Friday, December 15, 2017

Christmas, stuff and being 60.

Just a little out of step. I look back on life and it seems like I have always been just a little out of step. Out of time, out of place. Just couldn’t quite be satisfied with easy answers  even if they came from preachers or peoples interpretation of ancient scriptures or even the great god SCIENCE that is just a series of methods and not an entity unto itself.


Born in the mud,
Raised in the wild
Washed in the blood,
God's Problem Child

I feel the shine, following me
Not far behind, that's where I wanna be
A little out of town, fine by me…God’s Problem Child, Willie Nelson.


I learned to accept that I wasn’t really in sync with my tribe and even to embrace it. Don’t give me no “think out of the box” if that just means you want me to trade my box for yours.

Christmas is kind of like that for me. I see the ads and hear the carols and even know the Reason for the Season. But, it’s all just a little off or maybe I am. I miss those that are no longer here and I miss a simpler time even if most of it is just in my own perception and really wasn’t all that simple at the time.

My 15 year old son is more than likely the most intelligent of our little family. Cindy might disagree but I’m telling you I wasn’t as confident in my own ability to think for myself at 25 as he is at 15. But, he’s not traditional. Some of that might be because I was older when he came in to this world. But, he’s not the sports fan that I am and he isn’t interested at all in religion or being told how to think or believe. I’m proud, awed and afraid for him at the same time.

This world doesn’t like those that don’t conform. That don’t blindly believe or accept someone else’s experience as their own gospel. Still, there are those who manage. Right Willie?

Darkness may fall
We still got a light
Keeping us all
Safe through the night

Heaven must love
God's problem child…Willie Nelson

I see lot’s of statements on facebook these days. People who are so confident of their religion, politics and they love to state things and talk about how brave they are for being a Christian, Liberal,Conservative,Atheist or whatever. But, ya know what? Being in a Christian church and saying Jesus is Lord isn’t brave. Being in a Richard Dawkins group and saying there isn’t any reason other than chance for the universe isn’t brave. Being in a group of conservatives and saying conservatives are right and libs are tards isn’t brave or decent. Being in a Liberal group and saying all conservatives are red neck inbreds isn’t brave or decent.

But, stepping out of the group think and demanding accountability is considered cowardly? Rush Limbaugh says it is. He hates moderates. But, then again Rush has been known to make fun of a lady who died a painful death from cancer. I know this because I remember it from back in the 90’s when I was also a Ditto Head. That was the name us Rush lovers called ourselves back then. Yep, little ole liberal me was once so far right that Roy Moore would have loaned me his horse and pop gun.

Ya know the best thing about turning 60? The absolute most astounding thing? I don’t have to worry about silly stuff like trying to strut around women as if I’m a teenager. I can tell a woman she’s pretty or a great friend and it doesn’t mean that I’m trying to make a move on her or cheat on my wife. I don’t have to try and pretend to be anything I’m not. Actually, I never did but it took getting older to realize it. I finally realize that most of the time the people I worried so much about and tried to impress were not actually thinking of me that much anyway. So, there was really no reason for me to sweat about their opinion. They had their own stuff to deal with.

So, yeah for me this year Christmas is going to be chill. I am going to eat a Christmas lunch with Cindy and Fox and then call my mom in Gadsden and check in by phone with my dad in Birmingham and just relax. I’m not going to “try and get in the Christmas spirit” because that’s just too much work and trouble. Goodness, people run themselves ragged trying to show how happy they are this time of year.

So, Merry Christmas and I hope for peace on earth and good will towards men and women but I ain’t going  to strain myself with worry or showing how Christmasy I am either. Peace.


Heaven must love
God's problem child
Heaven must love
God's problem child
Heaven must love
God's problem child

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

Politics, Trump and my opinion.

