Be Careful Jumping to Conclusions

Chuck Gaidica was a local weatherman in Detroit for years. I always liked him; he seemed sincere and honest about forecasting. One thing I recall him saying in an interview about ten years ago was that after 5 to 7 days, all bets were off about the weather. We simply couldn't know with any certainty what would happen after that. 

That sounds about right to me. Generally, the forecasters can't go very far into the future, and we've all known times where they were wrong about the next 24 hours, let alone next week. Even with science, we can't predict the future, especially the far future, with any reliability. And that's one of the main reasons I'm skeptical of the value, and the inherent fear involved, with issues of climate change.

We don't know how much snow we're going to get next Monday but we know Miami will be underwater in the year 2100. Bah and humbug. Yes, we might be able to take decent guesses about the coming days, weeks, or even months. But knowing for sure, with anywhere near complete accuracy? Color me skeptical. Especially considering that so many models, so much 'science' is based on mere human thought and action. It is after all human beings making up the various catastrophic scenarios for our future based on the data they feed into the algorithm they have chosen and developed. Human thought being human thought, that means guesswork will enter in the equation. Bias will too, even if unintentional. I can't help wonder how many scientists (many of whom are directly or indirectly paid by a government somewhere) are actually superimposing their belief on the endeavor. And I haven't even addressed the issue of presumption: they claim that simply because one thing has happened one way it will continue to act in exactly that way into eternity. That's an assertion fraught with peril, particularly when you're asking for trillions of dollars which will keep you, erstwhile scientist, in the driver's seat about my life, and the lives of millions of others, born and yet to be born.

I'm not saying that future climactic catastrophe isn't in the cards. But knowing that nature is resilient and men fallible, I simply don't believe the crisis all that foreboding.

And So It Begins

Winter, I won't say I loathe you.

Okay, I will say I loathe you.

Detroit had somewhere around an inch of snow over this past Saturday night. They, the famous they, although in this case they are weathermen and they are to be particularly despised, are calling for one to three inches of snow tonight. It seems a bit early in the season for measurable snow just yet, but man proposes and God disposes, right?

Winter and I get along all right when she arrives late and leaves early. She appears to have other ideas for Winter 2021-2022. I do not find that amusing.

Darkness Descends

I woke up this morning with every intention of seizing the day for all it was worth. Anticipating that, I grabbed a favored hoodie and pulled it over my head.

Suddenly it was dark, very dark. I know it was early morning, ahead of the sunrise, but I never expected the darkness to take over so suddenly and completely. The feeling was so overwhelming that I thought something horrible yet astoundingly fast had come over me. Had I left the earthly realm of my bedroom for something else, some new adventure?

Of course, there was a simpler explanation. I had thrown the hoodie on backwards and was then temporarily out of sorts, the deep darkness not affording my eyes any reference points so that they might make sense of the world. I was sure I had checked that I was putting it on correctly too. 

Pity the Pups

My son and his family, the Ohio Cosgriffs, are up this weekend for Thanksgiving. They brought their dogs along with them, and that's cool. Gaspode and Riley are quite welcome here at this one branch of the Michigan Cosgriffs.

Naturally enough, the animals pay more attention to my son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter than to me, at least when the aforementioned folks are nearby. Yet they have learned to begrudgingly live with the lesser evil if their more direct adoptors are not at hand.

Yesterday the Ohioans went shopping, leaving the pups home with me. The pets spent the appropriate amount of time pining for their masters, whining a bit and routinely marching between the living room window and the closed dining room door where they had witnessed the departure of their Ohio family.

But they eventually gave that up and, to my surprise, began paying attention to me. I was working at the desktop computer, doing real work and not playing video poker at all, mind you, occasionally arising for a cup of coffee or to make myself a turkey sandwich or whatever. Quickly enough the dogs would jump off the couch where they had laid, having given up all hope of their favored humans returning, and follow me around. 

