Month: June 2018

Well…when at first you don’t succeed getting something posted try two more times….but it’s worth trying again:

I noticed that Mrs. Nellie McWhorter has died. Besides my Mom and Dad she is the person in Trion of whom I have the longest memories. I remember her from when we lived up on sixth street back in the early 1950’s. She was always so nice to the little crazy boy next door. She let me hunt lightning bugs in her back yard, and even gave me a jar to put them in. She told me “Make sure and let them out in the morning, so they don’t die” I had fun with those little bugs that night. Bet I had a hundred of them in that jar! She also would let me play in their driveway with my little old “tootsie” toy cars. The neighbors ALWAYS had a better driveway to play in! She never had a cross word that I can remember. I know that her husband passed away fairly early and left her a widow. I remember seeing her out and about back in the 1970’s after we moved back to Trion, and was surprised she know my name…Back 10 or more years ago she started driving her little blue Ford sedan down to Trade Day and selling knick knacks and fried pies to make a little money to make it through the month on. A lot of elderly people did and are doing that. I got to renew my friendship with her, because I loved the pies and I hate I didn’t know who to ask what had happened to her. I have been missing her, and now know we will continue to miss her. It happens quite often with that group of older folks, one of whom I am fast becoming, who come down to set up and make a few little dollars. RIP Mrs. Nellie…you will be missed.

Once Upon a Cloudy Day….

One of the most beautiful days of my life was sometime back in the summer of 1960. It’s a vivid memory of a very ordinary act.

It was a day not unlike the ones we have had lately. Lots of blue sky and big puffy clouds in the sky. The blue was a deep azure, something which seemed unusual to me that day at the age of 10. The clouds were bright white and as puffy as giant marshmallows and were assuming all kinds of neat shapes.

We had a lot of clover in our side yard, and it wasn’t terribly hot, so I went and lay down in one of those gently cool and wonderful smelling plots of grass, and looked straight up into the air. I can understand why the honey bees love the clover. It smelled like the world itself…all wrapped up in a bevy of tiny little white blossoms. I imagined each white cloud which floated by as something which existed in the world. There was an elephant, one shaped like an arrowhead, and another like Casper the Friendly Ghost’s head (OK…I read too many comic books…) I didn’t think much about anything else. I think I kind of just “zoned out” for about an hour and lay there with both my eyes and my mouth wide open.

I didn’t care what the people in the rest of the world were doing right then. I didn’t know anything about war or killing yet. I hadn’t even heard the name “Vietnam” and I had no cares about what was going on in Washington D.C. I only cared about what was happening at that moment. Right then was the only thing which mattered to me!

That was the last time I ever remember doing that. I think it’s the closest I ever came to just absolutely becoming a part and parcel with the world around me. I believe that’s why it still seems fresh in my memory, even though it’s been 53 years ago.

I think about it sometimes when the sky is an azure blue and the clouds are all puffy and big, and I see a big patch of clover. I wonder if it would be the same. I would probably just lay there and think about things which I “need” to do. Tasks which have to be done.

I guess all I can ask for is to have a patch of clover planted over my head one of these days. Then I’ll have a long, long time to look up at the sky. I love that day though, and still remember it with fondness.

Tomorrow is my dear wife’s birthday. We got to discussing time tonight and how quickly it passes. We came to the conclusion that it would be nice to have a device enabling us to “slow down” the good times. Not just vacations and things such as that, but instead the years we spent raising our children. Those years flew by like an eagle in a steep dive. My memory being what it is now, those days are a blur for me.

I wish I could go back to that very last car trip that Paula and the kids and I took out to Idaho…driving out across the plains, through the mountains of Colorado and Utah. If was beautiful. I’m sure Kirsten, Teddy, and Matt don’t remember it quite as fondly though!

My wife and our family mean everything to me. There have been times when I may not have acted like it, but it is the absolute truth. They are more precious to me than any amount of money…gold, silver or diamonds. I don’t say this to ingratiate myself, I say it because it is the truth.

If I had done what I should have done, I could have done better. I should have managed my time better. Regret is useless at this point though. I will just have to hope that I use the time I have left more wisely. I have no time left for some things.

No time left to hate other people because of the color of their skin, or because of who they love.

No time left to try to manage other people’s business, or their beliefs. I have enough of a problem managing my own.

No time left to worry about whether or not other people’s opinions are right or wrong. I’m getting to the point where it doesn’t matter.

No time left to waste on arguing over things which I cannot control nor even wish to control. I’m never going to be President or King as I once imagined.

