Which Reminds Me

It seems very strange to me that someone is trying to cast me as the Lilith to their Eve, assuming that this Lilith of Jewish myth ever existed, still I am not she. I am no demon spirit even if I did have a doll collection as a child. I did not light candles to that, unlike some Roman Catholics I could mention. I am flesh and blood, a human being descended from Adam and Eve just like everyone else on the planet as per the way I read the Bible, so there is no reason to suggest that salvation by faith in Jesus Christ is not available to me as to all humans it was designed for, which obviously includes me. I knew that I was being naughty even at age three when I lured the 2-year-old David to the bathroom to demonstrate how the gender equipment works but even so Jesus forgives me and loves me just as much as everyone else on the planet. Sorry if this disturbs the supremacy designs of some racial engineers. I don't know how I got that stupid idea in my head, actually. But anyway I was only three years old. I cannot speak for the adult Laura and her Costa Mesa gang of mental dingbats.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, once while living in California I lived three months renting a small room in a woman's house. Laura had a daughter. The weird thing about her that I learned a few weeks into that time was that there was a Jewish man who would come over and spend the night with her. She said that she needed a man in the house but it was like brother and sister sleeping together. I thought that was so weird. The appearance of evil is sometimes much the same as the evil itself and the Bible instructs us to avoid even the appearance of evil, but I think I will leave it to God to administer the justice on their heads because I really wouldn't know and anyway they are not my problem and also I cannot say that my own appearances are what I should be my primary concern. I don't even remember their names now, it has been so long since I moved out of there, glad to be gone from there.

Which Reminds Me

One day while in 11th grade my sister and I and Barbara Miller, an MK schoolteacher (I don't remember if my parents were there also) were at Pop's Ice Cream stand located on the Boulevard of Heroes. There we had ice cream cones. While standing there or sitting there, I don't quite remember, I saw three or more guys from my high school class—Jaime Sol, Alfredo Weitzenfeld, Amadeo Cortez, etc.—walking up to Pop's Ice Cream to get ice cream cones. They got theirs and were sitting or standing out in front of Pop's Ice Cream. At that age of adolescent angst it is always so embarrassing to see any high school classmates out of school. It is one thing to see them at school but to see them elsewhere makes everything so much more complicated. Did I mention to Barbara Miller that, oh, look, there are some guys from my high school class? I actually don't remember. Of course there would be no way for me to control the flapping mouth of Barbara Miller of Mississippi and her extensive network of confused contacts. It just wasn't that important. Lots of people enjoy walking to Pop's ice cream for a scoop. Nothing unusual about that.

Which Reminds Me

Recently upgrading my genealogical research we see that my mother's Cousin Graden had a daughter named Stephanie. Oh, I didn't know that. Her middle initial is "D." Ok, so, whatever. She is an accomplished artist and painter which is very convenient for her. Now I am starting to remember that my mother said that she at one time worked for Hallmark, the greeting card company. How convenient for them. That's nice. Obviously there would be no connection between the Cousin Graden's daughter, Stephanie Newsom, and the Stephanie Share who was a high school classmate of mine, a wild and scary person of whom I remember almost nothing. It would be better for me not to say anything about Stephanie than to just make up some stuff that I really don't know. Why is it that these people set themselves up to knock me down if I should try to say hello and then are disappointed when I don't bite the bait? I am just really not that dumb, actually. Sorry about that.

So You Think

Fracking is your middle name. However, fracking seems to me very dangerous to the fragile ecosystem and may pollute the aquifer. So while engaging in such nefarious practices, you have a lot of nerve accusing me of anything. Repent of your fracking ways and leave me out of it.

