TerryWalstrom

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Posts by TerryWalstrom

• 
  13

  Strangers at my door

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  you won't believe this...i was sitting here a few minutes ago at the dining table in the house where i rent to live.. i'm on my laptop trying to eat oatmeal when i hear the front doorknob rattling.

  obviously, my roommate is fumbling with the lock.. i hear the door as it opens.

  then, strange voices!

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  TerryWalstrom

  Yes, it is unusual.
  Awhile back, whenever I'd encounter a JW in a one on one situation, I'd ask the simple question, "Are you willing to be wrong--if the facts or evidence goes against your beliefs?"
  It would be so easy for an honest person to reply quickly, "Sure."
  Jehovah's Witnesses DON"T like that question. They sniff around it like a dog meeting another dog's ass.
  Revealing, I'd say.
• 
  13

  Strangers at my door

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  you won't believe this...i was sitting here a few minutes ago at the dining table in the house where i rent to live.. i'm on my laptop trying to eat oatmeal when i hear the front doorknob rattling.

  obviously, my roommate is fumbling with the lock.. i hear the door as it opens.

  then, strange voices!

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  Printed 2013 Georgetown Ontario, Canada
  
  This is the very first time I ever heard the word "BROCHURE" attached to anything printed by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society.
  
  I don't know why this word is suddenly being used. Here is the common brochure:
  
  
  None of the above match what was handed to me: a 32-page booklet.
  
• 
  13

  Strangers at my door

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  you won't believe this...i was sitting here a few minutes ago at the dining table in the house where i rent to live.. i'm on my laptop trying to eat oatmeal when i hear the front doorknob rattling.

  obviously, my roommate is fumbling with the lock.. i hear the door as it opens.

  then, strange voices!

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  I hate out and out lying to the guy and trying to be subtle about it will backfire.
  With deceit, there is no safe middle-ground. In the end, you end up playing into the boilerplate description of Apostates as a liar.
  
  I'll probe for intellectual honesty. If he is intellectually honest (i.e. willing to be wrong if the evidence demonstrates it) I'll come out of the closet.
  If he is NOT intellectually honest, I'll just be a bronc buster.
• 
  13

  Strangers at my door

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  you won't believe this...i was sitting here a few minutes ago at the dining table in the house where i rent to live.. i'm on my laptop trying to eat oatmeal when i hear the front doorknob rattling.

  obviously, my roommate is fumbling with the lock.. i hear the door as it opens.

  then, strange voices!

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  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  It's just a typical day in the life of yours truly.
  I think the 1st folks at the door were house-hunting and had been given the wrong address. (My guess). The Dub and daughter are just a coincidence.
• 
  57

  Funniest or strangest thing to happen to you when knocking on a door

  by usualusername1 in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  what is the funniest or strangest thing to happen to you or your partner when knocking on doors?.

  mine was seeing a greenhouse with mannequins inside.

  scary...paul.

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  TerryWalstrom

  I was warned away from a particular house with the words, "A goat-shaped demon lives there."
  I listened without remarking, "Are you nuts?"
  Naturally, I wouldn't have missed that address for anything.
  

  There's a rather strange story here. I may write it soon.
  For the time being, here's the short version.
  A lady answers the door and welcomes us as Godly folk. She invites us into her backyard. Her "son" is chained to a rocking chair. He has...umm...birth defects, I guess you'd say. This is without a doubt, the reason for the warning. Whoever showed up at this house first must've freaked out.
• 
  20

  Another Hollywood Memory

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  another hollywood memory____________________“thanks for the pink chablis, marta.

  who’s that singing?

  sounds familiar.”.

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• 

  TerryWalstrom

  Thank you SOOOOO MUCH! I really appreciate this. I do.
• 
  13

  Strangers at my door

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  you won't believe this...i was sitting here a few minutes ago at the dining table in the house where i rent to live.. i'm on my laptop trying to eat oatmeal when i hear the front doorknob rattling.

  obviously, my roommate is fumbling with the lock.. i hear the door as it opens.

  then, strange voices!

