Thurman's Hammer
“Abandon all hope ye who enter here.”
Thurman comes from the Middle English personal name Thurmond, which in turn descended from the Old Norse þormundr, composed of the elements þórr (Thor), the Norse god of thunder + mundr, meaning ‘protection’. My avatar, Thurman’s Hammer, is a representation of Thor’s enchanted hammer, Mjöllnir.
I’ve never traced any of my ancestral lines all the way back to the viking era, but it’s a well established fact that many vikings settled in the places they raided, places many of my known ancestors emigrated from: England, Scotland, Ireland, and Germany.
I’m a native North Carolinian, the result of a combination of immigrants who came to the US between the early eighteenth and the late nineteenth centuries; some direct from the old countries, others after a sojourn in northern climes.
I’ve done extensive research into my family’s history and discovered ancestors who fought in just about every armed conflict since the French and Indian Wars, including both sides of the Civil War. Little wonder that I detest violence so much!
Many of my ancestors were Quakers, members of the Religious Society of Friends who helped settle much of the area around northern Randolph and southern Guilford counties in North Carolina. There are a few interesting connections scattered throughout my genealogical narrative, but most of my ancestors were just ordinary, hard-working people who struggled to make a better world for their families. Sound familiar?
I grew up surrounded by the anal retentive, fundamentalist Christian culture so prevalent in much of the southeastern United States. Christianity has a lot going for it, but when people start asking about your salvation before you’re old enough to understand the concept, the result can be a very freaked out little kid. That’s what it did to me and to this day I refuse to darken the doors of a church for anything other than weddings or funerals.
After many years of deep research and soul searching, I’ve concluded that I don’t really have a religion, at least not one recognized by conventional definitions. If there is a “god” anywhere in the universe, the human mind is so small and narrow that such a being is beyond our limited means of comprehension. In other words, if there is a God, you and I have no idea what it is, wants, needs, etc., so shut up and realize we’re all in this thing together and we damn well better start getting along before we fuck things up beyond repair.
I also managed to escape indoctrination into the racist, conservative political culture that dominates my region of the US. Not that I never got caught up in it at all; I did, but I managed to get out with most of my soul intact.
If I’ve ever committed any unpardonable sins against humanity, it had to be the times I voted for Senator Jesse Helms and President Ronald Reagan. I was young, ignorant, and easily misled so I hope you’ll forgive me. Today commie, pinko, liberal, radical, or lefty is probably closer to an accurate description of my political leanings.
I’m what most people would call a “flaming” liberal, and damned proud of it, though I deviate from a few classic leftist positions, like gun control (aim carefully, squeeze slowly) and…well, I’m sure there’s something. Let me get back to you on that.
I enjoy many kinds of music, especially blues and progressive rock. I used to want to be a professional guitarist, but somehow I never made the connection between hours and hours of practice and actually getting there, but make no mistake, music is everything, right behind oxygen, sleep, and food. Without music, life wouldn’t be worth living.
To this day the closest I’ve ever come to a religious experience was attending a concert by a certain trio of Canadians. If that’s what the snake-handlers and tongue-speakers feel in the thrall of their spiritual ecstasy, then I can understand their fervor just a little bit.
Many, but not all of the kids I went to school with were cruel little shits, raised by wolves, with fewer social skills than a pack of hyenas. I was teased relentlessly, sometimes violently, for reasons I still can’t understand. Since I wasn’t born with the innate social skills required to thrive while surrounded by so many piss poor excuses for human beings, to this day I have deep seated trust issues, but I’m workin’ on it.
I live in a quiet corner of North Carolina with my wife, our children, a pair of rabbits, a couple of old ankle-biter dogs, a yard full of chickens, and a large colony of inbred feral cats.
When I’m not working at my day job I write, garden, chop firewood, play the blues poorly, contemplate the meaning of life, and plot to overthrow the capitalist oppressors who rule the world. It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.