Which Only Proves

It is becoming obvious that some smart alecky types imagine that having lived at an address of "6 Candy Court" somehow constitutes themselves judge and jury of all persons with the name sounding like candy even if actually spelled with an "i." This type of intrusive stupidity is justifiably resented by the Candied victim of such KKK antics. Yes, I saw the movie "O Brother" so there is no need to reenact for me the ceremonial routine of how the "black" sacrificial victim is singled out for a miserable end of life. Given that the corpse has disappeared and the witness not providing anything specific to report to the police, no photographs, no nothing, just some talk of having seen something one night, obviously a reporter has nothing available to prepare for publication. Someone probably should be investigating that but I really am not sure who when obviously some leading figures of the community might or might not be themselves asked to investigate their own misdeeds, which they have already intended not to reveal. So it is not so easy for one person to fight against a system like that, obviously.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, our family did visit Uncle Winfred's house in Weatherford, Texas, one time. I was still in high school, about to start my senior year in El Salvador, and we took a two-week vacation in Texas. Our friend Susie Stewart was along for the ride. We mainly visited Houston, where the Wright family lives, and also the Dallas area, where we found the shopping good. We drove around and saw my mother's childhood haunts and also the Strickland ranch house in Texas where Hazel was very nice and friendly to us and fed us lunch, mostly vegetables, so typical of Texas farm people who are usually such amazingly good cooks. I know my grandmother's cornbread was probably better. Even Cracker Barrel does not quite have the touch. But anyway there was the okra that my mother loves and black-eyes peas and all that good stuff that Texas farm people love to eat. This is white people's farm food, not to be confused with black people's farm food, not that I would know anything about that. There was also a yellow-meated watermelon which my mother had talked about. She wanted us to experience that, and the yellow ones really do have a slightly different flavor. Uncle Winfred's daughter was visiting with college with her boyfriend. They were sitting in the living room and we might have been briefly introduced at the time but I don't think they joined us for lunch. I really don't remember very much.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall that while working as a reporter for the bi-weekly Boca Times, in a city covered also by two dailies, the Boca News one day had a story about Mayor Smith handing out keys to the city to visiting dignitaries. I do not recall the specifics of that incident, just that keys to the city were given out. It was not easy for a bi-weekly to beat a daily on some stories, we publishing only twice a week, and that was just one of those stories on which the Boca News was there first, fair and square. So whatever. Anyway, the city keys story did not strike me as all that important anyway. Did I have a follow up on that? I don't remember. Anyway, later my editor, Rick Hayden, was upset with me for not jumping all over the city keys story, as if there were something suspicious about a mayor handing out city keys to whoever they want, one of the perks of being a city mayor around the world. Ok, so maybe Smith relished the perks more than some others, yet we also know that our publisher had a personal vendetta against Smith and Rick was fully involved in that, as we all know. I must admit that at the time I was not able to clearly perceive the dog collar snugly fitted around Rick's neck. I was not wearing such a dog collar so although they were yanking on chains sometimes I just wasn't getting it. Coincidentally, Rick's wife is a Klein, an attorney in Palm Beach, which must be very convenient for him. At the time, not having done any genealogical research and being only dimly aware that my mother's Uncle Winfred had two daughters of indeterminate name, the name Klein did not ring any alarm bells with me. Whatever. Anyway, I was not interested in donning some dog collar so resented Rick's trying to make me feel guilty about something. And don't we know that it was Uncle Winfred's wife Hazel Tackett, not us, who had KKK roots in Alabama in addition to various other mental issues, such as sleeping in a separate room for her husband for many years, a situation he patiently tolerated until her death? So obviously we are not interested in revisiting Hazel's mental problems now, our ancestors having found California a pleasant place of escape from the farm issues.

Which Reminds Me

During college at SCC, while I was rooming with Cori Nipper, she got special permission from the powers that be to paint the room blue. I don't think I did the painting myself, just helped with moving furniture around. She and James did the actual painting of the walls with blue paint. But then I moved out not long after so I no longer have a key to the blue room with all of its unspeakable horrors. So whatever. I am not missing anything important, obviously. Blue rooms might be a useful tool of fiction, but having sort of powder blue walls was not a big priority for me. I got tired of her penchant for rearranging the furniture every month. I have better things to do that sort through someone else's garbage.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is a bit awkward having Uncle Scrooge in the family. Uncle Scrooge seems to delight in making my life miserable, specifically. Ok, so I was naughty at age three but I have repented long ago so why is it that everyone else gets to sneer and scoff at me for the rest of my life? It just gets ridiculous. And I didn't even say anything.

