Month: January 2018

I start off walking towards the river. It has always been there. I don’t know how many centuries it has flowed its current course, but likely it has been many. The center of the little town grew up around it’s flood plain, copying the footprints of the Cherokee who lived here and the mound builders who preceded them.

More than likely, even older Paleolithic people inhabited this area over 10,000 years ago as exhibited by Russell Cave in Alabama and the artifacts found there. I think there may have even been some Clovis points found in this area.

I like the spirituality of the land and its lay. This area is one of the most Geologically stable and least changed in this country. Things are much as they were in terms of the land for these past many centuries now. I feel this as I walk.

I imagine a time when the rivers were filled with gar and sturgeon, and even occasionally a bison would wander this far south. When bear, puma and wolf roamed here. When huge trees grew uncut and blocked off the sunlight to the forest floors. I wonder at how the progress of mankind has shaped those bygone days into what I now see on my walks.

Oh I can imagine that life was extremely harsh for humanity in those years. A day was filled with the immediate needs for survival. Food and shelter…clothing. But by and by things got better. There was agriculture, There were the beginnings of government amongst the red man. Especially advanced with the Iroquois nation. What might have developed from these beginnings I often wonder?

I have read in history where the natives of this country were of much more robust and good health than the first Europeans who came here. They were just not resistant to the diseases which came with the white man and between measles, smallpox, and other contagious sicknesses 8 out of 10 of them perished within the first 100 years of contact. The rest were swept aside like dust on a clapboard floor.

Sometimes now as I walk along the bank of the Chattooga river I hear faint voices on the wind whispering “Why, why?” For that question I have no answer.

A Seventies Memory- The Death of a Stranger

Paula and I went to Canton, Georgia today to take the two Cocker Spaniels to the lady from the Cocker Spaniel of Georgia Rescue group. Instead of going down I-75 and cutting across on Hwy 20 we went the “old” way on Hwy 140.

This is kind a trip down memory lane for us, as we used to come this way quite often between 1970 and 1974 when we lived in Athens. We didn’t really care for the ride on the Interstate back then so we sought out several more “scenic” routes to travel from Athens back “home” to Trion. This drive takes you through Waleska, Georgia where beautiful little Reinhardt College is located. What a pristine and pretty little campus, plunked down right in the center of rural outback Georgia. Even now, Waleska is much as it was back in the 70’s. Can’t say the same for Canton though.

At one time, the entire ride from Athens to Trion or back using these old “back road” routes was pretty much like an extended ride in the county. Canton use to be a tiny little mill town like Trion, before Atlanta crept up on it from the South like a tortoise who comes on slowly but surely and in the end wins the race. Canton is much more like a bedroom community for Atlanta now, with even the old Canton Cotton mill building turned into apartments. Wow….things really have changed.

We used to sometimes come this way in the evenings after work when we were coming home. It was beautiful back then….so starkly dark you could spot “shooting stars” from inside the car at night. The roads are mountainous and curvy and I always was careful and took my time, even as a “young an’” back then. One night as we were going up the first big hill outside of Canton a little red sports car came flying around us on a double yellow line. “Dang,” I said “If that guy don’t know these roads he’s liable to get killed” Prophetic…and quickly so.

As we drove on, just another couple of miles we saw a huge flash of light up ahead lighting up the night sky. “What the hell…” I muttered. As we rounded a steep curb we saw the reason. The little red sports car hadn’t mad the curb and had overturned and slammed into the harsh mountain rocks sticking out from the curb. The car was fully in flames…so hot that we could barely stand the heat even from the other side of the road. We could see the guy in the upside down car, immobile and burned in the driver’s seat. “Oh my God” my wife said.

