Brighten the Corner . . .

In 1913, Ina Odgon wrote the song "Brighten the Corner Where You Are." The title says it all really. But if you want a more thorough explanation of the main idea, you can Google the lyric or, better yet, read the scripture on which the lyric was based—Matthew 5: 14-16. I've decided that, first, the corner where I am—at any given moment—is all I can brighten and, second, that corner is worth brightening.

The broader scenes of American politics and American culture are tending toward a bad end, I believe. Our political life is polarized beyond repair or recovery, and our culture is prostituted beyond rehabilitation or reclamation. We can still vote, sure, and we can avoid participating in the downward spiral of American life. But votes are wasted on political figures who have no words of wisdom, whose promises can't be realized, whose ideology is, in truth, a front for—as Machiavelli suggests—gaining power and keeping power. As for culture, we can hold on to parts that still make sense to us, be those what they may, and try to ignore the destructive encroachment of stupidity and pointless celebrity—the Lindsey Lohan syndrome, if you will.

So I turn away from political stagnation and cultural degradation and try to brighten the corner where I am. I do this as I can with my friends and family. I do this as I can in the classroom. I do this as I can at Cherokee Church. I do this as I can in "the Tri." These are my corners.

Upcoming is an event called "Impact JC." It's a day of service in Johnson City—all kinds of service, from helping those who help youth, to caring for the military and its families, to building and repairing homes for the poor, to giving blood. (Check it out at http://johnsoncity.rethinkchurchevents.org/.) I don't have skills or gifts that will address many of these needs as well as they might be addressed, but I can make a little music. So, I'll be part of the band that leads the celebration at the end of the day of service. I hope to help lift a few spirits and, in that, brighten the corner where I am, where I live.

For the lovers of song lyrics:

Great Idea!

Jack York, CEO of IN2L, has been a friend of mine since we met on the AESU trip to Europe 31 years ago. He has put heart and soul into this project, this company, since the 1990s, and I think this great idea just might be ready to break big!

Two Interesting Anniversaries!

It was on this day in 1969 that Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin became the first people to walk on the moon. They were part of the Apollo 11 crew. An estimated 600 million people watched live coverage of the moon landing.

It was on this day in 1875 that the largest recorded swarm of locusts in American history descended upon the Great Plains. An estimated 3.5 trillion locusts made up the swarm. It was about 1,800 miles long and 110 miles wide, ranging from Canada down to Texas.

Swarms would occur once every seven to 12 years, emerging from river valleys in the Rocky Mountains and sweeping east across much of the country. The size of the swarms tended to grow when there was less rain, and in 1873, the American West began to go through one of its driest periods on record.

The land was still relatively dry on this day in 1875 when farmers just east of the Rocky Mountains began to see a cloud approaching from the west. Some farmers noticed the distinctive color of the cloud, glinting around the edges where the locust wings caught the light of the sun.

People there that day said that the locusts descended like a driving snow in winter, covering everything in their path. Some people described the sound of the swarm landing as like thunder or a train. The locusts blanketed the ground, nearly a foot deep. Trees bent over with the weight of the insects, and large tree limbs broke off under the pressure.

They ate nearly every living piece of vegetation in their path, as well as harnesses on horses, the bark of trees, curtains, and clothing hung on laundry lines. They gnawed on fence posts and railings, and they especially loved the handles of farm tools, which were left behind polished, as if by fine sandpaper. Some farmers tried to scare away the locusts by running into the swarm, and they had their clothes eaten right off their bodies.

In the wake of the swarm, settlers on half a million square miles of the West faced starvation. Similar locust swarms occurred in the following years, and farmers became desperate. But by the mid-1880s, the rains had returned, and the swarms died down. Most scientists predicted that the locusts would return with the next drought. Mysteriously, they did not. Within a few decades they were believed to be extinct. For most of the 20th century, no one knew what had happened to the locusts, but recent evidence suggests that the cultivation of the land on the Great Plains changed the geography so much so quickly that the Rocky Mountain locust was unable to adapt. The last two live specimens of the Rocky Mountain locust were collected in 1902, and those specimens are now stored at the Smithsonian Institution.

Michigan Reunion

On Thursday afternoon, 15 July, I left my Tennessee home and headed north: I-26 to I-81 to I-77 to Akron, Ohio. On Friday morning I stopped in Cleveland and picked up my cousin Mark Plemmons (who also has a Tennessee home in Kingsport), and we made our way to Marysville, Michigan. I think our only stop along the way was in Toledo, Ohio, where we at lunch at Tony Packo's, a hot dog place made famous by Klinger on Mash. My "original dog," actually half a sausage sliced longways, was good, but I didn't think it anything particularly stunning. But he beer--Dortmunder Gold, from Great Lakes Brewing Co.--was quite good!