I hope it was to show that they loved me and wanted to make sure I didn't leave them either. Yet I suspect it was really only in the hope of getting a treat or two out of pity. 

They did get that. After all, I'm not inhuman, even knowing they would abandon me when the Ohio Cosgriffs returned. Which they promptly did.

Destroying Trust

Teachers sometimes distrust students. Students sometimes distrust teachers. Perhaps that last bit is my fault.

I taught for 26 years. Needless to say, and please forgive my going on and saying it because whenever you preface something Needless to say you have to go ahead and say it anyway (it's a law), I lectured with some regularity. It's a teaching standard. During one lecture, I went and threw my students' trust in me under the bus.

While teaching a section of American history on the labor union movement I was speaking of a few early union leaders. One of whom, Samuel Gompers, was an organizer for the American Federation of Labor, or AFL. Rambling along in talking to the students, who were actually eagerly taking notes that day as I droned on, I said something like, "Then we have Samuel Gompers, the founder of the AFL, the American Football League." The pupils dutifully scribbled that down.

A minute later I paused to explain, "Gompers was not the head of the American Football League. He started the American Federation of Labor."

The sighs and the "Aw mans" were audible and exasperated. I must confess that I was far too proud of myself.

Unfortunately I caused an entire generation of learners to not trust instructors. I'm sorry.

Thanksgiving 2021

It doesn't have to be perfect. Indeed, it can be quite flawed and still be a good holiday. The food doesn't have to be fit for, well, the Food Network. The house doesn't need to be set for, well again, House Beautiful. I would go so far as to say that if any holiday can past muster if all is simply okay, Thanksgiving is it.

Of course, I mean that in the sense of the trappings (the trappings being the least important part of any holiday). But the point of the day, to remember all the good things which we have and, Lord willing, shall continue to have, that's the idea. Be thankful. Thankful for friends and family. Thankful for the roof over your head. Thankful, yes, for the food and festivity. All those things are little perfects which, left to themselves and seen by themselves, will allow you to have a very good day. 

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

For those who might like a more serious on somber look at what makes Thanksgiving important, and why we should guard its origins zealously, click here: 400 Years of Thanksgiving

History Repeats

Sometimes, in putting these little bits of wit and revelry to, well, not to paper anymore, yet putting it out into the ether just doesn't strike a chord with me, I come across an instance of the old writer's block. I have no idea what to say. When that happens I get cutesy. Sometimes I pull up a webpage and offer a This Day In History column. Sometimes I simply reprint an old missive or reword an old story. I'm sure you folks have noticed that.

Today I thought I would try something different. I though to meself, Self, why don't you look back to exactly one year ago, to November 24, 2020, and republish that. Do it just for kicks: hey y'all, look what I writed on this day last year. So I scrolled back through my records, and, well whaddaya know?

I didn't write anything new last November 24. My entries leapt from November 23 to November 25. 

It's true. History repeats itself. Sort of, in this case.

Practical Poison

I'm not sure how I got on their radar, but my Facebook feed will occasionally offer me posts from a group called Science and Atheism. They tend to post short videos defending atheism and knocking religion. Where exactly science comes into this is beyond me, seeing as science and religion are quite compatible. But that's a question for another time.

Occasionally I will take a moment and watch their short videos. You really never know what you might learn, and you should know your enemy, right? This particular one asserted that believers invented God as an explanation for things. To be fair, that's a plausible philosophic argument. I don't agree with it, as it strikes me as hollow: it dismisses any talk of God without actually considering any of the arguments that He exists. But that too is for another time. 

My point today is this: don't the folks who preach to us (and it is a form of preaching as it tends to take on a kind of religious quality) that we must follow science urge us to do so because we need answers to our questions? Don't they assert (rather strongly) that if we would all just become scientists we would eventually have all the answers? 

