those Americans sure were busy in the nineteenth century
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Those Americans sure were busy in the nineteenth century. Subduing Native Americans, traveling to gold rushes, fighting civil wars, tunneling short coal mines under small towns across Southern Ohio, buying the Louisiana purchase and Alaska for a song, taking California and Texas from Mexico, restlessly heading West and have about a dozen children per family while being gunfighters, cattle rustlers and beaver trappers. It was a busy time for all, the nineteenth century in America.
In the nineteenth century Americans were as busy as Ancient Greeks once were in the 6th century BC, Romans, Chinese, people of India once were in their heydays, and as were Muslims in the 7th century AD, Egyptians, Mesopotamians and lots of other peoples of the distant past who were our relatives and forebearers once were quite busy as well.
Busy, busy, busy; History is mosaic of the activities of busy people.
Here's what I wrote before about a young man from Old England who spent a few years in Nineteenth century America on the Ohio canal where I live, selling, playing and delivering pianos to
pioneer families about the Ohio backcountry a few decades after the last Native Americans had left the area, driven West by relentless progress.
History is a mosaic of the activities of busy people.
What I wrote before:
The piano goes to America part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
I wasn't much help to the crew of the canal boat at first. My contract forbid me to just ride and let the mules pull me along with the piano. I wouldn't have done it, just rode along and not contributed and it was moot anyway because the captain was overloaded and since there were no women or children nobody rode on this trip. I ended with the lowest job on a canal boat crew. I walked behind the driver and mules with an odd looking broom and swept up mule droppings. It was the kind of detail that history tends to forget but that's what I did in 1844 and how I ended up in Clinton, Ohio on a Saturday night with nothing to do.
The Captain had been in a foul mood for several days and I had been with the crew long enough to be treated as just one of the boys. We had lost three crew members at once last Friday night, after the boys got paid all three headed back to Pennsylvania; they had enough, maybe farming wasn't as bad as they thought. They were brothers and good workers and I sure miss them. I miss them because both me and the captain are no longer gentlemen of leisure since the boys left. Captain is now steering the canal boat alone, usually a two man job and I told you what my job is. The Captain is a bit of a dandy and to see him sweating and straining in his expensive clothes is kind of funny, but none of us working stiffs would laugh, the Captain is a tough character.
I come from Land's End England. I work for the Company that built the very expensive piano now on this canal boat traveling through, Ohio in 1844. A rich farmer down near Dover, Ohio has bought his new wife a present and I am along to see that it gets there. I also am a sort of sales man and along the way I have a few calls to make until we deliver the piano and then back to England for me. The type piano was changed at the last minute, which was good for me since I got the higher commission from the change of order but the Captain has been "at" me ever since. Because of the switch to a better piano which weights extra as well Captain is over loaded. Weight is serious business out here on the Ohio Canal in busy season. This time of year mules are more valued than men, and maybe that's partly why the three boys walked off the job last week.
The Captain and his son have business nearby in Clinton, Ohio and we, the other four of us on the crew are waiting for the boat to go through the two locks which will take about three hours or more. We, the rest of the crew have decided to make a side trip to Rogue's Hollow which is supposed to be pretty wild and have some Parisian style dancing girls while we wait for the boat to go through the Locks.
I studied music in Paris and I have been telling my younger crew mates about the women in Paris, France for over 200 miles [on both the Ohio and Erie Canals] and they are anxious and darned excited to get down to Rogue's Hollow. Rogue's Hollow is supposed to be a tough place but it can't be any tougher than day in and out on the Ohio canal. The fights at the locks to see who goes first in line are fierce at times. Our Captain is one of the toughest but he won't be with us this trip to Rogue's Hollow. The Captain surprised me and said we could go over to Rogue's Hollow, even me. The captain asked his brother in law who is over 40 years old to watch the boat and piano while the Clinton crew walks it through the locks so I could go also along to Rogue's Hollow. The Clinton town canal crew is doing the grunt work at the lock special for us, which is unusual, because of me. My company has been shipping a lot of freight down this way through Ohio and we are being given the royal treatment. The Clinton gang obviously don't realize I am just a delivery boy, I guess.
My two young friends on the boat look up to me. First I am from England and that seems romantic and far away to them. Second, I have been to College and have studied and played piano professionally. Thirdly, was my accomplishment in the fight at the locks near Akron, Ohio a few days ago. True it was a minor skirmish as far as canal fights go but I represented England bravely.
We were in line to go through the locks, acting in a gentlemanly manner and another boat was trying to cut in front of us. We had a skeletal crew just me and the two youngest crew members. Everyone else was off boat for a well deserved break. The other crew had six Men and looked pretty challenging. Unfortunately for them they had all cleaned up and had on their best clothes to go to a dance up in Akron. Well, I charged them with my Mule dung sweeping broom and they backed down, four of them quickly and wisely retreated and even the captain had to laugh when he heard that story later.
It was about five miles over to the tavern in Rogue's Hollow and guess what- There are no dancing girls, never were, and this Clinton, Ohio place isn't Paris, France, heck it isn't even Akron, Ohio where we were the other day. The girls in the bar here in Rogue's Hollow are about 50 years old and even the two teenagers won't get interested. We decided to eat, have one drink and then get back to the boat for the miners down here seem pretty tough and we have been warned by the Captain's brother-in law that they, the local coal miners, don't like canal boat people who usually come into town spoiling for a fight.
I saved the day again and helped us to avoid the battle of Rogue's Hollow.
As we ate coal miners just sort of drifted in to the bar like birds coming to bread at a garden party and before I knew it there were 10 of them tough coal miner types and just the 3 of us canal boat guys. All the miners seemed to be Welsh and I have a noticeable English accent so I thought it wise to stay quiet.
One of the local miner started calling us mule skinners, which I understand is some kind of American insult. That's when I decided to play the small broken up piano there in the bar. I played Beethoven "Fur Elise" which broke the tension well but I had a brain storm and as I finished playing I looked out at the room and said to the mostly Welsh miners. "That's by Beethoven, he's part Welsh you know". From then on we were treated very well especially me. I played a few more sentimental songs and those Welshmen who like their Countrymen back home love to sing joined in.