In Marysville, Mark and I stayed with my cousin Ken Reeves and his wife Louanne from Friday afternoon until Monday morning. The reunion itself took place in a park in Port Huron on Saturday afternoon. We had 50+ Reeves-related folks in attendance, good food, good weather (mostly) and well-behaved children and dogs. Most of the Reeves relations there are descendants of my maternal aunts and uncles, who left the mountains of western North Carolina in the 1930s, '40s and '50s and went north to the Detroit area to find work. Eventually they ended up being concentrated in and around Port Huron/Marysville/St. Clair.

On Saturday evening, Ken and Louanne took Mark and me on a sightseeing tour along the St. Clair River and the furthermost southewestern edge of Lake Huron. Flat country and blue water. Even the river is blue, which is an unusual site for a man from southern Applachia. In this picture, at my left ear, a 1,000-footer moves north on St. Clair River and passes beneath the Blue Water Bridge that connects Port Huron to Sarnia in Canada. Beyond the bridge is the open water of Lake Huron.

All during the evening sightseeing tour Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" played in the back of my mind!

We ate our Sunday brunch at a local Marysville restaurant, and afterwards Mark and I hit the road, heading back toward Cleveland. I dropped him off at the car rental area near the airport and made my way south on I-77. When I reached Marietta, Ohio, a neat little town on the Ohio River, I got a room at a Best Western and went to see a movie (Predators -- 2 out of 5 stars, I judge it). This morning I'm still at BW, relaxing, taking my time before hitting the road for the last leg of my journey.

"Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
"In the rooms of her ice-water mansion. . . ."

From Today's Writer's Almanac

the finger by Charles Bukowski

the drivers of automobiles
have very little recourse or
originality.
when upset with
another
driver
they often give him the
FINGER.

I have seen two adult
men
florid of face
driving along
giving each other the
FINGER.

well, we all know what
this means, it's no
secret.

still, this gesture is
so overused it has
lost most of its
impact.

some of the men who give
the FINGER are captains of
industry, city councilmen,
insurance adjusters,
accountants and/or the just plain
unemployed.
no matter.
it is their favorite
response.

people will never admit
that they drive
badly.

the FINGER is their
reply.

I see grown men
FINGERING each other
throughout the day.

it gives me pause.
when I consider
the state of our cities,
the state of our states,
the state of our country,
I begin to
understand.

the FINGER is a mind-
set.
we are the FINGERERS.
we give it
to each other.
we give it coming and
going.
we don't know how
else to respond.

what a hell of a way
to not
live.

Can't Sleep

Maybe it was the afternoon nap. Maybe it is because our air-conditioning isn't working properly in this hot July. Maybe it was the bad news from a friend this morning that keeps swirling around in my head. Maybe it was the vampire movie watched this evening (no, not that Twilight stuff). Maybe it is having lost a rhythm that I had for awhile. Maybe it is the suspicion that so few _______s are true.

One's first guess is often correct: probably the afternoon nap.

Another 9 July

I discovered the following in one of my journals. I was writing on 22 August 1991 and doing some catch-up on stuff that happened since my previous entry. One paragraph focuses on Tuesday, 9 July 1991, and it describes a pivotal moment in my life:

On July 9, in a rehearsal hall in Nashville, we performed a great set for representatives of MCA Records and SBK Records, both of which turned us down for reasons that had NOTHING to do with music and EVERYTHING to do with our [society's] warped sense of entertainment values. MCA said we didn't look right (image problems), part of which was I appeared too fat. SBK said our performance wasn't exciting enough to watch. Both companies said great band and great songs. I'm still chewing on my frustration with the state of things in our popular culture. Make mine mindless. Make mine mindless. Make mine mindless. Make mine mindless. Make mine mindless. Make mine mindless . . . mine mindless . . . mindless . . . less . . .

U2charist #3

On Saturday evening at 7:30, APB (Arise Praise Band) will offer a third U2charist. Like the ill-fated one on 30 January--ill-fated but fun!--this one will take place at Nelson's Fine Art Gallery downtown in Johnson City. The band is practiced up and ready with the following set list:

MLK
New Year's Day
With or Without You
Mysterious Ways
Moment of Surrender
Beautiful Day
Pride (In the Name of Love)
Yahweh
Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own
I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For
Magnificent
One
40
Where the Streets Have No Name

Randy Frye, DS of the Johnson City District of the Holston Conference of the UMC, will deliver a brief homily and lead the Eucharist portion of the event (aided in the latter by Madonna Flanders).

It'll be fun!

A Song by The Call

Chorus:

When will America, become America
When will America, become America
When will the home we loveMean freedom for everyone
When will America, become America


When will the killing stop
When the last child has dropped
How long must mothers’ tears
Rain down on streets of fear
When will the home we love
Mean justice for everyone
When will America become America

(Chorus)

When will the struggling poor
Walk with their heads held high once more
Children playing on haunted streets
Where dogs and vultures eat
Politicians weave their spell
Promise spoken from the mouth of hell
When will America become America

(Chorus)

With their very lives they gave
Soldiers, the young and brave
Shame for the world to see
A mystery to you and me
Angels will keep their watch
Heaven will count the cost
When will America become America

(Chorus)