It was a lonely and desolate Friday night and there was not much traffic on highway 140 back then. No other cars passing to flag down. No cell phones back then. I didn’t have anything resembling a fire extinguisher…and even if I had I could never have gotten close. We decided to go as quickly as possible to the next house, which was a new trailer on the right hand side of the road about a mile away. We frantically knocked and told them what had happened and they called the sheriff’s department. We decided not to stay. It wasn’t that we didn’t care, but there was nothing that we could have done. We didn’t know the driver, we were not actual witnesses of the accident, and we did not want to go back to that horrific scene. My wife especially, did not. I gave the people at the trailer my name and my folk’s phone number and told them to tell the police if they needed us to call. They never did. I’m guessing my explanation to the owner of the trailer was sufficient to what they found.

We went back that exact same route today, and relived that day. We talked about it again, and how so much time had passed, yet that memory was fresh. The same trailer was still there…had been built onto several times over the years and looks well lived in, now 40 years later. Forty years. Yet I still have that image in my head of that man or boy’s body in that burning car. I can still feel the heat at that curve and feel a little uneasy looking at the rocks there, which bore the blackened marks of fire for many years. My wife remembers jumping up in the bed at my folk’s house several times that night when the gas heater would light up.

I’ve never witnessed that happening again during my entire driving career from that day til now, and I hope I never will. Somebody’s son died that night. Maybe somebody’s brother. I believe it was a young man, so he could have been a student or someone just starting out in a working career in life. Wasted, because he had a red sport’s car that he couldn’t control going around a curve. I never tried to find out who it was. I didn’t want to know. I still don’t. I feel some sense of guilt because of what I said as the driver passed us going up the hill…..

As the sun goes down tonight and they are predicting snow, I can’t help but think how beautiful the morning was on this day. It was coolish…around 30 degrees, but that’s nothing to a guy who braves 25 degrees or lower to prowl flea markets hunting for junk. So I walked and had a go at some photos of familiar things. I know all of you my Facebook friends have seen these views many times, but for every day that passes there is a subtle difference. There is a tiny erosion of time in both me and the scenery. I feel different. I feel much differently about things than I did as a young boy. Things just don’t appear as bright and new as they did then.

I played and fished around this river all of my childhood. I put a hole in my shinbone on one of the limestone rocks in the river on the day Kennedy was shot, and happened to be home on that day to hear Walter Cronkite announce his death. I was trying to jump from one rock to another and didn’t quite make it with my left leg, and jammed it into one of the sharp limestone “knobs” on the rock.

It had been our lunchtime at school, I think about 11:15 a.m.,when I did it and Mr. Couey, one of my teachers had sent me home for medical attention. My Aunt Shelia Stuart was visiting us that week and I remember she and my Mom gasping at the news when it came on T.V. a little after 12:30 on that Friday afternoon. I don’t know whether my Aunt remembers it or not, but I do. So, I got this dime sized scar in my shin that I call my “Kennedy” scar.

It’s surprising that so much has changed in the years since then. I do however, look with a surprising amount of respect at that damn rock every time I go over the bridge which leads to the mill. I was allowed a glimpse of history and a long term memory because of it.

As first graders one of the first things the teachers taught us to do at recess was to “pick sides” to play games. Red rover, Tug of war, later on other team sports. We chose sides for tasks inside the classrooms. From the very beginning of our education, a hierchy was established. The same children were chosen by the “leaders” for the same sides every time. The same kids were picked last every time. We were taught to be devisive from the very start and it continued through our entire school career. After a while, it was something from which you could not break free.

Practically everything we do requires us to choose a side. Take a moment and think about it. I don’t have to name them all, you know of what I speak. Sides. Choose a side. Right or left. Red or Blue. Pro this, or pro that. “Red rover, red rover send Susie right over”

I was usually one of the last people picked for any team. I know why now. It was because I didn’t want to be on a side. I think maybe I just wanted to be an observer or maybe a referee. I never fit well on either side. I still don’t.

I think it was wrong of them to make us choose sides. Choosing teams would have been better. There is quite a difference you know.

The experience we obtain as we grow through childhood shapes our opinions for life. I have never changed my basic philosophy about things since I was a young man. I have pretended, and acted. I have conformed to rules with which I did not agree. I have assauged the feelings of many. I am none the worse for it because I know the real person who I am and I’m satisfied with my actions. On occasions I have had to choose sides. But I did not like it.