We each got four drinks bought for us by those coal miners, and I'll just say it wasn't quality scotch whiskey and then somehow we stumbled back to the boat.
That's what I did one Saturday night in Clinton Ohio in 1844 on my way to delivering a new piano to a farmers wife in Dover, Ohio just down the Ohio canal South of Akron. That woman loved that new piano and I sure miss being on the Canal boat.
I am back in England now and when punting on the Thames I sometime tell my lady friends about my battles on the Ohio Canal over in America. One thing I'll say about the Americans living over there in America in the nineteenth century, they sure do keep busy and despite more or less ordinary jobs and lives there seems to be something epic about their day to day lives. As if- someone- should be writing down their everyday activities for posterity.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
crazy horse/ as revised
crazy horse/ as revised
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
At times like these everyone secretly has a place inside themselves where they feel they will go a little crazy from the stress and fuss of life. We can learn a lot from horses at such times.
Eat when hungry, enjoy cool water, run and jump a little rain or shine, forget most of the past and expect a good day today. That's the life of a horse. Some horses are more crazy than others true, but as long as a horse sticks to the routine he is just a horse. A horse is a horse. Cold or wet, windy or a bit forlorn a horse muddles on.
Are we any different or better than a horse really?
Someone in the Middle east is bombing someone this morning; both sides have good motives.
Ambitious people everywhere got up early today to plan how to raise taxes, fees and value added expenses so ordinary people like themselves can become enriched and become a somebody.
High achievers today working in the public school system are touting advanced college educations financed by exorbitant student loan debt as the American panacea to the "Good" life.
Meanwhile the prisons are overflowing with young Men who decided to drop out for a while behind bars in a small cell which is a socially acceptable way to pass the time for their class.
Old people drop out at the casino or for high achievers, at the gym while waiting for the next President to show them what to live for.
Wherefore are you the American Dream?
Who can afford the new cars, big houses and advanced College degrees that keep the American merry go round turning faster and faster each year? Must be the good folks living in Connecticut and Colorado, they are all above average we hear.
Many ordinary people are a bit anxious and a tad forlorn this morning.
Muddle on, stick to your schedule. A horse is a horse they say.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
At times like these everyone secretly has a place inside themselves where they feel they will go a little crazy from the stress and fuss of life. We can learn a lot from horses at such times.
Eat when hungry, enjoy cool water, run and jump a little rain or shine, forget most of the past and expect a good day today. That's the life of a horse. Some horses are more crazy than others true, but as long as a horse sticks to the routine he is just a horse. A horse is a horse. Cold or wet, windy or a bit forlorn a horse muddles on.
Are we any different or better than a horse really?
Someone in the Middle east is bombing someone this morning; both sides have good motives.
Ambitious people everywhere got up early today to plan how to raise taxes, fees and value added expenses so ordinary people like themselves can become enriched and become a somebody.
High achievers today working in the public school system are touting advanced college educations financed by exorbitant student loan debt as the American panacea to the "Good" life.
Meanwhile the prisons are overflowing with young Men who decided to drop out for a while behind bars in a small cell which is a socially acceptable way to pass the time for their class.
Old people drop out at the casino or for high achievers, at the gym while waiting for the next President to show them what to live for.
Wherefore are you the American Dream?
Who can afford the new cars, big houses and advanced College degrees that keep the American merry go round turning faster and faster each year? Must be the good folks living in Connecticut and Colorado, they are all above average we hear.
Many ordinary people are a bit anxious and a tad forlorn this morning.
Muddle on, stick to your schedule. A horse is a horse they say.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
sacred heartbeat, little hoof beats
sacred heartbeat, little hoof beats
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Tonight I am processing changes in my life and those I love around me. Here's what I wrote before:
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
It's easy to be detached in a sermon addressed to others.
We suffer the most when we suffer for someone else unselfishly.
No matter how empty I become inside there is still a space occupied by you.
Step into the light, I can't see you but for the total darkness.
Whisper aloud, I can't hear you but for the silence.
Move, I follow the shadow left by your absence.
riding fences with a blank mind and a soulless disposition
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Sometimes its harder to be the one who stays home at the family homestead and tends to the business of life than to be the one who heads off West. West toward the Manifest destiny of loneliness.
Just ride fences with a blank mind and a soulless disposition. The sunsets drip with loneliness and nights alone wake you at 3:07 AM cold from too much space in the bed and no tightness in the bedroll.
Riding fences fills up the gaps of eternity in the engine of time. It's heavy work patching the fabric of the past with forgetfulness.
It takes a stout nature but the work is no chore. It's just what you do. Sometimes the Mind is blank but usually a melody drifts across the head but the words are gone. There's no one to dedicate a love song to and mysterious unmet strangers turn out to talk too much in the wrong voice spoiling the duet.
Stretch the arms wide and clutch the barbed wired fences toward together. Hold the nail between the teeth while you align two separated pieces of fencing so they meet but don't quite touch. Put a rusted crooked nail to hold things in place but forever apart with no compassion. Pound with one hand on the hammer while straining to hold onto to the other half of the fence tensely silent with stubborn resistance.
Watch the stars shoot across the sky the rest of the night. It's just rocky debris of unformed pieces of space process flashing brightly momentary across the vision of your forgiven awareness.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Tonight I am processing changes in my life and those I love around me. Here's what I wrote before:
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
It's easy to be detached in a sermon addressed to others.
We suffer the most when we suffer for someone else unselfishly.
No matter how empty I become inside there is still a space occupied by you.
Step into the light, I can't see you but for the total darkness.
Whisper aloud, I can't hear you but for the silence.
Move, I follow the shadow left by your absence.
riding fences with a blank mind and a soulless disposition
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Sometimes its harder to be the one who stays home at the family homestead and tends to the business of life than to be the one who heads off West. West toward the Manifest destiny of loneliness.
Just ride fences with a blank mind and a soulless disposition. The sunsets drip with loneliness and nights alone wake you at 3:07 AM cold from too much space in the bed and no tightness in the bedroll.
Riding fences fills up the gaps of eternity in the engine of time. It's heavy work patching the fabric of the past with forgetfulness.
