On Being Human

It is the ordinary things, the mundane moves…which make life…life. Day to day to day, what you have done is, in reality, the terrific.

I find an out of place blue pacifier on the shelf, and I think of all the pacifiers I have handled, stuck in baby mouths, wiped off and sterilized over the years. I still have the very first one I ever saw from 44 years or so ago…it was a baby bottle lid with tape across the bottom. They have definitely improved over the years.

The grass was cut yesterday and the smell of it, freshly slain and lying defeated in the yard was intoxicating and primal. It always takes me back to a time before I have memories, a time of just happy, smelly bliss.

I find I love a song by a group called “Casper Baby Pants”. Google them. They’re real. It’s a lullaby, kind of…and it makes me smile. It picks my soul up and transports it up, and up…into the sky above skies. I have always loved music, almost any kind of music. Music is my constant companion and soother of last resort. It doesn’t matter to me how silly the name of the group.

I work every day. Hard enough to make my heart beat hard and fast. Not because I love work that much, but because I want to know if it’s going to last another day. I raked brush and leaves today like a Tasmanian devil of yard nullification. Huge piles were left in my wake, and then I leaned on the rake and felt the thump…thump..thump…hard and fast. No pain. Good. Another day then.

I love being a human. I love doing the simple things that humans do. Every day doesn’t have to be a trip to Disney World or the beach….although that would nice. But, just to open a book and lose myself in another person’s wonderful imagination, to see a beautiful photograph, to watch the birds and squirrels in the yard, feeding. Just to see the stars at night, or even the lightning and hail of a few days past!

How spectacular is existence! How glorious is sensing all of this wonder surrounding us.

I waste way too many thoughts on things which are far beyond my ability to control, and I’m angered by actions which others take, which I have little ability to affect.

My appeal to you, my friends is to not let yourself fall into the traps and conditions which cause you to miss the beauty of life which is unfolding before you each and every day.

Witness the ordinary and think on the mundane, and be content.

Rubiks Cube and Terror

Pick up a Rubik’s cube. Now put on a blindfold. Now solve the puzzle…quickly…quickly…

Now, call the Rubik’s cube terrorism. Now you get some small inkling of how complicated is the current situation in our world.

My eyes well up with tears as I see the pictures and video of the carnage, this time from Belgium…as before from Paris, as from San Bernadeno, California, and from a Russian plane with 224 people, as with multiple deaths at a peace rally in Turkey, and a beach shooting in Tunisia, a mosque bombing….yes a mosque bombing….in Yemen, and as “far” back as a newspaper office in Paris, for some cartoons they drew….and on and on and on we could go back. All the way back to 1983 when 241 United States Marines died in Beirut, Lebanon, and six months before that as 64 Americans died at the bombing of our embassy in Beirut.

We forget how long we have been turning the sides of the Rubik’s cube, and still have not solved the problem. As far back as 1095 A.D?

It is a fearful situation again, as with all those other times, and it’s not over, because we still have not solved the problem. We are still blindfolded.

But the entire point of terrorism is to make you afraid to go about your normal life. Afraid to take your vacations, afraid to go shopping at the mall.

Do we keep closing in our circle of activities and living life until we are closed up in our houses with security cameras all around and guns in hand?

Do we react with anger and death dealing of our own volition?

Perhaps instead a Rubik’s cube, we should be trying to put together the three separate pieces of a puzzle ring. One representing love, one representing compassion and one representing patience.

Then when we get those three pieces locked into a perfect circle which has no beginning and no end, we can perhaps begin to understand each other as human beings, and revenge for past atrocities against each other can stop.

I’m not sure if it’s even possible or not in this world, but I’d give anything to make it so.

So I turn and turn and turn the cube over and over. Then finally I figure out that long ago religion has taken the stickers off the cube and moved them and I will never be able to solve the puzzle. I believe in a creator and a creation, but I’m not sure if God chooses sides. I don’t think he does.