I live for the day when society does not demand we must hate one another for the side on which we have been picked, or with which we choose to affiliate. I’m afraid my frustrations or lack of patience may occasionally spill over into expression of opinions which may not be popular. For this I apologize in advance and beg you remember it’s just the way I was taught.

“Bum, bum, bum here we come blowing our bugles and beating our drums”

Once, when I was a four year old child, I rode my tricycle down the red brick front steps of our old mill house on fifth street in Trion.  The tricycle flipped over and my forehead hit the edge of those red brick steps and they became even more red with my blood spilling out from the newly formed gash on my body.  I think I was temporarily unconscious, but then I remember the curtain of my own blood running down over my eyes.

I could have laid there and bled to death.  But then my Dad came out and lifted me up and took me to the Doctor, who put eight stitches in my head.  The scar is still there to remind me that when you are down and cannot help yourself, you had better hope there is someone else around who CAN help you.  My Daddy lifted me up many more times, both literally and figuratively.

When I was bullied and belittled in school because of my appearance and my shyness, there were some very wonderful and dedicated teachers who believed in me, and gave me a chance to do things I could not have otherwise done.  A chance to sing.  A chance to write, a chance to believe in myself as a person.  They lifted me up.

There were faithful and wonderful classmates who were and are like brothers and sisters to me.  Beautiful friends, who have lasted a lifetime.

As an awkward college freshman I met a young girl, only 18 years old, with whom I started to hang around and tease, then date, then fall in love and marry.  She has lifted me up many, many times during the last 48 years.  What would I do without her?

I have met perfect strangers over the years who have become fast friends.  Many of them are encourager’s.  They have positive attitudes and smiles on their faces.  I envy them, because many days I cannot be that way.  Some days are partly cloudy to cloudy with storms.  More of them than I would like to admit.

My children and grandchildren have lifted me up.  They accept me for who I am, and look over many of my faults.  They help me to survive this life for which I feel many times very unsuited.

Yet, I am who I am, and that fact cannot be changed.  I am what I was “programmed” to be during the first year of my life.

I have tried my best over the years to be someone who would treat others like the golden rule says to treat them.  I have lost promotions, and in some cases jobs because I would not treat other people as objects to be used up and discarded.  I think it was the right thing to do.

I have given cash to homeless people, beggars and probably some con men and women.  I hope that some of that money went for food and blankets.  As a matter of fact in some cases I just bought the food and blankets in the first place!  I think it was the right thing to do.

But, doing the right thing won’t get you anywhere most of the time.  Most of the time, it will get you right where I sit today.  Behind the screen of this little computer, wishing I had made some different turns sometimes.  Wishing I had gone down some of those “less traveled roads”

But, if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

I don’t see any horses around here.  Not even a pony.

How then, can I find redemption?  Can I find it through religion or belief in a God and Creator?  Can I find it in the Bible, or the Koran?  The sayings of Confucius or Lao Tse?

I don’t think so.

Can I find it through science and the pursuit of technology and knowledge?  If I could have, I would already have I think.

I suppose my redemption can only come from what is inside of me.  Yet, I am still the same little child who rode his tricycle down the steps and busted his head wide open.  There hasn’t really been a whole lot of change, except for the passing of time.  Now, I must lift myself up, since my Dad is gone.  My parents both are gone.  Childhood is gone.  School years are gone.

Chances to ride the roads and see the sites are quickly slipping away as I sit behind this screen and type.  I should be out searching for redemption, but here I sit.  Redemption will only come when I am satisfied that I have done everything I can do for everyone I can do it for.  Is that sentence grammatically correct?  I don’t think so, but it fits.  It fits me like a glove.

I will never been satisfied, so I will never find a proper redemption.  All I can hope for now is peace, and I believe without absolute certainty that I will find that.

 

 

 

 

I’ve mentioned before that I used to get a small allowance as a kid. But, my Dad figured that my duty for that small amount of money would be mowing grass.