I will set aside for now the idea that science can't have all the answers, for science is ultimately very rote and therefore a comparatively low form of knowledge. Science can tell us that injecting a body with poison will kill it...but it does not, it cannot, answer the question of whether we ought to inject a body with poison. This morning I simply want to point out that such scientists as the one I gave two minutes of my life to this morning are speaking with a bit of a forked tongue. Don't go to religion to find explanations, come to us, they say. Come to Science. Left to itself, that's really nothing but saying, 'Don't do things his way, do them my way' and all shall be well. 

I will deign to say, that hardly strikes me as scientific.

Down by the Riverfront

"How far away are we from the river?" Mom demanded as a traffic light caught us out in Farmington. It's a suburb of Detroit.

"The river?" I responded. "The Detroit River?"

"Yes!"

I pondered the question briefly. "I dunno, 12, 15 miles maybe."

Pointing towards a street corner Mom demanded, "How can they get away with that then?" She was indicating a party store named Riverfront Liquor. 

That became the mantra the rest of our drive yesterday. "How do they get away calling it Riverfront out here?"

I gotta admit, it has me wondering too.

Trust, but Verify

President Ronald Reagan, among his many famous quips, once said about why oversight was needed with treaties, "Trust, but verify." You can trust your treaty partners well enough while still independently making sure everything's on the level.

I think of that every Saturday. I typically take me Mom to the 4 o'clock Mass at our Church. Me brother Phil, who oversees her finances (and is, I assure you, the model of trustworthy) gives me her donation envelope for the usual collection. 

When the time for collection comes around, I take the envelopes, hers and mine, from my pocket and give hers to her, so that she can place it in the basket and get the sense of fulfillment in helping the Church. But she always, always takes it from me and opens it immediately, to see that the money is there. She does this without fail, even to the point occasionally of taking the bill out, checking it over, and placing it back in the envelope.

I find it funny, in a cutesy way. She trusts Phil with everything and is not comfortable without his approval of things. But she has to check that envelope. 

Trust but verify. I don't mean that to reflect poorly towards anyone. Indeed, I actually find it rather endearing.

The Verdict is in

I agree with the Rittenhouse verdict. But we should be careful not to make it into more than what it is, from either side of the aisle. 

Despite all the peripheral issues which may or may not have any actual bearing on the matter, the fact is that justice is individual. If Kyle Rittenhouse acted in self defense, and the jury seemed to think so and they, after all, are the cornerstone of American jurisprudence, then that is the bottom line. We ought to accept it and move on.

We can argue whether he used good judgement in going to Kenosha to begin with but that cannot be a factor in the legal issues over what happened when he arrived. If poor judgment were illegal there wouldn't be enough innocents to guard the guilty, and we have the right to freedom of movement in these United States. Rittenhouse may have put himself in a bad position. But that doesn't take away his right to self defense. 

Grand and broad theories can rarely be drawn from single incidents. Let's not do it here.

Airing Up Tires

Awhile back me brother Phil was out and about. While stopped somewhere, he noticed that he had a low tire. Fortunately he was near a gas station which had a working air compressor.

Unfortunately it was $1.50 for air, and he didn't have enough quarters. He went into the gas station for more change. In doing so, he remarked to the attendant, "I remember when it was only 50 cents for air."

Without hardly cracking a smile the attendant replied, "Inflation."

Hey, don't blame that one on me, readers.

Starved by Loyalty

As a bit of a follow up to Yesterday's blog where I spoke of people trying to pull the wool over our eyes, there's another category of customer who makes me equally incredulous. That's the one who brings me 'all his business'.

It's gone on for as long as I can remember, and is as inane as the fella who 'always' comes to us first. Just don't even go there. It's not gonna convince anyone.

Last Friday a man came in and bought a couple cutters. I appreciate that, as I do all sales. But he had to take the time to tell me that "I bring you all my business. I been doing it for 40 years."

Other than knowing his name was Kevin (because he told me) I have no idea who he was. Neither did me brother Phil. And he clearly knew who and where we were, as he found us without a phone call. But Kevin and his daddy and granddaddy before him brought us all their business, we were assured. I even asked the names of those immediate ancestors, and though I played nice and pretended to recognize them, I did not.

