Of humanity and a memory.

elaelo | Deposit Photos

Here we are, the Sunday after Trump's second inauguration, and so of course all the preachers in all the churches in America are talking about it, in one way or another. A lot of them are talking about the homily delivered to Trump and his vice president, J.D. Vance, on Inauguration Day at the National Cathedral by the Right Rev. Marian Budde, the Episcopal bishop of Washington, DC. (For those who aren't clued into ecclesiastical stuff, the National Cathedral is an Episcopal church. That's a Protestant denomination. It's more or less the American version of the Anglican Church, which King Henry VIII created when the pope wouldn't grant him a divorce from his first wife.) The Rev. Budde had the temerity to call on Trump -- to his face, even! -- to "have mercy upon the people in this country who are scared now." How dare she, right? A priest calling on a parishoner to do the right, moral thing! The very idea!

The reactions fell into the usual camps, with Trump and his MAGAts attacking her. One Republican member of the House of Representatives suggested that she be added to the deportation list. Where does he think she should be deported to? She was born in New Jersey!

Pope Francis is siding with the Rev. Budde, at least on the issue of mass deportations. He's calling the plan "a disgrace". So of course the MAGAts are mad at him, too.

None of this stopped ICE from rounding up migrants -- some of them legal -- working at a fish market in Newark, NJ, on Friday. According to Newark Mayor Ras Baraka, one of those rounded up was a veteran who had his military service questioned -- an "indignity", the mayor said. And how.

We knew this was going to happen, and worse. Trump and his minions are not interested in showing anybody mercy, least of all nonwhite, noncisgendered people. But make no mistake: They are all still people, no matter what. As an animist, I think it's a no-brainer: all humans are people (my definition of "people" is a lot broader than just humans, as alert hearth/myth readers know - here's just one of my several posts on the subject), and all people deserve dignity and respect.

Pace yourselves, guys. It's gonna be a long four years.

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Let's talk about something more cheerful. This memory bubbled up in my brain when an author friend made a Facebook post in which he asked people to tell about the first single they ever bought. (In this context, "single" refers to a 45-rpm vinyl record, smaller than an LP, that had just one song on each side.)

I couldn't tell you which single I owned first. I mean, it was probably a Monkees record; I just don't remember which one. But I can tell you that virtually my entire hoard of singles came from one of two stores in my hometown: either Shoppers Fair or 212 Bargain Center. 

The name "212 Bargain Center" was not exactly creative: The store was located on Indiana Highway 212, a spur that connects US 12 and US 20. If you've ever read any of Andrew M. Greeley's early novels, you may have run across a mention of the highway; he would sometimes send his priests up to Grand Beach, MI, for a summer outing, and at least once, they stopped at Roxanne's Drive-In on Highway 212 for a bite.

Anyway. When I was a kid, Mom, Dad, and I had a tradition on Saturday nights: after we ate supper at home, we'd get in the car and do some shopping (either at one of those two stores or the mall), then maybe stop for milkshakes at McDonald's (which we consumed in the car -- no indoor seating, folks, this was the '60s), and then head to the South Shore train station on 11th Street downtown so Dad could buy the Sunday editions of the Chicago newspapers as soon as they came off the train Saturday night. 

Shoppers Fair often ran a coupon in their weekly advertising circular for singles -- 25 cents each, or four for a dollar. At 212 Bargain Center, you didn't need a coupon; they had a big bin of cut-out singles. Each of these 45s had a hole drilled through the label. They played fine, though, and most importantly, they were cheap. I could usually talk my mother into buying me one or two.

On this particular night, as I browsed the cut-out bin, I ran across a song I liked and asked Mom if we could get it. "Which song is that?" she asked. The house was small and I had my radio on a lot; she'd heard them all. Suddenly, the background music in the store played the record I was asking for. "That one," I said, and she said okay. Then I ran across another song I liked -- and the same thing happened. And then it happened again!

I don't remember how many records I ended up with. I only remember how surprised and delighted I was that the songs I wanted kept playing when Mom wanted to know what they sounded like.