It takes a stout nature but the work is no chore. It's just what you do. Sometimes the Mind is blank but usually a melody drifts across the head but the words are gone. There's no one to dedicate a love song to and mysterious unmet strangers turn out to talk too much in the wrong voice spoiling the duet.
Stretch the arms wide and clutch the barbed wired fences toward together. Hold the nail between the teeth while you align two separated pieces of fencing so they meet but don't quite touch. Put a rusted crooked nail to hold things in place but forever apart with no compassion. Pound with one hand on the hammer while straining to hold onto to the other half of the fence tensely silent with stubborn resistance.
Watch the stars shoot across the sky the rest of the night. It's just rocky debris of unformed pieces of space process flashing brightly momentary across the vision of your forgiven awareness.
Friday, March 20, 2015
lay down your rifle/ part 2/ lamentation number 9
lay down your rifle/ part 2/ lamentation number 9
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Your ancient powers have left you Geronimo and your people have lost awe and respect for your talents and abilities.
Your labor was rented until extinguished by exhaustion, as your beauty and booty were hypothecated until spoilt. Your connections, contacts and ideals rot on the vine. Material possessions, property and treasure deflate away.
We are all Indians now. Hide in the hills and keep on the constant move. Sleep on the ground without a fire or tarp your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased. You have no allies and your enemies have forgotten you.
The ambulance crew patiently circles like vultures waiting for you to drop. Lay down your rifle Native American, hide in the Hills and sleep on sloped snow covered ground; your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased.
Rise early to sell your buttons to tourists and sit industriously and whittle a toy bow and arrow for sale Geronimo; there is no need to lead and march your people single file across deserts and through waterless Mountains by night, there is no where to go.
Your time is gone chief Geronimo, your people have disbanded and your Family disperses.
You couldn't adapt citizen Geronimo, the clan's fires are cold and the huts are silent. Our spirits are low and our dreams are dashed.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Your ancient powers have left you Geronimo and your people have lost awe and respect for your talents and abilities.
Your labor was rented until extinguished by exhaustion, as your beauty and booty were hypothecated until spoilt. Your connections, contacts and ideals rot on the vine. Material possessions, property and treasure deflate away.
We are all Indians now. Hide in the hills and keep on the constant move. Sleep on the ground without a fire or tarp your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased. You have no allies and your enemies have forgotten you.
The ambulance crew patiently circles like vultures waiting for you to drop. Lay down your rifle Native American, hide in the Hills and sleep on sloped snow covered ground; your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased.
Rise early to sell your buttons to tourists and sit industriously and whittle a toy bow and arrow for sale Geronimo; there is no need to lead and march your people single file across deserts and through waterless Mountains by night, there is no where to go.
Your time is gone chief Geronimo, your people have disbanded and your Family disperses.
You couldn't adapt citizen Geronimo, the clan's fires are cold and the huts are silent. Our spirits are low and our dreams are dashed.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
lay down your rifle
lay down your rifle
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Your labor is rented until extinguished by exhaustion, as your beauty and booty are hypothecated until spoilt. Your connections, contacts and ideals rot on the vine. Material possessions, property and treasure deflate away.
We are all Indians now. Hide in the hills and keep on the constant move. Sleep on the ground without a fire or tarp your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased. You have no allies and your enemies have forgotten you.
The ambulance crew patiently circles like vultures waiting for you to drop. Lay down your rifle Native American, hide in the Hills and sleep on sloped snow covered ground; your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Your labor is rented until extinguished by exhaustion, as your beauty and booty are hypothecated until spoilt. Your connections, contacts and ideals rot on the vine. Material possessions, property and treasure deflate away.
We are all Indians now. Hide in the hills and keep on the constant move. Sleep on the ground without a fire or tarp your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased. You have no allies and your enemies have forgotten you.
The ambulance crew patiently circles like vultures waiting for you to drop. Lay down your rifle Native American, hide in the Hills and sleep on sloped snow covered ground; your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
only the names have changed
only the names have changed
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
It's one of those steady rains outside pattering on the roof that takes a man back across 1000 generations to one's ancestors when folks died young, slept lightly at night in a communal shelter and were gently awoken to light rains in the morning. Back then there was no time for misunderstanding between a man and a woman or too much introspection.
Last Christmas a wife of a friend ask me to a Seasonal party. Alone at the House I hadn't visited in a long time I saw an open chair in the living room next to a very pretty woman. I came to find out it was Dottie who I hadn't thought of for a long time but only knew in connection to numerous stories about her and her near perfect husband Al who when we were young always had the newest car, biggest house, best job and most ideal children. In those days I only saw Dottie and Al at Holidays as friends of a friend but if other times someone spoke of them it was always good news of abundance and cheerful tidings.
In about a minute I came to find out Al the husband was out and the new Husband now was Wally who was at this moment in Time the most perfect and timely man indeed. Dottie now more stunning than ever went on and on for a few minutes about Wally a little nervous to have me sitting so close to Her until I got up and moved on searching about for another beautiful, kind and demur sixty year old woman to sit by it being the Holidays and all.
What's up with Guy and Ralna from the Lawrence Welk show getting divorced and being estranged anyway? You remember they were singers on the Welk variety show back in 1972, she with the gorgeous long dark hair and his hair was wavy like an insurance salesman's wearing a polyester suit or a TV evangelist but for a time they were inseparable. You know the ideal couple for a while at least one of them thought. Guy and Ralna sang many a love song on TV and it was good to see Young people happy, in Love and they were an inspiration for American audiences struggling with life's problems.
Tonight it seems like it's raining everywhere across this big old World, clear to the unexplored side of the Moon. Guy from the Lawrence Welk show has a new Wife these days, they have been married thirty years or more and him and Ralna only sing " Love the One your With" at Welk reunions or at Branson; once on a Welk special I heard old Guy say that he was glad Ralna and Wife number two were friends.
Our glory days; we knew secretly originally then what would happen but even now some of us keep our illusions. Pipe Dreams of blushing Brides, cheerful Women in the morning and light Spring rains that patter on for half a Century without change.