Which Reminds Me

Grandma's letter to Uncle Winfred reminds us that while mineral rights give us royalties on gas and oil extraction, under Texas law the rocks are owned entirely by the landowner, which in this case was Uncle Winfred and his family. In these days of fracking innovations I am not sure how Texas law would apply. Even if Uncle Winfred's family were involved in fracking operations, of which I know nothing, it would seem that we would get nothing out of that as the rocks are owned by them anyway. So whatever. I see no reason for extreme torture of me when I have no light to shed on this subject. I would imagine that the family has lawyers in place to explain this to the Cranfords and Kleins so there would be nothing that I could add to that.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, there is this letter in the papers and it is in Grandma's handwriting. She is talking to mother's Uncle Winfred, her brother, but it is not clear whether it or a copy was ever actually mailed to Uncle Winfred or whether they ever communicated on this point in writing or verbally or any other way. I really don't know. There is just this piece of paper.

Which Reminds Me

My mother said that Beverly Klein, now divorced from Richard, lives in Temecula, in a house stacked with magazines. Oh, I didn't know that. Sort of seems awkward to have Uncle Winfred's family running the show when actually they don't even know who I am and obviously don't care. They were wanting to revive my grandmother's issue of crushed rock but we already know how that went. Grandma was saying that although her mother gave the farm to Uncle Winfred because he was the one who stayed there and managed it for all those years after his father died, she still thought that perhaps her mother also might have wanted all of the Strickland children to benefit from Uncle Winfred's crushed rock business. After all, the natural gas was already an established royalty distributed equally among all of the seven or so Strickland children and their descendants. Why not also the crushed rock? But as my mother or someone says, Uncle Winfred being as shrewd as any Texas horse trader, seems to have entirely ignored my grandmother's commentary. Anyway, the farm, with all of its land appurtenances and bedrocks, was already entirely his by that time so it was not legally required that he share it with anyone, nor am I aware of any points of legal challenge to that point. It was just a comment that grandmother made at one time in a letter to Uncle Winfred because she was feeling perhaps personally shortchanged at the time for various reasons. I really don't know. I had completely forgotten about that, not being sure if I was ever aware of those letters that maybe David and Karen were going through, so am not particularly impressed with the Cranfords' scrambled memory chips. Anyway, no one was thinking of reviving that issue after all this time so we are really not appreciative of this extensive memory recall for no particular reason. Someone was saying that Uncle Winfred had another long-range plan for the farm. After the rock crushing operations should eventually peter out, he would fill in the rockless chasm with water to make a lake and build houses or some other type of development around the new lake. Maybe David said that. So whatever. All of the events of Weatherford, Texas, have no bearing in my life. The only thing that I might get would be a half-share of my mother's gas royalties after her death, which would not amount to enough to sneeze at, and which hopefully will be postponed for a long time yet. So there was never any expectation on my part of getting anything out of the Kleins and Cranfords. So all of these points are entirely moot. I am not interested in shooting  the breeze with persons of no interest to me when obviously their only intent is to deprive me of everything else that I might have ever hoped for. Obviously they are not planning to do me any favors now or ever. To them I am just another garbage obstacle to be disposed of on the way to doing whatever they want to do. That much at least is obvious.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I am fairly certain that there are already lawyers in place who are concerned with sending, at regular intervals, the check for gas and oil royalties to Beverly Klein, so I see no reason to worry about that. My mother said that she lives in Temecula. I never met her and I don't know anything about her or why it is that she and Richard are divorced and who their children might be. I really don't want to know anything else about the KKK or how much money they think they are missing out on. Life is complicated enough already without all of their mental issues added to that. I really have no idea. They have the land also which we do not have, nor do we care at this point. It was only my grandmother who raised the issue of rocks, not me. I am too mature now to fall for that bait. Life is too short to care about that.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall hearing of the existence of the Alfords who live somewhere nearby in South Florida, of whom one of them was a Boca Raton city commissioner at one time. However, I seriously doubt those Alfords could possibly be related to the Alfords of Southern California of a century ago who were possibly known to Uncle Ariel. And even if there were some family connection, there is no reason for us to care what the Alfords think about Pentecostalism a century later. They really wouldn't know anything about it, obviously, and, anyway, it really would not be any of their business. They certainly never make an appearance at our church.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, and who is this Gretchen Grams Anderson that I should be aware of her existence? I admit that I was not. Ok, so more recently I learn that she married Tom Anderson? Am I supposed to be impressed? I might have heard her parents' names mentioned somewhere. Perhaps Susie Stewart knows them. Susie knows all of the missionaries by name and personally but I do not know them. Susie is an interesting source of gossip about all of the missionaries but I would not be able to remember anything specific that Susie might or might not have said about the various ones she talks about because Susie talks much and says very little in terms of specific, just that she thinks they are all so wonderful and stuff like that. I really don't remember the Grams of California. Are they related to the Grams of Florida? Nobody has ever mentioned them to me so obviously I really would not know anything about that.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I vaguely remember reading Karl Marx in high school, in Spanish I think although I am not sure, but I don't have that book now. Perhaps someone stole it and if so they are welcome to keep it. I don't want it back now. I don't really need that stuff now, obviously. It just makes you wonder what the teachers were thinking when they were assigning books because some of these books are just so dreary and depressing. I just want to forget about that stuff and get on with my real life. Books are not real life. I like to read but there is a limit to what books are worth in a personal way. Some books deserve to be forgotten on some dusty library shelf and pulled out only for an actual humanitarian purpose, not just to inflict torture upon me, which seems to be the only purpose of this whole exercise in futility.

