Nov19

Of Meyers and Monkeys

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Budge and Deuce are at a late showing of the newest “must see” cinema attraction, the long awaited epic screen adaptation of . . . Breaking Dawn, part 1. Really, they are. This was one movie Budge didn’t even bother to ask me to take her to see because my beloved and longsuffering wife knows that frost will form on the hinges of Hell ere this little duck pays to see vampires sparkle.

We're working on it, Ms. Meyer.

 

“Vampires sparkle.” Just typing that phrase threatens to make all my lovely Chickpea Chicken supper suddenly reappear.

At this juncture, I want to state for the record that I am all too intimately aware that Ms. Meyers has sold more novels in a day than I have or very likely ever will have sold in my entire hypothetical lifetime. I know this. I also know that the aforementioned Ms. Meyers now has more money in book sales, licensed merchandise, and movie royalties than the GNP of SEVERAL smaller nations. I realize this, I admit this, and I submit ONE reason in my defense that I am not simply spouting about sour grapes as an unpublished and unpopular writer.

My reason, in the words of a fine Baptist preacher named Charles H. Spurgeon, is “A hog in a silk waistcoat is still a hog.”  Ms. Meyers can get richer than Solomon by selling more books than the Bible and it will not change the fact her magnum opus is as well-written as the assembly instructions for a piece of IKEA furniture.

For starters, Mrs. Bella Cullen (nee‘ Swan) is THE most insipid, weak, and pablum sipping “heroine” since Pollyanna. Why ANYONE, let alone two supernatural beings the likes of Sparkles and Lassie would be willing to grant her a moment’s glance is beyond me. I find it appalling so many young girls and GROWN WOMEN think of Bella as a suitable role model. Her craven, driveling character sets the cause of women’s rights back to the Victorian Era at best.

Secondly, the works rely on every stereotype known to feeble literature. The vampire is “charming?” Well, thank you Mr. Stoker, oh, I meant Ms. Meyers. An American Indian (or other rustic native) is a shapeshifter? Really? That trope hasn’t been used since, oh, I don’t know . . . Underworld? (And incidentally, Kate Beckinsale on her WORST day is blazingly hotter than Kristen Stewart in full wedding array.)

Thirdly, the books have more plot holes than Danish lace. A “family” that never ages lives in the same vicinity off and on for two centuries or so? GROWN VAMPIRES go to high school regularly? Well, Ms. Meyer obviously never went to high school biology class because if she did, she’d know that, by her OWN admission, vampire blood does not circulate in a vampire’s body. Since the blood doesn’t move, neither does Edward’s “little fang”. Hard to figure out where little Reneesme came from, now isn’t it?

Finally, and most importantly, Meyer ignores over 1,000 years of written eldritch history and supernatural lore. If she had one iota of respect for the tons of work that came before her she would know that VAMPIRES. DO. NOT. SPARKLE!!

Vampires die in the Sun. They burst into flames and blow away on the cold wind of irony and unrequited love!

THEY. DO. NOT. SPARKLE!!

So yes, Stephanie Meyer has raked in the dough and proven the Infinite Monkey Theorem in the process. She has followed in the footsteps of another nouveau riche female writer, J.K. Rowling. They both have truckloads of money and shiploads of fame. Of course, Rowling is twice the writer Meyer is, and I despise Rowling as well — for other, more esoteric reasons.

I think no less a literary figure than Stephen King says it best. On comparing Bella and Harry, the King of Horror himself says, “Harry Potter is about confronting fears, finding inner strength and doing what is right in the face of adversity. Twilight is about how important it is to have a boyfriend.”

And if he’d thought about it some more, you know what else he would have said?

VAMPIRES. DO. NOT. SPARKLE!!

Love y’all. Keep those feet clean and just say no to sparkly vampires!

This is all that gives me hope.

 

Nov14

Survivior 2012: Washington, DC

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As much as I hated to see it come, another Presidential election year has arrived. For the next twelve months, the American people will be inundated by ads on television, radio, Twitter, and probably Facebook telling us how great this candidate is and how horrible all his (or her) opponents are. Whoever comes out of the Republican Survivor Series gets to face off against the reigning champion / President, one Barack Obama.

Here is where it gets wildly interesting because ALL the Republican pundits from Glenn “Cry Me a River in my Sweater Vest” Beck to Rush “more Oxy than Billy Mays” Limbaugh are predicting a huge landslide win for the Republican candidate — whoever that turns out to be.

I highly doubt it.

Now let me get one thing straight from the beginning. I am not a political expert or commentator. I’m writing this post because I’m sick of the endless Republican presidential Debates ALREADY. People haven’t really started putting out yard signs and wearing bumper stickers yet and I’m already OVER IT. So I just want to point out why I think things are not going to turn out the way all the “experts” believe they will.

I don’t really care who wins because none of the candidates or President Obama share my views. I’m an Anarchist in the V for Vendetta mode. Read the book, you’ll understand.

Anyway, here goes my amateur breakdown of the upcoming Republican defeat. If I’m wrong, please comment. Also, I don’t usually ask this, but pass this one along because I’m SICK and TIRED of hearing all this politico-babble.