I'd starve with that kind of loyalty, I tell you what.

Always Our First Choice

You know, if you're trying to pull the wool over someone's eyes, you really need to watch what you say.

A common refrain which we've heard for years is that "You're always the first guys I come to see." Whatever. I know it isn't necessarily true (though I trust that we are the first choice for many) and I'm okay with that. I understand business and common sense. If a fella's working two blocks from a plumbing supply and eight miles from me I don't hold it against him to buy from the closer store. I would too.

But as my friend Jen Psaki says, let's walk this back to my first point. It is incredible how many times someone has came into the old barn and asked for a part we didn't happen to have. "That's okay, Cosgriff, you're my man. You're the first guy I come to."

I can still hear me Pops, being the decent man he was, not wanting to hold a customer off from doing a job and offering, "You could call Cloyce's Plumbing Supply if you're stuck."

"Nah, we already tried them, Cosgriff." This response not more than a half a minute after assuring the old man he was always their first option.

In the first place, you don't need to zoom us at all. We'll be cool. In the second, if you're going to zoom us, at least consider that you're doing exactly that and not immediately contradict your wool pulling.

When you really want to pamper your car

I was driving along Michigan Avenue yesterday when I came across a parking lot. But this was no ordinary parking lot. Oh, no. This was a Luxurious Parking lot. The sign said so.

But how luxurious was this lot, exactly? Not so much to my old eyes. It was a large gravel - you heard me, gravel - lot, covering a city block. A luxurious parking lot which was not even paved.

There was, however, a wrought iron gate and wrought iron fencing. Perhaps that allows the owners to call it 'luxurious'.

Mom is Funny

Ah, Sundays with Mom. They really are cool.

One day as we crossed the city limits of a small town, she began going, "Oooooo. Oooooo." Looking at her questioningly,  I realised we had just entered Howell. "We are supposed to howl, right?" she remarked.

Passing a large building, she asked if it was a warehouse. "It's a steel plant," I answered.

"Oh." Pause. "What did it steal?"

"Where are we going today?" she once queried.

"Wal-Mart."

Mom squirreled up her face as though confused. "We need to buy a wall?"

These are what memories are made of, right?

A Joke by Yours Truly

I went to confession yesterday. Don't worry, this isn't going to be religious. I'm only setting up a joke. You're certainly not hearing my confession any way you slice it.

Okay, maybe it's a set up of two jokes. So now, the second.

Due to COVID protocols, chairs were set up six feet apart in the hallway leading to the confessional. When the confessional door opened, the person in the chair closest to the door left his chair to go in. The rest of then us moved up a seat. 

At one point I remarked out loud, "This is the slowest game of musical chairs I've ever played."

Ba-dum-bum, one in a row. I'm here til Tuesday, folks.

Cafeteria Scientism

Follow the science, insist our liberal friends. I might be more amenable to that if they were. 

What grates me as much as anything else is the rank hypocrisy involved. We're expected to follow the science when they like it on things such as COVID protocols and climate change. Yet in areas where the science is far greater settled, such as gender identity and human sexual relations, they are noticeably reluctant to follow its conclusions. This is really nothing more than a cafeteria approach to science, accepting it when you like what it teaches (or might be trying to teach, arguably) and ignoring it when you don't.

That simply won't wash. If you expect me to follow the science no matter where it leads or what it says then I have the right to expect that of you. Otherwise, you have virtually a zero chance of convincing me you're right about the questions you deem critical. It is nothing less than selfishly polemical to insist on devotion to a principle which you yourself will not respect.

If I must follow the science on climate issues and COVID then you certainly must follow it on the questions of gender identity and human sexuality. Anything less is intellectual dishonesty. On that ground alone I see no obligation to listen to your arguments on what amount to pop scientism rather than honest fact.