I started cutting grass when I was 9 years old. My Dad taught me the basics of grass care and lawn mower maintenance. How to carefully fill the mower with gas, check the oil after each use, how to overlap on each pass slightly as to not “miss a spot” Our yard over on Simmons Street seemed the size of Forest lawn to me and it seemed to take forever to cut it. It was boring, so I daydreamed about playing baseball. I was old Mickey Mantle in the 9th inning of the World Series getting the winning hit. In the end the grass got cut.

Down the road a few years later when I was 12, if I wanted money I had to work for it. At the beginning of the Summer in 1962, my Dad said “Go out and get you a few yards to mow.” So I went out and asked. I got Mr and Mrs Smith’s yard in the two story white house across from the mill. Mr and Mrs Cohran’ s house beside them, and the Smith’s two adult daughters who lived behind them on fifth street. I had a couple of them up on eighth street too, The William’s house and old Mr Crawford’s house. Mr Crawford was a character. He had been in WWI, and had been gassed with Mustard gas. Even though that had given him lung problems he still worked very hard at the Mill as a sweeper. He was quite a talker and I learned a lot from listening to him.

I got so many yards to mow, that I was super busy! The first couple of weeks were not so bad, but then there was ball practice….extra ones even, due to the fact that our coach really wanted to win first place. My client’s yards started getting long and Dad ended up “helping me out” so I could keep my yards and get my money. Dad didn’t complain. That’s just the way he was.

We won first place in little league that year, and I know Dad was proud. Tired from having to help me mow yards, but proud nonetheless. I continued to mow these same yards for years after that because Dad had “saved me” that year. I think my brother Mike Bowers kept on mowing them after I went off to West Georgia. Dad continued to help me if I needed it, and he would always check to make sure I hadn’t missed a spot. He did the same thing when I washed the car too!

I’ve tried to live the same philosophy. Let people work when they can, help when they need it, and tell them when they have “missed a spot”

There are stuffed animals lined up in the hall. Three Teddy bears being taught by a monkey in a green plastic chair. I know this because that is what my three year old Rue told me. She showed me a page with super hero stickers all lined up in a row and told me it was her “lesson plan” I’m sure the monkey can handle it.

Outside next to my storage building is a little pile of rocks of different sizes, shapes and colors. This is Eli’s collection from our hike across the old apartments lot on Park Avenue yesterday. I let him out of the stroller and he picked and chose, throwing the ones he didn’t like as far as his little arm could chunk them.

Paula and I have been keeping these two for over 3 years now, since they are both closer to 4 than 3. When we started, I was still a very sick man. I struggled with heart and chest pains. I was on the verge of diabetes and had very little energy. As these two progressed from helplessness to walking, to running, to talking and thinking….to becoming little humans, I realized that I would like to be around with them a little while longer. I didn’t do much about it at the time though. When I found out last year that Matt and Courtney were finally having a baby, I decided to become more active.

So I started walking. I went to the gym because Paula was doing rehab, and I have kept on going.

I got one of those fitbit things for my birthday back in October and as of today I am nearing a million steps on it. I still am not “healthy” as a normal person by any means, but I think having these youngsters and now a new baby have kept me from going downhill. Instead I have come uphill a bit. I still go to sleep all the time. Rue was poking me this morning while she was sitting in my lap in my chair saying “Wake up Papa…wake up”

I have beautiful teenage granddaughters I want to see graduate from high school, and a young adult granddaughter I want to see get a good start on life. I’m trying to teach Auttie a little guitar too. She’s doing really good.

Not even to mention my three children who are my friends and my dear wife. We have a fiftieth wedding anniversary coming up in a few years, and I got to make plans to be here for that. I think we are going to Disney world.

Yet…my goals are all attainable short range deals. One day at a time, and stack them up like bricks at a kiln.

So, I’ll leave the stuffed animals where they are for now, and the rock pile too. They will remind me of the two who put them there and how much I love them….and how much I love them all.