First, and this is the big elephant in the room people don’t want to talk about but, Teabaggers and other really rabid Conservatives forget the fact that President Barack Obama is the first African-American / person of color / Black POTUS. Now I know he’s actually biracial. My wife’s FOURTH graders know he’s biracial. That doesn’t really matter. He’s the first non-lily white man to get elected and a BIG chunk of the population of the USA is REALLY proud of that fact, and they have every right to be. Obama is THEIR man. If you don’t believe it, look at Herman Cain’s “numbers” among Black voters. Small single digits.  The people of color in this country are going to vote for Obama.

Second, Teabaggers and other really rabid Conservatives forget the fact that this country has many, many more poor people than rich people. Also, “rich” is relative; to a man living in a van down by the river eating government cheese, I’m probably looking like Warren B. himself. Anyway, all those great unwashed masses of poor people VOTE for President. They might not vote in off-year elections or any other election from Senator on down to dog-catcher, but they will vote for Presidents.

Didn't anyone tell those people what "tea bag" means before they picked the name for their movement? I mean, c'mon people, Wikipedia is your friend.

Now poor people — deserving and undeserving — have a vested interest in making sure all the entitlements stay in place. Word is starting to get around that the candidates who are going against Prez O want to mess with those entitlements. That’s messing wit’ they check! You ever been to a post office in a small town on “check day” third of the month? All those people standing in front of open PO boxes waiting for “they check” WILL vote in 2012 and they ain’t voting for someone who might “mess up they check.” Poor people are going to vote for Obama.

Third, Teabaggers and other really rabid Conservatives forget the fact that this country has as many — if not more now — OLD PEOPLE than young people. Old people LIKE Social Security. After all, “they paid into Social Security all their lives and THEY DESERVE TO GET THEIR MONEY!” Now, you and I know that Social Security doesn’t really work that way and who they were paying for were the retirees of 20 years ago and such. Most old folk don’t know that AND they don’t care to learn it. All they know is people like Romney and Co. are CONSIDERING fooling around with Social Security. Heck, they might even DO AWAY with Social Security and if they do that “I’ll lose all that money I put in over the years!” Old people are going to vote for Obama.

Let me interject a bit of knowledge here so you’ll know that I’m not a dumb as I sound sometimes. The Teabaggers, rabid Conservatives, and even I know that the welfare entitlements and Social Security are slowly but surely bankrupting the country. They aren’t doing it alone, I know, but they are a big chunk of the problem. I hear people all the time on TV talking about “don’t these people know the country can’t sustain this level of paying out?” To answer that question — NO, they don’t know that AND if they DID, they wouldn’t CARE.

Have you looked at Greece lately? It’s been in the news when they needed something to pull away from the pressing drama that is the “Penn State Sex Scandal” or the all important latest doings of one or more Kardashians. Greece is FLAT BROKE. They are just BARELY paying their bills. They are about to go under. As a result, the Greek parliament has passed “austerity measures” designed to cut spending and they’ve raised taxes some. Do you think the Greek people have jumped on board and agreed to tighten their collective belts to help ensure their country’s solvency? HADES NO! They are rioting in the streets! Those people are PISSED! They don’t CARE if the country is broke as long as “they get they check.” What will happen when they check stops because the country is BANKRUPT?

Told you! I ain't lying.

Think fire. Lots and lots of fire. For some reason, pissed off people like to burn stuff.

Does anyone REALLY think the people of America are going to be any better as we near economic collapse? No. Most people in America have no idea what country-wide economic collapse IS. All they know is “they got to get they check” on the third so they can make a payment on the trailer so they won’t have to live in the van down by the river. You tell them it’s going to mean higher taxes and THEY DON’T CARE because THEY DON’T PAY TAXES ANYWAY! Zero increased by 50% is still ZERO.

Any candidate — Presidential or otherwise — who runs on a platform of cutting entitlements or changing Social Security is NOT going to get elected or re-elected and politicians are all about the elections because being up on “The Hill” is a pretty sweet gig if you can get it. The hours are good, the pay is good, and the retirement is phenomenal! In all, being a politician is a great way to “get a check,” and we all know that no one — politicians included — wants ANYBODY to “mess with they check.”

Love y’all. Keep the faith and the feet clean.

Nov11

Thoughts on Veterans’ Day 2011

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I would like to thank all the brave men and women throughout our country’s history who have served under arms waging war and keeping peace. It is because of the sacrifice in time, emotion, energy, and — all too often — blood, that the United States of America remains the envy of the rest of the world.

I wholeheartedly support our troops — past, present, and future. Always have, always will.

Having said that, I need to make clear that I am adamantly against the two current “wars” our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines have been fighting for the last ten years. Furthermore, even though I was not yet born, I stand retroactively and historically against every war and conflict this country has been involved in since 1945.

Again, to be crystal clear, I SUPPORT OUR TROOPS. My immediate family has sent many brave men to fight our country’s wars including my grandfather, father, father-in-law, and brother-in-law. If I pull back to look at my extended family, the number of veterans quickly becomes too great to list.  As a teacher, I watched more than fifty of my former students go off to fight. To my everlasting sorrow, two of them returned home in flag draped caskets after making the ultimate sacrifice for their country.