Me in a light blue leisure suit and Moody old Ralna off nowhere singing to the choir. "Love is Blue" indeed; with me listening to the Mystic Moods Orchestra play " Stormy Weekend", eat fancy cheese alone in the early morning rain, and remembering gently back across one thousand previous lifetimes from ancient Ur in Iraq to Akron, Ohio 1976.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
It's one of those steady rains outside pattering on the roof that takes a man back across 1000 generations to one's ancestors when folks died young, slept lightly at night in a communal shelter and were gently awoken to light rains in the morning. Back then there was no time for misunderstanding between a man and a woman or too much introspection.
Last Christmas a wife of a friend ask me to a Seasonal party. Alone at the House I hadn't visited in a long time I saw an open chair in the living room next to a very pretty woman. I came to find out it was Dottie who I hadn't thought of for a long time but only knew in connection to numerous stories about her and her near perfect husband Al who when we were young always had the newest car, biggest house, best job and most ideal children. In those days I only saw Dottie and Al at Holidays as friends of a friend but if other times someone spoke of them it was always good news of abundance and cheerful tidings.
In about a minute I came to find out Al the husband was out and the new Husband now was Wally who was at this moment in Time the most perfect and timely man indeed. Dottie now more stunning than ever went on and on for a few minutes about Wally a little nervous to have me sitting so close to Her until I got up and moved on searching about for another beautiful, kind and demur sixty year old woman to sit by it being the Holidays and all.
What's up with Guy and Ralna from the Lawrence Welk show getting divorced and being estranged anyway? You remember they were singers on the Welk variety show back in 1972, she with the gorgeous long dark hair and his hair was wavy like an insurance salesman's wearing a polyester suit or a TV evangelist but for a time they were inseparable. You know the ideal couple for a while at least one of them thought. Guy and Ralna sang many a love song on TV and it was good to see Young people happy, in Love and they were an inspiration for American audiences struggling with life's problems.
Tonight it seems like it's raining everywhere across this big old World, clear to the unexplored side of the Moon. Guy from the Lawrence Welk show has a new Wife these days, they have been married thirty years or more and him and Ralna only sing " Love the One your With" at Welk reunions or at Branson; once on a Welk special I heard old Guy say that he was glad Ralna and Wife number two were friends.
Our glory days; we knew secretly originally then what would happen but even now some of us keep our illusions. Pipe Dreams of blushing Brides, cheerful Women in the morning and light Spring rains that patter on for half a Century without change.
Me in a light blue leisure suit and Moody old Ralna off nowhere singing to the choir. "Love is Blue" indeed; with me listening to the Mystic Moods Orchestra play " Stormy Weekend", eat fancy cheese alone in the early morning rain, and remembering gently back across one thousand previous lifetimes from ancient Ur in Iraq to Akron, Ohio 1976.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
watching someone ordinary make a superlative living
watching someone ordinary make a superlative living
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
It's mind blowing to see how much these major league baseball players are paid for mediocre performances.
Let them take enhancing concoctions to rev up their systems, let them spend most of spring training hurt because their oblique's or hamstrings never heal, let them get mechanical implants in their arms to throw harder but please don't pay outrageous sums to hit .235% or hit 20 homeruns or steal 17 bases.
Fan attendance down for the Cleveland Indians? The guys goof off and prank during the Pitchers interviews, thirty two year old athletes seem perpetually tired and five of the starters hit under .260%.
What's up with that?
Let the minor leaguers have a chance to play this year. Too many stars and not enough hustle for my taste.
Play ball guys; although I don't go to the stadium anymore someone must make something when I watch all the games on TV and endure the same endless local commercials over and over.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
It's mind blowing to see how much these major league baseball players are paid for mediocre performances.
Let them take enhancing concoctions to rev up their systems, let them spend most of spring training hurt because their oblique's or hamstrings never heal, let them get mechanical implants in their arms to throw harder but please don't pay outrageous sums to hit .235% or hit 20 homeruns or steal 17 bases.
Fan attendance down for the Cleveland Indians? The guys goof off and prank during the Pitchers interviews, thirty two year old athletes seem perpetually tired and five of the starters hit under .260%.
What's up with that?
Let the minor leaguers have a chance to play this year. Too many stars and not enough hustle for my taste.
Play ball guys; although I don't go to the stadium anymore someone must make something when I watch all the games on TV and endure the same endless local commercials over and over.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
History moves obliquely
History moves obliquely
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Who will throw open the City gates to the cities of America to Alaric and the modern barbarians come to call? It won't be someone who is fat and happy with American civilization. When modern enemies come to negotiate a piece of the American pie and prosperity please American power brokers and politicians remember the lesson of the sack of Rome by the Barbarians and Alaric in 410AD.
While the existing social order makes perfect sense to those comfortable and content not everyone is so satisfied; Mal-contents might not even know at this time that they are that unhappy about their lack of social status, onerous to contemplate student loan debt and incomprehensible medical bills.
Justice for all America. History moves obliquely, Retribution is knocking at the gates.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Who will throw open the City gates to the cities of America to Alaric and the modern barbarians come to call? It won't be someone who is fat and happy with American civilization. When modern enemies come to negotiate a piece of the American pie and prosperity please American power brokers and politicians remember the lesson of the sack of Rome by the Barbarians and Alaric in 410AD.
While the existing social order makes perfect sense to those comfortable and content not everyone is so satisfied; Mal-contents might not even know at this time that they are that unhappy about their lack of social status, onerous to contemplate student loan debt and incomprehensible medical bills.
Justice for all America. History moves obliquely, Retribution is knocking at the gates.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
fantasy and faith; Cleveland Indians look good on paper
fantasy and faith; Cleveland Indians look good on paper
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Since 1959 author has fallen hard for the Cleveland Indians each Spring. It's the same old story the team looks good on paper and this year we might win the pennant.
This year to get a little professional help in assessing the team here in Spring training I went to the chain bookstore and used the gift certificate I got for my birthday to get a fantasy baseball magazine. I don't exactly understand this fantasy baseball thing but I understand it involves gambling and being distracted from Adult life and the job of supporting and providing for one's family by following baseball on the computers at work.
At the bookstore I noticed a lot of youngish men skipping the playboys and the financial magazines and going straight for the fantasy baseball magazines.