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  
  My firm conviction has slowly evolved there is only ONE fundamental belief which must be attacked immediately because EVERYTHING ELSE is built ON TOP of the foundation: IS THE BIBLE RELIABLE as a source of supernatural wisdom?
  
  If the Bible is NOT a source of supernatural wisdom--nothing else which proceeds from it is better or worse than any other book of wisdom and guidance.
  
  _____________
  
  What immediately comes to mind as the way to proceed is to pick one strategic battle with the JW on the best and most neutral grounds. At any point where he is cornered, he will say the last words I'll ever hear from him: "I'll do some research on this and get back to you."
  
  If I'm to do HIM any good at all--I have to penetrate his core set of false beliefs in a short period of time or else the rest of it is wasted time.
  
  If I can get his mind jump-started on PRACTICAL reasoning and logical analysis just once--a wedge (however slight) may open him up to daylight.
  
  1. What would have to be true for the Bible to be the supernatural word of God--as for as testable and provable historical verifiability? Wouldn't we need hard evidence?
  A. Original manuscripts (none exist)
  B. Non-contradictory results. (Insert the story of the Septuagint: 70 scholars worked alone and compared the results at the end: there were no contradictions.)
  C. Who assembled the sources into the Bible and how reliable were their efforts?
  (Note: The Catholic Church either IS or IS NOT reliable. If it IS...why hasn't Protestant leadership preserved ALL the Old Testament books? If it is NOT--why accept any of it?
  D. THE FINISHED MYSTERY contains the ravings of maniacs purported to be the actual interpretation of prophecy. It is preposterous on the face of it. Why trust any organization who would publish such a book and call it "prophecy"?
  E. When did Jehovah/Jesus SELECT the Watchtower and on what basis? (Celebrating Christmas, celebrating birthdays, teaching the Great Pyramid was God's "witness in stone", teaching Jesus returned in 1874, going against Romans 13 (counseling members of the armed forces to disobey orders) etc.
  
  I won't get very far on any of that. Obviously. But that's the plan.
  
  
• 
  13

  Strangers at my door

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  you won't believe this...i was sitting here a few minutes ago at the dining table in the house where i rent to live.. i'm on my laptop trying to eat oatmeal when i hear the front doorknob rattling.

  obviously, my roommate is fumbling with the lock.. i hear the door as it opens.

  then, strange voices!

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  TerryWalstrom

  YOU WON'T BELIEVE THIS...
  I was sitting here a few minutes ago at the dining table in the house where I rent to live.

  I'm on my laptop trying to eat oatmeal when I hear the front doorknob rattling. Obviously, my roommate is fumbling with the lock.

  I hear the door as it opens. Then, strange voices! I jump to my feet bewildered, bewitched, and bothered (but not in that order.)

  Suddenly, what to my wondering eyes appears? A very pregnant lady, her husband and a child of about 8.

  I raised my eyebrows and opened my eyes as wide as nature allows as if to say, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOUR DOING IN HERE?"

  4 1/2 of us just stood there silently as if we are in a
  Quentin Tarantino stand off (but without pistols).

  I felt it was not MY TURN to speak, after all, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be--which is more than the 3 1/2 of them can say!

  I'd guess this family is from Samoa or Hawaii or...I dunno...Al Queda--your guess is as good as mine.

  She looks at him. He looks at her. I look at her as she looks at him. Rinse and repeat. No progress.

  I still haven't spoken. (Secretly, I'm beginning to enjoy the weirdness.)

  The Lady is now on her cell phone.
  The Man is embarrassed. But quietly.
  My eyes are rolling.
  A conversation between The Lady and the cell phone ensues. I don't recognize the language. Yep--probably Al Aqueda operatives!

  She speaks!
  "This is 4704." It is a statement of fact. A wrong fact.

  I speak.
  "This is 4709."

  The Lady looks at her husband as if to say, "Are you going to let this crazy old man contradict me like that?"

  The man is fidgeting impotently. I can probably take him in a mixed battle. It's the Lady with the stowaway who's going to be the problem. I'm not too concerned about the 8-year-old boy--although they can bite pretty hard.

  The Lady speaks.
  "No--this is 4704."

