“Twins”

c. 2019 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-19)

The Setting: Washington, D. C., in the Oval Office.

The Players: Donald J. Trump, 45th President of the United States; Mick Mulvaney, White House Chief of Staff.

Mick Mulvaney - “Good morning, Mr. President.”

Donald Trump – (Watching ‘Fox & Friends’ on the Fox News Channel) “I don’t understand what happened with these guys, it is sad. Very sad! Running polls against me, very sad, polls from CNN maybe, who trusts them? Very, very sad. I don’t trust the polls.”

M. Mulvaney - “Mr. President, I want to talk about something worse than bad coverage with you this morning...”

D. Trump – (Raising an eyebrow) “Worse than bad? How bad is that? More bad than bad?”

M. Mulvaney - “We have a bigger problem than negative coverage this morning. A much bigger problem.”

D. Trump - “Fox News going against me is HUUUUGE! Believe me, it doesn’t happen. Doesn’t happen much, not much. But now it does...”

M. Mulvaney – (Sweating) “Mr. President, this morning we have a bigger problem than polls or Fox News. You have… disappeared from the news cycle, completely.”

D. Trump – (Looking baffled) “DISAPPEARED?”

M. Mulvaney - “That’s right, sir. Disappeared.”

D. Trump – (Adjusting his overly-long, red tie) “Hillary Clinton disappeared. Gone. Poof! Just gone. Nobody talks about her anymore. I didn’t disappear. Not me.”

M. Mulvaney – (Looking concerned) “Sir, I just watched the first half hour of the CBS Morning News. You were not mentioned once.”

D. Trump – (Laughing) “What? You missed it, Mick, you must have gone for coffee. Maybe a bagel or a cupcake or something. Do you like cupcakes for breakfast?”

M. Mulvaney - “Mr. President, I never left the television. They went 30 minutes and never talked about you. Not a word. Gayle King reported about the Amazon rainforest burning. Dana Jacobson read a tribute to Jessi Combs, known as ‘The Fastest Woman On Four Wheels.’ And there was a segment on Boris Johnson, now the Prime Minister of England.”

D. Trump - “I’m telling you, they mentioned me. They always do, always. You got a bagel with cream cheese, right?”

M. Mulvaney - “I did not, sir.”

D. Trump - “I am in their head, like Rush Limbaugh says. Living rent-free. Winning. Living and winning.”

M. Mulvaney - “No sir, not this morning. They never mentioned you.”

D. Trump – (Exasperated) “Boris Johnson got mentioned? What kind of name is that? Boris? Like the guy that did ‘Monster Mash?’ Really? Boris?”

M. Mulvaney - “Mr. President, we have reached a watershed moment here. Even before you were elected, CNN, MSNBC, they all have talked about you. The New York Times talked about you, incessantly. But this morning, it all seems to have come to an end.”

D. Trump – (Turning red) “Look, they love me, secretly. They love me but they can’t say they love me. But they love me. I get ratings! RATINGS! I get them viewers, people watching, people watching them talk badly about me, very badly. Saying bad things, terrible things. I get them ratings and they know it, they all know it. Huge ratings!”

M. Mulvaney - “Sir, we need to be aware that this free ride could be over.”

D. Trump – (Angry) “This is like the economy tanking, they say, fake news more fake than ever, saying the economy is tanking when they know that is completely fake! Completely! Fake! We are winning bigly, I am pounding on China, I am winning more than ever!”

M. Mulvaney - “Mr. President, they never mentioned China. They never mentioned you.”

D. Trump - “Greenland? They talked about me wanting to buy Greenland?”

M. Mulvaney – (Embarrassed) “That lasted one day, sir. It barely went 24 hours in the news cycle.”

D. Trump – (Turning cold) “Pelosi? Those horrible ladies from ‘The Squad?’ Horrible ladies! They won’t shut up, they talk and talk and talk, lots of Democrats talk about me every day...”

M. Mulvaney – (Bowing his head) “A full 30 minutes on CBS. Not one word about you, positive or negative. Not one.”

D. Trump - “I always get the negative. Always. From the failing New York Times, from phony ‘Morning Joe’ and from everybody. From everybody except Fox News and now they are slipping, I don’t know why they are slipping.”

M. Mulvaney - “Half an hour, sir. Not one mention of you.”

D. Trump - “But they talked about Boris? A guy named Boris? Really, a guy with that name? A name from an old monster movie, Boris? That name?”