I have never admitted this to anyone before tonight, but I was prepared to leave college in 1991 to enlist in the US Army in order to fight in the First Gulf War (the semi- justifiable one) when it looked like we were up against a real army and it might be a somewhat long war. I went to Fountain Inn one early fall afternoon and spoke to Papa Wham alone. Papa, with his eyes tearing up, asked me to please not enlist. He said, “Frankie being in Vietnam almost killed Mama (he always called Granny Wham, Mama) and me. I don’t believe either one of us could stand to see you go to war.” I didn’t enlist, but even though I am grateful to have honored Papa’s wishes, I still feel like a little part of me is missing and I’ll never be able to hold my head quite as high as Papa Wham and Daddy with no test of combat under my belt.

Papa had passed away by the time of the 9-11-2001 attacks when I would again contemplate enlisting, but by then, I was 30 and the recruiters all said I was too old so once again, I did not get to fight. My deepest and greatest regret is having never served my country in uniform.

In any event, though I was willing to go fight myself, I do not support the way our military is being used and has been used for the last forty-five years.  I believe, and I feel justified in my belief, that our government, for whatever real or stated reasons has decided to make the United States the big brother / policeman to the entire world. We are spending our sons and daughters’ precious blood on soil where we have no business being fighting for causes that are not our own.

Please look through the following list of the MAJOR wars and conflicts America has participated in and see what we gained.

  • American Revolution — gained our independence and became a country.
  • War of 1812 — gained nothing for the US.  This war was so unpopular at the time the New England states almost seceded from the United States.
  • Mexican War — Our first aggressive war. We got most of the southwest, which we’d been claiming anyway for years. Oh, and we trained a whole generation of officers for the next war.
  • The War of Northern Aggression — The Confederate States were forced to remain in the Union at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives both Blue and Grey.
  • The Spanish-American War — Our first war started and fought under completely false pretenses. We gained an overseas empire and a bad reputation.
  • World War I — We fought for one year and acted like we won the war single-handedly.  WWI put us on the world stage as a major player, but we could have just as easily sat it out and still emerged as a dominant power in the world. Wilson just HAD to get us in the fight though.
  • World War II — The continuation of the First World War after a 20 year intermission. We could have sat this one out as well so long as we kept Great Britain and the Soviet Union supplied from The Arsenal of Democracy, but the Japs had to sneak attack us (well, sneak attack for Pearl Harbor. FDR knew all about the coming attack) We gained nothing except superpower status. This is also when we started the annoying trend of blowing the hell out of an enemy and then going in and rebuilding them even stronger.
  • The Korean Conflict — Never a declared war. Still technically going on today since no peace treaty has ever been signed. We gained NOTHING from the Korean War except thousands of casualties and the basis for a mediocre but long running television show.
  • Vietnam Conflict — Never a declared war. We lost nearly 60,000 brave young men for NOTHING. Our government committed acts tantamount to TREASON against our troops then a bunch of dreadlocked hippies had the gall to spit on our boys as they came home. This war destroyed any innocence our country might have retained and gained us NOTHING.
  • Gulf War I — Bush I managed to get us cheap oil for a little while longer.
  • Gulf War II —  Bush II managed to get rid of Saddam Hussein in one of the most unjustified actions of aggression against another sovereign nation (albeit it a sorry, lowdown, and wicked sovereign nation) since we exterminated the Indians and paved the way for one of the only non-theocratic Islamic states in the Middle East to become a theocratic Islamic state. Oh, and also did away with what was left of Daddy Bush’s cheap oil.
  • War In Afghanistan — Ten years to kill one man and when we leave, and we WILL leave, the Taliban will come right back in and reinstall Islamic law, destroy all the schools we built with our boys’ blood, and start cutting women’s noses off again if they get “uppity”.

So, I support our troops whole-heartedly and will happily fight anyone anytime anywhere who think I do not. They are doing their jobs despite the government’s ability to tie their hands at every opportunity. They are fighting, not for “our freedom” because our freedom is not endangered by al-queda’s terrorists. Al-queda can kill Americans, but they cannot kill America and if we stayed out of their miserable God-forsaken countries, they wouldn’t be able to kill as many Americans. 9-11 was a lesson, but unfortunately, it has become the entire curriculum.

At the close of this Veterans Day, Thank You once again to all our Veterans, past and present, living and dead; and to our government let me say loudly and clearly,

BRING OUR BOYS AND GIRLS HOME NOW.

Nov9

Allegedly

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A leading news story this week is following the happenings at Penn State University where long time assistant football coach Joe Sandusky has been arrested for multiple counts of sexually abusing children — allegedly. These allegations have already ended the careers of two other former Penn State officials and are threatening to bring down several more, not the least of whom is 84 year-old head coach Joe “JoePa” Paterno who has become the winningest coach in FBS (Division I) history in his 46 year tenure at the helm of the Nitanny Lions.

What catches my attention is the nature of the alleged crimes. Sandusky is accused of sexual abuse. Of all the crimes a person can commit in the 21st century in America, NONE causes more nausea and media hype than sexual abuse of minors. Even if the abuse is alleged and not proven. I don’t know the intimate details of this case and Sandusky may very well be the worst sexual predator since Richard “the Night Stalker” Ramirez terrorized Southern California. He may, however, be an innocent man and that is the problem.