I understand how a person can get to the point of trying to stay honest to their convictions while also trying to do their job or uphold their integrity. I know in my job as a social worker it’s often a tight rope between the requirements of my job and the conviction of my heart. To speak up when an agency or a supervisor is looking for a one size fits all answer and I know from life and experience that one size rarely fits all. I have seen otherwise intelligent people bend over backwards to pretend the emperor has clothes when it’s obvious that the emperor has no clothes. I’m  sorry folks but a 2nd grader could listen to Donald Trump talk for five minutes and figure out the dude is one brick shy of a load. 
 Can you imagine if Barrack Obama had  put a veterans Purple Heart in his pocket and smirked at the camera and said “I’ve always wanted one of these?” Can you imagine if Barrack Obama had  said “It’s smart not to pay your taxes?” Be honest now. Can you imagine if Barrack Obama had said “I like people that don’t get caught” in referring to former POW”s? Can you imagine if Barrack Obama had said “Grab them by the p…y? Now, you can say that was a long time ago. But, I saw numerous times a certain picture posted by conservatives of Obama from his late teens or early twenties smoking pot and a snide remark by the poster. No guys. You come off as hypocrites. Sorry, it’s just true. But, as for abortion? that seems to be the only  reason some of you vote straight republican. Let me say this. I hate abortion. I truly believe the pro choice movement needs to stop acting like abortion is a holy right of womanhood. It’s not. But, it is a woman’s body and choice at least in the very early stages or in case of rape or forced sex or an absent daddy unless you are willing to help her out.  I guess I’m reluctantly pro choice. But, the so called pro life movement is so quick to condemn the poor for not working and momma’s for having babies that they turn a blind eye to cuts in Medicaid and deny birth control. Call decent human feelings and needs like clean water and health care a privilege instead of something that should be provided for everyone.   You can’t just be pro birth. Well, you can be but then you are not pro life.  Pro Life is trying to take care of life If that’s too hard and expensive for you then shut the hell up and mind your own business. Also, no it's not the church's place. We have separation of church and state for a reason in this nation. Also, it's fine if local church's want to help out. God Bless them because as a social worker I can tell you they do the Lord's work often. But, I'd hate to think a church had to provide health care. They would go broke the first day.

One thing I’ve never understood about conservatives is this stuff about the government doesn’t owe you anything. Then why do we have a government at all? How can you tell a momma you are sending her son’s and now including daughters off to war but you don’t owe her anything? How can you demand taxes and allegiance (unless you’re Donald Trump) and then tell somebody that you don’t owe them anything? How can you say build walls and borders but you don’t owe them anything? You’re full of shit is what you are.

Now, I’ve been guilty of playing the Jesus card myself. It doesn’t work because religious people pick and choose the words they want to hear and call everything else including the acts of Jesus Fake News. Unless it fits their political agenda. So, why don’t we just take care of people as a nation because it’s the right thing to do? You were more than likely born into a family that took care of you until you could get on your feet.

See, I’m not a Bernie Sanders style liberal. I don’t mind telling a 30 year old man to get off his ass and work for a living. But, I also don’t mind if that 30 year old man is trying letting him get food stamps  to feed his family with. I also don’t mind not having health care tied to an employer who may or may not be able to afford to pay the premiums. The Canadian system works folks. Notice the influx of people across the border is from the south not the northern border. I hate right now that I can’t go ahead and retire. I’ve worked most of my life. But, I have to wait and make sure the insurance will work. That makes most of us not named Trump or Clinton a servant or dare I say slave for life.

Anyway, that’s just my two cents today. I know there are lots of ways to look at life. I just hope we can get this nation out of the ditch before we get so covered with dirt we can’t be rescued. Please wake up.


Tuesday, November 21, 2017

From Psyce With Love

The old man was always in a fever dream these days. Coming in and out and catching snatches of conversation. He was an agent or had been an agent. He caught that. He never forgot her coming out of the ocean that day. Completely perfect womanhood.  Was that his wife?  No, not her. But, she stayed with him for a little while. The old man was 80 or was it 90 years old? What was the difference these days. He slept and dreamed a dream of violence and hangovers and friend’s long gone or were they? They seemed more real than he did in a way. He was drifting off. Not becoming nothing or into nothing but just becoming just being.

The young nurse looked at the orderly and flashed a disgusted look at the old man on the bed. Well, that’s your job ya know. His ass stinks and that’s below my paygrade. She was a little shocked when the supervisor walked in. But, the older nurse just motioned both of them out of the room.

Are you Russian? She was wasn’t she? Did he love her? No, not love. But, he knew her. She was one of the many that he knew. Drifting now….Steel teeth? Damn, that was a ride. Who are you? I just can’t get it….

The doctor looked at the old man. Who was paying his bills? Nobody got doctors and nurses and round the clock care like this. Not in this facility. Private room itself must have cost a year of the doctor’s pay and the doctor was very well paid indeed.