M. Mulvaney - “Yes.”

D. Trump - “Boris Johnson. What a name!”

M. Mulvaney – (Shaking his head) “Mr. Johnson has proven to be very aggressive. He is determined to make Brexit happen. He has asked the Queen to prorogue parliament. To suspend the session for five weeks.”

D. Trump - “Pro-whatsis?”

M. Mulvaney - “Prorogue, sir. To shut down parliament for a period of time. The target date of October 31^st is fast approaching. Britain will leave the European Union on that date.”

D. Trump - “Boris… wants to shut down the government… to shut down their parliament...”

M. Mulvaney - “Yes.”

D. Trump - “Could I do that here? Stop Pelosi from standing in my way? Could I stop Nancy, and stop those ladies from ‘The Squad?’ Stop them right here and stop them right now?”

M. Mulvaney - “Our government does not work that way, sir.”

D. Trump - “Boris, you know he has a funny name but I like him. I like him a lot. He has style. Look at his hair, crazy style, I like his style.”

M. Mulvaney - “Sir, you can’t shut down Congress.”

D. Trump - “They talked about Boris on the CBS Morning News. You said they talked about him. Not me. Just him. Maybe that is what I need, like when you are doing a show and you need more talent. Like building a team for more ratings. Like on ‘The Apprentice’ when I had a panel there with me, more people. Maybe I need Boris, funny name but the guy can shut down parliament and get things done.”

M. Mulvaney - (Aghast) “Mr. President, please!”

D. Trump - “I need a summit with Boris. That would be bigger than seeing Putin, bigger than seeing Kim Jong Un. It would be huuuuuuge! Funny guy, funny name. But he gets things done!”

M. Mulvaney – (Sighing heavily) “Yes, Mr. President. I will make some phone calls this morning...”

D. Trump – (Looking triumphant) “Get me Boris Johnson!”

M. Mulvaney – (Deflated and beaten) “Yes, sir. Right away.”

D. Trump - “The guy who can make Britain great again can help me get elected again! Funny name but I love that guy!”

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“Example & Encouragement”

c. 2019 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-19)

Note: I read this at Mom's funeral on August 20th, 2019. It was held at the Union Church of Christ in Philippi, West Virginia.

Duality.

I grew up in a household founded on the principle of two as a team being stronger than one alone. This twin tradition of nurture caused a sort of natural balance to develop, from my beginning. Mother and father speaking with their own distinct voices. But doing so in harmony. He, the example for my budding self. A template. A guide for future exploration. A mentor. A genuine sire. And she, the encourager. The breath of life. The sustenance of spirit. The one who always made me believe when faith in myself was needed. She carried my fetal beginning in her womb, then carried my growing life forward with an embrace of hope that never ended.

As a child, she urged me to join a local 4-H club in Virginia. Something she had done herself as a youngster. I was socially awkward and afraid. Every meeting brought a sense of dread as I pondered my own ability to fail. But she stayed patient. Always seeding my mind with new thoughts. New opportunities. New inventions. In the group, I thrived. Like a mystic, she seemed to know instinctively that this new routine would help to open my consciousness to better things. Creative impulses that strained the limits of traditional education were embraced in this setting. Soon, fear of the unfamiliar became joy in receiving the wisdom of learned souls. I chose electricity as a focal point, with new technologies rising quickly in the early 1970’s.

Dad approved in words. Mom gave her endorsement through the heart.

At church, I memorized verses from the Christian Bible. Deuteronomy 5:16 laid a foundation for our philosophy as a family. “Honor thy father and thy mother, as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee; that thy days may be prolonged, and that it may go well with thee, in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” It was a scripture often quoted and revered. One that helped me aim for the confidence of my father in all things. But another settled in my heart. One that provided fertile soil for the concept of inner dignity to push upward toward the sunlight of truth. Selected words from Proverbs Chapter 31. “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life… Strength and honor are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come… she openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness… She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”

My mind valued the knowledge borne by father, a master of sacred writings and ancient histories. But stowed deep in my spirit was the essence gifted to me by mother. An energy conveyed not through language or instruction, but by love. Delivered directly, just as her own flesh cradled and cultivated my own to the point of independence.

