Working, Sort Of, If That Is What You Want To Call It.

Today is a big day, here at Life Explained. Today, we had two pieces of writing appear online.

My monthly column on The Wild Word (the mostly appropriately named, Head Above Water, sometimes I sink, a little further than comfortable) about the mysterious journey of being married. Or at least the mysterious journey of my marriage. I hope my wife appreciates her good fortune. Kids, don't try this at home, it is not for the meek, mild or irresolute. Well, thinking about this writer, yes, I guess it is.



And, a piece on on the Open Thought Vortex Magazine, describing my less than stellar history with guns. Having been on both sides of the issue I am am resolutely unconvinced of their glorious utility. I have heard all the arguments, and remain opposed to the unrestricted, irresponsible arming of America.

Despite my best efforts to predict the future I have no way of knowing what will happen to Tim Clark the writer, but you will see it here. Stay tuned.

And since it is Friday, let's end the day with some Rock and Roll.

Labor Day, Swappers Meet, And Life.

Yesterday was the first day of the long weekend. Having Monday off makes a weekend even more mystical. So, we celebrated by going to the Johnstown Swappers Day, which is actually three days long, but one day is enough, for us, anyway.

Swappers Day is a celebration. It was born around dogs racing across a manmade pond. It became more popular, and soon grew into an immense flea market. An immense flea market that covers acres. An immense flea market that brings thousands of people to the small Central Ohio community.

Food vendors are always a big draw, and Swappers Day is well supplied. Corn dogs, french fries, elephant ears, funnel cakes, fried stuff on a stick, even things that are not normally considered vendor food, chicken and noodles, cornbread and beans. Rows and rows of food, even a booth with Amish people selling homemade pies and cookies. Ridiculously good cookies, too.

What I really like about the event though is the opportunity to walk through miles of vendors, selling little pieces of the past. Small, trivial bits of American history. It might be a Jetson lunchbox, or a Nintendo game. There are things from modern history, many may say junk, but these are the artifacts of our time. 

In many ways it is a museum. For five dollars you an walk down the grass and dirt aisles and view the artifacts arranged randomly on folding tables or stacked on shelves. A blogger whose work I admire greatly once raised the question of what people from the past would think if transported to the present. A wonderful exercise, but these events make me wonder what future archaeologists and anthropologists will think when they unearth the minutia of the present.

It is as diverse as it is large.  Order and chaos in adjacent booths. One set of tables arranged neatly, product lined up straight, grouped logically, prices easy to see and understand. Two steps away is a jumble of used things, dropped from a box, and scattered by hand into one single, homogeneous layer of yesterdays dreams, and today's memories.

Guns, everywhere, guns, people walking around with rifles, pistols, shotguns, all displayed proudly. All for sale or trade. Guns laid out on tables, standing on racks, nestled comfortably in foam lined cases. You could not swing a dead cat without hitting somebody with a gun. Being from a small suburb of a large city it always surprises me when I am around that many guns. And knives, there were knives for sale everywhere. From the decorative knives that sell for a few dollars with aluminum like blades (whose only real function is to provide a few dollars to the seller) to the utilitarian, specialty knives made for cleaning game. Almost every bladed weapon imaginable, bayonets, machetes, swords, all for sale, all being carried around proudly. As a pacifist who worries about the condition of the world, all of these implements of destruction are a little unnerving. What is the fascination?

It was a very good day. We started with a good breakfast and before we left the event we had over

11,000 steps. Plus, there is something comforting about moving through a mass of knotted humanity. A herd like solidarity being around that many people. Moving along the path of least resistance, and stopping to admire the relics of days recently passed.  It is almost hypnotic listening to the bargaining over price, and intent. “Make me an offer,” was a common phrase. And offers were made, rejected and countered. Here is the best part, I am going to make a video, sort of a practice video for my big trip to Tennessee. If it is worth sharing (and it will be, it might not be worth watching, though) I will. Until then, have a great day, find a festival around you and dive right in, you will be happy you did.

The war on Christmas takes a difficult turn.

Yesterday the war on Christmas erupted, spilling onto the parking lots, and streets surrounding the Easton Town Center in Central Ohio.  In, what many consider, the most violent, intense battle of the campaign a rolling front line forced many shoppers to seek asylum in California Pizza Kitchen, or Max and Erma's.  Shoppers were sat in stunned silence, their Buffalo Chicken Burger lay half eaten, and their Yule Tide Ale turning warm on the table in front of them.

Santa was standing at the north entrance to Macy's.  His ringing bell, and cheerful, tradition laden ho ho hos could be heard for miles in the crisp, central Ohio air.  Clanging change was muffled by folded bills in the tripod suspended, red bucket standing next to the Jolly Old Elf.  It was a scene that had been repeated for years, but Santa looked wary, and kept glancing at the tree line about 1500 meters away, as though he sensed something.

Soon he started taking sniper fire, and mortar rounds were walking across the parking lot toward his exposed position.  That's right, Santa was pinned down by a hidden enemy from an elevated position.

This was not Santa's first rodeo, however.  He dove behind a Kia Sedona, the SX luxury model, with twin DVD players, multiple screens and dual power sliding doors.  On the front screen the children were watching "A Charley Brown Christmas," until they spied Santa poking his head above the solid part of the door.   They screamed with delight "look, it's Santa, peeking through my window."

Acting quickly, Santa called in air support.  Soon the skies were filled with miniature sleighs, being pulled by tiny reindeer.  Piloted by Santa's little helpers, the sleighs began strafing the tree line.

Soon, Santa's radio crackled, and a voice said "keep your head down, Kris, we are beginning a bombing run, it's going to be a big one."  From out of the east a larger, slower sleigh appeared, it almost looked as though it had flown right out of the sun, and after a slight adjustment, began to drop red and green bombs down the length of the tree line. The trees burst into flames, and the air was filled with the aroma of peppermint, and yule logs.

A very large sleigh lumbered in, landing in the street in front of the north parking lot.  A noisy, loud bell started clanging out "Have a holly, jolly christmas," as the rear door opened and heavily armed elves, dressed in traditional Holiday camouflage, poured out and began sweeping the field in front of the burning tree line.

In the end the day was saved by air superiority and a numerical advantage in ground forces.  Santa had acted quickly, and decisively to counter a frontal assault against an exposed position from forces of unknown numbers and composition.  Next time you see Santa make sure to throw in a few extra dollars, ammunition, and duplex communication are expensive, after all.