No time left for this or that smart alec remark or sarcastic retort. I’ve made a few this week I know, but my time on Facebook now is like a robin swooping down to grab a worm…just in and out. It’s probably better that way.

I’m trying my very best to concentrate on the the things that matter most in my life.

I really miss the pre-social media stuff, like “magic night” (that’s game!) and meals with no cell phones. The times before texting took the place of talking. The days when you had to get in the car and physically go see people. People like my Dad and Mom. I yearn for those days, but know they are not coming back. It makes me want to cry like a baby. But, I accept what life has become, with limitations.

If anyone ever invents that little slowing down time device they will be richer than Bill Gates. As for now… there’s no time left.

Percentages…I think about them. Concerning knowledge of the Universe, I speculate we know about 0.001%. Of God we probably know even less. We place so much importance on petty differences, and our human “problems” we sometimes completely forget that caring and understanding should be our two primary imperatives. Those two simple emotions embraced totally by all, would solve 99.99% of those human problems…thereby giving us much more time to increase our knowledge of God, his nature, and the Universe he created, in which we exist.

At some point, we will all be transformed. So,…. what’s so hard about getting along now?

I feel like everything in the Universe is connected. Inexplicably but undeniably connected.

I don’t know how. I’ll never know exactly how in this lifetime. But it’s the way I feel.

I feel so privileged to have been able to have a life within the confines of the Universe. To be able to think, to touch, to feel, and to remember. To be able to develop love, affection and empathy for other lives on the same journey, at the same time is awesome.

If it is a gift from a creator…one who set this all in motion, I am grateful. I feel personally as if life is that, but for those who have other theories…whatever they are or are not, life is still a rare and special thing. Obviously, quite a rare occurrence.

So, all of our memories and feelings make us who we are, but we are more than just that.

We are a heart and a spirit, bound together in a mysterious and intricate dance with all other things in existence…and isn’t it wonderful?

Remember this when others who do not realize the privilege of life as a positive thing, try to make your journey dark.

Don’t give in to them. Don’t sink to their level. Their darkness is it’s own punishment, whether they realize it or not.

It doesn’t have to be ours.

When you can comfort other people, do so. When you can lend a hand to either a friend or a stranger, do so. If you have the capacity to love other people besides your family, then you should do it. We should do it.

Only we ordinary everyday people have the ability to change the world. The politicians don’t. The preachers don’t. The bloggers don’t. The media does not. The CEO’s of the mega corps don’t. The Wall Street bankers don’t. They all have power, but they don’t have the ability. They all want control, and will take it if we allow them too.

Teach your children well. Instill love and compassion in them yourselves. Stay in touch with their activities and emotions.

Interact with your friends, and try and make new friends. Discuss issues which might be divisive with your friends. Don’t let differences fester. Infected relationships never turn out well

Most of all, don’t believe everything you hear or read, especially on social media. Keep your eyes and your awareness open when you are on the street…in public. Listen, don’t speak unless someone involves you in an interaction. You learn the real truths from the ground up.

I can’t speak personally to many of the things which are going on in the world right now because my energies are directed towards affecting some tiny lives, some young lives who I wish will be the generation who finds the will, who find the strength and the sense of purpose to find a new paradigm for the way humanity exists and by doing so can create a peaceful world. One in which all resources go into the betterment of all mankind. I hope some other people are doing the same.

Only we ordinary everyday people have the ability to change the world. Let’s stop giving our power to the manipulators and do it.

America has a big problem with stuff. I realize this a lot after looking around on weekends and seeing hundreds of yard sales, and on Tuesdays and Saturdays at Trade day, where hundreds of people bring tons of stuff week after week. We have grown to be a country where a lot of emphasis is put on stuff, and how much of it you have.

I really think the most important things in life are our spiritual and mental welfare and our interaction with our family. Then, the things we really need are few. I don’t mean that people should all become some sort of super minimalists…there is no harm in having things that make our lives comfortable or easier.

The real trick is to not be fooled into making acquisition a way of life. I know this truth not just from observation, but from living it. I have acquired WAY too much “stuff” in my life and it’s a regretful thing. I have only just lately come to the realization that most of these acquisitions need to be severely reduced. I’ll assure you that the “getting rid of” part is a lot harder than the acquisition part!

Sorry to say, but my kids may end up having to deal with part of the mess. I apologize in advance to them for that.

The BRAIN….a writing from 2004

(Warning…this is rather long….read if you have time!)