I walked around town in the mist and drizzle yesterday. It was one of my better walks in a long while, despite the weather. I felt strong and the lungs and heart were good, so I did almost five miles.

I always long to be outside. I started out yesterday going down towards the river, but then reversed my course and went down the sidewalk on Park Avenue. (It’s always better to walk with the wind at your back!) That old sidewalk along Park avenue is the same one which has been there all of my life. It is a bedrock of memories for me. I remember walking to school down that concrete path when I was as young as eight years old. I continued to walk that way until we moved in 1962 up to eigth street and then I walked from there to school. There was very little danger in a young kid walking to school back in 1958. We didn’t think a thing about it.

I also remember going that way on Saturdays down to the old theatre to sit all afternoon watching some Cowboy movie, or a rare Science fiction fare. Dad always told me to just stay on that path and not wander off, and I would be fine. I always was.

I remember going towards school that way one terrible morning when my Mom had her first nervous breakdown, and how she ran after me that day…scared that something was going to happen to her. So much sorrow yet to come, and as that day unfolded and I had not the least idea of how to handle what was taking place. I had no idea that I would soon be staying with my Grandparents for a few months while Mom was in the State hospital. How I wish we had the treatments available back then that we have today.

But I love the outdoors, in all places, but especially familiar places.

I remember my friend who lived on that street who passed away much too young. I remember that he wanted to be outside as he was dying. He sat in his front yard, bundled up in coats and blankets looking at the wonderful world around him. The sky and the clouds. The rain and the sun. I know he did not wish to leave it, and my heart broke for him.

If I had a choice, which I know that few of us do, I would choose to die outside under the full moon and a sky quilted with billions of stars, on warm summer’s night…..gazing up into the Universe beyond where we exist and wondering what lies ahead.

How much does it cost?  Think about how many times you have said those words, or heard someone else say them.  We pretty much base our whole lives on the asking, and the result of that one question.  You may not think so, but we do.

I often wish I could pick my family up and take them to a private island somewhere out in the Pacific where there are plenty of fish and coconuts and where the weather is always nice.  But, that’s not something that’s ever going to happen.

What does it cost, really?  The things that we need and have to have.  Gasoline to drive to work.  A  mortgage for a place to live.  Credit cards (galore!)  taxes,…oh yes there are taxes!  I wish I had space to list them all, but I think my space is limited to a few billion pixels of room!!   There is always that tenacious knawing need for money, money and more money. But…

But..what does kindness cost?   What about love?  Love can cost us some heartaches for sure, but when it’s good, it’s good…  Kindness may cost us some thought, but it sure seems a heap better than turning your back on someone who needs you.  Pity,..whatever happened to that one?  Nowadays it seems like it’s against the rules of our society to have pity on someone.  God forbid you should show such an outdated emotion.  Some people in this country will tell you, if you can’t make it here in this land of the free and home of the brave, you sure don’t deserve any pity!  I pity them!

Sympathy and empathy?  What’s that?  I got a hundred things to do, I got no time for sympathy for anyone else! (What’s the cost though…really?)  If we took 2 minutes to bear someone up who needed it, would we really miss our next important meeting or appointment?  Can you count the times someone has passed you in their vehicle at a dangerous spot on the road, and almost hit someone head on, but you end up behind them at the 1st red light in town? 

The emotions that we were given by our creator, and the ability to relate them to other people, are the most important gifts we have been given.   I really feel as though the reason we are here is to be tested to see if we can learn how to use those gifts.  I feel like sometimes, often times, I am failing the grade. 

So…I have to give it some thought, I have to consciously try harder not to hate, not to covet, not to be bitter.  I have to TRY and forgive those who need forgiving.  There are a couple of those I am still working on though. (I am not perfect)

What’s the Cost….really?  Of being a human being, and not being a perpetual motion machine.  Can you count it up?  I can’t.

I used to like to go to Trade day at Summerville on Tuesdays and Saturdays.  This is a place where people have brought practically everything under the sun to sell to other people over the years.