Sexual abuse and sex crimes in general are the witchcraft accusations of our day and age. In medieval times, to accuse someone of witchcraft was the fastest way possible to legally assassinate that person’s character — if not his or her physical body. Accusations of sex crimes accomplish the same insidious results today.

Let me go on record right here that I have no sympathy or softness for criminals of any stripe be they murderers, rapists, or politicians. I think anyone who forces himself upon a woman or child sexually should not be tried but taken out and shot. Luckily for many people, I don’t make the laws.

I have no problem with laws against sexual abuse. What I have a serious problem with is hypocrisy and no part of our legal system in the USA is more hypocritical than crimes and allegations dealing with sexual abuse. To accuse a person of sexual abuse is to end his career and smear his character beyond all hope of redemption. Proof is handy, but not necessary. All that is needed is the allegations. THAT is what I have a problem with.

Back in the middle ’90s when I first started teaching, the news featured a middle school teacher in New Jersey who was released from prison after serving five years for sexual misconduct with two of his female students. It took years of trials and FIVE YEARS of prison before one of the girls cracked and tearfully admitted the entire encounter had been made up by her and the other girl because the teacher spurned their advances. That was in MIDDLE SCHOOL. The worst part of the whole affair is the teacher, even after being released, has YET to clear his name because too many people seem to think along the lines of “even if those girls made up that story, he must be guilty of something else for them to think of doing that to him.”

Don’t laugh and please don’t dismiss me. This stuff happens.

Let me say again that I have no truck with sexual abuse or sexual misconduct — if it is proven. I just want the hypocrisy and the witch-hunting to end. To me nothing is more hypocritical than the various state and national Sex Offender Registries. Just about every person convicted of a sex crime of any nature is required to have his or her name placed on the SOR for THE REST OF HIS OR HER LIFE. The nature of the sex crime is immaterial.

This is hypocrisy at best and blatantly unConstitutional at worst.

Juliet was 13; Romeo was 14 or 15 at most

A violent serial rapist is placed on the same SOR with a young man who didn’t know and didn’t think to ask if the girl he took home from the frat party was over some arbitrary age of consent. This is wrong on both counts. The youngster has no business having his future ruined by a mistaken ID check and the violent serial rapist has no business being out of prison.

I have a buddy right now who is on the SC SOR for the rest of his life because when he was a 17 year old high school senior, he had sex — CONSENSUAL sex, mind you — with his 14 year old freshman girlfriend on prom night. Her daddy found out what the rest of us had known for a good while — namely his little Snow White had drifted. He had my friend arrested for statutory rape. My bud plead guilty (after all, he DID do it) to avoid prison, but he had to register on the sex offender list. He lost his college scholarships, had his college acceptance revoked, and to this day, he’s still on the SOR and it is nearly impossible for him to get a job.

A person commits a crime and is sentenced to X number of years to pay for that crime. If the crime is robbery, once the sentence is completed, the person is completely free. Even MURDER is the same way. We don’t have a National Murderer Registry. Let a person commit some sort of sex crime, however, and even after the person pays his debt to society in full, he still has a life sentence on a completely publicly accessible registry. In most states this means he will have a devil of a time finding a place to live legally, a job, or even a place to EAT.

Can someone PLEASE explain to me how this is not a violation of the Double Jeopardy Clause of the US Constitution?

One last time, let me say IF A PERSON IS A VIOLENT SEXUAL PREDATOR, he or — rarely — she should HANG. Pedophiles should be locked away forever, not put on a registry. Their crimes are too heinous to describe and study after study has shown they are incapable of being rehabilitated.

But what about the Humbert Humberts? Why should they be punished for a lapse of judgement with Lolita?

I think the most hypocritical part of the sexual attitude of the country in general and the SOR in particular is the egregious double standards found everywhere sex is concerned. “Children” in middle school sing along to their favorite songs like “My Milkshake brings all the boys to the yard” and “I wanna lick you like a lollipop” but when they ACT on those sexual overtones, THEY are not punished but woe betide anyone a little too old who falls under their spell.

The world has changed. I don’t like it. In fact, I pretty much despise it. For one thing, I want to know where all these “girls” were when I was in middle school. Most girls I went to school with couldn’t wear freaking LIP GLOSS until they were 15. I remember going to high school and seeing all the freshmen girls who were finally allowed to wear makeup trying to learn how. Poor things ended up somewhere between Mona Lisa and Tammy Faye Bakker.

It’s different now, though. Adolescents have always been curious about sex but now they are subtly ENCOURAGED by the media and the entertainment industry to ACT rather than just be curious. Then, when they do, it’s the “adults” who are punished. This is wrong and a miscarriage of justice on too many levels.

Back to Coach Sandusky. Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. At the moment, the state’s strongest piece of evidence is the testimony of ONE janitor with perfect recall of an even that happened in 2002. I barely remember breakfast yesterday and this janitor remembers all the details of a fleeting event over 9 years ago.