At that point the cube crumbles in my hands…….and I start to think, what can I do to make things better. What influence can my one little pitiful, senior citizen life exert.

All I can do is just write an opinion. Maybe go somewhere this weekend with the family, and refuse to be afraid no matter where it’s at.

I must buy another Rubik’s cube again though and start over.

Being Me

I’ll never be what I could have been, but that’s not really important because I am what I want to be.

You never figure life out. Why it flows the way it does. Why certain things happen at certain times…both the bad and the good. Why we end up being, what we end up being.

I wanted to be somebody. After all the years of wanting, I finally figured out I am.

I’m somebody’s husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle…I’m somebody’s friend, somebody’s confidant.

That’s all I got to be. All I really want to be. All the other stuff is just superficial. Everything else is not as important.

So I’ll keep on being me and the people who matter will understand.

Memories of Home

There were a lot of tiny neighborhoods in our small town when I was growing up. Mind you, the town itself was never above 2500 people by much at any given time between the years of 1953, when my Daddy got out of the Navy and moved us to Trion, and June of 1969…when I got married, and embarked on my “adult” life.

Sixteen years. In those neighborhoods.

Frog town, Hottown, Happytop, Pennville, Mountain view, Dry valley, and quite a few more. Maybe all not technically within the city limits of Trion, but all within the influence of the two main factors in the north part of Chattooga county….the cotton mill, and the Trion City Schools.

In that sixteen year period, many of the residents in our county depended on Riegel textile for a living, and on the city schools for an education for their children.

The houses in our city were mostly converted mill houses. Originally built and owned by the mill for their workers, they were gradually sold to people as personal residences. People took those old mill houses and turned them into cozy homes. They tidied them up, painted them, renovated them, added on rooms, planted grass and vegetable gardens….and took pride in the ability to own a little piece of land of their own.

They kept the yards up nicely for the most part, and the town even gave out “yard of the month” awards for the best looking and most highly manicured yards. People took pride in their properties.

Kids played in the yards and streets. Nobody thought much about letting their children go and do things on their own. I remember walking three or four blocks from our house on Simmons street when I was eight years old, down to the old movie theatre, for Saturday matinees. Lots of cowboy movies, and a few science fiction thrillers were the object of our little kid desires back in those days. We also played outside….a lot. If I stayed in the house and tried to read comic books for too long, my Mom would shoo me out the back door with a “you need some sun, son”. And…that would be where I’d stay. I think I developed my love for all things outside from being “shooe’d out” so much.

I realize that things have to change, but as I drove through my “old” home town today, I looked around and through the visor of nostalgia felt sadness and just a tiny touch of pain.

I do realize however, to those that I saw today…and to the kids who are living in those neighborhoods today, they are going through their sixteen years just as I went through mine, and they will remember them just as fondly as I do.

For you see, it’s all a matter of perspective.

The Butterfly

I know without a doubt that our lives here are akin to that of a caterpillar. We move along through life..taking from it what we need, what we want sometimes irrespective of what really is needed to nourish us for our future.

At some point…different times for each of us, we spin our chysillis and for all intents and purposes we are “dead” to the world, to our families, to all others. And there we remain, undergoing our metamorphosis. And one day when that change is complete we will, we most certainly will, break forth from our cocoons…and we will spread our wings and fly…fly to places we never knew existed, fly with our loves…perhaps even with those we did not know, or with those who hated us or derided us before both we and they were changed.

We will have a new body, a new vision of love, a new purpose….and it will be something we never imagined in our wildest dreams, something with a magnificent and mysterious purpose. That…is my dream and my hope for all of mankind.

The Hawks Flight

I know I sometimes must appear a bizarre sight, walking all over town with my stick in my hand and occasionally stopping and using my phone to snap off a photo. People ride by and stare, and kids sometimes snicker. I really don’t mind.

I suppose they would really think me insane if they knew of the conversations going on in my mind as I amble along. I talk to my Dad. I’ve been known to say hello to the huge oak tree which sits in the yard of the house where I lived as a child. It’s been there my entire life and shows no sign of moving.