Which Reminds Me

I wonder what makes Carol think that I would expect anything from her and her pack of Marxist guerrilla trash friends who sit around playing chess and spin-the-bottle and nothing else of importance? I have better things to do than discuss anything further with stupid Carol. If anyone was behaving like an expectant bitch that would be Carol herself and someone really ought to be plugging her stupid mouth and telling her where to get off. Perhaps Carol was expecting a romantic liaison with Paul Gibbard but she will be sorely disappointed because those guys are just too young to be hanging out on the basketball court making out with Dawn, who should be acting like a big sister. It just didn't seem right to me but Carol perhaps wanted something else to come of that. Sorry but Carol should not be expecting to get anything out of that.

God Loves Me, Too

Who is going to save me from this crackpot lowlife General Sherman who is maneuvering to cut me off at the pass? Atlanta deserves to be burned, no doubt about it. No one intelligent actually lives there that I know of. Most of the Atlanta people I can remember are back-stabbing traitors who don't deserve anything from me so obviously there is no reason to expect me to complain about throwing Atlanta out the window. Just don't try to entangle me with that mess. Atlanta is not my problem. Go away and leave me be.

O Canada

It goes without saying that Canadians have nothing to say to me about my personal assets. I would never think to contact them in Washington, so removed are they from anything that matters in life, Washington being a backwater of no interest to me. Thus it would be utterly rude of the creepy wicked Saword family to interpose their pathetically wicked noses into my personal life. It is true that for two or three years I did attend the same school as those two ill-tempered Canadian children, Dawn and Craig. However, the fact is that Dawn was quite a nasty broomstick of a classmate to me. There is nothing else that Dawn could ever say to convince me to call them, especially not now. After all the rude messages they sent me in the first place for no reason other than just for the sake of being nasty they should not be surprised to find themselves with my door slammed in their rude and wicked faces. Was I supposed to give Carol a prize for being unbelievably rude and nasty? Hopefully the wicked Andersons will get a clue that they are nothing to me. Our great-grandparents have been dead for a very long time now and the Andersons are nothing but uppity-up snooty arrogant nasty people as far as I can tell. I could probably say something similar about Carol and the rest of them also: ditto ditto ditto. Whatever. Hopefully they will be getting a clue that there will be no dialogue with the creepy Kraiss-Klein-Klan, and they have only themselves to blame. Enough said.

