Citing Authorities

An on-line commenter recently suggested that my essays should "provide references supporting [my] presentation."  However, I had not made an unattributed quote. Yes, I agree that writers should let readers know where an honest-to-god quote comes from. Nonetheless, this person seemed to want me to produce an outside-party authority for my personal beliefs and assertions. That's what blew my cork.

I responded that I'd given a great deal of thought to tracking the sources of ideas in my essays, articles and books. However, if one chooses to follow my columns and essays, they will see that I usually present the material as my own experience and opinion, which they (mostly) are.

The recent kerfluffle over plagiarism in Rand Paul's office really brings this issue to light.

Under the Cedars of Edenhope

[With appreciation for apt phrases to poet women of the early Australian bush and to Carl Riseley.]

Milicent Humphries pulled her shawl closer as she sat alone on the porch swing of her Iowa home. She was dreaming of the night, the first time she had peed in a graveyard. She had been eight years old when her Mum took her to visit the grave of Grandma Burns near their home in Edenhope, Victoria.

Of course, Milicent had lived in Australia at the time. Everybody had called her the diminutive “Mili.” It wasn’t until she was eighteen that she married a Yank during The War. He had properly, though not promptly, whisked her away to the United States of America. It had all been such a great adventure.

Perfecting the Stories We Tell Ourselves

We tell ourselves stories to give our lives meaning. This is how we know who we are, where we came from, what we should be doing, and where we want to go next. This is how we decide what is important and even what is real. 

Individuals, families, communities, cultures and nations may have different stories and so they hold different identities and expectations. The implication of this understanding about stories is that, when we change our stories, our realities, our lives, and our futures change too.

I was raised as a Kool-Aid kid; two cups of sugar and a packet of artificial colors and flavors made my world better. By the time I raised my children, they learned that “things go better with Coke,” which could make the world “sing in perfect harmony.” Children are now told that high fructose corn syrup will make them sick and shorten their lives. Did you know that New York City is banning large servings of sugary soft drinks?

In the earlier history of this country, settlers told themselves stories of magnificent destiny, glorious exploration, conquest and development. A continent of unbounded resources beckoned the adventurous with open land, virgin stands of timber, and even gold. They believed that one had only to keep looking forward, stake their claim and grow rich from exploiting abundance.

Sleeping with Suzy

I sleep with Suzy. More precisely, I can’t finish going to sleep until Suzy comes to bed. She likes a bedtime snack first. Then, finished in the kitchen, she has a habit of taking a short run and leaping into bed. I think she likes to see me bounce and hear me snort. And then, she expects our routine affections. She kisses me on the neck until I roll over and hug her for a while. Satisfied, she lets me roll away, and fits herself neatly into the curve of my back. Tucked away securely, we can both finally get some rest. I think I’m the only one who knows that Suzy is pregnant. I’m pretty sure I’m the father, of course. Still, I worry… Will I ever get any rest trying to sleep with Suzy and our litter of St. Bernards?

David Satterlee

The Civic Balance of Freedom and Responsibility

This week’s The Gowrie News reported the winners of the 26^th annual Fort Dodge Noon Sertoma “What Does Freedom Mean to Me?” essay contest. My family has been in a tizzy; we couldn’t be more delighted. The first prize was awarded to Jaiden Ackerson, our eighth-grade granddaughter. Dianna and her daughter, Erin Ackerson, were able to attend the presentation luncheon today (March 7). This week, Jaiden is being recognized as a winner and a hero and has been modestly enjoying her recognition.

Instead of starting with a dictionary definition of “freedom,” Jaiden led off by quoting Bob Dylan: “A hero is someone who understands the responsibility that comes with his freedom.” She went on to say:

Sleepless in Vancouver

Here I lay, so late at night,
On the couch, beneath a light.
Here I’m likely to remain,
As I listen to the rain.

I’m alone; the house is still.
Droplets splash the window sill.
Metal roof and tree leaves dripping,
‘have a book but pages flipping.

Vacant words. I’m not quite reading.
Comprehension’s not succeeding.
Refrigerator hums along –
Counterpoint to nature’s song.

Cat is curled up tail to nose
At my feet’s the place he chose.
Must be nice to relax there,
Breathing faintly, not a care.

I’ll have wasted half the night,
Waking, still, at morning light.
I’ve many things I need to do
When rain and sleepless nights are through.

But, true to my ironic fate,
I’ll work fatigued and come home late.
I’ll wait again for sleep to come
Accomp’nied by rain’s steady drum.

David Satterlee

Will Real Wars Come Back?

Have you noticed that our thinking about war has gotten softer? These days, our wars tend to earn euphemisms such as: border skirmish, police action, regime change, nation building, civil uprising, popular revolution and gorilla opposition. Similarly, killing becomes targeting, eliminating, taking out, and collateral damage. 

Obviously, the idea of war is becoming too repulsive to be named for what it is without shame. Anymore, you don’t often see Group A attacking Group B with the intent of killing or enslaving everyone in their path and taking all of their land and property. Yeah, “real war” used to really mean something.

It used to be that horsemen pounded off the barren steppes to pillage great swathes of quiet villages. European colonizers often summarily claimed whatever they "discovered," demanding its resources for themselves, and usually were more than rude to its current inhabitants. 

Peggy and the Snowy Night

Peggy and the Snowy Night

Peggy woke up on a cold wintery night.
It was snowing outside and it wasn’t yet light.
As she looked out the window to see the new snow,
She spied creatures out standing right there in a row.

Each stood straight and neat by the street on one leg.
With a bright shiny head that looked just like an egg.
They stood there in line by the light of the moon,
But Peggy just knew they might march away soon.

And where once were bushes there only were lumps
That curled up like kittens (except they were bumps).
Snug under white bed sheets, all comfy and cozy,
They’ll sleep until sunlight peeps out orange and rosy.

Now, Peggy could see that they needed some heat
Like her little Kitty that slept at her feet.
Soon they would be purring and stretching their legs
While mother stood cooking and scrambling some eggs.

And out where the car had been parked in the drive
Our Peggy could see a big monster alive.
The shadows were dark in the place where it sat
It must be a dragon, all shiny and fat.

With jewels on its shoulders and chrome on its nose,
Her dragon would wander wherever it chose.
If she could just wait without doing her chores,
She’d see it belch smoke and hear how it roars.

With so much new snow out, there’d be no school bus,
And Peggy could play out — No trouble or fuss.
If everything happened according to plan,
She’d make some snow angels and build a snow man.

Soon mother will call her to drink some warm milk
With sweet yummy chocolate that tastes just like silk.
With imagination her life is such fun
although her new world will soon melt in the sun.

But, always by dreaming new things that can be
Young Peggy can create the things she can see.
And all the wide world, even more than she knew,
Will open up to her before she is through.

David Satterlee