The older nurse looked at the old man and remembered the stories. She was one of the few who actually knew a little of the old man’s background. She had  been young then but still a grown woman. He was quite the catch back in the day. The young nurse who looked so disgusted earlier at his shitty ass would have drooled all over him back then. Idiot.

The old man drifted…Coming awake now and feeling old wounds and stiff joints. He had made it though hadn’t  he? Of course he had “lived” and was now in purgatory. A soft chuckle followed by a coughing spasm shook his narrow chest. The hands that had crushed noses and fired the finest weapons and caressed  the most beautiful of women shook now in a palsy.

Almost over said the doctor. Another day maybe not even through the night.  You knew him then? He asked the older nurse. She of the high cheekbones and ample bossom and the greenest eyes he had ever seen. The doctor noticed how beautiful she was for the first time. Like a work of art. Weathered and chipped but still under all the years and wear.  Beautiful.

The old man saw a light. So bright and yet so easy to look at. So inviting. The old man was no longer an old man. He was fully himself. He walked up to the bar. What a place. So bright and the bartender was wearing a clean immaculate white jacket. What will it be sir?

The clock on the wall read 4:44 AM.  444 was the number of angels his mother used to say. Hello Love? He looks and there she is. His wife? Tracey? My God, she’s perfect. Sir? The bartender says what can I get you and your lady?

Martini. Medium dry. I’ll have mine shaken, not stirred


He’s gone…He’s finally gone the nurse thinks. That can’t be right. But, right before, just a moment before he had such an expression of joy and wonder. Call it says the doctor..Time of death 4:44 AM.

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Why I am not a Blue Blood Republican

I am southern. It’s in my blood which runs hot when I get excited and in my mouth when I’m not thinking and let my accent go completely cornpone. I’m southern from the way I feel the Alabama humidity in the summer to the way I drink sweet tea and remember my aunt’s cornbread from my youth. I’m Christian the same way I’m southern. My people are Irish descent and I remember my aunt’s on my mother’s side with all that red hair and my Great Grandma Couey and the stories of her and her little tambourine on the streets of New Orleans preaching to the people in the bars about the love of Jesus. She wore her hair in a bun and once when I was a child I saw her let it down and all this white hair hung to the floor and dragged on the ground.  My maternal Granddaddy was Dutch and Cherokee and my Paternal grandparents were Irish descent. Both sides are southern. They come from Blount County in Snead, Alabama and Etowah County in Gadsden and Altoona, Alabama. My Granddaddy came from Huntsville, Alabama. He worked the coal mines in Blount and Etowah County and that’s where he got “Black Lung.”  My mother tells the story of my grandparents getting two eggs from a doctor’s farm during the depression. They went back home and locked the door so they could eat  the eggs without anybody knocking then in the head for them. My grandmother would put water in the bottom of the ketchup bottle instead of throwing away the empty just to make it go farther. Even years later when the depression was long over and she had plenty of ketchup she kept that habit.

Understand that I have Zero in common with Donald Trump. He wouldn’t have given my family the time of day unless the bastard had a property he could foreclose on them for. But, they couldn’t have afforded a single room he owned so that’s a moot point. I heard a dear friend who I will always love say that Donald Trump was a “good man.” That hurt my heart. She comes from the same background I do. But, somehow she has fallen for the might makes right myth of the conservative tea party. I am sure that if you put Donald Trump or Bill Clinton or poor oppressed (sarcasm here) Barrack Obama in my  granddaddy’s shoes they wouldn’t have lasted a day. So, no they are not “strong men” in my opinion.

Abortion? I hate abortion. But, I also hate seeing children born into poverty and the conservatives then calling them thugs and drains on society. Make up your damn mind. Either you think all life is sacred and you feel people should have access to food, clothing, clean water and shelter or you don’t. What the conservatives are is pro birth. Pro life? Not so much.

Anyway, these are some of the thoughts I’ve had today and I just wanted to get them out there. I have been so disappointed at my conservative friends. Back when Obama was president they vilified, they cussed, they brought judgement on that Muslim loving, Kenyan born, American Hating traitor. They judged every time he or Michelle Obama went out in public. Michelle didn’t dress right or act right. Then along came Donny Trump. His wife posed as a naked model but she is still "all class" to hear the frozen few of the republican tea party church talk. Michelle Obama showed her shoulders and you would have thought the world was ending.