Late Fall?

I realize that I may only be speaking for the Detroit area, but has Fall been late this year? At the least, the trees around here seem to believe so. The red maples are fire red this morning but there appear to still be a lot of leaves on a lot of the trees until yet.

I mean, It's November 12. Aren't we normally beyond the leaf falling season by now? Or should I just shut up and enjoy the late scenery?

International Calls

I just hung up the phone, and as though hanging up the phone isn't enough of a aging old guy meme, I hung up the phone with a dear old friend in Canada. An international call. Damn, I miss Canada.

He keeps me in the loop, and I love him like a brother. Unfortunately his news was not good.

Still, he thought enough to call. I appreciate that; it's what makes him such a good man. He thought of me.

I think I should leave it at that. He knew of something he thought I should know of, and he extended that knowledge to me. That is good.

And he should know that. He will now.

Life Goes On

Yesterday I took a call from the wife of an old customer. Sadly, she was calling to tell me her husband had passed away. I offered my condolences of course, and promised to pray for him.

I had known the man since my teens, so we're talking about the 1970s. It seems so long ago, and yet almost yesterday. The older we get, the more such experiences we have. C'est la vie, I guess.

He was a Shriner, and a couple of times he gave me tickets to take my family to the Shrine Circus. I always appreciated that, especially as a young family man with hardly any disposable income, and appreciate it all the more today.

Godspeed, good sir. Godspeed.

We're Dune-ed

“When I am Weaker Than You, I ask you for Freedom because that is according to your principles; when I am Stronger than you, I take away your Freedom Because that is according to my principles.”

The above quote is from the science fiction author Frank Herbert, who penned the classic Dune. It was first brought to my attention by my eldest son. There is much truth to it.

At the risk of kicking up the sand, although as I've said before (in intent if nothing else) I see no reason to allow a chance of controversy to get in the way of my blog, the quote is an on spot indictment of the modern American Progressive. I mean it.

Do you think it not so? Well, consider this: years ago when I would decry the reprehensible or gratuitous content of music or television programs I would be told by my liberal friends something like: 'Just turn off the radio' or 'Change the channel'. If you don't like it, don't listen to or watch it. Why was I told this? So that I would not suppress freedom of expression. Because it would be wrong, obviously, to keep anyone from expressing something in any way or manner they deemed fit for themselves. Didn't I, after all, believe in Freedom? To that challenge I reply with one name.

Dave Chappelle. 

Why, my dear progressive comrades, can he not be afforded the same freedom of expression, the same platform as the depraved scripts and tunes of yesteryear? Why can you not simply change the channel? The only reason I can see is that because your ox is being gored this time around. The obvious conclusion is that the thoughts and actions with which you disagree can be questioned, denigrated, and denied a seat in the arena. Why is this?

Because the modern progressive doesn't really believe in freedom. It is merely a tool for their use when their side isn't carrying the day. Yet when it feels as though it is winning the culture wars, freedom is out the door. It's that simple.

I really think I must read more Dune. It makes me wonder what other gems Mr. Herbert has among his volumes.

She Likes Me

Our Sunday ride yesterday was quite productive. We found a space heater for the Shop at a good price, and had our usual McDonald's cheeseburgers. That took about a half an hour when it didn't appear that it should have but, hey, first world problems, right?

Mom frequently asks if we're in a hurry, yet always adds, "But if you're in a hurry I'm in a hurry," indicating that if we have to rush home we simply have to, and she understands. Fortunately we've only had to rush once, when the heat gauge was creeping up and I felt it better to get home promptly than be stuck somewhere waiting for a tow, well, with Mom in tow.

Right after we left Home Depot with the heater Mom asked, "Do we have to hurry?"

"Nope," I replied, then added, "But we can hurry if you want to hurry."

"No, take your time. I'm enjoying the company."

Now, I ask you, how could I deny her such quality time with her favorite son? We took a nice, long, leisurely ride.

