Rev. Erudite Redneck, B.S., B.S., M.A., M.Div.

Man, I think I’ve got a bad U-joint in my brain. I can get it in gear, but it takes off with a clank and feels a little loose as I’m mentally cruisin’.

So don’t think of this as “writing,” just random thinking:

D-Day: I deefended my thesis with aplomb, if I do say so myself. Five perfessers – three in history and one in bidness, representing the graduate college – took turns asking me general and specific questions and challenging me somewhat on my research, my philosophy of history, my concepts of objectivity and my readiness to do battle with biases and intellectual fiefdoms within the history discipline. About 75 minutes worth.

Then they asked me to leave, knocked heads for 10 or 15 minutes, then invited me back and declared that danged if I wadnt’t fit to be called a master of history. They even allowed that they were gonna pass my 236-page, almost-2-year-old baby “with distinction.” Well, I’ll swan. I ain’t bragging. I am dumbfounded.

Dr. ER was present for the committee interrogation. She does not say I got off light, and I didn’t. She does say it was pretty laid back, which it was – but only because 1., I do know my stuff, 2., I am comfortable talkin' and being scrutinized in such situations, and 3., while I’m not exactly “chummy” with any of the folks on my committee, I am pretty well acquainted with them, all but the bidness prof, and his presence just put me a little bit more on my toes, which Dr. ER will tell you were dancin’ all over the place under the table, a constant demonstration of “shaky legs” bein’ my habit in important situations.

Map Test Day: It amazes me how much of a load is off for me to have that dang map test behind me. Europe, 1648. Holy Roman crap. I know that time and place better than I know the United States here and now.

THAT’s what was makin’ me crazy, not the thesis deefense. And it’s in the past now. I’ll get my grade next week, I reckon, and I’m pretty sure I done good. But then I was sure on the first one, and I got a D that I had to dig myself out of on a retest. We’ll see.

Next Thing: Book Report No. 2. And as of tonight, after 3 hours in the library, that puppy is done. I just need to write it. (I’ve said that in the news bidness for years. It means all the reporting has been done, but the story ain’t wrote up yet. And gettin’ a story wrote up, whether it’s a news story, a column, a book review or a scholarly article, quite honestly is the easiest part. I’m thinkin’ I can knock out the writin’ part of the book review in about five hours. One hour per double-spaced page is about what it takes when I’m thinkin’ something through as I write it up.)

Thanksgiving Day. Bird is headin’ to Texas to spend the day with her biological father and his wife. Dr. ER and myself will be here at the house. There are three Cornish game hens in the icebox getting’ suitably mushy for placement on indirect heat in my trusty Weber Kettle grill Thursday afternoon. I done made the trip to the Albertson’s last night for three of the little birds, plus the requisite brown-and-serve rolls, greens beans, toasted onion rings, cranberry sauce, a sweet tater pie, Cool Whip and other traditional delights, as well as a trip to the package store for a relatively rare (for me) bottle of white wine, a pinot grigio, which is a little sweeter than a chardonnay and a little drier than a Riesling and goes well with the applewood-smoked chickenlets Chef ER will be servin’ up at about dark-thirty on Thanksgiving Day.

--ER