Myrtle Mae

I can't quite put my finger on the exact year I first met Marilyn.  My dad was serving as pastor for the Christian Church in Bosworth, MO and Marilyn's parents lived right across the street from the church.  And they had an indoor bathroom; the church still had an outhouse.  I was probably six or seven when our family first met Marilyn and her kids, Lisa and Bryan.  They lived in Jefferson City, but visited Grammy and Papa often, so we'd see them at church and we became good friends.

During the summer, I'd spend a week or so in Bosworth with Lisa, Bryan, Marilyn, Grammy and PaPa.  Grammy would fix us pancakes and let us drink Pepsi-Cola for breakfast.  Then Lisa and I would saunter on up to the pool hall to drink some more Pepsi-Cola and watch the old men play pool.  It was not unlike "To Kill A Mockingbird" except that there was no Boo Radley.

One of my most vivid memories is of Lisa and I and another girl (whose name I obviously can't recall) happily washing off the day's dirt in the bathtub (remember, we were itty bitty then and could fit three in a tub).  All of the sudden, there was pounding on the bathroom window...lots of it.  Never have you seen three little naked girls hop out of the tub and run through the house, dripping wet.  Marilyn, of course, was the culprit.  She found it hilariously funny.  So do I, fifty years later.

We moved from Marshall to Jeff City in the early 70's and our friendship grew even stronger.  We went to the same church and, oftentimes, our families seamlessly melded into one big, loud bunch.  During my dad's career in politics, Marilyn was a driving force, running us kids to various campaign events, making sure we had our red, white, and blue shirts and foam boater hats in place.  She was tireless.  She later worked for dad in the treasurer's office and I spent many a weekend at the Parrish home on Indian Meadow Drive, when mom and dad were away for a political event.

Everyone called Marilyn by her first name...kids, too.  However, my parents were old school.  It wasn't cool to call an elder by their first name.  So we came up with Myrtle (or Myrtle Mae).  Eventually I got old enough to call her Marilyn, but occasionally I'd slip up and call her Myrtle.

The Parrish house was THE house to congregate.  Every kid on the block seemed to gravitate to Marilyn.  She was funny, energetic and always up for anything.  She was the Cool Mom.  On more than one occasion she allowed me, Lisa, Bryan and my brother to skip church so we could watch an old black and white Marx Brothers or Abbott and Costello movie on Saturday night or Sunday morning.  It was important to laugh, she'd say.

I have so many wonderful memories of Marilyn.  One of the best (and, now, funniest) is the day all of us kids were loaded into her car and she's driving us in downtown JC.  All of the sudden she slammed on the brakes and yelled, "There's Squeaky!  Look!"  And right then I got my first (and, I think, only) look at a "lady of the evening."  How many other moms do you know that would do that?

That's what was so great about Marilyn.  There was no class structure in her world.  Everyone was equal and everyone had a story to tell.  Maybe it was because she lost her husband so early (1967) that she determined to get the most out of life.  She had plenty of obstacles, but chose to see the good side of humanity and used those challenges to grow as a person.

And, she was about as loyal a person as I've ever seen.  She was the first person I'd ever heard describe themself as "a yellow dog Democrat" - meaning she'd vote for a yellow dog before she'd vote for a Republican.  She spent the majority of her adult career working in the Missouri capitol.  She knew EVERYONE.  And everyone knew her.  She had a smile that lit up the room and a laugh to match it.  Anyone who's heard that laugh is smiling right now.

When I heard Ron answer the phone on Saturday and say, "Hey, Lisa" followed by, "No, no," I knew that Marilyn was gone.  It's still hard for me to believe that she's not still here.  We just got a Christmas card from her and my folks just talked to her a week ago.

Marilyn lived her life on her terms.  She was fiercely independent and, some might say, stubborn as a mule.  Does that surprise you?  All Democrats are mules.

Marilyn - my second mom - I love you.  I miss you.  I remember you.

With love...

Nutso Techno

There are times when I am absolutely fascinated by technology.  And there are times when I'm terrified of it.  Let me give you some examples.

There's this little cider mill a couple of miles from my parents' home.  Open only for a few months during the fall, this quaint operation has been dishing out hot, cinnamon-y donuts for quite a few years.  They sell other stuff, but let's face it...it's the donuts that people stand in line for.  While you're waiting - if you're lucky enough to be with another person to hold your place in line - you can wander over to this little window and watch the donuts being made.

Some nice, older woman spoons the batter into a hopper and - through an amazing feat of technology - two perfect donuts are plopped into super hot grease about every two seconds.  They float along for maybe fifteen seconds and then - another amazing feat of technology - they get flipped over and drift happily for another fifteen seconds.  The result?  A perfectly golden sphere of deliciousness.