Like I said, maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. It doesn’t really matter now though because in the minds of the public, a once lauded and supposedly conscientious man will forever be “a predator.” If he is guilty, he should bear the full weight of punishment . . . but can’t we wait until he is tried before we hang him?

Some people — allegedly — think that might be a good idea. I happen to be one of them.

 

Nov7

Doctor, Doctor!

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Had the yearly doctor’s visit today with my GP, Dr. Alberto Lopez, MD. He is the second of the grand total of two doctors who have taken care of my general physical well-being for my entire life, having taken over my care upon the death of Dr. James Monroe, who was the last of the great country doctors this part of the world will ever see.

Dr. Lopez was aggravated with me yet again. Just like Dr. Monroe and I always did,Dr. Lopez and I have a running argument going about my weight. I’m 5’9.5″ in my maroon Crocs, but I weigh in at 343 lbs. Apparently, that’s about 143 lbs too much for Dr. Lopez’ comfort. He’s given me blood test after blood test and sent me for stress tests and other lab work for years now.

That’s where the problem comes in . . . nothing’s wrong with me. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. Zed. Zero.

Other than more mental / emotional issues than Carters has liver pills, I am healthy as the proverbial equine. For several years, I had a touch of hypertension that lisinopril twice a day managed, but since I no longer have to deal with crazy school superintendents or bitchy assistant principals, my blood pressure has settled down quite nicely and I only have to take a fourth of the dosage of lisinopril that I was on. My cholesterol is 50 points below the desired threshold and my “good” cholesterol is through the roof. The only spot of concern is my A1C numbers. I’m in the “metabolic syndrome” area of that particular scale of diabeticness, but my numbers have been trending down the last few visits.

All of this drives poor Dr. Lopez barmy.

I’m morbidly obese, I am a sedentary as a boulder on the bottom of the Challenger Deep, and my four main food groups are fried, red meat, chocolate, and ice cream. The most exercise I get is feeding my two outside boys and tossing their ball to them for a bit each day. By any reasonable medical opinion and measure, I should have one foot firmly in the grave and one on a Teflon coated banana peel.

But I don’t.

My arteries are clean. My heart is strong — despite being broken so many times — and my numbers are good. Dr. Lopez says the only explanation he has is genetics. He thinks I must have good genes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him for 15 years. The men in my family — especially on Daddy’s side — are vigorously healthy right up to the point where they drop dead of a massive heart attack somewhere between 73 and 78. Up to that point though, they were all the picture of health.

Mama’s side of the family has a much similar story among the men. I have several great-great uncles who lived well into their ninth decades and dear Uncle Monroe was 102 when he died and the week before he passed away he was chasing nurses up and down the halls of his nursing home in his wheel chair. His brother, my great-grandfather Grandpa Bussler, was 90-something when he died — well, technically he was murdered, but that’s a really good story for another time.

The long and the short of it is I come from a long line of men built to last for an allotted amount of time before keeping an appointment with the Reaper and our bodies can handle a lot of whatever makes us happy until that day comes. Understand, PLEASE, that I’m not bragging. I’m very lucky and I know it. However, I also know the truth Hank Williams, Sr put down in song years before I was thought about — “I’ll never get out of this world alive!”

I know there’s a reckoning waiting for me out there in about thirty-five years, if the Lord should tarry and I avoid accidents and jealous husbands — unlike dear Grandpa Bussler — so I’d rather concentrate on living and let dying take care of itself. From what I hear, it doesn’t take a lot of practice. As Edmund Gwenn famously said to his friend George Seaton just before embarking on the journey into the great cloud of unknowing, “Dying? Dying’s easy; now comedy? THAT’S hard.”

Love y’all and keep those feet clean!

Nov2

October’s Over

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Goodbye October

October is a month with few equals. The air has that delicious crispness in the morning, forcing us to put on a sweatshirt or jacket. The trees are dressing out in their autumn splendiferous golds, oranges, and reds; and, most of all, the sky is that shade of blue that proves to everyone that God Almighty is a University of North Carolina — Chapel Hill fanatic. If He wasn’t, then why did He make the sky Tarheel Blue? October is truly a month of magic and beauty.

For the record, I hate October with a rare passion.

October IS a beautiful month. It was my Granny Wham’s favorite month of the year and its arrival signaled to Papa Wham the need to get the car tuned up and round up the Igloo cooler because it was time to take a ride up to Caesar’s Head State Park for a picnic lunch and a scenic drive down part of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

I still hate October.

My loathing of the tenth month is not without good reason, though. Simply put, October has historically been the most brutal month of the year for me physically, emotionally, mentally and any other — ally you care to think of.

Mama and Daddy split up in October. Their divorce was final in October. We lost my childhood home in October. Four of my six long term girlfriend relationships ended in October. I always started wrestling in October and when I was an athlete that meant painful soreness in all parts of my body; when I was a coach, it meant the end of seeing home before dark and having any Saturday to myself for five months. Papa John had his first bad stroke in October. I was fired from my teaching job in October. I was told I wouldn’t be a librarian anymore in October and — as the hood ornament on this hoopdie car of life — Papa John died in October.

October has not been good to me over the years. Mama and I both dread October because “If it’s going to happen to us, it’ll happen in October.”