Coincidence? Maybe. Somebody in the office at the store having fun with us? Doubtful. The office was pretty far from the record bin; they would have needed binoculars to see the record labels. A miracle? It's an odd sort of thing to put down as miraculous, don't you think? Serendipity, maybe. Or maybe ... magic.

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These moments of magical blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Hang in there, guys.

A moment of serendipity.

Sometimes a scene just comes together. 
Lynne Cantwell | 2021

Earlier this week, Big Al's Books and Pals re-ran a review of Spider's Lifeline, the third book in my Pipe Woman's Legacy series, which came out in 2016. It was a moment of serendipity for me, as I'd been thinking about the book just a few days before. And that reminded me of a moment of serendipity that occurred while I was writing the fourth and final book, Turtle's Weir. 

You may have heard the term "Easter egg" in relation to movies. An Easter egg is a scene in which the filmmakers have included an inside joke, or a moment that makes a reference that only diehard fans would understand. Here's an example of one that occurred in Raiders of the Lost Ark: Hieroglyphs cover the walls of the room where Indiana Jones finds the Ark of the Covenant -- and among those hieroglyphs are drawings of R2D2 and C3PO, two of the most beloved droids in the Star Wars movies. It makes sense when you realize George Lucas both invented the Star Wars saga and co-wrote the story on which the Indiana Jones movies were based, and Harrison Ford starred in both movie franchises.

Writers include Easter eggs, too. Often, it's intentional, but sometimes the moments write themselves. The latter was the case in Webb's half of the Pipe Woman's Legacy. 

There's a scene in Spider's Lifeline in which Webb and his mother, Naomi Witherspoon Curtis, attend a reception hosted by former President Brock Holt and his wife, Antonia Greco, in honor of an Icelandic princess named Ingrid. Brock and Antonia's sons, Rex and Roman, are also there. Roman is a free spirit -- a musician who is as much of a Trickster as is Webb himself. There's a moment where Webb goes to the bar to get himself and his mother something to drink. Roman joins him there, and while they're chatting, Naomi shakes hands with the princess and then drops to the floor.

Antonia and I reached her at the same time. I helped her to a sitting position as Antonia clucked over her and called for her husband to get their physician. Cameras clicked again; I expected we’d be the top story on tonight’s news.

“No doctors,” Mom said crossly. “I’m fine. I just took a tumble, that’s all – it happens when you’re old. Thank you, Roman.” She took her drink from his hand and sipped.

“Yeah, thanks, buddy,” I said, accepting my own from him.

“I’m here to help,” he said, in a more serious tone than I’d ever heard him use before. “Remember that.”

What caused Roman to turn serious right then? I had no idea at the time.

But then in Turtle's Weir, Webb made a return trip to the moment via time travel get a better view of what had happened, and Roman's reaction became a little clearer.

As Webb-in-the-timeline broke from the bar to scramble toward Mom, I glanced around the room. Ingrid watched what she had wrought with satisfaction in her eye. But then she glanced up from the tableau on the rug at me – not Webb-in-the-timeline, but me, Webb-the-observer. Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth dropped open. Then her forehead creased in anger.

I covered my own shock with a jaunty little wave. Then, as I got ready to spring up out of the timeline, I noticed someone else in the room was watching me: Roman Holt. He was crouched next to me on the floor, holding my drink and Mom’s. And of the three of us – Roman, Ingrid, and me – he was the only one who didn’t look surprised that I was there.

In real life, right after he’d handed us our drinks, he’d told me, I’m here to help. Remember that. The comment had seemed to come from out of the blue at the time. Now, at least, I had a little context.

I gave him a shrug and a grin, and got out of there.

Thanks, Webb, for clearing that up for all of us. And thanks to Big Al and the pals for the reprise review.

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I'd like to say I've made progress on the second Atherton Vampire story this week, but I'd be lying. Real-life events have sucked up much of my focus for the past few days. But serendipity strikes again! The next session of Camp NaNo starts Thursday. So all I have to do is draft an outline for the story by then. Piece of cake.

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These moments of bloggy serendipity have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Get vaxxed!