Half Fast Living @gaillardiapress.com

By RAHN ADAMS

When I was a school teacher, I had the misfortune of being harassed by a student who spent several days and nights placing dozens of prank telephone calls to our home.

This was before we had Caller ID, so I had to dial a certain code after each call so that it could later be traced. As a result, the prankster was eventually arrested and prosecuted.

And we signed up for Caller ID and Call Blocking on our home telephone — a landline phone back then, of course. That was that — but not the whole story.

Soon after the kid was arrested, the pressure on me from his parents, their attorney, my principal and even our school resource officer to be forgiving of the poor, misunderstood teenager began.

At the time, I corresponded with novelist and poet Reynolds Price, who was also a professor at Duke University. Mr. Price told me about being harassed himself by a student, and he encouraged me to stay strong and not give in to the pressure tactics of those who didn’t want me to hold the boy accountable for his crimes against me and my wife.

In one email, Mr. Price also noted that “my friend Eudora Welty” had been victimized by telephone harassment and that she had made sure her harasser was prosecuted. Maybe you know, maybe you don’t that Eudora Welty, author of great short stories like “Why I Live at the P.O.,” was a kind, sweet lady. But even she was harassed by a jerk over the phone.

Which leads me to why I went to the P.O. today and what happened while I was there…

This morning when I walked into our small-town post office to pick up our mail and to make a forwarding request, I was greeted by the sight and sound of a large man ranting and raving about an increase in the annual rental fee for post office boxes. He had cornered a poor woman in the alcove near our box, so I had to squeeze past them.

The irate man tried to draw me into his rant by asking if I knew about the increase as I pulled mainly bills from our box. I just nodded and excused myself past them again to go see the lone clerk on duty.

Naturally, the angry box holder eventually found his way into the area where several other people and I waited in line for service from the clerk. The old guy continued his rant about how many years he’d rented his box and how expensive it was now — on and on like that, without anyone else saying a word.

Until he said, “Just wait until my man Donald Trump gets in. He’ll take care of this…”

That was when I decided to speak up — foolishly, perhaps, since I ended up in an argument with an ignoramus who didn’t even know that Trump is president now and that Joe Biden, whom the dumbell blamed for the postal increase, hasn’t been president since January 20th (18 days ago).

The old guy said, “I can’t wait until that skinny-ass Biden leaves.” Duh.

I did manage to inform the man that the current postmaster general, Louis DeJoy, was appointed by Trump five years ago and that Biden did not replace him. DeJoy is the man responsible for the postal rate increases and service cuts. But I don’t think the ranter heard me, or, if he did hear, he probably didn’t understand what I said.

Like so many cultists, he had already been brainwashed to believe that one man was good and the other man was evil, and facts didn’t matter. As I’ve heard so many times lately, that’s where we are now.

On the bright side, the stupid man claimed he was taking his postal business to a different, smaller post office where the box rental rate is supposedly much cheaper. If that’s true, more power to him. But I’m betting he doesn’t go anywhere else; he’ll stay right where he is.

And then I won’t want to visit the P.O., much less live there, with apologies to my friend once removed, Eudora Welty.

By RAHN ADAMS

Cutting to the chase, I’m not a fan — of social media, that is. Never have been.

I know that “social media” can be broadly defined and include platforms other than the three or four that most smartphone owners and tablet users prefer. I’m referring primarily to Twitter/X, Facebook, and Instagram, the ones I’m most familiar with.

I’ve never used Snapchat or TikTok, and I don’t intend to. I’ve used YouTube for years, but I go there for the how-to and music videos, not for the inane comments from viewers. I recently logged onto Bluesky, but I know little about it, as in whether I like using it or not.

Again, I’ll come straight to the point. I’m tired of having what I say and see on a social media platform be controlled by someone pushing their own interests, not mine.

“Using” and “pushing.” Those are interesting words, too, huh?

Basically, social media has replaced the local newspaper. Yeah, yeah. We hear that all the time about small-town newspapers closing down because they’ve lost subscribers or advertisers, or because people don’t need birdcage liners or fish wrap like they used to.

No, I’m talking about how we decide what becomes public information and how we share our personal opinions about that information — also, how we hold to account the sources of the information we consume.

“Consume.” Another interesting word.

It used to be that most towns of decent size had their own newspapers, whether they were published daily or weekly. What a reader saw in their paper was a reflection of that community. The information was produced by members of that community. The information was curated by reporters, editors, and publishers who were also part of that community. Even the advertising was at one time largely community oriented.

Shoot, if we didn’t like what someone said in the paper, we could let them know about it with a signed letter to the editor or, in rare cases, a face-to-face confrontation at the grocery store. That lack of anonymity did wonders to encourage good behavior, as did the time and effort it took to gripe about something in the paper.

I think the main reason social media is so popular and so powerful in this so-called Information Age is because we’ve become fat, lazy, and addicted to free and easy ways to be informed — or to think we’re being informed. And online anonymity and convenience have done us no favors.

