Blog Posts - Iowa Scribe

Loo-ooo-ooo-ooo-oozers

9/6/2021

My biggest problem with the Trump Presidency wasn’t as much about his politics or his blatant self-interested dishonesty, his obvious corruption, his lack of respect for mankind, his lack of personal responsibility, his lack of leadership skills, his immoral and unethical values or his completely transparent incompetence.

Yes, he may be the dumbest asshole in the entire history of the entire world, but that wasn’t my biggest problem.

It was more about his supporters’ ridiculously terrible grammar, spelling, punctuation and language usage. As an English major, I felt like I had been roped into four years of perpetually correcting essays written by “differently abled” fourth-graders, all with arrested emotional development and anger management issues.

And if you tried to help them see their errors, they had a tendency to get all pissy and cry like little pussies and call YOU the bad guy.

They even called themselves “MAGAs,” which, I guess, stood for “Make America Great Agains,” which is about the stupidest-ass thing any group has ever called itself.

He lost. Please go away, you dipshits.

It’s time to return to the good old days, when most stupid people just shut their collective piehole because being stupid was embarrassing, rather than celebrated.

Living to be 100 is no longer the exception

9/1/2021

Charles City Press, 8-31-21

I’d give up anything I own to spend one more day with any one of my grandparents.

I realized a couple of days ago that it was my grandmother’s birthday. If she celebrated it, it was somewhere up in Heaven, because she died way back in 1981, when I was just 13 years old. She was born in 1902, and that’s 119 years ago, and no one lives that long, right?

Well, maybe.

The U.S. Census Bureau has been releasing some rather interesting statistics from the 2020 count, and they indicate that today’s grandchildren might get the chance to spend a lot more time with their grandparents than the children of previous generations.

There are a lot more centenarians — people 100 years old or older — than there used to be.

The Census Bureau and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention say that today, there are about 90,000 centenarians in the country, an increase from about 72,000 centenarians in 2014 and 50,000 in 2000.

In 20 years, the number of people who are 100 years or older has almost doubled. That growth is expected to continue, potentially reaching nearly 600,000 people in the U.S. by the middle of the 21st century.

Medical science, better nutrition, better preventative care and better health care technology all contribute to the increase. I do not know if they factored in the fact that a lot of these people are just tough, stubborn old bastards who refuse to die, but I would bet that also plays a part.

Let’s admit it. Older people alive today were made from tougher stuff than than we younger people are. Folks born 100 years ago saw the Great Depression, World War II, the Cold War, Korea, Vietnam and the Civil Rights Movement. They sent a few guys up to walk on the moon. They survived polio and 100 other diseases, most recently COVID-19.

They’ve seen some things, and some stuff, and they wouldn’t recommend it.

My parents are both around 80 years old, and my in-laws are also in their 80s. When your parents reach that age, you start thinking about things you don’t like to think about. They’ve spent far more time on this Earth than what they have left to spend. They have life experiences that we can’t possibly imagine, and not enough time left to share them all with us.

I’m always aware of the fact that whenever I watch a ball game with my dad, or tell jokes with my mom, or have dinner with both of them — it might be the last time I ever do that.

Then I read those numbers. About 90,000 people 100 years or older. More than half a million of them in 30 years.

Maybe they’re going to be around longer than we think. Maybe a lot longer.

Won’t that be nice?

Like I said, I’d give up just about anything if it meant I could have one more day with any one my grandparents.

Maybe my kids won’t have to say that.

And maybe I’ll get to watch their kids get old.

Why I Don’t Know

8/26/2021

Why I Don’t Know

By JAMES GROB

Sometimes they ask me how I feel
And I tell them, I don’t know.

“Are you upset?” they will ask.
I don’t know.

“Does it break your heart?”
“Do you need a shoulder to cry on?”

I don’t know.

“Are you angry?”
“Are you mad?”
“It’s OK to cry,” they’ll say,
“If something makes you sad.”

I know.

“So are you going to cry?”
“Is there something we can do?”
“We understand why you feel that way
“After all that you’ve been through.”