First Trump calls POW’s losers and he likes people that don’t get caught. Then he insults a former POW who has done more for his nation than Creep Trump will ever do. Then he takes a Purple Heart and smirks that ugly smirk of his and puts it in his pocket. Now, the folks who love the country and the military are really going to let him have it. I waited, I waited. I waited and waited. CRICKETS! Just crickets.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like Hillary and there is much about the democrats and especially the safe spaces and the identity politics that I deplore. But, right now Hillary isn’t in power and Democrats are not in the presidency. So, right now I’m trying to speak truth to power. Sounds more noble than it is. I mainly despise Donald Trump and the hypocrites that speak up when it’s Obama but don’t speak up when it’s Trump. That’s the other thing. The democrats used to say to the republicans that they should respect the president. Now the shoe is on the other food and the republicans are saying it to the democrats. Both are hypocrites. But, right now the most powerful man in the world has a personality disorder and maybe even early stage dementia. I don’t know I’m just going by some stuff I’ve seen during my working career as a social worker. I’m not a psychologist and even if I were it wouldn’t be professional to make a diagnosis from a TV clip or soundbite. But, anyway that’s my 2 cents.


Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Privilege is a loaded word these days. What does it really mean? I remember my maternal grandmother telling me that her family was called Shanty Irish back in the day. I remember her putting water in a ketchup bottle and shaking it up so it would go farther. She learned that trick in the Great Depression. My Granddaddy was a coal miner in Northeast Alabama. Privileged?

I worked for the army in Fort Carson, Colorado in the late 90’s and early 2000’s. I was at Child and Youth Services. Anyway, we had a little blond haired boy in a class. Must have been privileged right? Well considering he had Cerebral Palsy and couldn’t feed himself or get out of a wheelchair I’m not sure privilege would be a word he would understand.

I think about things like this sometimes when I hear the victim culture of identity politics. Everyone wants to be a victim now. It’s cool. It’s hip. I think about the black folks from the 60’s who couldn’t go to a lunch room or use a certain bathroom. Now everyone from a tanned white person to a dark Hispanic to an Asian teen wants to let you know they are either a person of color or ¼ African American. They are oppressed don’tcha know? I sometimes think I can hear the actual black folks who couldn’t go to a certain school or eat in a certain place or travel on public transportation. I hear them (in my own mind of course) saying “Now you want to be black?” “now you want to be a person of color?” Where was your skanky ass when a “Person of color” couldn’t apply for a job or go in a place to eat or shop at the latest department store or attend a concert?

I’m reminded of my own experience. I was born (and yeah it makes me uncomfortable to talk about it.) with a cleft pallet. I was reminded daily as a child that I had a scar by certain other kids. I guess the little asses didn’t realize I had a @#$% mirror and didn’t need their input. Now was I privileged? In some ways yes. I learned at an early age to have an inner toughness. I learned the value of talking to God and finding my own self worth. But, would I have traded places with the young black football player with perfect smile and the confidence to walk in a  room? But, I was privileged don’tcha know?

Not long ago I saw a pretty little Chinese/American college student slanging snot in an interview. She had started across campus and some jerk had called her an eggroll. Still, she needed a safe space. I thought “Honey, if someone had called me a bowl of grits (I’m southern) and that was the worse thing I had ever been called?” Well, anyway I have little patience these days with safe spaces and victimhood.

Look, I haven’t always been right. I haven’t always been brave or noble or strong. In my youth I hid behind beers and pot way too often.  But, I have learned to live and I have had a certain toughness instilled in me by life. No, I’m not fearless. I have often been full of self pity and angst. But, I have never needed a safe space and I have never been part of a “group” that would protest for my rights or make someone attend sensitivity classes for insulting me.

All I’m saying is be careful with  that word “Privilege” we all have some privilege over somebody else. I have the privilege of putting on a pair of glasses and seeing the world. Ray Charles would have loved that privilege. Lebron James has the privilege of making millions of dollars by putting a ball in a ten foot hoop. Many of us who work for a living would love that privilege.

So, no I’m not saying racism doesn’t exist. I’m not even saying that African American culture hasn’t been oppressed and held down. I’m just saying that  when you look at an individual human you should be careful of the word “privilege.” Some of us have been through battles that would have put you in the fetal position in the corner. Some others have been through stuff that would put me there. But, I’m tired of all this victimhood.