  I speak.
  "IF this is 4704, the clothes I'm wearing are stolen."
  ________

  The Man and the Lady give me the hard stare. You know the one--the kind of stare people with no sense of humor give me every day of my life.

  The cell phone voice pipes up and I can't make out a single word.

  The Lady frowns and speaks to the cell phone voice.
  She turns to me.

  "This is not 4704." It is a statement of fact. A true fact.
  ______

  I clap my hands and speak.
  "Hot dog--we're making real progress here this morning! I agree with you completely. This is not 4704. As a matter of fact--it is STILL 4709. Oh, and by the way, these clothes aren't stolen."

  The Man and the Lady and the 8-year-old boy and the stowaway turned and exited the front door. Just like that.

  _______

  A few minutes ago...
  As I was writing all the above down...
  I heard the doorbell ring. My first thought, I confess, was something like, "Uh-oh, whoever lives at 4704 has convinced them I'm lying!"

  I walk to the door and open it.
  What to my wondering eyes appears but a neatly dressed gentleman and about an 11-year-old girl. He smiles and introduces himself and I interrupt him.

  "Hi there, let me save you some time and trouble. This is 4909 Westlake and NOT 4904. I promise. I'm not kidding. What you want is on the opposite side of the street two houses to the right."

  The nicely dressed gentleman is probably from Africa. Or possibly Al Queda. He speaks.

  "My daughter and I are ministers in your neighborhood this morning bringing a message of Good News..."

  (Holy Shit--Jehovah's Witnesses!)
  _____
  
  This JW man has a good nature and sense of humor as I explain why I responded the way I did.
  I like him immediately.
  
  Internally I make a strange bargain with myself. In the past, I always give a small speech which sends the Dubs scrambling. NOT THIS TIME!
  Why?
  I'll tell you why. I like this man and his daughter so much--I decided to lay low and try and HELP THEM!
  Eventually down the line, the bad news will emerge that I'm a mentally diseased Apostate.
  But until that time, I'm going to use Theocratic Warfare methods and present myself as a civilian.
  He offered me a "brochure." GOOD NEWS FROM GOD!
  
  I'm going to read the brochure and decide what subject (14 are offered on the back) I wish to discuss with the Dub. He will return next week.
  
  WHAT A WEIRD MORNING!
• 
  20

  Another Hollywood Memory

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  another hollywood memory____________________“thanks for the pink chablis, marta.

  who’s that singing?

  sounds familiar.”.

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• 

  TerryWalstrom

  Pete Zahut--you found more than I found!
  I can't really identify Marta from the fuzzy photo above and my familiarity with her work is pretty much confined to very few things hanging on her wall that evening in 1981.
  
  I have uncovered no details about her death--I'd love to get a link from you.
  Thank you!
• 
  20

  Another Hollywood Memory

  by TerryWalstrom in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  another hollywood memory____________________“thanks for the pink chablis, marta.

  who’s that singing?

  sounds familiar.”.

  1. 
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• 

  TerryWalstrom

  ANOTHER HOLLYWOOD MEMORY
  ____________________
  
  “Thanks for the pink Chablis, Marta. Who’s that singing? Sounds familiar.”

  
  “Michael Franks. Have you ever heard Antonio’s Song?”
  
  We’re both standing in the living room area of her apartment. The light from a dozen candles is dancing with shadows and a faint scent of cinnamon tickles my senses.

  
  “Wait--the background arrangement--I recognize the style, the contour and colors. I’d bet anything it’s Claus Ogermann.”

  
  

  Marta gives me “a look” and fetches the album cover from atop her turntable lid. Her eyes move side to side and a slow smile lifts the corners of her mouth.
  
  “You always manage to impress me, Terry. How do you know these things?”
  
  I sip the Chablis and become aware of a certain something in the timbre of her remarks.

  The tone of voice is rather warm. Maybe that warmth is simply the wine?
  
  “I’m too modest and unassuming to answer such an indelicate question.”
  I feign a modest turn of the head and lower my eyelids with a flutter.
  
  Marta Boutel laughs vigorously. She snorts Chablis from her nostrils.
  Now I’m laughing, too.
  