Not to brag here but author of his baseball buddies who watched the games last year exactly picked the Cleveland Indians [1] to win 85 games last year and miss the pennant. What's on Tap for this year?
I am afraid as I see it despite an excellent team with good depth and lots of youth I see us in third in the AL central, behind Detroit [again] and either Chicago or Kansas City.
Still I look forward to being around to watch another April with my local Team.
[1] author is aware team name Cleveland Indians is offensive to some native Americans. My Mother now passed on often sent in mail donations to soliciting Indian charities and author will try do same this year in penance for following the local team with the offensive name, God willing.
Here's what I wrote last year about the Cleveland Indians after about a month of watching the team:
Monkees on the infield
fiction
edward w pritchard
Some criticize the American 60's music group the Monkees because they were recruited by promoters instead of forming spontaneously on a street corner while harmonizing under a street lamp or as just a group of buddies singing between classes in high school. Me, I was always a fan.
Too bad the four guys, Mike, Peter, Micky and Davy aren't all around or have gotten too old to be recruited to play the infield this year for the Cleveland Indians. The tribe have gotten off to a slow start and could use a little of the esprit de corps, humor and improvisation the Monkees could provide to put a little life back in the Cleveland baseball scene.
Mike could be the old pro at first base. Davy fast and light footed could cover second. Peter at short stop could flip the ball to Davy to start mini a double play. Another long time pro Micky could handle the corner at third.
Good professional baseball teams are built one position at a time by the back office staff and indeed the entire field support staff of scouts and road men. A group like the Monkee would be professional at all times when they traveled from city to city going to away games. Riding " the last train to Clarksville" the lads would joke about all of Davy's and Micky's ladies in the next town and Mike could read a philosophy book while Peter dosed off on the long train rides.
Too bad we can't recruit the Monkees to back up the Cleveland Indians on the infield this year. It looks like we can use a little help at the plate and some sure hands in the field.
Let's listen to " I'm a believer" and hope for the best for the Cleveland Indians anyway despite a slow start in April 2014.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Since 1959 author has fallen hard for the Cleveland Indians each Spring. It's the same old story the team looks good on paper and this year we might win the pennant.
This year to get a little professional help in assessing the team here in Spring training I went to the chain bookstore and used the gift certificate I got for my birthday to get a fantasy baseball magazine. I don't exactly understand this fantasy baseball thing but I understand it involves gambling and being distracted from Adult life and the job of supporting and providing for one's family by following baseball on the computers at work.
At the bookstore I noticed a lot of youngish men skipping the playboys and the financial magazines and going straight for the fantasy baseball magazines.
Not to brag here but author of his baseball buddies who watched the games last year exactly picked the Cleveland Indians [1] to win 85 games last year and miss the pennant. What's on Tap for this year?
I am afraid as I see it despite an excellent team with good depth and lots of youth I see us in third in the AL central, behind Detroit [again] and either Chicago or Kansas City.
Still I look forward to being around to watch another April with my local Team.
[1] author is aware team name Cleveland Indians is offensive to some native Americans. My Mother now passed on often sent in mail donations to soliciting Indian charities and author will try do same this year in penance for following the local team with the offensive name, God willing.
Here's what I wrote last year about the Cleveland Indians after about a month of watching the team:
Monkees on the infield
fiction
edward w pritchard
Some criticize the American 60's music group the Monkees because they were recruited by promoters instead of forming spontaneously on a street corner while harmonizing under a street lamp or as just a group of buddies singing between classes in high school. Me, I was always a fan.
Too bad the four guys, Mike, Peter, Micky and Davy aren't all around or have gotten too old to be recruited to play the infield this year for the Cleveland Indians. The tribe have gotten off to a slow start and could use a little of the esprit de corps, humor and improvisation the Monkees could provide to put a little life back in the Cleveland baseball scene.
Mike could be the old pro at first base. Davy fast and light footed could cover second. Peter at short stop could flip the ball to Davy to start mini a double play. Another long time pro Micky could handle the corner at third.
Good professional baseball teams are built one position at a time by the back office staff and indeed the entire field support staff of scouts and road men. A group like the Monkee would be professional at all times when they traveled from city to city going to away games. Riding " the last train to Clarksville" the lads would joke about all of Davy's and Micky's ladies in the next town and Mike could read a philosophy book while Peter dosed off on the long train rides.
Too bad we can't recruit the Monkees to back up the Cleveland Indians on the infield this year. It looks like we can use a little help at the plate and some sure hands in the field.
Let's listen to " I'm a believer" and hope for the best for the Cleveland Indians anyway despite a slow start in April 2014.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
categorically the stock market is more likely to fall than rise over the coming months
categorically the stock market is more likely to fall than rise over the coming months
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Think no one knows what the stock market will do month over month or quarter or quarter?
Look to the ten year bond yield for clues; the yield on US bonds is going up, bond values are falling, and that is a harbinger of a weaker stock market. A wink from the smart-smart money that Rates will rise and stocks will fall. Financial engineering from the Federal reserve will be put in the drawer for a while, interest rates will rise and some of the hot air that has pumped up stock prices will hiss out of the stock averages and [this is the important part to you]- your 401K will take a hit again after five years of price increases.
Don't worry or fret over inflation or deflation- protect your treasure in your retirement account. Go on the defensive now.
Here's what I wrote before on worry over the market: written originally in 2011
shell game scam
The NFL players are on strike and them and the owners refuse to have a pro football season this year. How shall we survive. The shell game involves three walnut shells and a pea is placed under one shell.
If lawmakers in Washington DC do not pass a new debt ceiling they will not get paid after August 1, 2011; others may be effected as well. Also known as thimblerig or the old army the shell game is a scam pulled off at resorts and casinos where a rube is targeted based on the basic greed of most people to fall for the trick of quick riches.