I could watch it for hours and hours.  Not kidding.  After a few hours I'd be Zen perfect.

Not long ago I watched an intriguing show about the "real" King Tut.  How can they call it the "real" King Tut.  Why, because of technology, of course.

They used super elaborate methods and equipment to test the death mask (the famous one with all that gold) and determined that the front piece and back piece were not one solid piece, but two, joined together by ancient duct tape.  Not really. I think they used rivets.  Whatever.

I have a degree in history (I might have mentioned that before).  I should be interested in this kind of stuff.  And I am, up to a point.  But when they're spending lots and lots of money and high falutin' microscopes and other equipment I can't remember, I have to ask myself:

Shouldn't this time and money be spent on something else?  Like curing cancer?  I know too many people battling all types of cancer.  Bad, nasty, life-ending stuff.  King Tut is dead.  And has been for a really long time.  These people need answers.  Yesterday.  We know enough about King Tut.  (I beg forgiveness for any Egypytologists reading this).

So...I was excited to see advertisements for the new series, "Breakthrough."  Six well-known directors taking aim at some of our world's leading breakthroughs in science. I was intrigued.

The first one scared the crap out of me.  It was about Ebola and the awful, painful death that is almost always inevitable.  And how catastrophic it has been - and can be - in a pandemic situation.  In a matter of weeks.

All I can say, after watching that first episode, is that there are a lot of SUPER brilliant minds out there and we should be thanking God that they are alive and using their brains to help develop a cost-effective treatment and strategy for eradicating this scary disease.

Then... Paris happened.  And San Bernardino.  And you realize that it doesn't take a disease to claim lives.  It takes a mind that has ceased to be rational.

And technology.

I often wonder what we'd do without the World Wide Web.

I really think we'd be safer.  And more ignorant.

Which is worse?

Let's Get Real

I think we're losing our grip on reality.  Reality TV, that is.

I remember when the trend started moving towards this genre of entertainment (if you can call it that).  Some network executive realized that paying TV stars a million bucks an episode wasn't cost effective and opted instead for an option that was heavy on drama/shock and light on talent.

Enter "The Real World," "The Osbornes," "Survivor" and on and on and on.

I liked "The Real World."  I liked "The Osbornes."  And even to this day I watch "Survivor" and "Amazing Race" and a handful of other reality shows.

Here's the deal.  Some of them have become more surreal than real.  They've been scripted and edited to death.  Loved the first season of "Duck Dynasty."  Uncle Si was too good to be true.  You can't script that kind of humor.  But slowly and surely, the themes seemed to be contrived, even rehearsed.  Sad, really, because they are an interesting bunch of people.  They don't need outside intervention to make them appealing.

One of our favorites is "Alaska, The Last Frontier."  It's about the homesteading Kilcher family.  Four generations have worked the land, raised cattle, planted vegetables, bred chickens, kept bees and borne kids.  While I sense a bit of scripting, for the most part it's just a peek into what it takes to live off the land in one of the most beautiful places on earth.

Another one we watch is "Life Below Thirty," another series set in Alaska.  Incidentally, there are quite a few shows about Alaska...it's like it was just discovered or something.  People.  It's as old as I am.  Well, maybe a little longer.  Been around for awhile.

Anyway, back to the tundra.  These folks live in frigidly cold places and are forever talking about the pickles they'd be in if they fell through the ice or couldn't make a fire.  I'm like, "Yeah, but there's a camera crew right next to you."  Pretty sure if someone fell through the ice, there'd be at least one or two hands to haul them out.  Or hand them a lighter or one of those fire starter logs.

Here's my biggest astonishment...Drugs, Inc. I'm not sure this technically qualifies as a reality show, but it's real.  Or is it?  Ron likes to watch this on occasion so I acquiesce because he watches a lot of Food Network with me.  What I do not understand is this.  They are showing people making meth, cutting cocaine, making heroine balls...all highly illegal things.  Are the producers not responsible for alerting the authorities to this stuff?

They film cops and DEA agents conducting raids - usually resulting in nothing.  Shouldn't those cameramen be saying, "Hey, I think I might know where you could find some real thugs and massive amounts of drugs.  Follow me."

Same thing with Moonshiners.  The drug folks cover up their faces with all manner of scary masks.  The moonshiners?  They don't give a rip.  They're mighty proud of their stills and hiding places and they don't mind showing their faces on TV.  The law enforcement guys have a heckuva time finding stills hidden deep in the woods.  Again...cameramen, producers?  Do you not have a moral responsibility to help apprehend these criminals?

I don't get it.

Maybe it's just me.  But I'm thinking the REAL in reality TV has gone 'round the bend, never to be seen again.

Oh well.  Move on.  Surely there's something in the works that will prove to be even more fantastic than anything we could ever dream of!

Can't wait.