I wonder, what is the first memory that anybody can remember? Its funny how that works isn’t it. But, that’s my question for tonight. What’s your first memory? That will eventually lead me to my other question.

See, the reason it interests me is that I often wonder if everyone else’s brain functions about the same as mine. Most of my childhood memories are rather fuzzy around the edges. Do you know what I mean? They are sort of like trying to look at something right after you have just woke up, and still have a ton of “sleep” in your eyes. Or maybe it’s like trying to remember a dream that you had the night before, during which you woke up. The dream is really clear when you first wake up, so if you EVER want to remember it well you should take the advice of dream specialists and write it down right then. If not, it’s going to be fuzzy in the morning. Fuzzy around the edges, just like those earliest memories. Sometimes I wonder if some of my memories are not really dreams. Is that possible? I think it might be. As we go through life, and we live through so many different things, it may just be that some of our more vivid dreams get mixed up in our brain with reality. That would be a hoot wouldn’t it?

Well for starters, the very first thing I remember is having to go potty really, really bad. We lived in a house back in 1953, when I was three years old that was originally a duplex that had been turned into a regular house. I remember that it confused me, because both sides of the house seemed to be the same, except the living room furniture was in one side and the bedroom furniture in the other. I remember thinking that the rooms were the same and that when I blinked my eyes, or went to sleep (especially if I got carried from one side to the other during that time) that the furniture was rearranging itself! Strange, no? But, back to pottying. I had to go really, really bad, and nobody was around to “direct” me to the correct place, so down went the pants and…..well..you can guess the rest. The part I remember the most, was getting my rear end tanned by my Pop! I never, ever did that again!

I also remember having a pair of Easter bunnies that same year. Dad brought them home in a box, and we took them out back to eat grass and they got away from us and ran up under the car. It took Daddy forever to catch them, and I didn’t know what some of the words he was using meant, but I used one of those words later on when I rode my tricycle down the front steps. I got in BIG trouble for that!

I can’t remember what happened to those rabbits though. I think Dad probably got tired of them making a mess and got rid of them one night while the furniture was changing itself around.

Another vivid thing during that same year I believe was during the summer we would catch “lightning bugs” (fireflies to a lot of you) We would put them in a jar and I would take them to a dark place and try to use them like a flashlight! Usually, we would let them go before going in for the night, but once we forgot and I came out the next morning, and couldn’t figure out why the bugs wouldn’t light up. I didn’t realize that after being in a closed jar with no hole all night long, they were NEVER going to light up again! I never caught anymore lighting bugs after that, because I never wanted to take a chance on forgetting about them, and have them laying lifeless in the bottom of the jar the next morning.

I know that I lived the first two or three years of my life at my Grandparent’s house. My Dad didn’t get out of the Navy until 1953, so my Mom and I stayed with them. I have seen pictures of myself at that age, but try as I might, try so very hard, I cannot bring up any memories of any of those times before 1953 when we moved back to Trion, where I still live today. I wish I could remember those times. What would really be neat would be to be able to remember anything and everything that ever happened to you. To just be able to sit down and say, “Now I am going to remember December of 1956 when I was six years old, and what happened at Christmas that year!” That would be a miracle wouldn’t it? Scientists say that everything is stored right up there in that little 3 pounds of gray jelly we call our brain. That wonderful, misunderstood and not fully understood organ that runs us. I have tried everything from meditation to “commanding” my brain to remember, to closing my eyes and straining and squinting, like the Oriental guy on the program “Hero’s” does when he stops time. I still can’t make it happen! Are all of you folks like that, or is it just me!!! I would like to know, so I can claim a deficiency if I am the only one.

Memory and the brain. They really are a strange thing. I remember one time when my Grandfather was in his last year of life. He didn’t know anybody, or anything much. When we went to visit him, he would just sit around and kind of “babble” like a tape recorder randomly playing back snippets of conversation recorded over years and years of time. Nothing made much sense. He always seemed like he was glad to see us, and sad to see us go…but…things were just not perking right. My Grandma was sitting there one day and talking about one of their relatives, and Grandpa spoke up all of the sudden and said: “Loyd’s dead” My Grandma answered him back telling him how crazy he was, because she had just talked to her brother Loyd early that morning. That afternoon when we took Grandma back home, she found out that Loyd had died right around the time we were all at the Nursing home. This was sometime back in 1989 if I remember correctly.

So, the brain’s funny isn’t it. I would have bet you a million dollars that Grandpa couldn’t count to ten anymore, but somehow, someway he knew his old childhood hunting buddy had died.