There are some pretty hilarious things that go on at these little out of the way places.  I remember one time a few years back when I got surprised.  I used to get up and go at the crack of dawn, so I never shaved and rarely ever combed my hair.  Sometimes I would have on track pants and an old slouchy shirt.  After all, this is no glamour magazine layout we are going to, correct?

I was walking around picking through stuff in boxes, crates and all other manner of containers, and I saw a little old Polaroid “Swinger” camera.  I know these to be from back in the early 60’s, because I used to have one when I was 12 years old.  I reach over to pick it up and another gentlemen who was there with me, my Mom’s cousin actually, bent over behind me.  As I reached in and grabbed the camera my hand pushed down the button and “kachang” a flash of light, and a photo pops out the front of the camera.  I was a bit surprised at the flash, so I pulled back at first but then bent over and pulled the negative out.  As I watched it develop I saw with horror that this little Polaroid was still in great working condition as a close up of my early morning face slowly came in to focus out of the miasma of chemicals on the instant film.  There was Vester Davenport looking over my shoulder at me.  What a great black and white snapshot that was!  Needless to say, with the owner asking only a dollar, I bought the little camera.  I think it is still sitting around the utility room at my house somewhere.  How odd that it had only one shot left on the film cartridge that was in it.  I still have the photo, it’s ugly but I can’t bear to burn it.

 

You have to be really careful during outings to these places, and to the myriad yard sales, antique malls, estate sales, auctions, etc.  Reaching into boxes like I did that morning without really looking closely first can get you injured.  I take my tetanus booster shots on a regular basis because I have been cut, jabbed and puncture so many times by pins, knives, attachments on jewelry, you name it.  I have never had a snake bite me yet, but I am knocking on wood as I write this.  Spiders, yes I have seen bunches of them.  Mold and mildew, that’s an everyday thing.  When you are dealing with old “stuff” you have to get used to the rot of age that comes with it.  It kind of makes you feel bad when they start calling things that are the same age as you “antique” though.  According to the definitions that I have found on collectible items, things have to be over 100 years old to be classified as Antique, and since I wasn’t born anywhere near 1907, then things that are the same age as me only quality to be called “vintage”  I like vintage a heck of a lot better than antique.  Good wine is “vintage”, so if I am like good wine then I can live with that.

I do see a lot of stuff from 1950 that looks in bad condition though.  I guess things can have rough lives just like people.

6:30 a.m. is creeping up on me and so there is going to be no time for the second go round of coffee.  I have to go out and start up my car in anticipation of the hour’s drive to work.  It’s kind of sad, but it’s a daily ritual.

Living in a small town that only has one place of employment is aggravating sometimes.  Every since 1978 I have had to commute anywhere from 70 to 100 miles a day round trip out and back to work.  I have put tons of miles on numerous cars, that’s for sure.  I have got to the point now where I “zone out” just as soon as I pull out of my driveway.  If something out of the ordinary doesn’t happen, like a big old buck deer jumping out in front of me, or a car accident (thanks God, it hasn’t been me but once that I can remember, and I am knocking on wood again) then I don’t remember a thing about the ride out and back.  I turn on the radio and most of the time tune in to NPR, National Public Radio.  Now there’s an institution!

I have been listening to them for almost 20 years now, and have been the better for it.  There are not any commercials, except when they are having a funding drive and then they drive you insane begging for money.  I always listen to 60’s rock during those 2 weeks out of the year when they are raising money.  I don’t feel guilty for not giving anything.  What the heck, it’s radio!  They apparently have always gotten enough to do them, because they have never gone off the air.  It tickles me the “prizes” they give away when they are doing this.