As it turns out, our “informers” know all that and are betraying our blind trust in them, for the benefit and enrichment of themselves, and for those wealthy and powerful people whom they represent.

So here’s what we have to do, and it isn’t easy or convenient. Breaking an addiction never is. We have to build local information networks that can’t be manipulated as readily and easily as social media is. We have to focus on local information that affects us — you know, local people like you, me, and our neighbors.

“Local” is the key word there, if you didn’t catch it yourself.

What does that local network look like? It depends on the community. A local newspaper, whether in print or online? A local radio or TV station? Sure. In-person gatherings in public and private spaces. Certainly, when safe and needed. A group text message — or handwritten notes — among friends or colleagues? Maybe. How about a low-power FM radio station that broadcasts nothing but local, even neighborhood, announcements, or, heck, CB radios? Yeah, those things could work, like any number of alternatives to social media as it is now.

My point is, we need to focus more on what has already closed in on us — what we can grab hold of and shake back to its senses — and less on what’s outside our limited reach.

BOONE, N.C. (Nov. 26, 2024) – Local authors Rahn and Timberley Adams have released the second book in their series of young adult novels focusing on teen living and high school sports.

Published by Gaillardia Press, this second installment is entitled Tales of the Barf Table, Book Two: Trouble Shooters, about girls’ basketball and boys’ wrestling. The uplifting and often humorous story also explores teenage issues such as learning whom to trust and whom to love.

“We’re really pleased with this story,” said Timberley Adams. “It offers positive alternatives for dealing with tough situations that many young people face. That’s what we want readers to see in all these books—good role models.”

The release of Trouble Shooters follows the January 2024 publication of the first book in the series, From the Gridiron to the Fire, mainly about high school football. Both novels feature a group of misfits who sit together in their school cafeteria at what other kids call the Barf Table.

From the book’s back cover: “Ninth grader Leah Russo has finally found her place at preppy Arbor High—not as a cheerleader or basketball player, but as a sportswriter and photographer for the school newspaper. Still dealing with the death of her big brother, everybody’s hero, Leah accepts help from her diverse circle of friends….”

Trouble Shooters begins at Thanksgiving and ends on Valentine’s Day, and follows the wins and losses of Leah and the Barf Table gang in the school lunchroom, on the basketball court and on the wrestling mat.

“We’re already working on Book Three,” said Rahn Adams. “It’ll close out the three-part series but also the school year at Arbor High, covering boys’ baseball and girls’ softball, as well as other spring sports and events.”

The Tales of the Barf Table series and two other children’s titles written solely by Timberley Adams are all published by the couple’s imprint, Gaillardia Press. Timberley’s two children’s books are Turtle Beach (2019) and Henry Heron Finds His Home (2022).

The Adamses also are working on a 20th-anniversary edition of their first novel, Night Lights; or, Golf, the Blues, and the Brown Mountain Light, first published in December 2004 by Parkway Publishers, Inc.

Both Rahn and Timberley Adams retired as teachers in Watauga County, after also teaching in Brunswick County. They also coached athletics in both counties. Rahn won tennis coach-of-the-year honors in both the Northwestern and Waccamaw Conferences.

In addition, the couple have extensive experience in radio and newspaper journalism, having won awards from the North Carolina Press Association, Radio-Television News Directors Association of the Carolinas, and the North Carolina Association of Educators (for outstanding education coverage).

Tales of the Barf Table, Book Two: Trouble Shooters is available from online booksellers and by request from local bookstores. For more information, contact the authors at P.O. Box 1382, Boone, NC 28607.

The above image is from a short video I’ve never released of the last time I heard my mother play her piano, the one I’m working on now in my 3-Minute Vespers series. The song she worked hard to play was her own tune, “The Lost Sheep.”

I’ve never shared the video of Mom because she fumbled with the chords and messed up some of the fingerings — that is, she didn’t play with the confidence and skill she’d always had at the keyboard as a church pianist. I’ve never been that good, so I don’t mind showing a video of myself hitting some sour notes.

In comments elsewhere, I’ve noted that this song is kind of odd. The verses and the chorus are in different time signatures, for one thing. By the time I learned to play the song and noticed the time change, Mom couldn’t explain why she’d written the tune that way. When I included “The Lost Sheep” in a medley of gospel songs and arranged it for guitar, I played the song in 4/4 time from start to finish. I think it sounds better my way — but I know it’s still Mom’s song.

Also, the lyrics don’t make sense, especially in the repetitive lines of the chorus. I won’t go into detail with that criticism. However, it’s probably the main reason that Stamps-Baxter Music rejected it. I suspect the song was also too long, with the aforementioned time change and its overall faulty construction to blame (each verse contains a “bridge” to the chorus).

But I enjoyed playing it, and Mom liked hearing it. Here’s the link to “The Lost Sheep.”

I FINALLY GOT INSIDE the old K&C and learned something about it that gave me a different outlook on my efforts to service and tune this piano — especially after doing some reading online. In the end, this project is yet another learning experience, and that’s how I plan to continue approaching it.