I don’t know, I say
I just don’t know.

And I’m sorry to disappoint them.

It’s not that I don’t want to tell them.
It isn’t that I don’t want their help.
It’s not that I don’t trust them.

It’s not that I’m a fool
Or that I’m being smart
Or arrogant
Or too clever
Or hiding my feelings.

It’s not that I don’t love them.

It’s just that there are some emotions
That there aren’t words for yet.

There are feelings that have never been named.

Is it breaking your heart?
Is it breaking
Your heart?
Is it?

yes, I finally whisper

yes

Footsteps

8/11/2021

Footsteps

By JAMES GROB

Sometimes I hear footsteps
After we make love
As my fingers softly slide down your leg
Or caress your cheek
Or comb through your hair.
Sometimes I hear footsteps and
I know it is you and
It is me
And it us our past catching up with us.

Sometimes I hear gallops
After we make love
As I gaze into those eyes that somehow
Are the color of warm ice.
I hear gallops as we taste each other’s breath
And bathe in the light of our smiles and
I know it is you and
It is me
And it is our future riding back to rescue us.

Sometimes I hear tiptoes
After we make love
As you whisper words like “everything”
And I sigh phrases which feature sounds of “always”
And “forever.”
Sometimes I hear tiptoes and
I know it is you and
It is me and
It is now, a living dream
And we walk softly so not to wake us.

August 10th, 2021

8/10/2021

The Charles City experience, through the eyes of a stranger

8/10/2021

Charles City Press, 8-10-21

When my oldest daughter visited from San Francisco last month to treat me with her presence for a few days, I decided to give her the Charles City experience.

She’s an avid tennis player, or at least she was avid at one time. She’s 31 years old now, and so she doesn’t play as often as she used to, but she still plays and still loves the game. So I thought I’d take her to the amazing grass courts out at All Iowa Lawn Tennis Club.

If you’ve never been there, you should drop by. We were fortunate enough to do so on a day when they were having a big tournament — kids from Iowa were playing against kids from Nebraska. It was a joy to watch. She was impressed. Mark Kuhn himself — the creator of the court — took a liking to her, talked her ear off and even showed her some tennis artifacts he had accumulated over the years.

As we drove off later, my daughter said that Mark “might be the nicest person” she had ever met in her life. I told her that most people who have met Mark probably wouldn’t argue much with that statement. He’s certainly in my top five, at least.

Just down the road from there, we made a stop at Carrie Lane Chapman Catt Girlhood Home and Museum and we were graciously given a tour. My daughter is an advocate for equality, and was fascinated to learn about one of the places where equality advocacy started. Not in San Francisco, not in New York City, not in Chicago or London or Paris — right here in Charles City.

She learned a lot. I learned a lot. My wife took a photo of the two of us next to the barn, which had a sign on it that said “Barn.” I’m guessing they put the sign there to identify the building just in case some big city tourist stopped by and didn’t know what he was supposed to call that big red structure.

She went with me that evening to meet the mural artists, who were in the process of turning a couple brick walls downtown into giant, colorful mosaics that are simply beautiful. The artists were wonderful to talk with, although one of them was kind of a smart-mouth, but when you’re an artist like that, you’re maybe expected to be that way. He made me laugh. I enjoyed the moment, and the finished work is top-of-the-line, in my opinion.

Lunch the next day, I took her for a pork tenderloin at Comet Bowl. That, also, is a work of art — in the culinary sense. And that’s something you just can’t get in San Francisco.

And it occurred to me that we do OK, here in Charles City. We have plenty of things that aren’t available anywhere else. If I started to make a list, I wouldn’t be done until I filled this page.

No, we don’t have the Golden Gate Bridge, but we have a brand new Charley Western Trail Bridge, as well as a beautiful suspension bridge. I’ve been to the Golden Gate. It truly is a marvel and a sight to behold, but our little bridges are just fine.

