March 15, 1979

It starts with a small but significant sensation in the lower chest; a peculiar feeling that things are changing, that the seemingly eternal cold of winter may indeed be coming to an end.
At first it is almost undetectable. It grows as slowly as the snow drifts melt. But with a few days of balmy temperatures and clear skies, the feeling builds, and things do change.
Suddenly it becomes visible. The first sign is a tuft of weedy grass in the front yard. Then a robin appears to pluck a moist worm from the soft soil. Geese and ducks fill the sky, noisily headed north, headed home with the elation of the season. New-born lambs and calves bound across open fields with an air of freedom previously covered by layers of snow.
Spring is here and the entire universe is alive with it. Wheat fields are lush green and growing. The sky is baby blue. The bleakness of winter is gone.
No less obvious than the changing surroundings are the changes in people. They have come out of hibernation and are actively taking advantage of the warmth. They are biking, jogging, or just walking. Motorcycles are revved up and tennis rackets are unfettered. People are stepping lively with enthusiastic smiles that glow like the spring sun. Overcoats and long johns are replaced with shorts and t-shirts. Conversations tend to be more optimistic, more ebullient, more hurried. There are things to do. The siege is over.
Warnings from the weatherman that winter's fury may reappear go unheeded. This is no time for dissension; no one has the right to break this spell, this captivation which has permeated us. The days do not require warning, rather they beg for reverence. They call for veneration in the budding of trees, the building of nests, the brilliance of faces, and the blossoming of emotions.
It is not a time for reality. Reality merely masks the magic. It is not a time for analysis. Rather, it is a time for submission; a submission to the world of life which is being reborn. It is a mystical time of wondrous miracles.
The next ten weeks are the cream of the year, the heart of our lives, the essence of our souls. The next ten weeks are as close to heaven as Kansas can get.
Grab a hunk of spring now before July comes and the opportunity has passed.... ~T.Stucky

March 1, 1984

People are tripping over themselves in a mad dash to pat February on the back. Editors of daily newspapers have called February 1984 “very, very good.” Others have praised its shiny days and comfortable nights. Everywhere people are raising their voices in praise of this blessed month.
Bah! Sure we haven’t had a blizzard this month. Granted, it was pleasant to have 50-degree-plus temperatures on more than twenty of February’s days. Certainly it was nice to let the snowshovel collect dust on the back porch.
But let’s not get carried away folks. Remember last February? Remember the February before that? And the one before that?
To run around praising this nasty month for simply easing the siege is like smiling at the bully when, for only a moment, he stops kicking you in the head. This “very, very good” month will be back next year as surly as ever. And it won’t matter a bit that we said kind things about it this year.
So, while you still have a chance before March blows you away, say something derogatory about February. It deserves it….~T.Stucky

February 8, 1979

We live in a time when even the most innocent of events and actions are magnified, examined, and psychoanalyzed in an attempt to decipher ultimates amid the irrelevant.
Depression during the Christmas holidays is examined and reexamined in search of some grandiose anthropological truth. The movies we watch or don't watch supposedly reveal deep inner secrets. The kind of car we drive mirrors our psychological shortcomings.
Never was this psycho-phenomenon more apparent than after this year's Super Bowl. Columnists near and far wrote of the game not in terms of completions and fumbles but in the vernacular of eternal morality, ultimate truth, and societal implications.
The Hutch News editorialized the event as "looniness, an irrational event...mass hysteria with no evil motive...a dramatic reflection of the way we live, violence and committee meetings." Others in the news media referred to the "decadence" of the activities surrounding the game, saying it "exemplified the corruption in our culture." Others pondered it's "historical interpretations."
It's time to call a spade a little metal tool for digging. The Super Bowl is no doubt over-done; few of the games could have been called super, but who cares? It captures the imagination of the American people and it replaces Iran in the headlines for a week. What evil lurks in that?
Sure it's an irrational event; but why this sudden call for rationality? Life and death are irrational. The major events in our lives have little to do with logic. Why should our sporting events be bound to the mundanity of rationality?
Just give us the Super Bowl and let us watch it in peace. If ultimate truths about our society need to be found, why not search for them where cultural truth can best be deciphered -- on television commercials.... ~T.Stucky

