Well-Swept Yard

I followed a link to the New York Daily News and discovered a section of the paper devoted to gangster mobs and their activities, including the rubbing sort. The page took me back to my childhood, to the family gathered around the 300 pound Muntz black-and-white TV, watching Eliot Ness gun down thugs weekly. Magically, the thugs returned by the following Saturday.The frightful fun never ended.  The quite wonderful thing about the section leader today is that Ancestry.com has a header add on the page. Tempting. Yet, what if this placement is intentional beyond click-throughs. If I enter my name and START NOW will one of those grainy smudged faces below pop up as my starter and turn out to be the Great Uncle that nobody would ever talk about? Resist. That's it. Don't START NOW. Better to read "Suspected Colombo mob scion Michael Persico celebrates release from jail with pizza and pasta ." He's relatively young. He could not be the unbespoken Great Uncle.

The weatherman predicted freezing temperatures for the region, a swath of land in the impoverished black-belt. My friend teaches in a consolidated school for the region. He said to me, "We will have a full house tomorrow; the school is warm; and the students will get something to eat."

I love getting mail at home. Always have. Saturday deliveries are special. I am at home most Saturdays and hear the mailbox rattling and know that the mail is waiting. Sometimes I work in the yard when the postal person comes with the mail. I've yet to see a grumpy carrier. I take the mail and we exchange a few words about the weather, about the sudden increase in catalogs (November and December), and notification that the carrier will be on vacation next week. The US Postal Service is the closest I come to the federal government and the meeting is usually pleasant. If only the rest of the government would aspire to behave as does the USPS.  I know. Nixon or somebody axed the postal service from the government. Never mind. The service is still a government service to my mind; just as Benjamin Franklin intended. By the way, Franklin proposed a seven-day postal delivery service .

As best I understand the game rules for abandoning daylight savings time, at 2:00 AM on a given Sunday, the clock must be turned back to 1:00 AM. The likelihood that most folk in America make the turn back earlier or later than 2:00 AM does not change the rules. The rule specifies that at 2:00 AM on the given Sunday the clock must be turned back to 1:00 AM. The problem with the procedure mandated by the rule is obvious. If the given-Sunday clock declares 2:00 AM, turn back the clock. Each time one turns back the clock to 1:00 AM, one establishes that the clock will need to be turned back by in another hour. When the clock reaches 2:00 AM the second time, the rule instructs us to turn back the clock. If one plays by the rule time will not stand still, but it will consist of an unrelenting circle of just one hour, the hour that lapses between 1:00 AM and 2:00 PM on the given Sunday.

I dreamt last night that I visited Chicago. I was walking through a huge bookstore and came upon a group of people having a meeting. Turns out some academic group was holding its conference in the huge bookstore because they could not afford a conference hall. Anyway I stood and listened and figured out that the group was talking about the death of languages in universities (that really is happening all over). So the speaker finished and asked if anybody else had anything to say. I raised my hand and gave a contemporaneous talk on how I saved Greek at a school. All of it was a lie but the crowd liked it and gave me a good round of applause. I wonder if I can put that on my productivity report. Outside of Chicago I found a group of people behind a hillock. These people were completely cut off. I visited. They were friendly. I noticed that they moved everything by mule or by hand and then noticed that these people had no wheels. I wondered whether I should show them the u

To Kill a Mockingbird: Summary and Analysis by Chapter: Chapter 1 - CliffsNotes : "'swept yard' In some areas of the South, a swept yard was a sign of a well-kept home. A swept yard was typically kept neat and clean using straw sagebrush brooms.

Johnny Cash :: Like The 309 Lyrics Hey, sweet baby, kiss me hard: Draw my bath water, sweep my yard. Give a drink of my wine to my Jersey cow. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for my journey now.  

As the higher education crisis grows worse I see more clearly the characteristics of the mid-sized state university. Wish for respect Lack of respect Imitation of perceived grand characteristics of the grand state university Long mission statement marking out all territory that might be useful in the future Tolerance of salary inequity justified by a vague concept of market value Insistence to have what real universities have: sports at high level, research, terminal degrees, highly paid administrators Budgets out of control Reduction of the institutional mission to one item: survival

The ruling class before the revolution The ruling class after the revolution Thanks, Wikipedia Commons

Back when. OK? Back when. Back when I was in grade school I dutifully walked the five or so blocks from home to school, passing each day the house known to all students to be the residence of a man who was evil because that's just the way he looked. At school I settled into the routine. One room. One teacher. All day. We got marks of some sort. I'm sure of that. The marks might have been OK, Needs Improvement....I do not remember exactly. But I know that we got marks. I also know that we moved from first grade through sixth grade based I suppose on some computation from OKs and Needs Improvements. Somehow that never seemed to much matter. Now I find myself thinking of standardized tests because standardized test are all the rage today and I am trying to remember if I took standardized test when I was in grade school. Maybe we took standardized tests. Maybe I forgot. Maybe I was absent that day. Maybe standardized tests just were not all that important--no nearly so impo

Work of Tuscaloosa's first black architect shines in churches | TuscaloosaNews.com : "It's been 60 years since the death of Tuscaloosa's first — and Alabama's second — formally educated black architect, and only a few remember his name. Baptist minister Allen Durough was first introduced to Wallace Rayfield after he cut his leg on one of Rayfield's old printing plates while cleaning out his barn in McCalla in 1993. Durough, who had purchased the property from an antiques dealer, found several hundred of Rayfield's drawings, floor plans, business advertisements, portraits and graphic art pieces that were housed in the barn. He did some research and discovered Rayfield's range of accomplishments. “Wallace Rayfield is arguably one of the most important architects in Alabama,” said Amber Baker, a University of Alabama graduate assistant who helped write the introduction to Durough's book “The Rayfield Architectural Legacy.”"