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Donna's Journal
April 15, 2005

The car needs tires, we need a new wheelchair, the kid's allergies are giving them fits, need to pay the dentist, the yard work has started,daily think of promoting that book, start working on crafts for spring and summer shows, make lists, more lists. Restore, repair, replace or throw a rock through the sliding glass door when it won't budge for me or the children.

It is a joke, just a joke, but not at the moment deserving of a good laugh. The council is fraught with paranoia and even though I hardly even give them a moment's thought their condition laps over into my space when they refuse to look at all the paper work my daughter hands them verifying her birth so she can be “put onto that God-like, all encompassing, “roll”.

One member said, “I don't remember my cousin (me) giving birth to that girl.”

“How can you?” I'm thinking. “You spent most of your life in a world of fuzzy, pink clouds.” For the lack of common sense there is a bit of sorrow. My cousins escape from reality seems to be touching into my life where I have been forced to look straight into the eyes of uncommon situations. Somehow or another, my mind wants to go back thirty years when a doctor said, “Abort her, you'll die on the table having her.” What is this issue that keeps the people around me confronting me with bizarre statements and for my whole lifetime, too? These issues and more, even more sick, were thrust upon me. Was it because some were so oppressed themselves they wanted to reach into a stash they thought was there but wasn't?

Suddenly when a friend suggested we attend an author's presentation, one Stan Silliman, I didn't even care if he was a writer of comical sports stories. I'm not interested in sports, never had been, but the promise of a pleasant drive and a brief escape was irresistible When the man, Stan Silliman, stood up to speak he made bold statements about dedication and love of sports making people obsessive with their worship of the games. The way he illustrated this with his cartoons and statements which struck me as being hilarious. So for a short time he spoke about his writings. His comments were quick and easily missed if a person didn't pay close attention. While we listened I could picture the things he told in my mind and each story made me laugh. It was fun the way he would let go of the manuscript in his hand and catch it quickly as if it were a ball he was tossing up into the air.

The front of his book has an illustration of a man and woman at a table in a café. The waiter is holding a baseball bat that is hollowed out with a cork in the top of it. In the background is a Mexican band, replete with Mexican hats, trumpet, guitar and one player of bagpipes. For me, who had grown up in a world where a dinner table could be surrounded with people who were descendants of Mexican, Greek, Native American and Scot-Irish, this struck me as hilarious.

The first story is about Oklahoma freshman, football place-kicker, recruit, Josh Robert's failure to report to practice one morning in New York City. Seems he mistakenly showed up at the Gershwin theater where they were recruiting kickers for the show, “Oklahoma.” Stan, the author, read “Really high kickers.”

When Stan, the author, told that this writing was a way to relieve the stress from his business this was all the more reason to admire his wit and writing talent. Football, basketball, courageous players of the games had nothing on Stan Silliman. To rise above the tedious chores around living is one thing but to present work for others to emulate, now that is fine. We won't even mention the fun we had hearing Stan's witty remarks about the untouchables of the sport's world.He even wondered about the size tennis shoe a Yeti might need and how many razors would have to be brought in to shave him before a game. Great presentation of your books, Stan. I loved it.

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