  Uh-oh--we’re having a…”moment.”
  I don’t want to have a moment with Marta Boutel--she’s my frickin’ co-worker. She’s the manager of the Art Gallery where I work as an Art Sales Consultant.
  
  

  “Actually, I’m an autodidact. That’s a----”

  “-- a person who self-teaches--I know, Terry, I’m a genius too…”
  (Only slightly peevish. )
  
  “Well, nobody should ever sell you short--that’s obvious. Is this artwork yours--I mean BY you, as we say in the swamp.”
  
  

  Marta frowns speculatively for a millisecond and then grins with discovery.
  
  “I find you to be charming and always entertaining, Terry.”
  
  Her eyes have caught the candlelight just right. But--I don’t want the candles bouncing off her dark eyes--she’s my frickin’ coworker and...well--I explained that already. Were you paying attention?
  
  Marta is a sophisticated person. She’s cultured in a way which never suggests elitism nor a show for effect. Bright? Yep. Her mind shoots sparks. I don’t ever have to dumb it down--I should remember that.
  Marta Boutel invited me up to her apartment to riposte in a high voltage bit of repartee. We’re both starved for it. “It” meaning banter, you’re getting way ahead of this story, aren’t you?
  
  Now Ms. Boutel is poised next to a large shadow box frame made of acrylic-- inside, a remarkable pencil drawing in Prismacolor is suspended and mounted on a textured linen matte. The quality of whimsy and imagination is striking! There is something penciled in around the yellow birds turned this way and that in the composition, “Canary? Canary? Where’s My Canary?”
  
  She’s quite proud of it. I’m grateful I don’t have to pretend to admire her exquisite touch. I am truly impressed and I tell her so.
  
  “Wow. Like you, Marta--this is completely original and impossible to ignore. Where’d the idea originate?”
  
  The color in her cheeks is, as George Costanza would say, becoming a pinkish hue--identical to the shade of Chablis I just drained from the crystal wine glass.
  
  Her gaze is intense as she locks eyes. She soaked up my sincere compliment thirstily.
  
  “Allow me to refresh your adult beverage, Terry. Oh, wait! I have something even better on the palette! Hold on just a minute while I find it.
  
  My first thought is, “Oh shit”.
  I hope it isn’t typical Hollywood hospitality. I don’t do Pot or sniff anything white and powdery and I despise having to make excuses politely and beg off without offending my hostess…
  
  Thankfully, Marta reappeared with a decanter of Courvoisier cognac.
  “Can you grab two snifters from that top shelf above the sink. You're so tall and won’t need the step stool.”
  I complied, enjoying the relief and anticipating the cognac. I do like cognac.
  
  “Just how tall are you, Terry?”
  “Standing or lying down?” It’s my typical nonsensical answer to such questions--but--I instantly regret it. I shouldn’t have said, “...lying down…” because it could be misconstrued as suggestive of intimacy.
  
  “I’m going to guess about six-four--am I right?”
  
  “Yes, you are accurate. You display as much perspicacity as the Sundance Kid.”
  Her smile crinkles and she shakes her head as if to rid herself of every last vestige of restraint.
  “Come over here. I want to show you something.”
  (Uh-oh)
  “My Mom told me to run when strangers say that to me.”
  She ignores this and enters a doorway which my squint informs me is a--GASP!--bedroom!
  Gulp!
  Every square inch of her apartment is superbly decorated with incredible taste; all the rich colors, antiques, figurines, a Bruno Bruni copper figure of Teresa. Breathtaking it is.
  She saunters breezily across the hardwood groove and peg flooring and gestures toward another piece of artwork.
  I quickly scan my surroundings surreptitiously for a hasty exit, if necessary. An open window isn’t quite manageable--we’re on the third floor. It’s Los Angeles and the evenings are chilly even in summertime. I can hear an ambulance or fire truck way off in the distance--possibly an omen of things to come?
  