Banks are about to fail, Greece, Spain and Portugal and your neighbors are about to default, and twenty five per cent of Americans are under water on their homes. Watch closely, keep your eye on the shell, which has the pea under it. Spin, spin, spin. Good, Good now let's speed things up, watch the price of gold, the yield on a ten year bond, dollar versus Euro ratio, housing prices in selected cities, CNN financial news, your job prospects. What about retirement, where will you spend eternity[ yahoo says ten things to consider before you die unexpectedly]. Is your neighborhood safe. How's your hometown MLB team doing. Watch the shells , are you happy and content yet. Spin, spin, spin, keep your eyes on the shells sonny.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Think no one knows what the stock market will do month over month or quarter or quarter?
Look to the ten year bond yield for clues; the yield on US bonds is going up, bond values are falling, and that is a harbinger of a weaker stock market. A wink from the smart-smart money that Rates will rise and stocks will fall. Financial engineering from the Federal reserve will be put in the drawer for a while, interest rates will rise and some of the hot air that has pumped up stock prices will hiss out of the stock averages and [this is the important part to you]- your 401K will take a hit again after five years of price increases.
Don't worry or fret over inflation or deflation- protect your treasure in your retirement account. Go on the defensive now.
Here's what I wrote before on worry over the market: written originally in 2011
shell game scam
The NFL players are on strike and them and the owners refuse to have a pro football season this year. How shall we survive. The shell game involves three walnut shells and a pea is placed under one shell.
If lawmakers in Washington DC do not pass a new debt ceiling they will not get paid after August 1, 2011; others may be effected as well. Also known as thimblerig or the old army the shell game is a scam pulled off at resorts and casinos where a rube is targeted based on the basic greed of most people to fall for the trick of quick riches.
Banks are about to fail, Greece, Spain and Portugal and your neighbors are about to default, and twenty five per cent of Americans are under water on their homes. Watch closely, keep your eye on the shell, which has the pea under it. Spin, spin, spin. Good, Good now let's speed things up, watch the price of gold, the yield on a ten year bond, dollar versus Euro ratio, housing prices in selected cities, CNN financial news, your job prospects. What about retirement, where will you spend eternity[ yahoo says ten things to consider before you die unexpectedly]. Is your neighborhood safe. How's your hometown MLB team doing. Watch the shells , are you happy and content yet. Spin, spin, spin, keep your eyes on the shells sonny.
Friday, March 6, 2015
touring the Lebron James mansion
touring the Lebron James mansion
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
My customers are as happy as two Japanese girls being pulled up Howard Street Hill in Akron to see the Elizabeth Street Apartments where Lebron James lived as a boy.
I pull the rickshaw and I trot along up and down rain or shine; it's a good living for me. No I have never met Lebron but I know a lot of the places in Akron Ohio he hung out as a boy and everyday I take tourists by rickshaw to see St. Vincent High school where Lebron and bro's won the State Championship. Sometimes for double fare I take two tourists riding snug in the cab of my rickshaw clear out to Bath Ohio to see the Lebron James mansion.
A taxi permit is expensive to obtain, who can afford it? A bicycle rickshaw is banned by the Akron city counsel, too degrading, too obviously promoting class distinctions in America.
A loophole is a pedestrian pulled rickshaw taxi, pedestrian being me trotting about the Hills of North Akron straining to pull two pretty Japanese girls or a Fat retired Swiss banker to see the monuments of Lebron James' boyhood.
First station on the Lebron tour is at the Goodyear plant over in East Akron; it's background; Black's came North from Alabama or Arkansas who sometimes found work building tires or more likely sweeping up rubber dust. Station two is the John Brown connection at the Simon Perkins Home, slavery, the civil War the long march to economic freedom. Then the Elizabeth Street apartments, low income people still live there.
Well I could go on and on writing about Lebron James who I admire for his charity work but I have to get back to pulling my rickshaw so Here's what I wrote before about touring Lebron's mansion, at least visiting Lebron's Home in Bath, Ohio in my imagination, as I haven't been invited out there just yet:
More on the imaginary life of Lebron James; re: Lebron's sudden retirement, with no Jinx or disrespect intended to Akron's favorite son.
the basketball super star loses his right leg
fiction
edward w pritchard
One chomp from the tiger and the leg was gone from below the knee down. The tiger didn't even eat the leg; too much muscle said the ambulance driver about twenty minutes later. But the ambulance driver may have been drinking.
Time slowed for the super star then. Everything was blurred but crystal clear and as he died the celebrity athlete saw the structure that every day events were composed of. He was in shock he guessed after the tiger bit off his lower leg and he knew he would die soon.
At the photo shoot all was pandemonium. The backup model had been calm. She called 911. She knew I wouldn't make it. She was beautiful in a sad way and if I wasn't dying soon I wish I could call her. The policeman tied the tourniquet and propped up my head, out of respect. He had seen me in game four at the arena he said to the Doctor at the emergency room.
The camera guy was throwing up. Over and over, there was a lot of blood. This kind of blood is a strange color. Shocking to see. His assistant used an umbrella, one of the props for the shoot, to slide my leg away from the tiger and he wrapped it in his jacket. It's cold here in April.
The tiger has blood on his face. He's just sitting there. The handler hit the tiger hard several times after she got the leg out of his mouth. Mostly for posturing. Her career as a animal handler just got smashed, I see it her face. She won't look at me. She gave the tiger several shots of something and the tiger is looking drowsy and foolish. The tiger must be used to be treated like an object.
I can't tell why the tiger bit me but it was remarkable how fast the tiger moved. I am not as quick as I was when I was playing but the tiger had remarkable reflexes.
It's hot in here and I can smell the tiger. After he bit me I could smell the aggression in the air. I smell old to myself. The lead model in the shoot keeps wanting to leave but she is supposed to press the towels against my upper calf muscle and change the towels when they get too blood red. The backup model is holding my head up and giving me sips of the Pepsi. It's a Pepsi shoot, I guess someone else will have to finish my twelve million dollar campaign this Summer and Fall.
The camera man is whispering to the policeman but I can hear every word. The camera man is thinking this will be bad for him too. He might lose work. He wants the policeman to let him take a few pictures before the ambulance arrives. The policeman is black too. He starts protecting me after that. He has his gun drawn from before. He didn't have to shoot the tiger. The trainer quickly got the animal under control. Now the tiger can barely keep his head up from the drugs. Someone should wipe my blood from the tigers face.