Perhaps you’ve noticed I only managed two posts in October. It wasn’t for lack of material. It was lack of time and sanity. In a month that traditionally has seen my mood and fortunes go south with the great V’s of Canadian geese, 2011’s version was no different. Allow me to list this month’s misadventures for your edification.

  • Mama went in the hospital for ten days and at one point, the doctors and I didn’t think she was going to survive the night. I couldn’t give myself over to the hysteria I felt however because . . .
  • With Mama in the hospital, I was responsible for Granny’s care so I had to arrange with hospice and Medicare and NHC nursing homes for an emergency placement for Granny.
  • Budge’s brother dropped off the face of the earth. We know he’s alive, but that is ALL we know.
  • Our beloved niece has resumed her on-again-off-again feud with her mother which got her kicked out of the house and she moved down here for a total of two days before packing up and taking off again for God-only-knows where.
  • Budge had a sinus infection for the entire month of October and this latest round of antibiotics is finally bringing it under control. Now a sinus infection may not seem like a big deal, but it triggers Budge’s migraines and that turns it in to a big deal.
  • Our favorite neighbors of the last 12 years moved almost out of the blue.
  • Ect, ect, ect . . . those are just the big points. It was a horrible month.

So, October 2011 is gone and I cannot say I’ll miss it. In fact, the only GOOD thing about October at all is my beloved stepdad, Rob, turned 50 this October AND October contains my Deuce’s birthday and kicks off her holiday season. Other than that, the tenth month is the pits.

Here’s hoping November is better and I’ll get more writing posted!

Love y’all and keep your feet clean.

 

Oct17

Go Rest High on that Mountain, Papa John

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Papa John on Mama's wedding day.

I’ve found it exceptionally difficult to look out the window all day today and see such a beautiful cerulean sky with the Sun shining warm and high.

Five years ago on this day, rain fell so hard and so long that it made a rivulet beneath the funeral tent where I stood giving Papa John’s eulogy. It rained so hard the canvas of the tent sounded almost like a ten roof. I couldn’t see the highway only twenty yards away.

When the time came to leave, Budge and I drove out of the cemetery and I couldn’t think of the words or tune of a single hymn or gospel song. All I could think about were the words to Stevie Ray Vaughn’s signature song . . . “The Sky Is Crying.”

As unbelievable as it was to me, my Papa John – Mama’s father – was gone and it seemed as if Nature herself was taking part in our grief.

It’s taken me five years to write one word about Papa’s death because all these years later, that wound is no less open, raw and putrescent than it was the day Papa John passed away.

I didn’t get to spend nearly as much time with Papa John as I did Granny and Papa Wham for a variety of reasons I will not discuss here. However, of all my close ancestors, I share more traits and characteristics with Papa John than I do any other relative. Some people who read this might not like that. The person writing this doesn’t really care if they do or not.

My Papa John was special. He faced down more calamity and disaster; overcame more ill will and hard breaks; and fought off more despair and personal demons than any man I’ve ever known. Whenever I think of Papa, I think of the quote some attribute to Rabelais “What cannot be remedied must be endured“. My Papa John endured where others would have fainted, if not fled in terror at what was happening to them. Death alone could stop him and even then, he didn’t go without a fight.

Papa was a Pentecostal preacher. He was never happier than when he was at the front of our little white church playing his guitar or delivering a sermon. When he wasn’t preaching, he was busy doing the Lord’s work and when he wasn’t doing the Lord’s work, he was working in textile plants all over Laurens and Simpsonville, SC.

Papa worked hard, but he never had anything to show for it. I’ve seen him give the coat off his back to someone who needed it more than he did. He was big-hearted and generous and kind and the world hated him for it. He was slandered and lied about and run through the petty small town rumor mill over and over — because he was good to people.

Throughout all the false accusations and tribulations in his life, my Papa never lifted a finger against anyone. He didn’t have to. God had Papa’s back. Oh, I know a lot of you reading this, especially members of my own family probably don’t believe that, but again, ask me if I care. You weren’t there. You don’t know as much as you think you do. What I know is everyone — man and woman, kin and stranger alike — who mistreated my Papa John either had to come to him to apologize on bended knee or else died in horrible, Old Testament ways. One wagging tongue silenced itself with a blast from a 12 gauge shotgun. Another died choking while drowning on his own blood. A family member who spoke too harshly about things which weren’t her business one too many times died of a horrible wasting lung cancer . . . and never smoked a day in her life.

Believe what you want to.

From the time I was 13 until I was 35 and he passed, Papa had MULTIPLE strokes and heart attacks. I was with him the night he had his first stroke in our church parking lot. I was 13 and didn’t know what the change in his voice meant and neither did he. The ailments took his body, but Papa never succumbed to the slightest bit of dementia. Until he lapsed into his final coma, he was as sharp as the kitchen knives he used to keep to cut radiator hoses.

For years before he passed away, his left hand and arm were completely useless. He drove his car with a steering knob. His left leg was halt and somewhat withered. He walked anyway.He never stopped. He endured.

