This podcast series unpacks the origins of Plumpergut and how he came to grace the pages of Joseph Morton and Darcie Leighty’s newly released children’s book, Plumpergut Meets the Magic Butterbee, a Christmas Story.
The podcast includes ”Santa-sensitive” information.
0 Comments
Imagine waking up tomorrow morning to find, let’s say, a mad sorcerer had cast a spell over the entire world in which every adult made the same amount of money for working the same number of hours under equivalent conditions and given the same vacation time, sick days, etc., lived in equivalent housing, drove equivalent vehicles and whose children attended equivalent schools. How long would things stay that way? Probably—not long.
The trouble is, some people are smarter, or faster, or more ambitious, etc., than others. So, some people would find ways to work longer hours, or to work more efficiently, or to start another business, or to invest rather than spend income that others used, for example, for recreation, etc., some would get away with cheating; some would not. So, almost over night, things would begin to change. Most people would accept this. We all have different priorities, different expectations, different values. Some people, quite simply, will settle for less, while for others there is no such thing as enough. Weeks pass. Months. Years, probably. Chances are, at some point, society will again look the way it does today. The difference would be that those who stood to benefit financially from inheritance before the sorcerer struck would not have that unfair advantage to propel them. They would have to earn their way in fair competition. Some would succeed, some would fail. So, while society would eventually look pretty much the same as it does today, not everybody would occupy the same positions they do today. Wouldn’t you know it, the Greeks are right again. character IS fate, usually. —Blog dedicated to my brother, Jim, on his 76th birthday, 10/06/2018. Look Out We don’t see them. But, they are there. Probably high above us, above the satellites, even above the moon. Yet, at the same time, they are right next to us, like kids in a circle over a game of marbles. You remember marbles. Anyway, how can they do this kind of magic? Easy. They are the gods, and they are having lots of fun with us right now. I can see them because I am like Homer, reincarnated. So, the gods trust me. There is Zeus over there handling the strings that control Donald Trump. He’s giving Trump the swagger of an old, wild west gunfighter. You know, like he’s got something warm and squishy in his pants. He even controls Trumps facial expressions, making him look like…wasn’t it Jack Nicholson who played the Joker in Batman? Making him grin like the Joker. So, all the gods are here in a circle, their favorite mortals dangling on strings from their fingers. And, they’re laughing hysterically, drinking red wine, eating—what is it?— ambrosia? We can’t hear them, but they’re whooping and hollering, delighted by every new lie Zeus has Trump tell, every new insult, every misrepresentation. Suddenly, Zeus has Trump making a speech to a mob of hysterically joyful yet angry, under-educated, white Trump followers and the gods are nodding to each other, happily aware of the beautiful irony about to descend upon the Trumpeters. That is, of course, those who made Trump president-elect will be brutally betrayed, especially in the areas of jobs and healthcare. Not to be outdone in the arena of brutal irony, there’s Athena informing Hillary Clinton that not only has she lost the election, but she lost it despite earning nearly three million more votes than Trump. And the gods laugh and point at the crumpled, dismayed Hillary fans. And, what just popped into my head were these last words of Robert Frost’s poem, Once By the Pacific: “There would be more than ocean water broken before God’s last put out the light was spoken.” Yeah, when the gods are having fun and you are a mortal, look out. 1/16/2017 (Independence Day, almost upon us once more, is a good time to revisit old and true ideas. Case in point is this letter from a year or two back.) Kari and Darcie-- Henry Jordan Morton said that when his turn came to go ashore at Normandy during World War Two, the hardest part was wading through all the bodies of those American soldiers killed in earlier landings. Kari and Darcie remember Henry Jordan Morton as their grandfather. I was named after his brother, Joe, who fought against the Germans in North Africa, as I recall. Henry’s brother-in-law (Big Grandma’s brother), Carl Harleen, whose last name is my middle, was a naval photographer, stationed on the light cruiser, Honolulu, which was torpedoed. Beyond the fact that they were all family from Batavia, Illinois, that they were all in their 20s and that they all had signed up for very hazardous duty, they shared a single motive. They would fight to keep their democratic country free from the fascism that had taken hold in Germany and Italy and from the expansionism of Japan. They would risk everything for that. As you know, of course, democracy is a very difficult, often aggravating form of government, requiring the constant attention of a well-educated public. Winston Churchill called democracy “...the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.” One thing that makes democracy so difficult yet so appealing is the vote. We all get a say. Legally. That’s the appealing part. Those who would take away our right to vote are indeed--especially when you consider all the blood shed and lives sacrificed--attacking a sacred promise. So, you have to wonder about those who, for one reason or another, chose to throw away that right without even a fight. Henry Morton would weep at such a thought. He and I were usually at odds politically: he conservative, I liberal. We argued heatedly and at length. But, both of us ascribed to the Voltaire idea: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” He, as you know, survived the invasion at Normandy and after that the Battle of the Bulge, and some other things to become, in the end, your grandfather. Uncle Joe survived North Africa, though I think he was wounded. Carl Harleen survived the torpedoing of his cruiser and many dangerous reconnaissance missions flown off the fantail in an open-cockpit pontoon plane. I don’t know about the Terjesons and Leightys of that generation; I’ll look into it. Or, maybe you should. Of the wars we have direct knowledge of, WW2 was the one fought most singularly to preserve our freedom. Since then there has been Korea, Vietnam, Afganistan, Iraq, for the most part. Several of our family and close friends have served militarily; we need to thank them. Thank Rick Terjeson, a Navy officer; Robbie Morton, Navy; Robbie’s sons, John and Jake, Army; Doug Austin, a Marine officer (Vietnam), his son, Mitch, Marines. Hope I didn’t miss anyone. Jim Morton (uncle Jim) and I both failed our physicals during the Vietnam conflict. Disappointing, at the time--probably, for obvious reasons, for the best in the long run. I thank those who served. But, having served does not mean you are automatically right, politically. Henry Morton told me once that being a soldier was easy because the ordinary soldier didn’t have to make many decisions; he just had to obey his superiors--follow orders. Henry Morton--soldier, advertising executive, community leader, scholar, husband, father, grandfather--never blindly followed an order in his lifetime. — Dad — 6/16/2018 |
AuthorPrize-winning journalist and teacher of English, history and philosophy who now lives on Harstine Island, Washington, with his wife, Dee. Father of two daughters and five grandchildren, all smart and beautiful beyond description, of course. Books
Archives
September 2022
Categories |