Category Archives: Musings

Where Have You Gone, Bill the Cat?

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Editor’s Note: Notice the people you knew who slept through high school civics and changed their university major to forestry to avoid college civics have become experts on the Constitution, the Electoral College and political issues of all sorts? They know things. They’re also allowed to vote and drive and birth humans. Yea, your fear is real.

Vote and Vote Often.

Citizens pressed forward to get a glimpse. The front-runner from Cromwell County mounted a contentious, arduous campaign, and with the polls opening in less than 24 hours, his election as state legislator was all but assured. The Bowie Review & Caller was on the scene.

“Helluva a candidate, I say. One HELLuva a candidate,” said Dexter Bottomfeed, long-time political consultant and full-time backslapper, wingman and good buddy. “Bar none. We’re no longer taking names. Gerald P. McGillicuddy will be the finest legislator from Jackson County who’s ever roamed the statehouse.”

“Cromwell County?” said Bonnie Truthfinder, recent graduate of the Texas State School of Journalism and now political reporter. “You just said Jackson County.”

“Didn’t I say Cromwell?  Dang. After 20 years, these elections start to run together. Jackson County was last year,” he said. “Well, no matter the county, we all need a Gerald P. The finest man and the finest candidate I’ve ever had the pleasure of representing.”

“Pleasure, I’m sure. You’re declaration, I’m not sure. How much is he paying you?

“Balderdash and folderol. The campaign has nothing to do with compensation. It’s about providing effective leadership to the most downtrodden of our citizens, the disaffected middle class and the hardworking wage earners desperately clawing their way back from the abyss of social decay and economic calamity.”

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Writer’s Block

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Editor’s Note: The following story by Jeff Rembert was posted by Ghost Parachute: A Literary Magazine on its website under Blog on May 20, 2020.

You’re staring at the screen, and you’ve got nothing. Your mind is a void. You type random words and hope a coherent sentence emerges. Still nothing. Your cat gives it a shot with words of her invention and does so with steadfast confidence. Still incoherent, but your cat doesn’t care. Your frustration continues unabated. In your cat’s eyes, you’re simply a dog. Good luck with that.

Futile efforts, cat judgement, emptiness of thought and desire are common. The origin of this state of inability remains unknown to scientists, literary professors and writing coaches. Politicians blame Belgium. Your father blames your mother’s side of the family. Your mother says something about a real father. While theories fail to adequately explain the malady, it continues to rage through writing communities, literary groups and freelance sweatshops.

And no one is immune. You have what some call writer’s block.

Writer’s block affects the young and old, the experienced and inexperienced, short story writers and novelists, romantic writers and fantasy apocalyptic authors (same thing), English undergrads and MFAs. Writer’s block doesn’t recognize borders, culture, race or political parties. It affects those with and without the latest technology. Starbucks patrons are particularly susceptible.

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Keep Up Tradition

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Editor’s Note: Writing a goodbye column was a tradition at The University Daily, the campus paper at Texas Tech University. And I probably wrote mine in a huff. Too many ads. Not enough editorial space. Why my editor, Inez Russell, didn’t calf-tie me and leave me in a forgotten barn, I’ll never know. Thank you for not finding the keys to the school van. From the May 4, 1982, edition of the UD, a long-seasoned vanity piece.

HIGHWAY 84 – I guess it’s time to shut the book on an era. The wild and carefree columns of the past will make like my grade point and fade away. No more columns about filling 32 inches of space in the newspaper. No more columns about Tech students going on strike demanding easier courses and less-stringent grading policies. Even Ol’ Dusty may have seen his last Tech-Arkansas football game.

Tradition is dying out, folks.

Despite claims by the Latin faculty, I’m not very old. But when you’re 21 and have four years of higher learning tucked away in a copy of Sports Illustrated, some of the newer students look upon you as if you were Will Rogers’ statue – a Tech fixture. The baseball players can’t imagine anyone but you covering their team, and the other sports writers can’t remember when anyone but you finished last in Fearless Forecasters.

But how old can you be when you’re in college. The life is as carefree as you’ll ever experience. I can remember when Tech had a winning football team. When the basketball team participated in post-season tournaments. When a night of intramural basketball was spent at the Intramural Gym. And when Applause was one of the hottest clubs in Lubbock.

Now my catalog tells me I have enough hours to graduate, so I should leave Tech and make something of myself. Administration said I should grow up while I was at it. I was grown up when I entered college. I just regressed as the years progressed.

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From Here to Isolation

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Editor’s Note: While for many the following unfortunately is not the case, those in my world remain well and the experience of isolation, surreal for sure, has been an observation of human behavior. Whether it’s folks in denial while shopping without masks, or protesters defying social distancing on the steps of government buildings. Whether it’s reruns of the 1978 MLB season or Katy Perry’s wardrobe on American Idol At Home. The mind wanders. Hey, I just organized my sock drawer by color.

Is it strange I schedule my day around the evening news?

CENTRAL FLORIDA – Self-exile. We’d think I was an embattled Shah or Justin Bieber, but no. My county has stay-at-home orders with a broad definition of essential services. Only massage parlors, tattoo shops and barbers, the only true essentials, are closed. I’m simply home and working remote because I’m on the low end of the at-risk category and somebody out there loves me. But it hasn’t been without raised eyebrow.

The learning curve has been steep. And I’m either annoyed or hungry. Then again I’m always hungry. Bottom line? People are nuts. How anyone survived outside the womb is beyond me. Perhaps people survived childhood by eating paint chips, perhaps THEY were correct about fluoride in the water. No matter, everyone is nuts. And Dr. Anthony Fauci will save us.

Clothing. Or do the goldfish make me look fat?

I haven’t worn pants in six weeks. Not Terry Bradshaw full nude around the fish tank, but rather shorts versus jeans. And I’ve discovered cargo shorts can hold three dog leashes, collars and treats. Four unused environmentally friendly doggie poop bags. Seven used fabric sheets for the dryer. Two remote controls. One bottled water. Seven days of mail, and one Hunter S. Thompson paperback. A stapler, wrench and double-sided tape. One package of peanut butter crackers. Double A batteries, chicken bones and nail clippers. Did I mention I forgot how to tie my shoes?

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Mother’s Day Remembrance of One Who Cut a Path

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The following piece originally was posted June 15, 2013, on my first blog “If You Knew the Voices in My Head.”  With the discovery of old photographs (and the nostalgia that accompanies such a discovery) and my youngest daughter a year away from joining my oldest daughter as a college graduate, I thought it time to revisit the piece.

A Car Ride From the Airport and Small Talk

On the way home from the airport my college-age daughter and I discussed the now completed spring semester of her freshman year. It had gone well. She continued to make new friends, took interesting classes, experienced all she could experience in the diverse environment of a well-regarded university. She took a classical course load where her understanding and appreciation of society was stretched as her academic skills were enhanced.

Mom 1950sThe conversation was the small talk of car rides that follow a day of getting to, through and around airports from one end of the country to the other. How was the semester? How were finals? How was the flight? Mind bending stuff. And during our conversation we found ourselves discussing the past spring break when she enjoyed much-desired sun in the backyard while reading two books addressing distinct schools of thought. One book on feminism and one book on cultural conservatism. Truly mind bending.

Politics aside it was encouraging to hear she was exploring various views. And during our car-ride conversation she said she had come to realize just how far women have progressed in the past 100 years. How past generations fought for the right to vote. How past generations fought for equal participation in society. Yet the changes are subtle when viewed as single efforts yet significant when viewed collectively. It’s a shame we today don’t readily discuss these efforts with our young women in any place other than the classroom.

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