I have put on some weight. It's a little embarrassing. The policeman and the backup model had to help the two ambulance guys lift me on the gurney. They laid my leg on the gurney too. The back-up model squeezed my hand when we left. I never meet the right person at the right time. It's always that way with me. If Shelton's ever gets here I am going to tell him to give her some more jobs. Maybe he can arrange it with the Pepsi guys. Shelton's a good agent but he never seems to be around when I need him. I am not going to worry about that. I feel really strange laying here. I am surprised I am still alive. It hurts up in my back for some reason.
I can smell the Bacardi on the driver's breath. He's good at this though. He looks me straight in the eyes and he treats me with respect. He looks like he has had a hard life. He's in charge of these two guys in the ambulance.
I wonder if John Lennon was in pain after he got shot when he went to the emergency room. My back is aching. I heard a shot when we were in the elevator, They must have shot the tiger as soon as i left.
Shelton never did show up. He just lost his best client. I guess this is the end for me.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
My customers are as happy as two Japanese girls being pulled up Howard Street Hill in Akron to see the Elizabeth Street Apartments where Lebron James lived as a boy.
I pull the rickshaw and I trot along up and down rain or shine; it's a good living for me. No I have never met Lebron but I know a lot of the places in Akron Ohio he hung out as a boy and everyday I take tourists by rickshaw to see St. Vincent High school where Lebron and bro's won the State Championship. Sometimes for double fare I take two tourists riding snug in the cab of my rickshaw clear out to Bath Ohio to see the Lebron James mansion.
A taxi permit is expensive to obtain, who can afford it? A bicycle rickshaw is banned by the Akron city counsel, too degrading, too obviously promoting class distinctions in America.
A loophole is a pedestrian pulled rickshaw taxi, pedestrian being me trotting about the Hills of North Akron straining to pull two pretty Japanese girls or a Fat retired Swiss banker to see the monuments of Lebron James' boyhood.
First station on the Lebron tour is at the Goodyear plant over in East Akron; it's background; Black's came North from Alabama or Arkansas who sometimes found work building tires or more likely sweeping up rubber dust. Station two is the John Brown connection at the Simon Perkins Home, slavery, the civil War the long march to economic freedom. Then the Elizabeth Street apartments, low income people still live there.
Well I could go on and on writing about Lebron James who I admire for his charity work but I have to get back to pulling my rickshaw so Here's what I wrote before about touring Lebron's mansion, at least visiting Lebron's Home in Bath, Ohio in my imagination, as I haven't been invited out there just yet:
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Lebron James; all rich and famous celebrities know each other you know
Lebron James; all rich and famous celebrities know each other you know
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
All rich and famous celebrities know each other you know. That's why it shouldn't surprise to hear that when I visited the sprawling mansion of Lebron James, only a dozen miles West of the crumbling home on Hickory street where Lebron grew up , two celebrities besides Lebron were visiting his house. Two house guests were quartered at Lebron's mansion in Bath, Ohio.
Lebron had allowed Hugh Hefner and a hologram of deceased Elvis Presley extended visit at his mansion. Since LeBron was living in Miami on business for the season he allowed Hugh Hefner to practice his lifestyle in the Akron, Ohio area and LeBron allowed the avatar hologram of the young Elvis Presley to roam the mansion and patronize his fine kitchens.
Hugh Hefner is a creature of habit. Classic Movie night Tuesday, nostalgia Wednesday, three-some colonial dress Thursday lunch hour and every morning business records review in his favorite robe are the routines that motivate Hugh to face each morning anew. Don't talk in movies, don't call the girls bunnies or gals, don't whistle on the premises and don't bring back one of the house vehicles low on gas after you have driven to the grocery store to bring back supplies. Hugh likes to patronize the West Point market over in Fairlawn. Never walk into Hugh's bedroom without knocking first; it's shocking what you might find. One can only imagine.
Elvis jumps from activity to activity trying to find purpose in his life. He is not really alive but his hologram is interesting to be around and damn he is a nice looking young man. Elvis really doesn't break out in singing like in his road movies. He does like to talk about Vegas through. Don't mention Anne Margaret. Don't talk about personal things at all, like Elvis' unusual dietary habits.
I had an interesting conversation once with Elvis about his philosophy of charity compared with Lebron's. I guess what I like most about Lebron James is that he is always helping the unfortunate. It makes me proud that we are both from Akron, Ohio. Akron's not a memorable or beautiful place but there are some good people from there, like myself and Lebron James.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
All rich and famous celebrities know each other you know. That's why it shouldn't surprise to hear that when I visited the sprawling mansion of Lebron James, only a dozen miles West of the crumbling home on Hickory street where Lebron grew up , two celebrities besides Lebron were visiting his house. Two house guests were quartered at Lebron's mansion in Bath, Ohio.
Lebron had allowed Hugh Hefner and a hologram of deceased Elvis Presley extended visit at his mansion. Since LeBron was living in Miami on business for the season he allowed Hugh Hefner to practice his lifestyle in the Akron, Ohio area and LeBron allowed the avatar hologram of the young Elvis Presley to roam the mansion and patronize his fine kitchens.
Hugh Hefner is a creature of habit. Classic Movie night Tuesday, nostalgia Wednesday, three-some colonial dress Thursday lunch hour and every morning business records review in his favorite robe are the routines that motivate Hugh to face each morning anew. Don't talk in movies, don't call the girls bunnies or gals, don't whistle on the premises and don't bring back one of the house vehicles low on gas after you have driven to the grocery store to bring back supplies. Hugh likes to patronize the West Point market over in Fairlawn. Never walk into Hugh's bedroom without knocking first; it's shocking what you might find. One can only imagine.
Elvis jumps from activity to activity trying to find purpose in his life. He is not really alive but his hologram is interesting to be around and damn he is a nice looking young man. Elvis really doesn't break out in singing like in his road movies. He does like to talk about Vegas through. Don't mention Anne Margaret. Don't talk about personal things at all, like Elvis' unusual dietary habits.
I had an interesting conversation once with Elvis about his philosophy of charity compared with Lebron's. I guess what I like most about Lebron James is that he is always helping the unfortunate. It makes me proud that we are both from Akron, Ohio. Akron's not a memorable or beautiful place but there are some good people from there, like myself and Lebron James.