“Now here we have a two CD set of Hillbilly Bob, and Skanky Skunks recorded live in Paducah Kentucky back in 1954 at their farewell concert,” they say  “and we will send you this great set for just a contribution of 100 dollars towards our goal of ….” Whatever it is.  They do give away CD’s of people I have heard of, but you have to pay more then you do for Hillbilly Bob.  They also sell “DJ for an Hour” which is when they let amateur folks come in for an hour of their programming and play anything they want.  Some of these are very pitiful.  I have always kind of wanted to do this, so I could play all of the demo tapes of country songs I recorded back in the 80’s, but I am afraid someone would think I was pitiful too.  I probably would be.  They would have to be better then some of things I have heard though.  They had one guy on during one of the hours who played recordings of songs he had made with dogs barking the lyrics.  I couldn’t bring myself to switch the station.  It was kind of like when you drive by a bad car wreck and you don’t want to look, but curiosity gets the best of you and you do it anyway.  I have seen some things I would have been better of not seeing, and that day I heard some things I really DID NOT want to hear.

But, it’s kind of a tradition to listen to this station, and it’s news most of the time anyway, and most of the time I am zoned out.

I have had some problems over the past few years with sleepiness.  I don’t know if it’s just old age, or what.  Some days I have to roll down the window and stick my head out in order to stay awake.  This gets really rough during the moth and bug season.  After a few hits on the head by June bugs, you do have a tendency to stay awake though.

I remember one time when I was about 8 miles or so away from home, and feeling really sleepy that I found myself on a road I was not familiar with.  Turns out, I had turned off of the main highway in my sleep and was driving down a little back road that led to who knows where.  I made a right hand turn and got back out to the highway, but it was really scary.  How can one drive when one is unconscious?  I have found that chewing gum helps, so now I go through about 8 packs of Trident a week.  Hope all those possums along the way liked thoroughly chewed sugarless gum.  (They probably do)

The other thing that is irritating besides the fund drives on NPR and falling asleep is road construction.  I have pretty much gone the same way to work for the last 19 years, and I believe that the road I am driving on is now fully 6 inches higher then it was back in 1988.  They pave it once a year whether it needs it or not.  The politicians can NEVER bring themselves to give back tax money, even in years when they have a surplus (which is not very often, but it does happen) so instead of giving anything back, they pave roads with it.  I think they justify it by saying they are keeping people employed.  The type of people they keep employed, however, are quite often not prime candidates for Mensa. (Or even prime candidates for 9^th grade for that matter)  And you never, ever see all of them working at the same time.  There will be one guy driving the little buggy with the big heavy roller on the front of it to pack down the asphalt, and everyone else will be standing there watching him.  They lean on their shovels, or sit on the other machines and cheer him on.

“Thata’ boy Joey, pack that stuff down” they say “anybody got another chew?’

Ol’ Joey has the chew, and as you ride your car by, he tries to wait until the most recently waxed ones get right next to him before he spits.  What are you going to do?  There are 50 cars in front of you and 50 cars behind you and you ain’t going to be doing any stopping to argue with Joey over washing your car.  Besides, the man is on top of a machine that could crush your vehicle like a beer can in the hands of Hulk Hogan.

Just once in my life, I would like to see a Governor who decides to give a tax rebate back.  I swear if there has every been a politician like that I don’t remember their name.

So, I swing out of the driveway, tune in to NPR and start to zone out.

I don’t mind going to meetings, but I hate going to meetings that are about me.  I have been in limbo now employment wise for quite some time.  So, every now and then there is a meeting about me.  This was one of those days.

Let’s skip this for now; suffice it to say that the status quo was preserved.

That’s another one of those words that’s derived from Latin isn’t it?  Status Quo.  Sounds cool, but what it really means is inaction.  If action is not taken one way or another on a subject then the subject or matter remains “Status Quo”  That’s good when it comes to things like the San Andreas fault.  The fact that it is remaining status quo is a good thing.  When it comes to inaction in terms of our human lives, status quo can sometimes become an enemy.   It can also become an enemy when it comes to lack of action where our country is involved.  I have dreams about that every once in a while.

I have a dream about America.  I dream that the United States of America is still a power to reckon with, in regards to the World economy, and the ability to shape that economy.  I dream that most Americans have not given up on their future, or the futures of their children and grandchildren because the Chinese, Indians, Koreans or other rising economic powers have bitten into the pie of wealth and started to chew on their earnings.  Rather, I dream that America and Americans can bounce back with a vengeance and regain their dominance in the World Economy.  They can only do this, however; by leveling the playing field with the competition and fielding the right players.