Perhaps this bond was the reason for our emotional connection, long after I had graduated to adult life. We would joke in the family that a typical conversation by telephone was divided unequally. With Dad, a chat might last five minutes. With Mom, it was more likely to run for a few hours. With him, each minute of speaking carried informative thoughts that might still resound many weeks into the future. Yet from her, there was a sort of comfort not unlike sitting in her lap as a child. Wandering in subject matter from this page to the next, or back again. Not following any chronology or discipline. Sharing feelings that words were strained to express. When my wife would ask what we had talked about for so long, the answer might echo as a riddle. “Nothing!” This often produced a blank stare or crossed arms and a glare of befuddlement. Still, it was true.

Mom and I could talk about ‘nothing’ and from that stream-of-consciousness, derive what felt like everything, in my heart.

Even when bowed by the weight of many years, she retained this ability to spread charm and goodwill easily. Like slathering butter on a fresh-baked piece of her French bread. At the Mansfield Place nursing home, even after father had ascended to eternity, she gabbed and smiled and laughed and celebrated each day of being alive. Like savoring a feast set before the flock. When we visited, I sought comfort and personal validation as her child. But just as often, my reward was in seeing her skill with strangers and seekers-of-solace around the table. Her ability to channel the energy of God into a simple, daily prayer remained remarkable. I reflected on the old admonition to “Grow where you are planted.” In a dozen congregations and more, from west Virginia to Michigan to Ohio, Pennsylvania and New York, she did just that with determination. Always able to find enough sunlight and rain to fuel her forward motion.

Paired with Dad, she created a partnership that endured to inspire others for many decades. While he paused with coffee and lesson materials, she put the holy scriptures into daily use. Making each word of Christ come alive in practice. Offered not from the pulpit, but over a fence in the yard, or a table in the kitchen. Given with no-bake cookies or her McCray-style vegetable soup. A present for the spirit and the belly.

This dual concept – that food was a blessing, and a celebration or sorts in the name of God, worked well for me, in childhood and beyond. Perhaps it is why that I still think most fondly of dinners in the church basement where breaking bread together, while reasoning over scripture, was my favorite activity.

To bid Dad farewell, while holding fast to the faith that we would meet again, challenged my resolve even as I believed it to be true. But giving the same salute to Mom, the one who gave me life within herself, was somehow different. A conundrum in seeing the beginning of ‘me’ coming to a mortal end, in her passing. A sting of death being separated from my own beginning. From the spark that set my sentient self ablaze. From the garden where I grew from a mustard seed. From the pool where I learned to swim before wallowing toward the vast ocean of human experiences.

To truly say goodbye would be unbearably sad. So I take relief in knowing that this moment does not come with that kind of finality, rooted in the grave. Instead, she is alive in a higher realm. One to which I can hope to ascend, by following the example of father, and accepting her encouragement to soar.

I love you, Mom.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“Waffle House Worship"

c. 2019 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-10)

Sunday.

On the calendar, this day of the week is most often celebrated as a time of rest. A moment away from the hustle of routine work responsibilities. An opportunity to bond with family members neglected during the rush to earn a living. For some, it marks a time to pause and give thanks to a higher power. A focal point for worship and reflection.

In the Ice household, our faith demands such a pause. Not only to explore the concept of a divine creator, but also to honor a manifestation of that glory. To visit a temple of culinary faith and sit in pews constructed as booths and truckstop counters. At a church we call the ‘Waffle House.’

My most recent pilgrimage began in the afternoon. I was still drowsy from a late night sharing stories around the fire with my neighbors. A benefit of living in a rural area of Ohio, at a park with the summer mood of a low-buck campground. My t-shirt reeked a bit of spilled beer and stray wood smoke. But I felt no shame. The cleansing ritual of a communion with diner food lay ahead. I knew that a better self would emerge from the brick, metal, and glass of that sanctuary. A soul chastened and healed for yet another week.

My intended faith-partner was Janis, a bohemian friend from Ashtabula County. Her post-hippie style and minimalist outlook helped to make such visits less solitary. Though she did not share my own philosophical devotion to the creed of coffee, comity, and praise at the counter-top, her presence made the journey more complete.

Still feeling groggy, I intended to pick her up in the afternoon.