Which Reminds Me

I really don't understand why anyone would care about or take into account the rotten attitudes of Bruce, Paul, Craig and David, none of whom were ever my classmates and really know nothing at all about me that counts for diddly-squat. They are always angry with me which only makes me think that they may feel defensive and guilty about something and don't want to be reminded of their own school time follies, whatever that was. I really don't care. I had forgotten about them by the next day and do not appreciate being reminded of their habitually bellicose posturing so typical of junior high boys.

Which Reminds Me

During first or second grade I had a role in the Thanksgiving play at Christian school in San Bernardino. My role was that of Thanksgiving rabbit. I had to wear a pink hat with rabbit ears and run on stage saying my lines loudly enough, "Happy Thanksgiving! Happy Thanksgiving!" So I did not get to play either the role of indigenous American or that of pilgrim, not that I might not be some of both off-stage in a manner of speaking, symbolically sort of.

Interestingly

Oh! I never knew that Cousin Graden's claim to fame was a statue and fountain in Beverly Hills for which he served as model of an Indian man even though any Indian blood in the veins of our generation would likely be in such trace amounts as to be laughable, most likely. I certainly would not want to volunteer myself as representing Indian blood, personally speaking. And how many Americans nationwide imagine themselves descended from the Indian princess Pocahontas whether true or not? Quite a few actually entertain this romantic fantasy, surprisingly. Hence the fame of the Disney movie. But if the Indian Nation wants to remove Graden's likeness to be replaced with that of a more full-blooded representative of the Native American races I doubt that anyone in our branch of the family would object or even care to comment. We never knew whether it was really there so obviously we would not really notice if it were removed, either. Whatever.

Which Reminds Me

I have a systematic way of playing Battleship so I do pretty well at that game, not that I could not lose a game now and then given various factors of chance and luck and opportunity. Still, playing the Battleship game in a systematic way that I prefer prevents a lot of wasted moves.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is so nice of everyone to try to rehabilitate Cousin David's reputation posthumously. It is somewhat interesting to think of what amazingly good things David might have done with his life if he had not blown out his brain on drugs at a young age, wasted a lot of time studying Eastern religions and died young of AIDS. He was actually a very intelligent person and probably would have accomplished quite a lot in spite of being somewhat absent-minded. Still, there is nothing that we can do now to reverse time and bring David back from wherever he went at the conclusion of his mental wanderings here on earth. He seemed to think that he had to always be seeking the truth and never finding, following in the footsteps of my mother's Graden who ended up in Palm Springs area. We can only hope that maybe he did get a last-minute salvation and squeaked his butt into heaven singed as if by fire but I won't know that I get there and see that for myself. Until then there is really nothing else to say about that.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, who would forget that my sister's favorite prank during slumber parties was for her and her friends to sneak in the middle of the night and smear toothpaste on my face while sleeping, and also my friends, so that I would wake up in the morning with this gooey stuff all over my face and pillow. My sister and her friends were incorrigible. It is sort of awkward to have the Baptist Bells and Reeces pretending to know something about me when actually all they are is an extension of pranky little sister, nothing more than that.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is true that during college I did spend way too much time hanging around with those mental retards Lynda and Dauna, Lynda constantly repeating everything that Terry ever said and Dauna parroting whatever Lynda says. Karen Ha was also in our music class so she would remember how Terry would stand there in the classroom door ruminating out loud on many subjects. I really don't remember anything specific. It was a constant thing with Terry, always blah blah blah. I could try to remember a few things that got thrown into circulation mainly because of Lynda not screening out all of these trivialities that are best forgotten by us. I no longer remember anything about Terry. I don't really run in Nordic circles all that much anyway so I really would not know what happened to those people. I don't really understand the Nordic thing because, personally, I prefer to think in English.