When my youngest daughter visited last year, she got a taste of the Chuck Town Brown and some other varieties at Saint Charles Brewery — now Tellurian Brewing. I know there are hundreds of micro-breweries in Iowa, and they all have some pretty good flavors, but as my daughter said, “I think they’ve got something good here.”

I couldn’t help but agree. This is unique, this Charles City experience.

And when some old friends of mine brought their kayaks to Charles City last year and rafted the whitewater rapids of the Cedar, they told me they had a great time, doing something they couldn’t do anywhere else in Iowa. “It’s wonderful that Charles City is so close,” they told me.

And I realize that I’m often as guilty as anyone else is — guilty of complaining about things in Charles City, how some things could be better, how some things can’t get any worse, about how some things are backwards and some things are dated and some things are just plain dumb.

Contrary to popular belief, being a complainer isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We need complainers. Their complaints are the first step toward making things better.

Before we complain, though, let’s take a walk across the new bridge. Let’s have a sip at the brewery. Let’s check out the artwork, in public around town, or down at the local arts center, or even at the public library. Let’s watch the children play and listen to them sing. Let’s just take a breath.

Someone built that, someone started that — and it’s here for us to enjoy — right here before our eyes, in Charles City.

This is unique, this Charles City experience. I think we’ve got something good here.

And part two of the Saturday Night Poetry Jam

8/7/2021

And part two of the Saturday night poetry jam, this one’s an oldie, too, and more fun ... about a puppy-dog who I once knew …

LITTLE MISS EVA
By James Grob

Little Miss Eva was a tiny pup
Smallest of the small
She could fit into a coffee cup
If she rolled into a ball
Miss Eva's pillow was a soft, cool lump
And always on the chair
She'd jump and jump and jump and jump
And couldn't get up there
But she'd jump and jump and jump again
Until she finally got it right
She would lay upon the pillow then
And sleep all through the night.

Little Miss Eva had the brownest eyes
And softest, white curled hair
Her tail was one of smaller size
But wagged a lot back there
Miss Eva liked to run around
And chase her doggy toys
Her favorite was a little clown
Who made a squeaky noise
She liked to hold it in her mouth
And shake it up and down
Then shake it north and shake it south
Then shake it all around.

Little Miss Eva would get quite upset
When the mailman came each day
You wouldn't think such a tiny pet
Would try to chase someone away
But Miss Eva snarled and growled and barked
And howled a little, too
Whenever she saw a mail truck parked
On her avenue
She'd peek at him through the little slot
Where he slid the letters in
And warned him that he'd better not
Come back to her house again.

Little Miss Eva liked to run a lot
Around the coffee table
She would make circles all around the spot
As fast as she was able
Faster and faster and faster she'd run
Around and round and round
Miss Eva thought it was so much fun
Her feet barely touched the ground
Until finally she would get tired, then
She would lay down on the floor
But when she caught her breath again
She would run around some more.

Little Miss Eva's favorite thing to do
Was to snuggle on the bed
With any snuggly person who
Would rub her little head
Miss Eva also liked it when
Someone gave her something yummy
Or scratched behind her ears and then
Tickled her little tummy
Miss Eva was a tiny pet
The smallest of the small
But among the dogs that I have met
She was happiest of them all.

The return of the Saturday Night Poetry Jam

8/7/2021

Bringing back the Saturday Night Poetry Jam on IowaScribe for tonight ... this one's an oldie about insomnia ... enjoy ...

Bed Time

By JAMES GROB

Eyes closed.
Affection fraction
Pain reaction
Soul without
Soul.

Eyes shielding light,
Darkness
Mind’s
Only friend.

Eyes open.
Nothing to
See
Nothing to
Hold
Nothing to
Hide …
With sleep.

Eyes move.
Rapidly.
Bad dreams
Silent screams
Waking
Alone.

Eyes water.
No one’s
Lonely
Until
Some one’s
Gone.

Lies of embarrassment are the easiest lies to tell

7/13/2021

Charles City Press, 7-13-21

I catch myself lying once in a while.