Finally, I’ll say this. I didn’t have a leave it to Beaver upbringing. My mother was 17 when she was pregnant with me and barely 18 when she gave birth. She  was not going to be mother of the year and we had issues. But, one day she  said something to me that contributed to my waking up. She told me “Steve, I made a lot of mistakes. “ I did some things that I  wouldn’t do again. I also did some things that I would do the exact same way. So you can lie there and feel sorry for yourself because of me or you can get up. It’s up to you. 

I got up.


Monday, June 12, 2017

War stories from the front of life.

I worked once at Child/Youth Services for the army at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, Colorado. A young child with Cerebral Palsy would be brought in by his mom. I and the staff looked on in a mixture of sympathy and uneasiness every morning. Because somebody would have to take time to feed the little boy. Because he couldn’t feed himself. He was a sweet child but absolutely dependent on others for his welfare and even for his physical life. Honestly? Nobody including yours truly wanted to feed the child. It was a little messy and it always made you feel  a little guilty and very uneasy because of not wanting to be tasked with the chore. To make it even more uncomfortable for me my wife Cindy was pregnant with our son and you talk about crazy thoughts. Not only did I now have to worry about cleft lips and pallets (Thank God he was born without blemish) if you think I’m being shallow then you would have to know me. I have a cleft lip and pallet and to say I was relieved when my child didn’t  would be a huge understatement.  First thing I asked the nurse when she announced we had a boy was “What does he look like and is his lip okay? “ She looked at me a little funny and said “of course, it’s perfect.” So, yeah I had a lot going through my mind that day. But, I digress. Again. As usual.

Anyway, little Rusty which was the name of the child with Cerebral Palsy would be brought in most days by his harried mom and left at the center and in need of breakfast. The other children were kind. They would at times assist for a little while. Although, they soon would drift off to play as is normal. Can’t blame them at all. I remember one day we had a field trip and Rusty was left just sitting in his chair. Well out of the way of staff and others. The kids were playing and the other staff was otherwise engaged. Big surprise huh? So, I took him and placed him in a swing and held him while I let the swing go back and forth. I also later made sure he was placed with the other kids instead of being left in a corner in an out of the way place.  See why I despise Donald Trump now? But, I digress and this isn’t going to be turned into a political rant.

I once read a story about how the Nazi’s had hung a small Jewish child in a concentration camp. The child hung there and someone said “Where is God?” Someone else answered  “He’s hanging right there.” I don’t know the exact thing the author was trying to say. But, I’ll tell you my answer. God was hanging right there. I Am was and is incarnated in every being and act that we do to one another. Not in anger or hellfire and brimstone. Just in perfect witness and acknowledgment.

I was watching a documentary once. The person narrating said that some Nazi’s had gotten away with it. They had grown old and died full and fat and had managed to escape. I don’t think so. They might have grown old and died but they didn’t escape. Not because I’m religious and not because I think an angry old man in the sky threw em into a burning pit. But, because I think the eternal witness will be heard. I don’t think physic scars and horror just goes away. We are just here for a few short frantic precious horrible days. But, that’s not all we are. Not at all.

So, no I’m not one who believes it’s just a sperm lottery. I’m also not one to buy into the just so stories of religious dogma. I personally have my own belief but this isn’t the time or place. I don’t think I’m ready to articulate that right now.

Why am I still a Christian even though many Christians would call me a heretic and say I can’t be a Christian since I don’t take the creeds and scripture literally? Some atheist would call me a space cadet and a deluded dummy. But, here’s one reason the Incarnation of God into man/ Christ works for me. It may not work for you and that’s fine. I don’t think one size fits all in this world. Maybe not in any world. But, consider this.

Love isn’t just rushing into a burning building to rescue someone you love or even someone you don’t even know. That’s a version of love but it’s not the deepest version. Real love is to run in to the building and realize that you can’t get the one you love out of the building. Real love then sits there beside the one you can’t save or take out of the building. Real love is staying beside the one you wanted to rescue and being there with them even unto death. Even if it means you have to die too. That’s what the incarnation means to me. That’s why I still self identify as a Christian after all these years and all this journey.  That’s what the cross means to me. A comforting fairytale I  tell myself? Maybe. Maybe it’s the absolute truth. Either way. It works for me. Right now. Right here.


