Author: wvfurandroot

School Supplies

/ wvfurandroot / 15 Comments
of course the chair is a tractor seat when you live in a barn

The chair is a tractor seat
when you live in a barn

Today is the first day of school for the public schools as well as for Marshall University.

I feel left out.

I was that kid that loved the first day of school. My enthusiasm would often wane after a few weeks, but the first day contains such promise. Adults rarely get that one day when everything is reset to zero and it all starts over.

My first day of school was always preceded by shopping for new clothes and school supplies. I was almost always more excited about the school supplies than the clothes.

On that first day of school, I would set out with a book bag (backpacks didn’t exist except for backpacking) loaded for every conceivable need whether it be writing my name or having to immediately produce a 700-page dissertation.

For most of my education the big box office supply stores didn’t exist – Kmart and the PX were the retailers I used most often. I would fairly swoon at the rows and stacks of notebooks and pens and rulers and pencil cases and erasers and Trapper Keepers and folders and notebook paper. I had a strong preference for the college-ruled notebooks and paper.. Even now, I can’t go into an office supply store without buying some “first day of school” item that I don’t need and probably won’t use. I have pointedly resisted getting an Office Depot credit card.

After leaving school, my passion for office supplies has been trumped by that for desks. I’m a desk junkie. I have three at home, two at the office and can’t get through a furniture store without looking at desks.

My desks are fully stocked with all the critical office supplies – pens, paper, journals, staplers, hole-punchers, calculators, tape dispensers, toys, souvenirs, essential oils, folders, binders, motivational materials, blank CDs and a coffee cup.

Oddly enough, I do all of my paperwork sitting on the sofa.

McNamara’s Tears

/ wvfurandroot / 2 Comments

When I wrote the About section, I mentioned Kate Long’s Root Hog.  I had the pleasure of seeing Kate perform at the Appalachian Women’s Alliance’s Ironweed Festival.  The gathering was a blessing in so many respects, but it was especially memorable because I heard her perform McNamara’s Tears, a memoir piece about the Vietnam War.  Although she’s an icon in these parts, meeting and hearing her at the festival was my first exposure to her music.

1966 Brat (with brat being the operative word)

1966 Brat
(brat being the operative word)

The Vietnam War haunts me still.  My father, a career Marine, did four tours in that hell hole.  He still defends the US’s participation in that mess and can’t fathom my anti-war stance.  Hearing McNamara’s Tears was painful, yet cathartic.  The song arrived when I was just beginning to sort out my thoughts and feelings over what I had experienced as a military brat surrounded by other brats whose dads were gone, maimed or dying.  I sat and listened to Kate while the tears rolled down my face. 

I’ve got family members and friends tied up in the current mess.  My mind worries and my heart aches.  Not too long ago Eric Clapton and J.J. Cale released the Road to Escondido.  Aside from my Great Fandom of All Things Clapton, I had to have the album for another reason – the title.  I used to live in Escondido during my nomadic brat years.  When this War is Over is one of my favorite cuts losing out as #1 in my personal hit parade to Ride the River (I do love a good guitar shuffle).

When this war is over, it will be a better day.

 
 

Wild, wild turkeys couldn’t …

/ wvfurandroot / 7 Comments

I’ve been promising myself, or perhaps threatening, to quit posting my meandering thoughts in inappropriate places and start a blog.  The idea being that reading me will be voluntary.  I’ve been thinking about this for years.

Today, while trying to photograph the W. Va Fur and Root sign that hangs in my kitchen, I noticed that the flock of wild turkeys were back.  The area I live in, a semi-rural area non pareil, has been undergoing explosive development.  My little piece of wild & wonderful has been getting a little less wild, but no less wonderful unless you count the spider infestation.  With some uneasiness it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen the phenomenally ugly old tom and his flock of willing followers for a goodly while.  I was fretting.

There he was.  This guy has stories to tell.  He’s quite tall, quite ancient and hideously scarred.  He’s been through a lot and I was glad to see that he’s still with us.  His flock is a noisy lot and the cacophony of of turkey chatter defies description on a qwerty keyboard.  I smiled to see him and the ladies looking for food under the wild rose.

So.  There I was with a digital picture of my beloved sign and a story to tell that was probably of no interest to anyone but me.  I fired up the laptop, set up an account, and here we are.  Or here I am.  And so, wild, wild turkeys couldn’t drag keep me away.