A Cleveland Indians baseball game crackled from the radio. As I pulled into her driveway, not far from lake Erie, my pulse began to quicken. Sunshine brightened the sky over her modest home. I sent a cellphone text to announce my arrival. Then, adjusted the air conditioning. It was already in the 80’s. I did not want her to feel uncomfortable.

When she appeared, her orange, Harley-Davidson apparel literally seemed to glow. Her faux-purse, a promotional tote from Schwebels bread in Youngstown, swung freely as she walked. Her red hair had been pulled back, and tied with a crude twist of rubber bands. The look was efficient and familiar. A personal style rendered without overthinking.

I daydreamed about grits, hash browns and bacon.

Suddenly, Janis halted her stride. She tilted ominously and began to void the contents of her stomach. My eyes snapped open, forcefully. I stared straight ahead, in total disbelief. A gentle curse slipped from my mouth.

“Ulllp, ullp. Gahh. R-R-Rawwwwww!”

I reckoned her hurl-in-the-grass was some sort of optical illusion. One brought on by my own fatigue after many adult beverages, during the previous night of festivity. But then, she stood still for a second time. Arched and sour-faced. Convulsing while her bag continued to swing.

“Rawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww...”

Anyone else would have apologized, spun around, and retreated humbly to the couch. But she professed a total disconnection from any kind of illness. I sat in stunned silence as she entered my truck.

“You really want to go out for a meal?”

Janis gave me a look of bemused indifference. She insisted that the episode sprang from being hungry. A gnawing emptiness brought on, no doubt, from having nothing left on her tummy. I shook my head and backed onto her road. The day was verdant green, azure blue, and outrageously orange from her shirt. It blasted my tired optic nerves. Appearing even brighter in the limited confines of my pickup cab.

We had passed only a couple of houses when her head bowed. She began to cough. Then, hold her mouth. Then, puff her face like a chipmunk carrying seeds.

“Rawww… rawww... rawwwww!”

Janis had covered herself, with just a slight spew of barf over the truck dashboard and onto the seat. She reached in the glovebox for napkins left over from Taco Bell.

“I’m good!” she cheered.

I frowned over the steering wheel. Predictably, traffic was heavier as we approached the junction with Route 45. There were commercial trucks, boats being towed, cars, vans, campers, bikes and four-wheelers everywhere. I sat at the stop sign until this parade of Sunday celebrants passed, on their journey to the sun.

Then, with tires squealing, I made a U-turn.

She was not happy. “You aren’t going to take us out to eat?”

I laughed while spinning the wheel. “No, of course not. You aren’t well.”

Her eyes nearly closed. “I am fine!”

I could visualize her slouched over the counter at our destination. Shivering and sorrowfully pleading her lack of gastric control. While the wait-staff screeched their disapproval. It made me go cold. Completely numb to the idea of postmodern worship with a sacred meal.

“Honey,” I whispered. “It’s okay. Why didn’t you tell me before? We don’t have to go out when you are sick. There’ll be another Sunday.”

She insisted on changing her clothes.

I rested my chin on the steering wheel. “This is your only day off. Relax. I’ll catch you again, later in the week. If you need anything, let me know...”

At last, her defiance vanished. “Okay,” she agreed.

Even on this traditional day of rest, I had errands to run. Mail to sort, at home. More documents to share with my family, regarding our mom who was at a nursing home in West Virginia. Even more correspondence for the post office, to go out on Monday morning. So I did not lack for chores.

Still, a few hours later, my appetite returned.

I sat in the living room of my sister, in Hambden. She and I discussed our fandom for ‘The Orrville’ with my younger nephew. He had begun to watch the program on Hulu after my recommendation. We all agreed that the show channeled a repurposed vibe of ‘Star Trek’ that made it appealing and worthwhile. I explained that my Sunday visit came after an unsuccessful attempt to visit services at a favorite restaurant-of-reverence in Austinburg. My intention was to pray reverently over a ‘Texas Cheesesteak Melt’ sandwich, topped with sausage gravy ordered as a side dish, and hash browns. An idea I conceived one week before.

A beam of sunlight peeked through their front window, as I confessed this unfulfilled desire. With my belly grumbling in protest for having been denied. Then, an epiphany shined down on the room. Electrifying the air and lifting my spirits.

“Hey!” I cheered. “There is a Waffle House nearby, in Concord... with sweet tea for the communion wine and buttermilk biscuits for the host. Would anyone like to celebrate with me at the evening service?”

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024