  Marta is feeding me details about the artwork and her words are bouncing off my brain like machine gun bullets off Superman’s chest. The cognac went straight to my head! I should have had supper hours ago. I can see her studying me the way a moose hunter peers through binoculars from a blind. Now she’s admiring my antlers…
  
  “What made you decide to run an Art gallery instead of promoting your obviously remarkable work and promoting yourself, Marta?”
  
  She is sniffing the inside of the snifter with enthusiastic abandon and when she gazes up a multicolored array of twinkles are swimming in her black pupils. I twist my head to look behind and catch sight of the light source--a three-dimensional chessboard arrayed in colored Xmas style lights is winking on the opposite wall. Funny I hadn't noticed immediately.
  
  A slight shrug of her shoulder laced with a feint of melancholy preceded her words.
  “Oh, I’ve tried all the major studios. My heart’s desire is to be a set decorator. My dream job! As it is with all things Hollywood--you have to KNOW somebody to get a foothold. I came up empty-handed.”
  
  A sudden inner gust of inspiration swept up through my center core and I blurted,
  “No, but I do.”
  
  For the next fifteen minutes, we sat across from each other at her glass top dining table in the kitchen as I unfolded an improvised plan for her dream job to become a possible reality.
  
  “Marta, I’m good friends with two set decorators at MGM Studios. Mel Johnson and Joseph Kroesser. I can ask them to help spirit you into a Producer’s office and you can show what you’ve got to offer.”
  
  “You mean, my tits?”
  “Huh?”
  
  She burst out laughing.
  “The casting couch! Don’t you get it? Oh sorry--you're being serious now--I shouldn’t have said that.”
  I grapple with my embarrassment for a moment and continued.
  “Do you have a portfolio to showcase your--”
  “Terry--of course I have a portfolio, silly man! I’ve been in every studio schlepping for the last six months but I couldn’t get past the front desk. If you think your friends might help me...well..that would be amazing.” She stopped suddenly.
  “I’m a little drunk--we need to eat something.”
  And we did.
  Off we teetered straight into an Italian restaurant, Anna’s, my favorite--across from actor Victor Mature’s TV Repair shop on Ventura Blvd.
  
  All my insane worries vanished. We had a delightful evening. She was filled with the bright spirit of hope which can die so quickly in L.A.
  A month later, Marta was gone from Billy Hork Galleries in Westwood, hired as an artist at MGM. I lost track of her completely.
  
  So, why am I tell you this awkward remembrance this evening?
  I’ll splain.
  I was searching out her name on Google trying in vain to find her among credits for some movie or television show so I could feel good about myself this evening all alone in the kitchen with all my roommates gone.
  I was about to give up when I found her. Or should I say found her obituary?
  She died as we all must eventually. At that moment I was reminded--”Terry, you are a 70-year-old man--how old do you think she’d have to be--and how long do you expect your old friends to live?”
  So, to memorialize Marta Boutel the only way I know how--I thought I would recall this silly story and it will have to be her epitaph.
  She liked me. I liked her. She was incredibly bright and talented and she did achieve her dream job in Hollywood.
  I guess I should console myself I played a small part.
  I don’t have any cognac to sniff but I can play Michael Frank’s song Antonio so we

  who remain alive can savor something from a long, long time ago in a lifetime far away…
  __________
  Antonio lives life's Frevo

  Antonio prays for truth

  Antonio says our friendship

  Is a hundred-proof

  The vulture that circles Rio

  Hangs in this L. A. Sky

  The blankets they give the Indians

  Only make them die
  
  

  But sing the Song

  Forgotten for so long

  And let the Music flow

  Like Light into the Rainbow

  We know the Dance, we have

  We still have the chance

  To break these chains and flow

  Like Light into the Rainbow
  
  

  Antonio loves the desert

  Antonio prays for rain

  Antonio knows that Pleasure

  Is the child of Pain

  And lost in La Califusa

  When most of my hope was gone

  Antonio's samba led me

  To the Amazon
  
  

  We sing the Song

  Forgotten for so long

  And let the music flow

  Like Light into the Rainbow

  We know the Dance, we have

  We still have the chance

  To break these chains and flow

  Like Light into the Rainbow.
  ___________
  
  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Mo6heu6I8s