Keeping Things Standard

Daylight Savings Time ended early this morning. We 'fell back' an hour. I always liked that. Seven PM yesterday was, for all practical purposes, Six PM. It's a good feeling, if only something of a psychological trick. It beats spring forward, that's for sure.

19 states apparently want to keep DST year round. I don't agree. The claim is that it's better to have the light later in the day. But do we really want sunrise held off until after 9 AM during the worst of winter? Not me. It's bad enough that it doesn't rise until a few minutes after eight that time of year as it is.

I would rather keep standard time the whole 12 months.  Admittedly, I like the idea in part because the thought of summer days beginning before 5AM appeals to me. Taking my morning constitutional at 4:30 is something I could get into. It would be neat.

When it's all said and done I suppose it isn't a big deal exactly when the sunlight comes. There ain't enough sun in the depths of winter no matter how you slice it, and plenty in the summer either way. Still, if it were up to me, we'd never go back to DST again.

Take My Money, Please!

I don't mind asserting that I'm old school on many things; in fact, I revel in it. Still, it can be annoying. Quiet Ron.

Although I pay most things online I do write a couple checks a month. And because I watch my banking online I don't really pay attention to check numbers anymore, nor do I keep a check register. When I write a check, I do my dead level best to keep in mind that a check for such-and-such is out there, and to allow for it when looking in on my account.

Right now there's one check from September which has still not cleared, and it's driving me insane. Again, quiet Ron.

I contacted the people two weeks ago and they assure me they have it and will be cashing it. I have no fear of anything bad happening as they are, I am certain, reputable. But doggone it, they as yet haven't actually put it in their bank.

It's little enough that it won't cause an overdraft unless I badly lose track of things. Yet it's driving me crazy waiting. Will you please, please take my money? is not something I ever thought I'd hear myself say, to anyone under any circumstances. But I will feel much better when the check clears. 

Playing Let's Pretend at the Shop

Me Grandpa Joe had a way about throwing himself into his work. Sometimes he literally threw himself into it. Or among it, between it; I'm not exactly sure how to describe what I'm about to describe.

I remember a day when I was just 16 and he decided I needed to learn how to back up a trailer. That was fair enough so far as it went. As I worked with him delivering welding equipment and we often delivered smaller machines with a two-wheeled trailer, it was a good idea. Yet his teaching methods left a few things to be desired.

Quiet and tact come immediately to mind. I love that old man and I miss him every day, but he truly subscribed to the concept that the louder he was the better you'd remember and the quicker you'd learn. Higher decibels somehow equaled greater understanding.

Yet the loudness of his screaming instructions did not seem to help me initially. Neither did his insistence on visual examples: I cannot tell you how many times he would jump right in between car and trailer as I vainly tried backing the trailer into place, each time yelling, "Pretend you're right here! Right here!" But you're right there Joe! Right where you're telling me to be! And I'm moving a car and a trailer as you leap in and out of that space.

As I recall, me Pops returned from wherever he was at that point and calmly took over. I soon mastered it, and I do mean mastered it. I could back up that old trailer perfectly into a space with four inches of clearance to each side. And I do wonder if maybe, just maybe, Joe's intensity actually helped.

I do know me Pops calm certainly didn't hurt.

Screwing Up My Schedule

For the last six or seven years I have made it a habit of being in bed by about 6, yes, 6 PM. It works for my schedule: if I need to be up for a business trip (I'm in sales and cover two states and part of a third) I can roll out of bed at two or two-thirty in the morning and have had a full night's sleep. This time of year it's not so bad as it's dark already by my bedtime, but it can feel odd in June when the Sun is still in full shine.

When I don't have work I can use those early morning hours to read or answer email or work on my writing or watch ancient TV shows. Our Miss Brooks was quick with a quip, I've discovered. That being so, the practice has rather turned my world a bit on end.