I could fill a book with my papa’s life, but most people — even many who knew him — wouldn’t believe parts of it. He was a mystery to most people. I don’t have space or time to talk about cars and restaurants and the Harakin Pine Woods. I could make an entry about Papa in this blog every day for the rest of my life and the half wouldn’t be told.

Papa John didn’t measure success in dollars and cents. That confused lots of people. People might not have known how to take Papa, but they knew who to turn to for help. He never stopped his ministry. When he could no longer stand in a pulpit, he’d sit in a Waffle House at 3:00 AM talking to a stranger about God over a cup of coffee. Five years later, Mama and I are still finding out about lives he touched that we knew nothing about.

Here’s what matters though and here’s what you need to take away from this post about my grandfather. He didn’t have a bank account. He never owned a house. His only possessions were his bible, a few clothes, and a hand-me-down Ford Fairmont. The day he died, he had one $5 bill in his wallet. As I said at his funeral, according to our vision of “The American Dream” he had NOTHING to show for his life. Some people might have looked at him as a complete failure.

I’ll tell you what he did have though — in the middle of a driving rainstorm that would turn to sleet later that day — he had more people at his funeral than the Fletcher’s Mortuary tent could hold, but the people came anyway and stood in that driving rain to pay a last visit to a man who had a heart no one could measure.

THAT is what you need to know about Papa John. That and the fact that I loved him more than breath and since his death nothing has been the same and never will be. Men like Papa John leave a hole too big to ever fill on this side of the Jordan River.

Rest on the mountain for a little while, Papa, and look for me . . . I’m trying.

Love y’all and keep those feet clean.

 

Oct12

Newton’s First Law

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Sir Isaac Newton’s First Law of Motion states that “an object in motion will remain in motion until a stronger force acts upon it; an object at rest will remain at rest until a stronger force acts upon it.”

That’s a fancy description of INERTIA.

Inertia is one of the greatest enemies of the human race. You can explain about 90% or so of people’s actions if you apply the principle of inertia to psychology. Call it “maintaining the status quo” or “going along to get along” or “just floating” if you want to, but it’s all inertia.

Why does a child or a teen sit in front of a video game hour after hour? It’s inertia. The kid is in a static state and it’s the easiest thing in the world to do to just keep pushing that “start” button on the controller.

Why do people spend hours aimlessly surfing the Internet? Again, it’s inertia. To stop and do something else would require their will to be a stronger force than the draw of the Web. If you think about it, StumbleUpon and sites like it are counting on the principle of human inertia.

Why will a man work at a job he utterly despises with people he wouldn’t give the air in a jug to if they were dying? It’s a safe, known quantity. Finding another job requires exerting a force to overcome the stable — if soulkilling — station he’s in. It’s often passed off by saying “the devil you know is better than the one you don’t,” but is it really? Most people never find out unless a greater force — say massive corporate cutbacks — acts to move them.

Inertia explains why people stay in houses they’d like to move away from, relationships with people they’d like to get away from, and activities they don’t really enjoy. Changing — overcoming personal inertia — takes more force of will than most people today can muster. It’s tons easier to ride along in the ruts than it is to pull off onto a side street. Funny thing about ruts, especially deep ones, they look just like a grave with both ends knocked out.

People are fat because it takes too much willpower to overcome the inertia. Junkies stay on drugs because it’s easy to keep moving and difficult to stop. People don’t go back to school because of inertia. In most anything it’s just easier to “let nature take its course” than it is to exert any real control over our lives and I admit to being the chiefest of sinners.

As much as I love to write and as much as I like posting on this blog, it’s been over two weeks since I’ve posted anything because I missed a day and a day became a week and a week became two. It was easier to play Solitaire and keep hitting F2 than to open up WordPress and write a post. I couldn’t overcome the inertia.

I’ve heard it said that a man can get used to anything eventually, no matter how unpleasant or demeaning, because it becomes a habit and a programmed way of thinking.

“Habit” is just another word for “Inertia.”

Do you need to move? Do you need to stop?

Love y’all. Keep those feet clean.

Sep27

Happy Birthday, Cuz

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Today is my oldest first cousin’s 27th birthday. Zach is approaching 30.

Of the four grandsons, Zach is and always has been the sweetest and kindest. I’m not saying this just because he’s my cousin and I love him dearly, but he was truly an angelic child. Just look at the picture. All kidding aside, though, I’ve never met anyone within my family or without with the level of innate compassion, concern, and just downright decency Zach has always exhibited.

My theory is he used up all his angst getting here. He did give Aunt Cathy fits while she was carrying him. It seems like she was in the hospital more than she was at home for those nine months. He was perfect once he got here though. Ten fingers and ten toes and a precious smile that didn’t look a bit gassy. I hate to admit this now, but I completely resented his arrival. Understand that I was the ONLY grandchild on BOTH sides of my family for 12 years. I had Granny and Papa Wham all to myself AND I had Aunt Cathy and Uncle Larry all to myself.

Then Nick was born and not even five years later, Zach came along. I was losing market share at an unacceptably steep rate. It was hard to stay jealous of the little twerp though. He was white headed and cooed on command. He was just a great baby. The great baby grew into a wonderful school aged boy and the boy became a fascinating man. He wasn’t always perfect, but he was close. I was an utter hellion in high school and my little brother, Nick, raised his good and honest share of Cain as well.