Strangely

It seems to me that there is nothing that I can do to contend with the rich and powerful Klein clan. If they set their minds to have me murdered and my inheritance sold to Karen, I would have no remedy in courts of law because obviously they are playing their cards under the table. I cannot present court's evidence of the Kleins' theft and embezzlement activities when obviously I cannot prove it in so many words. I will just be dead and gone before anything can be done to dispose of that problem. So whatever. Nevertheless, Karen only got herself a doctor, nothing more. She is not in line to get  anything from me. Just being Jewish is no magic talisman in a court of law. The blood of Jesus covers me in that regard so I would have no reluctance to assist in prosecution of the Klein-Kraiss clan if necessary, but only if asked. Otherwise, all I can say is I wish those people would stop bugging me. I just wanted to have my own life after college with no Kraiss involvement. The Klein-Kraiss clan will just have to get used to being out of the loop because my life is none of their business. Enough said.

Which Reminds Me

It should be obvious that I had completely forgotten about the existence of the Olsen family. The Olsen family will have no place in my future life so it would be completely irrational and nonsensical to imagine that Becky Olsen would ever be calling me to argue about nothing much. I would really have nothing to say to Becky as I have completely forgotten about her and the Mendelssohn duet which went well enough for one semester but was not repeated. I was thought that Paul Olsen was that type of haughty arrogant snob whose existence is of no interest me.

Which Reminds Me

It would seem sort of awkward to have this Larry Kraiss idiot always angling to stab me in the back, as if I did not know that his own mother Barbara was most likely the source of whatever snarky gossip was in circulation at the time. Barbara always was full of the most scathing commentary on various people which was another reason not to spend very much time talking to her. After all, her husband is the college president, extremely rich and powerful. If you run afoul of the Kraiss family they can really mess up your life big time. I only remember something Barbara said about the girl who had arrived on campus with already her own album recorded and having been a backup singer for rock bands. Barbara quickly made it known all over campus that she was quite the trash. I can only imagine what scathing things Barbara would have said behind my back to others, which is another reason to minimize the amount spent talking to her about anything personal outside of school. I could not begin to explain where Barbara got all of her information. Years ago President Kraiss came to Florida and spoke at a missionary retreat event attended by my parents. There he commented on the fact that a rape had occurred on campus, some girl being attacked by several guys, but I don't know who those people were. They were not in our class, obviously. I only know what my parents said about what President Kraiss said. Beyond that I don't know anything about it.

Which Reminds Me

Nobody really cares what Paul Olsen says about anything, except for maybe Cori who liked him. Oh, was Paul related to Becky? I never asked. Olsen is a very common name. I really wouldn't know. I really don't care.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall that during my first semester at SCC I sang a duet with Becky Olsen. Our voices blended well enough for Mendelssohn. Becky was saying that our voices sound sort of similar but I was thinking not really so much. Becky quit school after one semester due to some disgrace but I don't remember the specifics of that. That never happened to me so I really don't understand what their problem is. Some girls are really really dumb. I was not that dumb. There was just nothing nice to say about that so I didn't.

Which Reminds Me

While I was living in Virgina there was one roommate I had for two months who was from North Carolina but I have forgotten her name. She seemed to know a lot about the inner workings of CBN and said something about Terry but I cannot remember what. She also said some things about Danuta. Oh, I had not known that about her. Amazing how things get around but I only remember what someone else said.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I suppose I could try to remember which quotes from Ruben Darío were inscribed on the theater walls but I really don't remember. There was something about kissing and, so, whatever. What girls wants to pitch some stupid fit about kissing? We would not want some particular guy someday to think that we did not want to be kissed, needless to say. So we are not going to say anything specific about that. I just sort of know how those church people think. I noticed that they don't even have offer a Spanish literature program in their Spanish Christian university because maybe they feel that would be problematic for them for various reasons. They are not particularly impressed with those literary guys who spend a few years living like prodigals in Paris and then come back to America thinking they know everything. I really don't know very much about it, only heard some chatter on this topic out there in the ozone layer. Besides, we know that Ruben Darío was a modernist poet which means that he mostly ruminates on topics of romantic love and also Greek and Roman mythology. The modernists, feeling that Christianity placed too many restrictions on their preferred immoral lifestyle, looked to symbols of classical mythology as a universal language that would allow European cultures to understand each other without need of church. So it would seem sort of logical that the church people would not be particularly interested in promoting his sort of non-Christian poetry, not that he was not good at what he did in a modernist sort of way. I just sort of guessed that the theater walls might have been an issue there but I wasn't there so I really don't know specifically what happened.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, now I am starting to remember that Sharon Turner Deras mentioned that there was a controversy involved in the church's purchase of the old movie theater but she was not able to clearly explain the nature of the controversy. I really don't understand. It was not my problem.