Since right after World War II, the United States has been giving up their economic surplus to help rebuild each and every country they have ever gone to war with.  Billions of dollars have been poured into the rebuilding of the German economy, the Japanese economy, and the Korean economy.  Now we find ourselves in the position over the past few years to do the same thing for Viet Nam, and will soon be doing it for Iraq.  Money which should have been used to help further the cause of U.S. economic growth, through incentives, research and rewards for hard work has instead propped up the very aforementioned economies until they are now competing with us on a “equals” footing.

Now also, China has decided to enter into the mix with their HUGE pool of cheap labor to pull from, causing further loss of revenue for the U.S. for the types of products that can be cheaply produced and sold here.  The U.S. Textile industry has suffered as no other to the huge glut of textile products which have been and still are being imported into this country by the large mega retailers such as You-know-who-Mart.  No incentives have been given to U.S. Textile manufacturers to stay in business, and no restrictions have been put on China, India, Viet Nam, and others to try and level the playing field for U.S. companies to be able to compete.

Many people complain about the influx of foreign workers coming into the U.S. causing and keeping the earned wages below where it is perceived they should be.  U.S. companies have been forced to some extent to employ this labor force at a lower wage in order to keep their heads above the water.  If the U.S. government would stop placing the perceived “good” relationships we are cultivating with the countries which are killing our economy, above the need to take care of its own citizens, then things might start to turn around.  The process is still reversible at this point, although it will not always be that way.  It would be better to try and help increase good jobs in the countries where these workers come from, in order to give them some incentives to stay home and work.

But do most politicians pay attention to the people?  Hardly.  Even when elected by the citizens of their District or State, with a clear mandate from them to do things one way, the politicians go to Washington with their OWN agenda in mind, knowing that they have years to do things to benefit themselves before they come up for election again.  One has only to look at the current administration and the surrounding players in Congress to see a group of people who are there only to serve their own interests.  If there is a real “fiscal” conservative in the current administration, then he or she must be hiding under a conference table somewhere cowering and afraid to come out.  Never, in the history of this country has there been a group of people who have spent and borrowed a nation closer to being bereft than the current one.

When someone mentions that the “Stock Market” is still going up, I have to wonder what they will think about that same Stock market in just a decade or so when a large majority of the Baby Boomer 401 K’s that have been keeping the Market buoyed and strong start to come out and start being used to pay for medical bills, drugs, food, etc.  Certainly there will be money coming into the market from new 401 K’s to some extent, however again the fact that so many foreign workers are now taking over the job spaces that have been for years filled by Americans who have wanted to save for American futures is going to cause the Stock Market to take a huge hit fairly soon.

You only have to look at the fact that the second highest economic factor in the Mexican economy last year was Money being sent home to Mexico from the United States.  That is money that Wall Street will never see.

Couple that fact with the fact that our country is now borrowing money very heavily from the above mentioned economic power who we have bailed out during our past history and it all becomes very troubling.  (If we just had the money back we have wasted in Iraq…but that’s another book)

Until we can find some of the “right players” who will take the reigns of our economic behemoth which is careening out of control and pull us back on the road for success we will continue to barely keep our economy out of the ditches.  Right now we ARE still a force to be reckoned with and none of us have given up.  What we really need to do is to make sure our choices in the future for the people who represent US are very carefully made.  We need a President that has a pen marked ‘Veto’ written on it for spending bills which are plainly pork.  We need a Congress filled with enough men and women of integrity who can so “no” to the siren call of the lobbyists and yes to doing the will of the people who elected them.

I hope it’s not just a pipe dream.

In any case, it’s now close to 8 am so its time to head on to work for the “Boy Who was Chosen Last” Yep, that’s me.

It was a long time ago when I was 12 years old.  I had never played organized baseball of any kind.  As I have previously stated I am NOT that much of a team player.