I don’t mean those harmless little lies, the ones that you tell to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. I don’t mean stories about Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, the fun little lies we tell our children.

I catch myself lying out of embarrassment.

For most of my life, I’ve been a tobacco user. My preferred mode of operation has typically been smokeless tobacco — chew, as we call it. It’s a disgusting habit, and I do not recommend it. It’s also really hard to quit, at least for me.

I know this because I have quit hundreds of times. Sometimes it’s lasted months, sometimes it’s lasted hours. Always, I’ve started again. I’m a frequent failure when it comes to quitting things.

I have many health problems, and although my tobacco use doesn’t link directly to any of them, I know full well that it certainly hasn’t helped. The need to quit looms large in my life, and I receive help and support from my loved ones, including my wife.

And I’m proud to say that I’ve mostly quit. I do go entire seasons without purchasing a can of chew, and once nearly an entire year without it. Currently I’m on a lengthy no-tobacco stretch, I’m happy to say. Pray that it endures.

Occasionally my wife will ask me how my tobacco use is going, and often I tell her the truth, but sometimes I’ve lied to her. I’ll say something like, “oh, I haven’t bought a can of chew for weeks,” when the fact is, I actually bought one last week.

And I immediately hate myself. Why did I just lie to this person, the one person in the world who I never lie to? The one person in the world who I can trust with my deepest fears and anxieties. Why did I just lie to her?

The answer is simple — embarrassment. I know I’ve failed, and I’m disappointed in myself. I don’t want her to be disappointed in me, too. The actual facts embarrass me, so I change the facts.

So this is how I know why there was a big banner hanging across the front of a house in downtown Charles City, overlooking Central Park, during the Fourth of July Weekend celebration. The banner read “Trump Won.” The banner is a huge lie, literally in bold-face.

It’s there because the person who hung it is embarrassed. The actual facts are embarrassing, so the person is trying to change the facts.

Of course, Trump did not win the 2020 election. He lost, and he lost by a wide margin. He lost the popular vote — something he never won, not even in 2016 — and more importantly, he lost the electoral vote. More individuals voted against him than voted against any other sitting president in history.

Claims that there was something shady about the election, that it was somehow “rigged” against Trump, are lies. Not opinions, not other sides to the story — they are lies. You could put “Trump Won” in neon on a banner that covers the entire block, and have the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra play “God Bless America” in perpetuity, and it would not make it any more true.

Trump lost, and it’s embarrassing to a lot of Trump’s supporters, so they think that if their lies are big, bold and loud enough, the truth will somehow change. It won’t.

Most voters felt Trump was a failure as president, and most voters voted against him. For those who loved him, that’s tough to take, but had they been alert to the facts, they wouldn’t have been so shocked.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Trump lost, to anyone who was paying attention. He was by far the least popular president in modern history. During his entire term, his approval rating among American voters never once went above 50%, and was usually around 40% or lower. Most people didn’t like him, as a president or as a person. So most people voted against him. That’s not a shock.

He was impeached twice, he attacked both supporters and adversaries personally, in the most infantile terms, and yet, he could never take even the least bit of criticism. He built very little good will. He kept very few of his promises, and threw anyone who called him out on that under the bus.

His fault or not, he was president during the biggest employment collapse since the Great Depression. Many saw his lack of action to be at least partially responsible for more than half a million COVID-19 deaths. It would have taken an act of God for Trump to win re-election after that.

Even the thing his supporters liked the most about him — the idea that he was a straight-shooter who spoke the truth in plain language — became a liability. The more he talked, the more people realized he was lying — about nearly everything.

You don’t have to do all that much research to find the lies. Among the tens of thousands of documented falsehoods, the guy came right here to Iowa and said that wind turbines were unbearably loud (they are about as loud as the refrigerator in your kitchen) and they killed countless numbers of birds — including bald eagles (wind turbines kill about as many birds as Trump’s buildings do).

He also said that when the wind doesn’t blow, people can’t watch television (which only proves that he never paid attention in 7th-grade science class) and that wind turbines somehow cause cancer (which is so ridiculous a premise that it actually causes me pain to attempt to refute it, so I won’t.)

