obviously would socialize with all those other people he has participated in souring, probably. I don't really know this but if every other jabberwocky can make mincemeat out of the public records, why should not I not do the same?

The China Johnsons vs. The Triplett Johnsons

It is rather sad to see the Triplett/Johnson family fawning and bowing before the golden calf of American prosperity, a mass of glittery castle glitz to which their fondest dreams and affections are firmly and indissolubly attached. And if Jesus asked the French-fried Triplett/Johnsons to sell all of their worldly possessions and hop on a boat to China to minister to the poor and underprivileged Chinese, to forsake any future hope of worldly power and prestige and hobnobbing in the upper echelons of society, to train up native leaders who will eventually make the missionary's job obsolete, never again to see their glittery castle on a hill, would they, nay even could they obey? Or would they have some excuse as usual. Something about their own personal prestige and power being more dear to them then God and country, a bag of gold being more dearly loved by them than friend or foe. Well, we see that back in the olden days, back during the times when my great-grandparents did just that and went to China, there were also other missionaries in China who were the Johnson family, Leland and Helen Johnson to be precise, but we don't know very much about their story. I imagine they may have been acquainted with my ancestors but I really don't know anything about that. Why were the poor missionary Johnsons forgotten by their kindred Johnsons of higher wealth and status? I really don't have a clue. I just know that someone should remind somebody upstairs that our family is not descended from Leland and Helen Johnson. That is a whole different story which would be interesting to hear told in a logical and orderly fashion, not mish-mashed together into a huge disorderly mess, all mixed together with Captain Cook's explorations of the South Pacific. Someone probably could explain this if the jabberwocky blabbermouths would finally be silent and let the truth come out.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall at SCC a group of girls asked me to play piano accompanying their skit which featured a song from the "Chorus Line" or  some such Broadway musical which was at that time so popular. So I played their little song as they requested for the skit they had planned and they did their thing on stage and then later I remember that I got lost backstage trying to find my way out there, through a maze of wires and things that were all over the place. I apparently had made a wrong turn and was heading toward a place where I might be seen by the audience and so Rusty Wycoff snapped at me. Of course, Rusty is always angry with me so no big deal. We get used to the fact that these people are always angry with us and whining and complaining about something and then after a while we just don't care anymore. At least now I don't. At the time I was mortified.