'Keillor Geography'

OK, y'all. Confession time.

Sometimes -- in the wee small hours, on cold and cloudy days, anytime "Sunday in New York" is showing on TCM -- I dream of disappearing.

I fantasize about moving to Manhattan, working for The New Yorker, begging Charles Osgood for a job on "CBS Sunday Morning," going to see Jonathan Schwartz at WNYC. Other days, I head to Hawaii, Maui mornings, spectacular sunsets.

I've told you before about Garrison Keillor's novel "Love Me." My friend Bridget turned me on to it in 2008. It was my fantasy come to fruition -- writing a best-seller, leaving home for the big time in the Big Apple, working for the late, great William Shawn.

But then I'll receive a note about something I've written from someone down the street. Out of the blue, I'll get a thank you card, or someone will stop by just to shoot the you-know-what. Best of all, my loved ones are here. And I think, "No. At least for now, this is where I need to be."

To my complete and utter delight, Keillor agrees. Read his National Geographic article, folks. This is WRITING. And it has the added benefit of being true.

(Shout out to Fountain City guy Charles Williams for suggesting I read this piece to rid my mind of the fear that we're entering a new Dark Age.)

A rejuvenating Sunday, time to read and to reflect

Sunday was spent quietly, at home, reading, resting, reflecting.

Jenn is still exhausted. I am OK, rejuvenated from relaxation.

I made some coffee and watched "CBS Sunday Morning," slightly disappointed that Charles Osgood was on vacation. I miss his baritone and his bow tie.

Nice, nice segment on Hedy Lamarr and her inventiveness. Look it up, if you missed it.



Tracy Smith spent some time with supermodel Cindy Crawford. Don't tell anybody, but I have a bigger crush on the CBS correspondent.

I skimmed the Sentinel and tore into The Times, moved by a story from Syria and perked up by the politics. On the op-ed page was a nice salute to the retiring Sen. Olympia Snowe, a real Republican maverick (you betcha!).

I found a nice book review of Thomas Mallon's "Watergate: A Novel," which is now downloaded to my Kindle thanks to a few Amazon gift certificates. I can already tell I'm going to enjoy it better than the engaging but bizarre "Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines A Life."

It remains to be seen whether it can top Kitty Burns Florey's "Sister Bernadette's Barking Dog," a loving ode to the lost art of diagramming sentences, which I could once do with ease and enjoyment at Brickey Elementary School and beyond. Do they even teach that anymore? I doubt it. (Quote of the book: "Use the right word, not its second cousin." -- Mark Twain)

Now, it's time to relax, time to seek slumber, time to get motivated for Monday morning.

Hope you had a wonderful weekend.

Somewhere down the road...

If I have a hero in this journalism bid'ness, it's Charles Kuralt.

Brief synopsis for those who don't know: Kuralt was a lovable CBS reporter whose "On the Road" segments, highlighting some quirky or inspiring tidbit from the American heartland, were a staple of the "CBS Evening News" for years. He also hosted my favorite weekly news show, "CBS News Sunday Morning," which is now in the capable hands of the velvet-voiced Charles Osgood.

The day Kuralt died (July 4, 1997), I found myself in the shadow of the Grand Tetons, in Jackson Hole, Wyo. My parents and siblings were going to spend the day with friends who lived in the area. But, I wanted to be by myself. I had bought Kuralt's autobiography and spent the day reading it.

I have tried to pattern my writing style and subject matter after Kuralt's. Others at my newspaper are experts at politics, government and gossip. Other than school board, I don't touch it.

My heart lies with the guy down the street who fiddles one day and fishes the next. Or with the woman who makes jams and jellies for the county fair. Or with two twin sisters who graduated valedictorian and salutatorian from their college class.

Such stories aren't hard news, but they say something more universal. They remind us that we are human beings, that life exists outside the Washington beltway and Manhattan cocktail parties. Such people built this country. We owe them much.

It's one reason why I hate losing Bill Landry and his "Heartland Series." Landry has been to Appalachia what Kuralt was to Backroads America -- its poet.

My dream is to get paid to travel around the great United States and tell these stories. Alas, modern realities and budget constraints most likely won't allow that.

So, my plan is to get out at least once a month beginning in September, pick destinations that are less than a day's drive, write about what I see, and stay in a cheap hotel if I can't make it back home before the sun sets. I don't think it will break the bank. Plus, I feel like it's some important work that will mesh well with my talent and mind-set. I've already got a couple of stories in mind.

Charles Kuralt is way out of my league. Always will be. But they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I don't know.

Regardless, here's hoping you'll read this signoff before too many more moons slip away --

This is Jake Mabe, Shopper-News, somewhere down the road...

Go down, 'Moses'

I never will forget the first time I saw "Planet of the Apes."

I was a kid -- something like 12 or 13 -- and still remember the chill that went up my spine when Charlton Heston’s character discovers what planet he’s really stumbled onto at the end of the film. I thought about that moment Sunday morning when Charles Osgood told me on CBS "Sunday Morning" that Heston had slipped the surly bonds of earth.

Chuck Heston wasn’t really that great an actor. He tended to be a bit wooden and, in those ’70s disaster flicks, almost became a caricature of himself. His best role, certainly, was in the quiet western "Will Penny." Osgood said the other day that Heston himself named this film as his best role.

But he was an icon certainly, playing all those larger than life biblical characters in a slew of films. My favorite was his wild portrayal of John the Baptist in "The Greatest Story Ever Told."

("Repent! The kingdom of Heaven is at hand!")

A few months ago, I watched one of his mid-70s camp classics, "Two-Minute Warning," and must say I was entertained. That was one thing about Heston’s movies. You might not get an Oscar winner, but you were rarely bored.

He was a political activist, too, stumping for Civil Rights long before that became fashionable in Hollywood, and standing up for his beliefs on politics and gun control later in life. Whether you agreed with him or not, you had to admire him for never backing down from what he thought was right.

My friend Dean said over the weekend that Heston, other than maybe somebody like Clint Eastwood, is the last major star from Hollywood’s classic era left, and even Eastwood didn’t start making his name in motion pictures until the ’70s.

Godspeed to you, Chuck. I’m glad you’re no longer suffering from that terrible disease. Nobody deserves such pain.

Thanks for the memories.