first, i want to wish every one of my readers a happy fourth. i will put, on top of this post, a picture of an uncle sam on stilts, pointing something out to a kid with a suggestion that very old cars might be part of the picture. to me he is pointing out the value of history, though i doubt that was actually going on at the time. it happened at a cloudcroft fourth of july parade; i'm not sure they're even having one this year. if they are, there is only an outside chance we will make it.

i take the fourth to ponder seriously the good ideas this country was founded on, and what i am doing to perpetuate them. they are more than ever endangered, and the price of freedom is constant vigilance. but i have to admit, i also take what little time i have, and try to get my ideas down on paper where they can be read. and i'm seriously add, which means that when one idea stalls or needs a break, i need to move along to another one, rather than hanging around stewing on my inability to go forward, which is crippling. in that spirit i have about five projects that are in the works, but have a strong inclination to get started on a sixth, which is equally urgent, given that due to covid i could be toast at any minute.

i have faith that i will not pick it up from my children, yes. i let them sleep over at friends' houses and catch rides with kids whose mather works in a restaurant. i myself buy what i have to; yesterday i stood in line for about ten minutes waiting to buy spicy chicken sandwiches. but the aisles were thin, the people were from texas, and anything could have happened. in the convenience store i bought ice cream and milk: same thing. at the convenience store, allsups, mask rate was about 40% - that is actually improving. but the place is small. it circulates its own air.

in the mornings, my wife often goes horseback riding. this is my time to work. but as the sun comes up over the back of the house, it becomes quite intense, until not only is it hot outside, but it is directly above the south-facing, high triangular window at the top of our living room, and about ten thirty or eleven it shines in my eyes. time to work; i usually respond by going outside. there are generally a couple more hours before it gets truly hot.

when it's truly hot, about two, i can neither keep working outside, nor come in, where she has started cooking, and doesn't especially want me sitting around on the computer. she starts getting at me about unfinished things around the house - and yes, there are a lot of them, from cars not properly maintained, a shed that needs cleaned out, this kind of thing. i build a deck and a cat porch but it irritates her because it looks a little tumble-down from the street and i'm not truly a professional builder yet. i have all this wood from an old deck and still have to protect it from the impending rainy season. but instead i've been mostly focused on my writing projects.

my latest obsession is compiling the best of my professional writing. This would look like "essays in reflection of thirty years of teaching esl" or some such thing. these things are all over my computer, and my computer is dying. i have put most of them on google docs or on blogs, but i find that both of these options are basically unacceptable. they just don't get seen. they might at some point get used and referred to, or read, or understood, or whatever, but that's about the best i can hope for. lately i've been using amazon to compile my work, that is, to show the best of what i've done. i taught with my eyes open; i saw a lot of things. and language learning is still a mystery to vast numbers of people.

so to start with those two this time:
essays on language learning, or whatever it's called, compilation of past work, not started yet;
language as a self-organizing system, book that is about half done and needs substantial theoretical underpinning;
comin' 'round to lovin' it, book of short stories, all set at mcdonald's, almost finished;
prairie leveretts, book about my great-great grandfather, settler in nebraska territory, but also including my great-great-great grandfather, and another great-great grandfather, in other words, the eighteen hundreds, the civil war, the westward expansion
. this book needs a lot of work. I got a little too into it and couldn't see the forest for the trees. i took a little break.
just passing through, my own autobiography with traveling stories, intended now partly to set straight a genealogical record, which would answer the question, where did he get these ten children, and are they all really related? to each other?
the iowa novel, also called the actualist's wife, doesn't really have a name yet, but it is a lyric tribute to actualism and the hippie scene in iowa city in 1975. now i love those people dearly so i have all kinds of issues related to how much to reveal, and that has always been a sore spot between me and them anyway, so now it's time to play it right, and just paint a fairly accurate picture of everything that went on. this one totally absorbs me, but, the more i'm into it, the more i'm afraid i'm again missing the forest for the trees. just took a little break. i have about thirty pages which would translate into about fifty of a true novel.
quaker plays - about four are written, about two more are ready to be finished, in my head, just have to be put on paper, and i have good ideas for about three more. nixon is in there. hoover is already done. rufus, i did rufus. the idea here is to cover a wide range of quaker experience and knowledge in the modern world, so that grown-ups, this time, can read and learn about quakerism. one may be about zoom and the moral dilemmas involved in getting up there; not sure how that will pan out. i haven't even quite worked it out in my head. one problem is that you really have to get into another frame of mind to write plays; they don't write themselves. it's non-fiction in that you do research; the one on the table involves pawnees and what's called massacre canyon in western nebraska.
then beyond that i have a few other dreams:
non-fiction biography of the life of bela fleck, and his partner abigail washburn, well i guess she's his wife, and they have a baby, the banjo emperor, so throw him in there too. i don't hear music like i used to; i feel like i've lost the accuracy and enjoyment of hearing that was damaged either by moving way up on the mountain, or by working at a junior high. either way, i feel like my hearing is a bit impaired and hearing aids just amplify the horrible sound of sounds coming through water - they have become quite unpleasant to me. like beethoven, i'm working on finishing my legacy while i've gone deaf. in my case, it's figuring out how to put intense music into writing form. or rather, the joys that music brought me. it's very possible i'll never get this hearing back, since i don't plan on moving down from the mountain any time soon. but i don't feel like i've totally lost all my hearing either; i've just dunked everything into this allergy-filled swimming pool. i don't get all mad about it. remember i have ten kids, and my wife is struggling with their intense natures, and taking it out on me sometimes. i don't want to hear everything, anymore. i actually like working out on the land, where for the most part it's quiet, though sometimes there is the elk bugling, or some fire call that i'm missing.
two more novels, both half finished - i should at least mention them here. i get the sense that novels will be more productive in the end than stories. so what has happened? i've stalled, is all. one is about texas, the earlier one about small-town illinois, and saint louis. both are worthy and valuable. both are half finished. both may happen, may not.
chou and happy fourth. may freedom and democracy, and practical, sensible government prevail.