That’s four obvious lies, in two short paragraphs. If the guy at the end of the bar said those things, you’d laugh his sorry butt out of the tavern.

Because he is a (former) president, however, Trump’s serial lying can cause serious and irreparable damage, nationally and worldwide, and it sometimes has.

On his way out the door, for instance, those lies helped incite an insurrection. That’s never happened before, in this country. That had to be really embarrassing for his supporters — so embarrassing that they feel the need to pretend it never happened, or to rationalize it, with more lies.

Those who bend over backwards to help perpetuate those lies — like Iowa Sen. Chuck Grassley and Iowa Sen. Joni Ernst, Iowa Gov. Kim Reynolds, and whoever put up the “Trump Won” banner overlooking Central Park — are all partially responsible for that damage.

But at least we know why they behave that way.

Their guy lost. Their guy failed. They’re embarrassed, because they believed in him. So they’re trying to change the facts.

No one likes to hurt, and nothing hurts more than the truth.

Stepping in for James Grob, come see

7/1/2021

Stunned to see my name pop up in my morning news feed ... thank you so much to Chris Baldus, editor at the Oelwein Daily Register, for saying nice things about me. When I speak of him, I shall speak well.

Stepping in for James Grob, come see

By CHRIS BALDUS, editor
Oelwein Daily Register

First, I want to say a few things about James Grob, former sports editor for the Oelwein Daily Register.

As a young man in the late 1990s, he returned to his hometown after a stint in New Ulm, Minnesota, to make the Register’s sports section “the best in the state of Iowa” as he told Oelwein Rotary on an April afternoon in 1999.

His sports section won awards in the annual Iowa Newspaper Association and Associated Press contest. More meaningful, however, were the cards, letters and thank you notes he received from kids, parents coaches and sports fans, he said in his farewell column in October 2000 as he headed to another job in Ottumwa. Seems he left a little frustrated he was not able to do more.

I gleaned all this only from a cursory search into the newspaper archives at the Oelwein Public Library. I only looked because we are now inextricably linked.

It can be a nomadic life in the newspaper business. I know. My family has tolerated my career that has taken us from Minnesota to Wisconsin to Idaho to Iowa, but that is beside the point.

These days, James is a reporter at a Charles City newspaper, and he and his wife, teacher Michelle Grob, have played key roles in revitalizing that city’s community theater troupe — The Stony Point Players.

Michelle Grob, who directed “The Wizard of Oz” in 2018 — with James in the cast — is directing “The Wedding Singer” this year. Stony Point Players presented “Spamalot” in 2019 and then had to take 2020 off because of the pandemic.

More than 40 people from sixth graders to Grandma Linda have turned out to put on this summer’s musical. They’ve been working on it since April.

James was set to return to the stage again this year, but had to step away. And this is where your erstwhile editor has stepped in.

Oh, I suppose I should add that my daughter, Rosie, is the play’s stage manager, which is how I was recruited. She also drew in two of my college-age children into the play as well. My son, Colton, gets to give the main character an inebriated peck on the cheek while my daughter, Anastasia gets to slug the guy. I’m so proud.

James was going to be a Ronald Reagan impersonator. Now I am. It might have been a role he was born to play. I’ve had to study SNL, squeeze my head into a strange wig and eat lots of jelly beans.

Regardless, opening night for the show was Wednesday, and if you are interested in seeing what the Grobs have done for Charles City’s community theater, there are two more shows left in the run — Thursday and Friday at 7 p.m. in the North Grand Auditorium (their old middle school building).

And if you want to see my take on a dancing Reagan, I suppose you can come see that too.

Tickets are on sale at the door: $5 for students, $12 for adults.

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LINK TO FULL ARTICLE:
http://www.communitynewspapergroup.com/oelwein_daily_register/stepping-in-for-james-grob-come-see/article_a0db4aba-b77d-58a7-8e88-9706c1f83da2.html