In the last two weeks I've went out to a couple of movies, one last Tuesday and again last night. That's no big deal for most folks. Yet for me, driving home at 9 or 10 at night felt profoundly weird. There was traffic and everything. It was so unusual for me to be in the evening darkness.

I'm almost never awake let alone out and about at those times of the day anymore. It felt like it used to feel ages ago, when I was then rarely up in the wee hours before that became my standard. The world turned upside down. 

But, hey. They were good movies and worth the change of pace. It's going to take me until Monday to get my timing back in place though.

Braving the Long Cold Winter

The Atlanta Braves are the World Series Champions for 2021. I'm glad of that, not the least reason why because I believe it poetic justice. Major League baseball tried to punish Georgia by moving the All Star game to Colorado. Now it must endure the championship parade and accolades of Atlanta getting the last laugh. I don't believe in karma but if I did, I would argue this is it.

Now, along with Hall of Famer Rogers Hornsby, I stare out the window and wait for spring, when baseball returns. Sorry, football, and although I do still pay you some attention, I soured on the NFL (and even the college game) years ago. You're simply too brutal, and far too full of yourselves (among other things, which I will let hang for today). I see some of your obnoxious attitude creeping into baseball and I don't like it. Sports should be sportsmanlike, with sportsmanship rather than ego stroking. People complain about taunting penalties as they are? Hell, they ain't called enough.

So I leave you now with the famous lines of former Baseball Commissioner A. Bartlett Giomatti:

“[Baseball] breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall all alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.”

Amen to that. 102 days, and counting, until pitchers and catchers report.

Apple-sauce

I haven't made me world famous applesauce in a few years, in part perhaps because it isn't famous except in between me own ears and personal taste buds, and in part as I have been lazy. Still, I made a batch yesterday.

If I may say, it's rather good. 

The cinnamon, it blends well with the sugary taste of golden delicious apples. Nutmeg adds its own distinction. They appreciate one another, as fair tastes should.

Let's allow it to cool, and age. Then, maybe, it will allow a fair judgement. And then, to hell with it.

Editing Marty

I write. I like writing. I (generally) like what I write. But enough is enough, even of me and my own creations.

My current project is to get a book in print which has fell out of print because the company who I originally published it through has gone out of business. No, I don't think it was because of my book. But if so, woe to the one who has accepted it for republication.

Let me tell you, though, the editing process can be a chore, especially on a tome which I had considered finished. I myself, after some suggestions the company had made, offered 203 edits following the initial round of review. Some I don't think were my fault: there were issues of spacing in the proof copy they sent to me which were not in the document I send them. Still, 203 changes were far more than I expected. When I read an old copy of it as first published, I didn't find nearly that much wrong. 

Now I have another proof copy to go over which includes those alterations. In reading it I have already found 18 edits which I want to make in the first first 49 pages of a 217 page book. Some have to be made, some are more stylistic. Still, 18 more after the initial 203 seems to me an awful lot, and I still have 158 pages to go.

Then there's the fact that this makes the fifth time in three months I've had to reread my own writing. Even I'm getting sick of me, and I really like the story. The editors tell me it's a good story. But I'll have to go over it one more time after the next batch of edits are made. I'm not particularly looking forward to that.

I sure hope it sells after all this...

Halloween in Review

Halloween 2021 wasn't bad. It was definitely a throwback; we had more kids than last year, although with COVID and all I suppose that was to be expected. But the groups and individuals who came around to us were a good bunch. We tend to lament the same thing as many (if not most) other times and places that 'kids today aren't what they once were'. I don't think they are, as a whole, any better or worse than in most generations, at least in general terms of respect and courtesy.

I think we had around 300, but we didn't count. For me it's more about enjoying the moment, one of the few days a year when the community actually feels like a community. That's a spirit we could stand more of, quite honestly.

I honestly anticipate Halloween more than any other major secular holiday. It's a relatively no frills celebration. Our religious holidays could use a dose of that, methinks.

Ah well. Let's do this again next year, shall we?