Which Reminds Me

While we were living in El Salvador, at one time the church we attended, the Evangelistic Center, rented the movie theater around the corner to show some Christian movies. I remember inside that theater on the wall were inscribed various quotations from the poetry of Ruben Darío, a Nicaraguan poet whose works are sort of embarrassing to read if you know what I mean. More recently I heard that the church actually bought out almost the entire city block on which it was located, which likely means they also bought the theater. I imagine that in remodeling the interior of the theater they would have removed the poetry from the walls but I really would not be able to corroborate that firsthand as we were already gone from the country by that time. One sort of imagines that a church would not appreciate having that verbiage on the walls of its school auditorium. His books are required reading in high school there but nothing specific comes to mind in retrospect. I suppose that I could look it up but why bother?

Which Reminds Me

We are not Irish. Ok, so maybe Grandpa Calkins' mother's name was Collins, one of those names that might be Irish. So assuming that the Collins were pure Irish, although probably not, that would make me one-eighth Irish. From Grandma Calkins we get German, Swiss, also maybe some English and French. From my mother's side I get some Scottish, English, possibly also some strains of Irish and who knows what else. Like my Dad always says, we are sort of "Heinz 57 Varieties" ethnically speaking. A sampling of Western Europe perhaps.

Thus it was bizarre to be told that I must be Irish. The Irish is not that dominant in my makeup notwithstanding the auburn hair. How stereotypical are these assumptions that red hair means Irish. Not necessarily. Someone said there are actually more redheads in Scotland than Ireland. And anyway the black Irish are not particularly friendly to us, so bound up are they in obscure fairy tales of no interest to us.

Someone was saying that I must be Irish to accept charitable donations from the British affluent One. The British affluent One envisions the United States white population as entirely Irish. When the British affluent One has completed the conquest of North America, the Canadians migrating South to facilitate the Invasion, the Yankees, mortal enemies of the British historically speaking, will be allowed to keep Long Island. Whites on the American continent will be primarily Irish Catholic, a state of affairs that would be favorable to the prospects of the Kennedy clan, who generally speaking are incredibly ambitious and destructive, interested only in advancing their own selfish agenda and horrible attitude towards women, but which leaves Yankee Protestants living in a political vacuum.

How convenient for the Duke of Westminster, who spends much of his spare time in Ireland, given that he is the wealthiest British-born person and huge land developer, to pontificate upon a vision of the United States that would facilitate his own vast ambitions for the conquest of America.

And then we have the Wicked Dutch of the West Coast represented by Wicked Witch Cindy, of whom there never was anything nice to say. I am sure that Grandpa Calkins wanted the best for her but she was her own worst enemy.

So all of this gobbledy-gook accomplishes nothing as far as I am concerned. Nobody wants to be ruled by horrible Dutch dogs. I know I certainly don't.