Not Zach.

About the closest Zach ever came to being “wild” was during his freshman and sophomore years of high school. He was a living doll by then with white, straight hair, a nice tan, and a dazzling – no braces needed – smile. Well the girls just wanted to sop him up with a biscuit. ALL the girls. Black girls, white girls, Latinas, freshmen, upperclassmen, goths and cheerleaders. He was a pick for them all and for just a little while, it went to his head. I still remember Aunt Cathy calling me distraught and near tears because Zach had LIED to her about something to do with a party. Now I remember it being very minor, but at the same time . . . this was ZACH! He didn’t lie to his mama!

That phase didn’t last very long though. By the time he graduated high school and went off to Clemson University, he’d settled down completely. He did average in college and he never really gave any clue what his plans were. I don’t think any of us had any idea what he had in mind.

We sure never figured on him going into the ministry!

He did, though. Like I said, Zach was never a wild child in even the broadest sense, but during college, he got involved in a group of Christians unlike any he’d ever met (unlike any I’D ever met to be honest) and his life took on a completely new direction. It was like watching a diamond get a final cut and shine.

I knew he was serious when he announced right before Granny Wham passed away that he was moving to Gainesville, Florida to take a position as a youth / college minister at a progressive church he’d heard about down there in U of F land. Zach is as big a mama’s boy as me and he followed the Lord’s call to Florida because that’s where he was meant to be. I remember Aunt Cathy crying a little, but it’s like she said, “It’s hard to cry over a son who’s following the Lord.”

As it turns out, a ministry wasn’t all my little cousin found in Gainesville. All through his growing up, Zach had his pick of any girl he wanted. Problem is, at least for them, is he never seemed to find “the right one.” He was always good and kind to the girls he dated, but several of them shed tears when they realized they weren’t going to land this perfect husband.

All of them except Ashley, that it.

I knew he was completely serious about marrying her when he brought her to Christmas morning to be vetted by Daddy, Nick, and me. None of the three of us are famous for holding our opinions and if he was prepared to introduce her to us . . . well, she must really be special. Turns out she was.

I hate weddings about as much as I hate leaving South Carolina. But this was Zach and he and Ash were special enough for Budge and me to drive all the way to Gainesville and back one beautiful April day to see them walk down the aisle. She was beautiful in white . . . and one of the only brides I’ve ever been willing to put money on her credentials to wear that pure color. Zach was handsome, but most of all, they were happy.

Still are. Now we’re just waiting on the beautiful babies to come along. So get cracking, you two! It’s been over a year now and I’m not getting any younger!

Happy Birthday, Cuz. We love you tons and I am unashamedly and overwhelmingly proud of you!

Sep11

Zeros

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What is it about adding a zero to an important anniversary that imbues that date on the calendar with extra mystique and weightiness? A child’s ninth birthday is not nearly as important as his 10th. No special gift marks a 49th wedding anniversary but the 50th deserves gold and the 60th, diamonds.  The only answer I can think of is that the additional import of a five or a zero is a nod to something deep within our inherently decimal nature.

Today, we add the first zero to the anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11th, 2001 and the beginning of what is euphemistically known as The Global War on Terror.

This tenth passage of years means something more but I don’t really know why.

The victims trapped in the collapsing Twin Towers will be no deader. The passage of a decade has not lessened the heroism of the policemen, firefighters, and E.M.T’s who stormed the towering infernos that day, many dying with no idea what was waiting for them, only that people were in there who needed their help.

3652 days brings us no closer to understanding the thought processes aboard United 93 as high above a pasture in rural Pennsylvania, a plane full of doomed men and women rose up against the infamy, tyranny, and injustice of the moment and attacked where others may have retreated  or sat silent and in doing so saved an unknown number of lives at the cost of their own — passing into legend with the words, “Let’s roll.”

It’s been ten years now since our school secretary appeared at the window of my classroom door waving frantically for me to come over so she could utter the incomprehensible words, “They’ve just flown two planes into the Twin Towers!”

It’s a different world now.

Last night, Budge and I went to Cameron and Deuce’s home to watch football and between games, Laura brought out copies of Time, Newsweek, and The New York Times all dated September 12, 2001. The burning towers dominated each cover. Jacob, Cameron’s nine year old son, was fascinated by what he was seeing and reading and I faltered a time or two as I tried to explain the events of that day.

The Towers have never stood in Jake’s lifetime. The United States has never been wholly at peace in Jake’s lifetime. Budge has three classes of 4th graders who were all born in 2002. They know nothing about the America in which I lived my first 30 years.

How do you explain to a nine year old who is looking at the iconic photo “Falling Man” why a person would choose to jump out of a 100 story window rather than risk being burned alive? How do you describe or explain what “panic” really feels like? How can you help one so close to life’s beginning understand what goes through the mind of someone who knows without doubt that he has lived his last day, last hour, last minute?

Why does adding this zero bring the pain so close to the surface once more?

God only knows, and He isn’t saying.

Requiescat in pace, heroes and departed of 9-11-01. We, the living, have not forgotten.