Monday, May 15, 2017

See ya at the movies.

I first started this blog as a way to talk about pop culture and my varied interest in books, movies, music and things that go bump in the night. I rarely have written about  those things. I tend to talk about life and faith and things that are of immediate concern. But, every once in a while I like to post  on things that are “out there.” I always loved horror. Books, comics, movies. I also have always enjoyed off the wall subjects such as ufo’s . I’m highly skeptical of U.F.O’s but I still enjoy the pop culture that goes along with them. Also, I’ve had a few incidents in my own life that I really can’t explain. So, who knows? The cosmos is infinite and some people think that everything that can happen will happen in another universe.


I’m Dracula and I welcome you to my house…Christopher Lee


My love of horror comes from an unlikely source or at least it was encouraged by an unlikely source. My mother who is very conservative and very much a product of her generation and  religion is, actually one of the first people I can remember sharing  the off beat movies with. If a vampire or horror  “Dusk till Dawn” movie marathon came on at our neighborhood drive in we were there. Christopher Lee and Vincent Price and Boris Karloff.  I remember the old Dialing for Dollars afternoon movie on local T.V. and the old Colossal Man or Monster movies would come on and even though we didn’t share a whole lot of interest that was something we would watch. I got in so much trouble once for trying as a child to make a James Bond movie the focus of an evening. Really wasn’t my fault. I was coming into my own and I saw a commercial with a Bond Beauty. Anyway, that’s a whole nother story.

I always loved the Rebel Drive In. That was in our neighborhood in Walnut Park/Gadsden, Alabama. My sister and I would put on our p.j’s and my mother and step dad would warm up the car and off we would go the few miles if that many to the drive in. Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee and a host of horror stars and starlets. Get a Chilly Dilly giant dill pickle or a hot dog from the concession stand and here we go. If it was summer take a lawn chair. If winter then at least it would be an Alabama winter which although it can be cold it isn’t always frigid.


I like quiet and seclusion.  This house, I think,

offers that…Jonathan Harker


I remember a scene where Dracula was finally caught out in the sun. Living Technocolor! I saw his body actually start to age and crumble and gloriously turn to dust right on the big screen. My young eyes wide and shoving popcorn in my mouth and guzzling soda (coke, in the south back then it didn’t matter which brand. It was all called coke.”  I saw a bevy of hissing beautiful  bossomy girls that were “Brides of Dracula” I saw bright red technocolor blood as Dracula bit into the neck of his fem fatale victim.  I loved it. I enjoyed the small screen dialing for dollars movies with the black and white desert as the corny high pitched sounds of  the 50’s and 60’s U.F.O.’s came into view. The square jawed scientist named Rick or Rock or Steve or Paul. The swooning fem fatale named Ann or Carol or Joan would be joined by the assistant scientist who would either be giving his life in the end or comedy relief or both.

I would find old horror comics in stores and immerse myself in ghost and graveyards and lurid tales of vengeful victims returning to drag  the killers off to their just rewards. I would read horror stories ordered from my Weekly Reader at Walnut Park Elementary. But, noting quite compared to those giant screen memories of movies that were already old. Played out on the drive in screen.


Dr. Paul Lindstrom….Now, the reason for this is rather technical, Carol, but to give you a simplified layman's explanation, it might be explained that, since the heart is made up of a *single* cell for all practical purposes, instead of millions of cells like the rest of the organs of the body, it's reacting in an entirely different manner to this unknown stimulus or forces behind this whole thing….The Amazing Colossal Man.

Manning…Perhaps it isn't I who's growing, but it's everyone who's shrinking!..The Amazing Colossal Man.


"No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone."….Shirley Jackson “The Haunting of Hill House.

My absolute favorite all time horror story made into film. Not the so called remake of the late 90’s. No, I’m talking the stark black and white early 1960’s version. It scared the yell out me as a child. Still holds up today. But, that one deserves it’s own blog. Maybe this coming Halloween.

Finally, one of the best lines of a “horror movie” and I think it’s in the book too. But, you have to see it to truly understand the sheer scariness of it…..

God God," Eleanor said, flinging herself out of bed and across the room to stand shuddering in a corner, "God God—whose hand was I holding?


See ya at the movies.