Which Reminds me

While working as a newspaper reporter in Haines City, I was assigned to cover the luncheon sponsored by the local chamber of commerce to mark the retirement of City Manager Bill Drummond. He gave a lengthy speech that began with an allegorical tale. He described the running of the city as akin to the navigation of a ship, bestowing humorous commentaries upon various members of the city commission and staff. It was very cleverly done, quite humorous actually in a way. The only way to give that its due justice in the newspaper would have been to reprint it verbatim, a thing that was just not done in newspapers of the late 20th century. Speeches of city managers are generally not expected to have such literary merit anyway. It was a rare moment. It would be really hard to explain that in a flattened prosaic form so I did not even try. Yes, I suppose that I could have explained that more thoroughly but as it was I only alluded to that introductory thing in the article that I wrote summing up the facts of the event. Besides, not being that acquainted with those people, it seemed to me hard to wrap my head around what he was actually saying about the individuals involved. If you want to know more perhaps you could ask the Drummond family to turn over their patriarch's family papers. I really don't remember much. Or maybe someone else there was taking better notes than I because I don't think that I was. Of course, you could always ask the previous reporter, Brenda Wilks Hunt. Maybe she was already gone on maternity leave so maybe that's why she was not covering the event that day. Brenda was in thick with those people, having been there already quite a few years while myself maybe a year, so she might have gotten more out of that than I did. Brenda was married to Doug Hunt but I have no idea whether he would be connected to the Hunts that are related to us. Hunt is a very common name. I cannot imagine that there could be any family connection there. By the way, Brenda was originally from North Carolina, as was someone else she mentioned, not that I would know anything about North Carolina.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, even in my dreamlike voyage article I can write a better blurb than stupid Laurie Way, no doubt about that. The Moore dogs strut around pridefully as if snaring a Moore dog husband somehow excuses her pathetically bad behavior and yet it is not so. The Moore dogs will reap what they have sown.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it does seem very strange that the Moore family, while pretending to be Christian, are actually practicing Islam to a cruel extreme. That is not the way Christians ought to be treating me which is why I no longer count the Moores among my friends either. Who knew that Laurie Way would turn out to be such a back-stabbing traitorous piece of garbage, notwithstanding having six children to balance her generosity on account? How utterly rude of the Moore trash to do that to me. I could not care less about the Ways and Moores at this point. Joy is another fat ugly Moore pig of memory. Laurie is just another example of nasty rich dog whose expensive college tuition did not produce anything better than a free or low-cost community college education might have produced given that all she got for a husband was that slobbering idiot Al Moore, who marveled at my straight As on Western Civilization class quizzes because he himself could not really make the grade, obviously.

Anyway, I certainly have lost all respect for those horrid Moore dogs Laurie and Joy. Someone please tell the Moore trash that they can expect to rot in hell because as far as I am concerned because whatever they did to me will be done to them.

Which Reminds Me

Our family owns mineral rights in Texas. Whenever we lease the property to the oil exploration people, the law gives them access to the property for testing purposes. Sort of the way the meter man sometimes comes to your house to check the water meter. So there is nothing invasive of their privacy in the oil people's testing practices, besides which the farmer purchased half of the mineral rights from us to start with so theoretically he would get his share also, assuming there were anything there. So? This unbelievably extensive violation of my privacy hardly compares to the minimal access granted by mineral rights. There is something very wrong with this picture.

Which Reminds Me

Now I remember what the problem is. Everybody is expecting me to manage the controls and yet the ground has already been sold out from under me so there really is nothing for me to control. There is nothing for me to do but play along with the pathetically bad script that has already been laid down by the enemies of my race. Thus we see that I have no enthusiasm for this pathetically wrong exercise in futility. I cannot win this game.

Which Reminds Me

All of this gobbledy-gook code emitted from Larry's vicinity only proves himself a slobbering idiot as far as I can tell. Certainly there is no family connection there given that Karen is not a clone of Beverly, whose maiden name was Strickland, which is not necessarily a synonym of Strictland, so Larry is not a clone of Richard, obviously. Thus there was no reason to be communicating with Larry after college, or something like that, given that I did not recall an actual greeting of hello ever having emanated from his direction. Hopefully, Larry will soon be getting a clue that his medical services are not needed here.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I was getting weird from messages from Larry Kraiss, but I could not imagine why. I have no personal connection to the Kraiss family. Sure, his mother was involved in the music department at one time but Larry was never a part of that. Strange that Larry would imagine himself part of my life by virtue of being a college president's son. He is a medical doctor now but he lives in Utah so his services will not be needed here. There are many doctors of every specialty in phone books everywhere.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is true that while Karen Klein was a college classmate of mine I have no memory of her. She married Larry Kraiss, the son of the college president. That is about all I would be able to say about those people whose faces were sometimes seen around campus. I have no reason to give them further thought as they will have no place in my life after college. I see that they moved to Utah which is a place completely of no interest to me.