More on the imaginary life of Lebron James; re: Lebron's sudden retirement, with no Jinx or disrespect intended to Akron's favorite son.
the basketball super star loses his right leg
fiction
edward w pritchard
One chomp from the tiger and the leg was gone from below the knee down. The tiger didn't even eat the leg; too much muscle said the ambulance driver about twenty minutes later. But the ambulance driver may have been drinking.
Time slowed for the super star then. Everything was blurred but crystal clear and as he died the celebrity athlete saw the structure that every day events were composed of. He was in shock he guessed after the tiger bit off his lower leg and he knew he would die soon.
At the photo shoot all was pandemonium. The backup model had been calm. She called 911. She knew I wouldn't make it. She was beautiful in a sad way and if I wasn't dying soon I wish I could call her. The policeman tied the tourniquet and propped up my head, out of respect. He had seen me in game four at the arena he said to the Doctor at the emergency room.
The camera guy was throwing up. Over and over, there was a lot of blood. This kind of blood is a strange color. Shocking to see. His assistant used an umbrella, one of the props for the shoot, to slide my leg away from the tiger and he wrapped it in his jacket. It's cold here in April.
The tiger has blood on his face. He's just sitting there. The handler hit the tiger hard several times after she got the leg out of his mouth. Mostly for posturing. Her career as a animal handler just got smashed, I see it her face. She won't look at me. She gave the tiger several shots of something and the tiger is looking drowsy and foolish. The tiger must be used to be treated like an object.
I can't tell why the tiger bit me but it was remarkable how fast the tiger moved. I am not as quick as I was when I was playing but the tiger had remarkable reflexes.
It's hot in here and I can smell the tiger. After he bit me I could smell the aggression in the air. I smell old to myself. The lead model in the shoot keeps wanting to leave but she is supposed to press the towels against my upper calf muscle and change the towels when they get too blood red. The backup model is holding my head up and giving me sips of the Pepsi. It's a Pepsi shoot, I guess someone else will have to finish my twelve million dollar campaign this Summer and Fall.
The camera man is whispering to the policeman but I can hear every word. The camera man is thinking this will be bad for him too. He might lose work. He wants the policeman to let him take a few pictures before the ambulance arrives. The policeman is black too. He starts protecting me after that. He has his gun drawn from before. He didn't have to shoot the tiger. The trainer quickly got the animal under control. Now the tiger can barely keep his head up from the drugs. Someone should wipe my blood from the tigers face.
I have put on some weight. It's a little embarrassing. The policeman and the backup model had to help the two ambulance guys lift me on the gurney. They laid my leg on the gurney too. The back-up model squeezed my hand when we left. I never meet the right person at the right time. It's always that way with me. If Shelton's ever gets here I am going to tell him to give her some more jobs. Maybe he can arrange it with the Pepsi guys. Shelton's a good agent but he never seems to be around when I need him. I am not going to worry about that. I feel really strange laying here. I am surprised I am still alive. It hurts up in my back for some reason.
I can smell the Bacardi on the driver's breath. He's good at this though. He looks me straight in the eyes and he treats me with respect. He looks like he has had a hard life. He's in charge of these two guys in the ambulance.
I wonder if John Lennon was in pain after he got shot when he went to the emergency room. My back is aching. I heard a shot when we were in the elevator, They must have shot the tiger as soon as i left.
Shelton never did show up. He just lost his best client. I guess this is the end for me.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
spring training; time to get on with things
spring training; time to get on with things
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
There is a certain familiarity in life for one who has been around for a long time and you and I are getting to the point where we have been around long enough. Once we thought we were significant and important, now we see the wheel rolls on with or without us.
There is an alienated majesty to all we do and see but no permanence in anything.
Egyptian History is real only in the museums. Case in point; tourists shun going to Luxor in Egypt lately, because they are afraid of potential violence. The timeless regal statues and Gods in modern Egypt stand unobserved. Who will keep them from being buried by blowing drifting sands?
Here's what I wrote before for those of us who sometimes try to understand the Show we find ourselves placed and living in:
Major League Baseball/ is it a simulation
fiction
edward w pritchard
Who hasn't spent hundreds of hours watching the slot machines as they feed in coins who hasn't wondered who the programmer who skillfully prefigured my experience there in front of the slot machine today infinitely random but distantly familiar and predictable?
Major League Baseball seems the same experience to me a long time fan as I watch various games now in the playoff season. As the short stop snatches a grounder and races the runner dashing from first toward second base for a forced inning ending third out; it seems preprogrammed. As if I have seen the same young player do the same procedure thousands of times since I first began watching televised baseball in 1959.
Life and sport seem a simulation to me now. Distantly predictable and repetitive despite the pre-programmmed attempts at randomness by an unknown programmer.
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
There is a certain familiarity in life for one who has been around for a long time and you and I are getting to the point where we have been around long enough. Once we thought we were significant and important, now we see the wheel rolls on with or without us.
There is an alienated majesty to all we do and see but no permanence in anything.
Egyptian History is real only in the museums. Case in point; tourists shun going to Luxor in Egypt lately, because they are afraid of potential violence. The timeless regal statues and Gods in modern Egypt stand unobserved. Who will keep them from being buried by blowing drifting sands?
Here's what I wrote before for those of us who sometimes try to understand the Show we find ourselves placed and living in:
Major League Baseball/ is it a simulation
fiction
edward w pritchard
Who hasn't spent hundreds of hours watching the slot machines as they feed in coins who hasn't wondered who the programmer who skillfully prefigured my experience there in front of the slot machine today infinitely random but distantly familiar and predictable?
Major League Baseball seems the same experience to me a long time fan as I watch various games now in the playoff season. As the short stop snatches a grounder and races the runner dashing from first toward second base for a forced inning ending third out; it seems preprogrammed. As if I have seen the same young player do the same procedure thousands of times since I first began watching televised baseball in 1959.
Life and sport seem a simulation to me now. Distantly predictable and repetitive despite the pre-programmmed attempts at randomness by an unknown programmer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)