The Right to Bully with Arms

Thursday, I joined a rally (not an organized demonstration) in front of the court house. I like this definition of rally: “an arousal from depression and weakness.” The rally was a lively gathering of citizens attuned to current events. Taxpayers less weighty than most of the white people in town. Me, I’m a white person in town.

Police blocked the street and re-directed traffic; peaceful participants. I soaked in the feeling of unity. I basked in the energy of “Yes, we can.” I was not ashamed to be white.

Returning to my nearby apartment, I found two officers in an unmarked black SUV, talking shop with two bike cops from CWU. They laughed and chatted. Fat, white and relaxed. I went in, got my dogs and came back out. My pets were suspicious, but one officer laughed and talked to them, and they quickly relaxed. So did I. I had barely taken twenty steps on my usual evening route when a menacing figure suddenly blocked my path.

The reverse of the friendly cowboy. Rifle ready out in front of his chest, his body rigid, silent, terrifying. “I can kill you” was his harsh non verbal message. Shaken, I screamed a few profanities and the rifleman stepped aside, keeping his stiff military bearing. Job done.

The nearby police did not seem concerned. They approached me and asked “Ma’am, can we help you?” “Do you see him? Did you see that gun? He cut me off with his gun up. Why are you ok with that?” “Ma’am, it’s his right.” “It’s his right to scare a person walking her dogs? That is his right?” “Yes ma’am.” “Are you kidding me?” “How can I help you with this Ma’am, would you like me to walk past him with you?” “No. I would like you to do something about him stepping out in front of me with a big rifle up like that. That’s his right?” “Ma’am, I can empathize with you, but yes, that is his right.”

I was born here. I am a fan of cowboys. But yesterday I saw the police in my town protect a man’s right to bully while bearing arms, over the rights of a person to feel safe walking her dogs. Ask yourself, please: what if that man had been black with a menacing demeanor and a gun jutting out angrily at me? Would that have been his right, too?

May 29, 2020. Day three of phase two

What I saw is hope. After six weeks with the town locked down, I got out for a ride.
On my bike this morning around town, I saw people smiling. I saw people caring about each other. Moving carefully past one another with  their concern visibly aimed at another person, outside their bubble gently and kindly, respectfully and appreciatively.  Some masked, some not, all deferring to one another. And my heart went into my throat.
What I saw today is hope.
Cray

Love in the time of Covid

To add another level of understanding, play this video for background music while reading.

NEW SHEET MUSIC - A Time For Us - full score !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sheet music on my weblog https://harryvolker.wordpress.com/ Sear...

When I was 12, almost 13 years old, we moved out on Wilson Creek, down Sprouse Lane. That’s when I became the babysitter of Ricky and Mark Talerico, then 1st and 3rd grade, maybe? Captain Joel Talerico and his wife Linda, the parents, were a beautiful young couple. Particularly, The Captain was a handsome, swarthy fireman with a rough voice, whose smile made me wish my house was on fire. Mark and Ricky were cute as could be. Ricky’s round, chubby gnome face and fat lips reminded me of a baby boy, and Mark’s more serious, pointy face with spectacles looked like a little professor.

I babysat occasionally in the evenings, and things seemed to work between us, so when summer vacation started, I had a full-time job. Every weekday I woke up early and walked the 25 sleepy steps to our country neighbors’ home and began my workday. Their house was new, built in a field, so the yard was still sliced dirt, with tracks from the grader fresh. The romper room was mostly done, but not yet dry-walled—their garage became a playroom before it was built. A low piano sat staring at me with the sheet music for Romeo and Juliet (A Time for Us), and so although I had stopped taking formal lessons in fourth grade, I pounded my way through the beautiful melody and imagined that’s what I would do day after day while the boys played nicely.

Of course I didn’t spend too much time on the piano. Boys that age need attention.

There were a few mishaps, I admit.

There was one very bloody nose that I fumbled my way through. There was no Google back then, so I just tried to think of the logical way to treat it. My first impulse was to have him blow it all out, but he had been through this crisis before and he wisely wrestled away from my help. He saved himself as he held his head back with a gob of toilet paper against his blood spout nose, no thanks to me.

At some point, the young fellows had a knock down, drag out fight, and again, I handled it the only way that seemed logical. Out came the wooden spoon, not the good old oiled and solid spoons like my mamma used on my butt, but the lightweight, cheap kind that come as a part of a wedding set. I broke it right across one of their behinds.

Imagine explaining to the parents how I broke that piece of balsa wood across their child. Linda and Joel liked me, but I was young and they began to question my maturity and ability to handle two energetic and mischievous young boys.

Captain Talerico knew of a babysitting course I could take They offered to pay for it—a full Saturday was all I had to give. Saturday was our sabbath, said my mother, and so the answer was no, and thus ended my career with the Talericos.

Fast forward forty-five years. I live in town again after 25 years away and little Ricky does, too. He is called Rick now, but he still has his round, chubby gnome-face and fat lips. We both have some gray hair. We see each other in passing occasionally and always make a big deal of it. Always hug and laugh at time’s tricks. I am his babysitter, and here we are, essentially the same age. How does that happen? I wish we could fall in love and have a funny love story, maybe like the song, A Time For Us, but we don’t.

