Vol. 47, May 9th, 2023
A Darn Good Quote
“Poetry is nearer to vital truth than
history.” - Plato
The GramStravaganza
Geology, Genealogy, and a Thousand Miles
The interstate twisted, then climbed into the wild spring heights. It cut through the ancient seabed turned to mountains, weathered by glaciers, and the recent gnawings of the humans, hundreds of millions of years of Being. I sped along this memory lane turned superhighway in my modern car, pushed a button on the steering wheel, and said “Call Grandma.” I was going back home to learn about the ancestors. My maternal grandmother celebrated her 90th last week, and my paternal was waiting with photos and a family tree, 97 years young, regaling me with tales well past my bedtime. “Gram, I gotta call it. See you tomorrow.” (Yes, I’m humbled.) The morning brought stories of boats and wars and struggle and weddings and living and a trip to the cemetery to see how it all ended. After an idyllic lunch by the Connecticut river, it was back on the road with a carload of thoughts, past the limestone scrapbook cliffs, five hundred miles to the south.
The Past hands us all a torch to carry.
Stop! Thief!
Col. Thomas Blood almost steals the crown of England (the one you just saw on TV) from Charles II this day, 1671.
Down the Rabbit Hole
If you’ve tired of fictional bravado, try diving into the historical. Thomas Blood (see above) was a swaggering failed assassin and thief, welcomed at the court even after flattening the crown with a mallet in the attempt to steal. His story is worth researching.
Ancient Scrapbooks are scattered roadside all across America. Here, a cliff in Pennsylvania tells the story of that one time Africa and America collided and formed the super-continent Pangaea.
Book of the Week
The Screwtape Letters (C.S. Lewis)
High morality and philosophy, presented from the enemy’s view. Uncle Screwtape writes letters from Hell to a bungling junior tempter trying to corrupt a man’s soul. (1942.)
Write to Us!
The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect, published weekly. You’re invited to write back, or just enjoy reading. Let’s have some fun! It’s a social paper! Send stories, etc to: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or email JoshUrban@Protonmail.com
Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #133)
Howdy, folks! If you’re just tuning in, Dr. Electro is part comic book, part metaphor, a figment of my imagination, designed to entertain and delight. On a quest to recover Lady Wilkes’ stolen gems, he’s fallen into the bad guy’s underground warehouse, along with his friends. At the sound of strange footsteps, the crew tries to hide. At the last second, voices are recognized in the dark. Preacher shines a light. “Lady Wilkes!” Everyone lowers their guns. “Where’s Walter?” Suddenly, a searing blue flash rends the darkness. This is...
The Return of Dr. Electro - #27: Walter’s Weight Loss Program
Electro’s mutter broke the silence “Hmm...Wish I had my pliers.” A familiar burnt tangy smell crept into his nostrils, replacing the subterranean dankness. It made him feel alive. Just like always. Voltage. Yes. Enough indecision. Enough following. It was time for action, for peering at wires, unraveling their secrets, careful of the venomous electrons waiting to fry any mistake. A time for logic, for something that made sense. Charlotte remained unsolvable in his books, but the puzzle brewing around the corner called him with familiarity.
“I hope Walter’s okay...” Jimmy’s voice cut into his thoughts. “That was a big flash. Think he was involved? He mentioned something about the main power source.”
“Let’s go look. Onward, boys! And...girls.” Preacher lofted the John light, and strode into the gloom.
“I think there’s some sort of control room around the corner. He said he was going to investigate.” Lady Wilkes caught up with Electro. “Are you good with electricity, young man?”
“They call me Dr. Electro for a reason, ma’am.” Their footsteps filled the silence, mingling with the distant drip of water. Electro opened his mouth, but his words were stolen by a faint cry ahead.
“Help! Help!”
“It sounds like Walter!” Jimmy broke into a run. “Come on, Preacher! Hold up that light!”
The passageway twisted and turned, snaking through towering piles of crates and hulking mountains of boxes. The company scuttled and huffed, following Jimmy and Preacher. The light bobbed and threw up fearsome shadows. One looked like the baker from his childhood. Electro shook his head. Concentrate, man. Onward they panted, ears straining.
“Help! Help!” The cries grew louder.
Rounding a corner, they skidded to a halt. “Walter!”
He lay pinned under a garage-style door. The room appeared to be eating him feet-first.
“I pushed the wrong button. It tried to trap me inside. I don’t know how long I can hold up the weight, folks. It’s been nice knowin’ ya.”
“Can’t anyone do anything?” Charlotte burst out with the first show of emotion Electro had heard. “How horrible to be stuck like that. It reminds me of my poor ferret.”
“Hang in there, buddy, I’ve got you.” Electro eyed a control panel on the wall. “Does anyone have any pliers? And wait, your ferret?”
“Don’t ask” Charlotte snapped. “Can you help him?”
...To be continued next week...