The hawk that flew overhead today with his “scree, scree, scree” got a wave out of me.

….and the wind whistled a bright tune on the rim of my hat”

And I just had to chuckle out loud as I recalled Eli tearing down the church aisles today, racing to the bathroom oblivious to the palm Sunday special music. God probably got a laugh out of that one too.

Life is to live, and not always walk in the shadow of our impending mortality. Forget about it for a while on days like today. Too soon you will have to consider it seriously enough, because Lordy how time does fly! Seems the only time it slows down is when I take that magic walking stick in my hand….

Our Journey

It’s just my opinion, but I believe that each of us lives within our own “Universe” inside this beautiful mind that we have at our instantaneous beck and call. We are all simultaneously on a journey with those around us, while we are also on our own very personal and very unique trip. We should be respectful and tolerant of everyone’s individual journey here on Earth.

Condemnation of each other for our individual beliefs is not what we need. If another person is not on the same “wave” which you are on, move on and let them alone. You can always find balance if you seek it.

The “Mexican Invasion”

I walked around the neighborhood again yesterday for a little while. Our little town is a small mill town, population about 1600 or so. Used to be, back in the fifties when I grew up around here, most of the houses were owned by white families whose owners worked in the local cotton mills. They kept the houses up pretty well. The black people had their own part of town which was over on the west side side of town, on the left hand side of the road headed out of town. The school is up that way now. They had their own cemetary also, up behind the black church. There’s some kind of business in that place now.

As I was walking, I guess it was around noon, the only people I passed were Guatemalan’s. There was two Guatemalan Mothers out walking with baby carriages with their kids in them. That was over by the Town hall as I was walking down to the river. I passed a Guatemalan lady and her little child coming down the hill on the sidewalk as I was walking by the tennis courts. As I went up the hill going up towards West pine street, I walked pass a couple of Hispanic men in a work van, getting out to do some work on one of the very numerous rental houses in our town. They had a sign on the back of their van, said “handyman services” They nodded and said “hello” as I went past them. I’m thinking that probably more than 50% of the houses in my little town are now rental houses. A lot of them are owned by the same people. There’s some people here in town that make a good bit of money buying up the old mill houses that the white families used to live in, and renting them out to the Hispanic people who work in the mill here and in the mills over in Dalton and other places. I see a lot of them getting in their cars about 6 am for the hours ride to Dalton. I’d say most of the rental houses in this tiny town are now rented by Hispanics. When I go to the school to pick up my four year old pre-k kids I see a lot of little Hispanic children going to school there. Quite a few.

I came back home and I thought about it. How’d it get this way? It’s super complicated I believe.

I remembered back in the late eighties and early nineties, I had to go to Laredo, Texas a couple of times a year because the company I worked for had a warehouse there and I was in charge or Quality, and we had to audit that warehouse. We’d go across the border into Mexico and I remember seeing signs there advertising for people to go to work in Dalton, Georgia in the carpet factories. All the way in Nuevo Laredo…imagine my surprise. There were phone numbers on the signs too! A lot of the Mexicans took the big industries up on their offer and came to work over here. The Hispanics came from other countries also. They came here because they were “invited” to begin with. A lot of them lived in squalor and poverty and military supression and war in their countries, and they wanted a better life for their children and themselves. America seemed to offer that life. I remember back in the ensuing years as they worked in the factories, I would see them going to the Post offices every week and sending money back home to relatives who were left behind. I talked with a lot of them who worked for me who were saving up money to go back home and live. I had this one Guatemalan guy who had already bought a home back in Guatemala city and was fixing it up. “I got a big kitchen with a stove and refrigerator already” he said.