January 15, 1981

It's a difficult world when you're five years old. The wind carries magic, there are ghosts in the boughs of trees, people are twice your size, and time is something you don't learn about until second grade.
Insignificant, seemingly mundane things take on grand importance. Having twenty-five cents for the grocery store is cause for exaltation. Losing that same twenty-five cents is cause for tears.
In such a world waling home from school, a brief eighth of a mile by the odometer, is a long, treacherous excursion through unexplored land, replete with deadly beasts and dangerous terrain.
Aaron lives in such a world. His forty-five minute walk home, a walk which by all rights should take ten minutes, is never boring. A few weeks ago he arrived home and, throwing his coat on the floor where it belongs, he said, "You should have seen this light I saw!"
"You saw a light?" we responded, thing of the Damascus road.
"Yeh, I was walking down the road, you know, the one that goes by that tall building; the one with the cracked window on the one side and the little hole for the cats to hide in on the other side?"
Not wishing to act as though we were unfamiliar with the town, we nodded assuredly.
"Well, I was walking down that road and way off I saw a light. I started watching it 'cause I didn't know that it was and I fell over a rock. You should see the rocks they have down there. They are beautiful! I was laying there, down by that building, you know, the one with the broken window on the side, looking at the rocks. Here, let me show you. I brought some home."
We examined the beautiful brown rocks.
"Have you ever seen rocks like this before? I think the only place in the world you can find them is down by that old building, the one with the broken window on the side. Anyway, I was gathering the rocks when I saw my shoe string was broke. So I tried to fix it but I didn't do a very good job. You know that kid in my class? I forgot what his name is - he can't even tie his shoes yet. Brother! Do we have anything to eat? I got pretty hungry walking home."
We again asked about the light.
"Oh yeh. After I put these rocks in my pocket, I saw the light again, only now it was even bigger. It was almost as big as the sun. Can it hurt you to stand in the sun? There's this kid in my class who says the sun is our enemy. This other kid told him he was stupid. Is the sun really our enemy? Have you ever seen rocks like that before? I think there's a mine down there by that old building with the broken window. Those look like gold rocks, don't they? Look how they shine when you hold them like this."
The light was mentioned again.
"Yeh, well when I stood up the light was huge. I sure am hungry. When are we going to eat? You know what this kid brought for show and tell today? His own tooth! He said he pulled it out just to get money and so he could come to school and show it to us. Brother! Why do teeth fall out? Nothing else falls out, does it?"
About that light.
"Oh, yeh, it was a train. It almost killed me. It was just a little light and then all of a sudden it was a train. You should've seen me jump out of the way. I almost jumped over that building down there, the one with the broken window on the side."
The world of a five year old is a difficult place to live. It is a difficult world for parents as well.... ~T-Stucky

January 18, 1979

The clock on the wall said 12:00 midnight. The wind was pounding against the north wall and, although the blowing snow made it impossible to see beyond the front porch, it was obviously morning. There was no electricity, the temperature inside the house was 54 degrees, and the only thing warm was the milk in the refrigerator. The burners on the gas stove were turned on and the vigil began.
Sensing that something extraordinary was going on, the short people were crazy with energy. Their actions resulted in louder spoken words.
"Keep the door closed so it stays warm in the kitchen!" "You put your hands any closer to that burner and you're on fire!" "No, it's too cold to go outside and play!" "The kitchen is no place to play tag!" The clock on the wall said 12:00 midnight.
A quick trip was made to Kuhn's store for batteries and other necessities. The wind literally took your breath away and, even with four layers of clothing, the cold was penetrating. The voice on the radio said the wind chill factor was 45 degrees below zero. Suddenly, it seemed colder.
After a meal of soup and optimistic conversation, ("The power will come on shortly, it can't stay off much longer, the new Governor won't allow it.") the afternoon is spent gazing out the window, playing backgammon, and periodically thawing out hands over the burner.
Evening comes. Dinner is prepared and eaten by candlelight. It now becomes apparent that we will have to sleep on the floor near the kitchen. The short people are ecstatic, "We don't have to take baths and we get to sleep with all our clothes on!"
Parents are not quite so moved. Water barely drips from the faucet and all the little folks decide they are intolerably thirsty. Now they all have to use the bathroom. The stool is no longer functioning. It is time for rationing. It is 12:00 midnight.
Morning comes cold and the big people plan to stay in bed; the short people plan differently. Another day begins without a bath. The air in the kitchen gets heavier. The milk, placed on the porch the night before, is frozen solid. More than once someone says, "This is ridiculous."
The phone rings with confirmation that there are others in a similar state. A certain delight comes from explaining how bad things are. "Did you hear the chill factor was 45 below? We're all sitting in the kitchen. Our toilet won't flush."
Time begins to drag. After losing four consecutive games of backgammon, the thrill is gone. A walk around the block relieves cabin fever slightly, but it pains the toes and the face. And that clock, that disgusting clock, still has both hands straight up.
The short people are preparing for prayer before the evening meal. "Put in a plug for the electricity while you're at it" they are prompted. No one is laughing. Candles flicker throughout the meal and yet one must look closely to see if it's a green bean or a piece of meat you're eating. The ice cream planned for desert is in a puddle in the now-warm freezer.
After dinner, recalling that Abe Lincoln became President by reading by candlelight, we sought similar results. A headache was our reward.
Snow is scooped from a porch, melted in a pot, and poured into the stool. "Hey," yells the short person, "We can flush the toilet!" After forty-six hours in the dark, flushing the toilet has become exciting. As the toilet flushes, the clock says 12:00 midnight.
And then, abruptly, the siege is over. Lights flash on, the furnace blows warm air, and the clock changes position. Never have light, water, and warmth been so appreciated. Never again will they be taken for granted.... ~T.Stucky