Out of uniform
My sash had maybe 3 badges. One was woodworking as I recall…
As a Tulsa Boy Scout I wore the shirt to meetings but with jeans, loafers, no sash with merit badges as I had earned only a few. The kid who showed up in pressed BSA mufti head to toe was the scoutmaster’s son. He had a full sash of merit badges, and was probably working on another.
We underachievers (a small but fierce group) clung to an independence that, had there been a brig or stockade (and the scoutmaster would have been fully onboard for such) we’d have been in it, bread and water status.
When I figured out my folks wouldn’t notice if I just stopped attending, I…stopped attending. But before this happened, we were subjected to a 20-mile hike. I showed up in PF Fliers and jeans.
20-mile hike-wear for the disaffected Boy Scout…
The SM called me out, pointed at my worn sneakers and said “He won’t make it five miles.” He lifted one of his rather new-looking, mirror-polished mil-spec combat boots and made some remarks about readiness in the field. “Hut two thrip foah” started our hike, but that dropped off quickly. I had expected cadence count (You had a good home and you left, you’re right) sound-off militarism, but that didn’t happen.
What did happen is, at the 12-mile mark, I plodded on past the hapless scoutmaster, who was sitting off the roadway, boots and socks off, angry blisters on his heels. He was whisked away by a checkup vehicle. I made the 20 with my underachieving pals in our sneakers, and we were picked up by designated parents and hauled home. No adverse effects on the feet of the out-of-uniform group. End of tale.
The Bitter Southerner has a Tsundoku shirt
And now I know what it means.
Short version: Japanese for stockpiling books TBR but maybe not reading them.
Not right away, sometimes not ever.
I’m a Tsundoku-ist and the fact there’s a shirt about it means I’m not the only one. How about you? Hey, if the shirt fits.
Back to The Bitter Southerner—it’s a site worth exploring, and their magazine is pretty nice, too (latest cover, left). Both are well-written and art directed.
And they own up to a duality/darker southern history while trying to make things better.
Take a look. (Link)
What does this photo say to you?
Drive-ins were a rite of passage back in the 50s. This one is obviously in L.A. or somewhere in S. Cal. but the big screen says something to many of us, wherever we live.
The ones that are still up are background to swap meets and weekend sales but some of those still show movies and, once you’re settled in your car, speaker on the windowsill, tub of popcorn, Cokes, maybe a beer or two, the giant faces appear and the night closes around you. Only the headlights of a late arrival and subsequent horn-honks interrupted this peculiar magic some of us grew up with.
My KC favorite, The Boulevard Drive In, still going strong and showing good flicks, too…
Just so you know, we thought the “Let’s all go to the snack bar” (Link) cartoons were corny even back then. We sang them and snickered on the way to the concession stand.
And sometimes we forgot the speaker was on the door and drove off, popping the cord, and taking it with us. It was an honest mistake as it could damage the car door and who needs that?
And, they say, some kids snuck into the movies free, by hiding in the trunk, while the driver and a friend played nonchalant and paid for two. They say.
This screenshot is static—to see video click on link in text below. The hives are alive with the sound of honey…
Putting the Bee back in Britain
This buzz-worthy video speaks for itself as do the actions of its subject, true beeliever, Matt Somerville. His mission to save and house the busy pollinators in a more natural fashion that suits the bees’ needs, is working wonders. Maybe some of his bee huts will spring up in the USA. It’s not just a hobby; for him it’s a life’s work. (Link) Had I seen this in my younger days, a couple of these might have cropped up at Wise Acres. Pass it on for the bees, please.
Seed art
It’s here because I liked it a lot. So did my silversmith better half; she uses such gifts of nature as inspiration and it shows up as earrings and pendants. Pretty Novemberish, too. These intricate sculptures are captured by photographer Levon Biss in close-ups and well worth a look here at Moss & Fog, so drop in and see more at this (Link).
Books; McGuane, HST’s kid, and Mary Oliver
Tsundoku aside, I’ve read the McGuane and the Thompson, Oliver next on the TBR stack…
It’s an occasion for me when a Thomas McGuane book hits the market. A Wooded Shore seemed familiar, as I had read three of the stories in The New Yorker but I always re-read this guy anyway.The word for him is inimitable. Dark and funny. (Link)
Then, Hunter Thompson’s son, Juan, has a toddler-to-teen-to-grown-up perspective on the icon in Stories I Tell Myself; hard to read sometimes, but what did I think? That a drug-addled alcoholic genius would raise a kid normally? Sad, yet with an overtone of parent/child resolution. (Link)
Pulitzer-winning poet Mary Oliver’s Devotions is a compendium of over 50 years’ worth of her poetry; (Link) I ordered this book after devouring her bestselling A Thousand Mornings, (Link) a much slimmer book, also recommended. In fact, I suggest starting with the latter, if not familiar with her work.
Two ladies with haunting voices and Pentatonix (why these three?)
I miss the first two. Gillian Welch and Nanci Griffith; one always brought to mind the other.
Their music reminds me of gospel and ancient folk tunes from the hollows of Appalachia, echoes of which you hear on PBS’s WoodSongs Old Time Radio Hour. Watch it sometime if you don’t already. It’s a down home, bluegrass hour from Kentucky.
Check out the gospel song she wrote, “By The Mark”(Link)…