This weekend’s featured hymn is James C. Moore’s “Where We’ll Never Grow Old” in The Broadman Hymnal, another of the tunes that I used to play whenever I visited my late mother. I’ve always loved this song’s melody and the arrangement’s simple harmonies, but the feeling it evokes grows stronger with the passage of time.

Here’s a link to Episode No. 3.

BESIDES THE FACT that I misuse the term “incidental” and “incidentals” throughout this video, I’m happy with it. My piano playing is improving — I hit only one wrong note — and I’m learning how to use the video editor more efficiently.

Something I should explain further from the video is that I’d play this song for my late mom when I wanted to see if she was awake, as she often listened with her eyes closed (in last week’s video, you heard a possible reason why she couldn’t bear to watch me play).

If I didn’t play a particular embellishment that she liked in a particular place in the song, she’d hum the flourish as she would have played it herself. Maybe she thought she was teaching me to play it. Anyway, sometimes I purposely didn’t play the frill until my last time through the song, just to see if she was alert enough to hum her part, and she always did, though sometimes I had to hesitate at that spot before moving on.

Here’s the link to L.B. Bridgers’s “He Keeps Me  Singing.”

AS THE SERIES TITLE INDICATES, these videos—and their explanations—will be brief. The series itself, however, may take me a long time to complete, depending on how good I become at piano tuning and service.

I’m not worried about how well (or not) I play, because I’m not the star of this show; rather, it’s my late mother’s 1964 Kohler & Campbell console piano. This isn’t the first piano that I learned to play, but it’s the one I’ve played the longest and the one I grew to love after Mom quit forcing me to take piano lessons.

In later episodes, I’ll talk about the Kohler & Campbell brand—which was local, by the way—and about this specific piano’s history in my family. Also, I’ll feature a different hymn or sacred song in each episode to help measure my progress repairing the instrument. I’m not sure, though, how I’ll play a song if I take something apart and can’t get it back together right away. It’ll be a challenge.

Here’s a link to the first episode, “Trust and Obey” (click on the song title). Happy Mother’s Day weekend.

So, why have I spent the past seven months of weekdays writing about the Book of Psalms and posting my own poems about them? I mean, I’ve probably lost some of my 100 “friends” over it. Nope, no one unfriended me, but I’ll bet I’ve been put to sleep — that is, “snoozed” — by a few.

I got the idea to study the Psalms last summer, really, after songwriter Paul Simon released his latest album, “Seven Psalms.” Though we’d once shared an elevator ride with him in Manhattan, I knew him only for his big hits. But his new songs are special, a sort of sacred “elevator” music.

Also, over the past few years, I’ve been working on a novel all my own about two brothers who get along with each other like Cain and Abel, or like Jacob and Esau — you know, a pair of Old Testament sibs who love each other until it hurts. Part One is finished. Now I’m writing Part Two.

Both of these brothers are ministers — men of the cloth — except one is wealthy and prefers to wear a fancy suit with his red baseball cap, while the other is as poor as Job’s turkey and wears whatever he finds that fits. The poor fellow also focuses on praise rather than on condemnation.

That is where studying the Psalms came in — what I’d always thought were songs of praise, not hate-filled paeans to paranoia and genocidal violence. While a select few of the psalms are true works of art, David — the acclaimed author, but a barenaked liar — could not have written them.

There was one last thing that I wanted to do — to work out my own thoughts and feelings about the God to Whom I’ve always prayed, though I’ve always felt like a red-headed stepchild of God. Not even the ancient Hebrews would utter His name. They turned YHWH into a four-letter word.

I have come to believe that Yeshua ben Yosef — or, rather, the lowly Jesus — was exactly right about God or Heaven. It — whatever It’s called — is within every one of us, although It is buried so deeply that we have to dig through layers of lies, greed and pride to find our own good news.

Like the universe around us, our worlds of truth are evolving and will continue to do so ‘til all the spinning stops. Within this spiral galaxy we call home, the views never change, even though the cosmos allows us to drift farther from its center until time or chance makes us stand our ground.

This is the very last psalm in the Book of Psalms. Like the four before it, this psalm begins and ends with, “Praise the Lord!”

Twelve of the poem’s 13 lines begin with the word “Praise.” The odd line is, “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.”

After responding to all 150 psalms — one each weekday since September 1, 2023 — I’m all out of breath, but I kept my word.

Tomorrow, on Good Friday, I’ll explain for the first time who prompted this project, why I saw it to its end, and what I got from it.

These last few psalms — this one is next to last, by the way — are, in literary terms, a hot mess.

This psalmist says, “Sing to the Lord a new song,” and talks about singing and dancing with joy.

But then he changes horses midstream before going on about “vengeance” and “punishments.”

Why go there? “To bind [other nations’] kings with chains, / And their nobles with fetters of iron.”

Well, why? “To execute on them the written judgment — / This honor have all [YHWH’s] saints.”

I guess saints only care about abiding by the rule of law if it involves a king other than their own.