Now we’re in this pandemic, and being single, are more alone than we have ever been. Creativity and isolation motivates a bold expression of this story. Thank you, Covid 19.

A rock I paint reminds me of his mother, Linda.

I sign it, Love, Mom, and leave it for her son, on his mailbox.

He might like it. Or he might not.

I never know.

6/5/2020

Follow up:

Once more, things seem to work out between us.

11/14/2020

See: Seventeenth Thursday with Rico

September 26, 2020

Cheryl Ray and Rick Talerico have a love story-It started with they butted heads in the mid 70's, and it changed drastically in 2020, three months into the C...

Everything is different when one thing has changed

Here’s what I think:

This town changes, every time a new rock pops up, and change is good for an old town like Ellen’s burg! Hello crack-in-the-sidewalk! I stubbed my baby toes on you, my teen aged toes as well. Certain sidewalks have not changed in all these years, some houses and buildings remain in the same condition. But if I set out a rock, well then the town has changed, hasn’t it? And I have directed that change, and in doing so, I invite someone to pick it up, and make a change again.

It’s inoffensive, nice to look at, charming, and safe. Exactly like me.

This rock symbolizes the dynamic nature of life.

Pregnant Lady

Why my evolving rocks?

I have learned from teaching that a captive audience is not always a willing one, so I see painting and leaving rocks as a different way for me to impact a mind.

When a person picks up one of my rocks, it's their choice, and whether or not they keep it or toss it aside doesn't matter. Either way, they decided it themselves.

When they find the rock, are they feeling worried?scared? Grief stricken? In love? Victorious? Bored?

Whatever they are feeling, the found rock can possibly soothe, distract, remind or otherwise participate in the moment.

I leave these rocks around town with the intent of adding a dimension to life.

I left this character in the art class at Ellensburg High School today!

Why my evolving rocks? (Copy)

I have learned from teaching that a captive audience is not always a willing one, so I see painting and leaving rocks as a different way for me to impact a mind.

When a person picks up one of my rocks, it's their choice, and whether or not they keep it or toss it aside doesn't matter. Either way, they decided it themselves.

When they find the rock, are they feeling worried?scared? Grief stricken? In love? Victorious? Bored?

Whatever they are feeling, the found rock can possibly soothe, distract, remind or otherwise participate in the moment.

I leave these rocks around town with the intent of adding a dimension to life.

I left this character in the art class at Ellensburg High School today!

And another thing

Have you ever read To Kill a Mockingbird? Of course you have. Everyone has.  As an English teacher, I have read it more times than I can count and still, I have one part of the book I cherish more than the rest. 

Boo Radley is a scary recluse who communicates with the kids by leaving a variety of mundane items in a hole, in an old tree, and in doing so, builds a connection. Boo Radley ends up rescuing the children from the villain. You see, although the town did not see him as an upright citizen, he was. I will fight for my community the way Boo Radley fought for the youngsters.  Boo Radley understands the reason I love to leave rocks.

And Another!

“In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play.”-Friedrich Nietzche

I love that I teach all day keeping a formal and professional tone, and then I play with rocks.  Today I read, and then painted, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.

After having read it, we are well set up for a universal truth that Frankenstein, the desperate and lonely monster, utters. “Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”

I hope the person who finds it will read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein because of it.

Another Reason

"There are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents, and only one for birthday presents, you know."

Lewis Carroll

Lewis Carroll talks about un-birthday gifts, and this is a thing I enjoy about painting rocks and leaving them all over the place.  It costs me nothing and if a person likes it, then I have given them a gift.  It is so small that I don’t have to worry about losing money if nobody likes it.  Nobody has to return it to the store to get their money back.  If a person doesn’t like it, they either keep walking or they toss it, and in doing so, they were given the gift of a choice.   Once I have put it out there as my ‘un-birthday’ gift to whomever may enjoy it, it is done. I have given a gift and have no more stock in it than that.

One Reason

One Reason: Henry Mattisse said it, and I hear it: “Creativity takes Courage”.

 I love that each particular design on a rock didn’t exist before I created it. And it especially didn’t exist in the particular place that I set it. And the act of picking out a rock, putting my own brand of pretty on it is not as simple as it seems. I am Anxious picking it up, I’m anxious putting it down, bravery moves my feet.

Why is Cray rocking Ellensburg?

Thank you for your interest in this.

I was born in the old hospital at the top of third street, the youngest of the five Ray children, thanks to Edward Lee and Adele Ray. I spent a most adventurous childhood at 206 N. Sprague in the safe and loving arms of a neighborhood. Through life’s pulling and pushing, I spent half my life in Western Washington raising a family, much of it teaching secondary English Language Arts, and most of that time trying to get back to Ellensburg. When, in 2016, I arrived at last, I was met by an early snow, followed by more snow and a relentlessly frigid winter. It was time to get a hobby.

And that’s when I began rocking back and forth, and I have never stopped.

Here are a few of the rocks, which I will never claim are amazing, but they are mine! PINTREST: https://pin.it/43WXerx