It has been around 2 years since I first downloaded Jumprope, an app for iOS and Android that allows you to quickly and easily create how-to videos and share them with the world. After several discarded drafts, I finally found a setup I liked enough to complete one. I created this recipe on a whim the other day when experimenting with a cup of coffee. I liked how it turned out, so I decided this would be my inaugural post.
If you like the way this turned out, follow me on Jumprope to see more (hopefully, as soon as I can come up with some other ideas). Or make your own and get to sharing!
We are continuing our exploration of the artifacts retrieved from the estate of Jared Cash. Our latest exhibit appears to be from his printmaking years, which were largely experimental. Much of his work in this time period is largely abstract. This is one of very few pieces that depict clearly a figure, that of an archer.
Though the figure is partially deconstructed and jumbled, the piece quite clearly depicts an archer nocking an arrow and drawing back to fire. Who is this archer? What is his foe? What deeper meaning exists beneath the surface of this print?
Scholars have long wondered at the history of Cash’s childhood, before the Reckoning began and we came to understand him as a figure of great renown. Before his rise to prominence, little is known of the man. Some believe the fire he revealed during the Reckoning was exhibited in his childhood, which we hope to discover here with our continued foray into his earlier works.
One thing is certain, however. The answers we seek may be lost to time entirely. With the apparent demise of Jared Cash and the destruction of his estate at the hands of extremists, only those artifacts recovered from the rubble and in the hands of private collectors are left to grant us insight into the history of the Archon.
For the public record, I will be photographing and sharing items recovered from the estate of Jared Cash. As this is a matter of public interest, these items will be presented sometimes without explanation. Determination of value of these exhibits is ongoing, but all works will be considered priceless until otherwise noted.
Little is known of Cash’s artistic endeavours during his tenure at Graceland University, but we do have a rare specimen here, indeed. Records from before the Reckoning are incomplete, but it is believed this carving was for the high school Cash attended, as writings have indicated his early life in an unnamed farming community in Kansas. Additional research into the location and history of Smallville, Kansas is ongoing.
When future generations read this post, they’ll need some context about what we’re facing, so this paragraph here isn’t for any of you reading it today. It’s for time travelers and historians. I write this during a time of uncertainty on planet Earth: the COVID-19 pandemic.
I’m not writing about the pandemic. There will be plenty of far smarter individuals that will have much more to say about it than I. Instead, I want to talk about my hero during this moment. You see, I’m not one of the people who suddenly found themselves holed up at home with copious amounts of free time (a curse, more than a blessing, for most). If anything, I find myself busier than ever trying to assist others with setting up contingency plans for working from home. As a result, my wife has been pulling extra duty as caretaker around here.
If you’ll permit me a moment, I want to brag on her for a bit. Before the toilet paper began disappearing from shelves, she quietly made note of what supplies we needed at home to disinfect and self-quarantine, if necessary. She picked up the essentials and a few extra items to make sure we were covered, but not hoarding. She organized our food stores, took the kids for walks, encouraged them to play outside, read them books, and basically took care of everything while I spent most of the last 3 days in the basement trying to help people figure out how to work in a place never meant for their work.
And through everything, she’s been cheerful, though concerned and occasionally overwhelmed by it all. But today, she ran back out to the store—not for us but for others unable to do the same. She picked up some staples for a pregnant friend and some toilet paper for an elderly man in a nursing home whose granddaughter is in Texas and knew he just needed something to ease his mind. She checked on everyone to ask if they needed anything and has been reaching out to others that might need a friendly voice to feel safe.
So, I just want to say how impressed I am by this incredible hero of mine. She does so much more than she needs to do and does so with joy in her heart. I wish we were all just a bit more like her.
I wrote this back in October (I think it was actually a response on someone’s Facebook post) and copied it here to post later. But, of course, I never did. However, I came across it today and, it’s still relevant. I know the idea that the fighting and name-calling and unceasing selfishness may never end, but I have to believe that we are better than this. Remember: there are more of US than there are of THEM. And the only THEM we should ever acknowledge as OTHER are those in power forcing us to fight each other so that they can get rich and do whatever they want.
For a poll to be effective, it has to use a large enough sample size, randomly selected. It’s the same methodology that stores use when they ask you for your zip code or address. They’re trying to determine where their shoppers are coming from to determine if they need to open another store closer to their base.
It’s also how drug testing works. Test on a large enough sample and you can get an idea as to the effectiveness and severity of side effects.
Just because you’ve never been polled doesn’t mean anything. Most people don’t answer surveys by phone or mail because they don’t want to be bothered.
That said, polls can be manipulated just like any statistic. On the flip side, just because a poll disagrees with your (the royal “your”, not any specific “your”) viewpoint and you don’t know anyone else that was polled (again, royal “you”), doesn’t mean the poll is incorrect. It’s natural to be in the minority on a particular subject and still feel like the majority because we tend to surround ourselves with people that think like we do.
It’s why herd mentality and groupthink are so effectively dangerous. We’re too busy fighting against “the other team” to figure out what we have in common and work toward that. It’s how our political system has divided us for decades to allow corporate interests to supersede personal interests. Our country has always been a democracy fighting against its own innate nature to transition to an oligarchy. But most people are too stupid or too easily distracted to fight those pulling the strings. They’d rather righteously declare themselves “correct” than admit that the side they’ve chosen doesn’t care about them at all.
I just blinked my eyes and my baby was all grown up.
I can’t believe that 18 years ago today my cousin and I ran around a campground with toy guns and made our very first movie together. A lot has happened since then (most notably, the lack of becoming famous). But I still look back fondly on those days. Though filmmaking never became a part of my daily routine, it’s responsible for a large portion of how I view things creatively. I still write with a cinematic mindset and I even develop scenes as a dungeon master as though my players are experiencing them both onscreen and as the audience.
So, as a tribute to the impact that the first Ripcord had on me as an adult, I present it to you all without shame or fear of judgment.
Okay, maybe just a little fear of judgment. Be nice to me. I was a child.
I find myself thinking back to a time, recent yet oh so long ago. A time when the family I chose—not the family I was given—lived across a small stretch of pavement and grass. When there stretched a vast, wondrous playground just beyond the doors of my home. When my loves shared so small a space and yet wanted for so little. When joy and laughter were nestled away, across the street, in a familiar, cozy place. Or just past the shed, where the flames licked the low-hanging branches of trees older than “One small step for man…” Or right in front, curled up on a sofa, all together, all one. Where even frustrations at the age and structure of home were easily forgiven when reminded of the wondrous, happy memories made within.
There are days I wish I could go home again, even if I’m already here.