So, it’s a lot different walking around here, than it would have been back in the fifties and sixties when the white middle class was still building and growing, and Pete the truck driver was the only Hispanic I even knew who lived in this area. Things change. Our economic system was raped and pillaged by politicians and billionaire who didn’t care about middle class Americans. They destroyed our status quo and rearranged it to be as it is now. We mostly stood by clueless as to what they were doing until it was too late. Our parents and us got to where we were making too much money, and the profit margins for the super rich wasn’t high enough, so they decided that fact must change! They invented “voodoo” economics. They brought in workers who they could pay less than they could us. They started sending jobs out to other countries in order to make more profit. They closed factories in America, and opened them in China and Mexico. I know for sure that’s what they did. I was a witness to it. The place I worked at in the 1990’s started sending our Purchasing agent to China on a regular basis. Next thing I knew, we were getting goods from there. Quilts, blankets, throws. From Mexico too. That’s why I had to go to Laredo to check the quality of the goods which were coming in from Mexico. “We are making a hell of a lot more money on that stuff, than if we had to pay to get it made here” said our purchasing agent. Yep, there were. But, we started to lay people off back home. Many of our looms were shut off. We “downsized” Yes, that was the phrase back then to describe a company who was farming out their goods to another country, “downsizing”

So, I don’t buy the bullshit about the Hispanics coming over here to America and “taking our jobs away” I know better. I was there, and I saw what was happening.

They sold our “medium” sized business to one of the mega huge carpet companies in 1999 and I was laid off in another one of those “downsizing” events.

But, back to walking around. I started wondering about “internment” camps.

If we “round up” all of the illegal immigrants who are here in America now and send them back “to Mexico” and build that big huge wall, we are definitely going to have to have interment camps to hold them in until we can work out how we are going to get them back to wherever it is that they came from. Maybe Nuevo Laredo. I know that people have been fretting about our current president building “internment” camps for his entire presidency. They have been worrying about a lot of stuff he was going to do. I’m including a link about all that stuff.

You can let me know next year after the elections, when Donald Trump may become President, because everyone is “angry” how many of the things on the conspiracy list have come true. I still have my guns…do you still have yours?

I wrote a post yesterday about Donald Trump, but deleted it because frankly, I don’t like to make other people uncomfortable. I heard a speech online yesterday by John Kennedy, which I had never hear before and there was a quote which he referenced by the Greek lawmaker Solon which decreed it a crime for any citizen to shrink from controversy. Ostensibly, this particular speech by Kennedy is often cited by conspiracy theorists as being the one which got him assassinated. I listened to it, and it could be.

http://www.jfklibrary.org/Research/Research-Aids/JFK-Speeches/American-Newspaper-Publishers-Association_19610427.aspx

In any case, Trump continues to gain power and become more and more the despot, and we have to ask ourselves if we want a despot for a leader. He rails on and on about this and that, but never really says anything much in any of his speeches. He simply incites people. He now threatens there will be rioting in the streets if he is not the Republican nominee. Blood in the streets!

I’ll probably go for a walk again today. I’m going to continue to go, no matter who passes me by on the street as I go, whether it’s a white person, or a black person, or a hispanic person. I know that things change. Life changes. There is very little that we as single individuals can do about it. Only when we band together in logical protest against the systems which have been instituted to destroy our society, especially our middle class, only then can we start to improve things. If we continue to let the demagogues (and you know who they are) incite us to hate other peoples, other groups, different thinkers,…if we continue to let them make us hate and want to murder, and want to harm, then…we are lost. Our country will disintegrate into anarchy.

Just my opinions though folks, formulated while walking around town….

Faith

I am finding more and more solace in the fresh air every day, and the continued ability to be in this world and be a part of it.

My faith in a creator is being renewed within my heart.

I see with crystal clarity how I personally should believe.

It’s encouraging to find a spark which I thought had gone out, has not been extinguished.

Perhaps it was just hiding and biding it’s time waiting for me to rediscover it, and by gently fanning it, bring back its glow and it’s warmth.

My Purpose

Some days I feel like a hypocrite without a purpose.

A rebel at a peace conference. A teacher in an empty room.

A wanna be spirit without a womb.

An idea without a purpose. A dissatisfied customer of the happy store.

An unwanted stranger outside tomorrow’s door.