Maybe not being able to recall everything that has ever happened to us is a blessing. We might NOT be able to be selective and just remember the good things. We might also HAVE to remember the bad things too. There are a LOT of those things that I would rather keep shoved back into the tiny recesses and crevasses of my mind. Yes, my mind. When all is said and done, it is what we are isn’t it? Even when Grandpa’s was taken mostly away, he was given a gift of sorts to replace what had been taken from him. I guess our spirit sort of resides there. It’s about the only part of us they can’t replace still! Shoot, you can have a ticker transplant and go right on being yourself, but a diving accident can turn you into something you would rather not think about! It makes you wonder about all those people who do have that kind of damage. Have their souls, what made them who they were, already fled the premises and just left the empty shell behind?

Well, there’s the challenge for those of you who care to take it up. Can your remember everything? What was your first memory? Would you like to be able to have total recall? When our old brain is gone, like Grandpa’s was, are we still us? I think so.

Oh by the way. Does anybody remember a Science Fiction thriller from the 50’s named “Donavan’s Brain?” It was about this guy whose brain was taken out of him while he was still alive, and put into this thing that looked all the world like a ten gallon fish aquarium! They had all kind of wires hooked up to it, and had it connected to a computer looking thing. Ol’ Donovan’s Brain could still “communicate” and eventually took over some folks, if I remember right, making ‘em do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. It was a hoot! I hope to heck they NEVER learn to do that. I hope they never learn to “store” our minds on computers either. Never able to “download” the electrical impulses from our brains onto some kind of infernal storage unit, to be put into a program so we can still communicate with the living. I don’t wanna’ be a machine. When it’s time for me to go, I want to go. I wonder, what will my LAST thought be? Whatever it is, I won’t be able to share it with any of you guys that are left behind, so I guess I better concentrate on sharing what I want to now, while I still can!!

I’m not sure what I would have done if somebody had ever tried to take one of my children away from me. In my younger days, there certainly would have been a fight.

Let’s think about it in reverse. What happens to a child when their parents are taken from them? Terror, uncertainty, trauma, possible PTSD, hunger, (would you feel like eating?) mourning, extreme sorrow, longing, hate….yes, that too…later.

I would have never believed when I was a young parent, that my country….America, could do something like taking children from parents. I wish to God I would have known when I was younger that this could have even remotely been a possibility of something which would happen. Perhaps there would have been something that I could have done differently to prevent this from happening. I feel so personally responsible for what is taking place right now! I’m an American, and this is happening in my country! How could this be true? Are we at war, and I haven’t heard it?

I’ve heard that this is “policy”. This isn’t policy! I’ve heard that this is biblical. This…is…not…biblical! I have heard this is “the law”. This is not the law. What this is…is simply wrong.

It’s dead wrong. And it needs to stop.

This is America. The people that this is happening to are not terrorists. The majority of them are either fleeing repression and violence, or they are looking for a better life for their families. Look around you. These people are working. These people are your fruit and vegetable pickers, your carpet mill workers, your truck drivers. They are not all gang members, robbers and rapists. They are people. People who want to do better for their families, and their families are being torn apart.

It’s not right. This is not who we are. This is not my America, not now not ever.

Call who you got to call now, but make sure you vote in the next election, and all the ones after that. Vote against the people who are making this happen. You know who they are. We can make America what it needs to be only when they are gone, and better people take their place.

Yes there would have been a fight if somebody had tried to take my kids from me. But you haven’t heard about any fights coming from the places this is happening, have you? That’s because the people this is happening to are helpless. Helpless and at the mercy of armed men on the other side.

And their children are being taken from them. And the parents are being taken away from their kids. Let that sink in, and see if you think it’s right.

Nowadays at my age, the long hot summer days are just not as much fun as they used to be when I was a kid. Back then we really had nice long breaks from school. None of that six or seven weeks out, and then right back in the school building. Back in “the old days” we had three FULL months out for summer break.

None of that year round school for us old timers! May 31 rolled around, and it’s see ya’ later to the teachers until the first week of September….Yahooo!! Heck, that was so long, I forgot most of what I’d learned the year before in school! I think that’s why the first six weeks every school year back in the good old days were “review” weeks. “Reteaching” weeks for some pretty good school teachers. But, we made it through, and I wouldn’t take anything for the memories of those long, hot summer days back when I was young.

I tell you, spring and summers were the best back in the 50’s and 60s’.

I would go to the old wooden toy box back in my room, and starting digging down to the bottom, looking for my old worn out, smelly leather baseball glove with “Pee Wee” Reece’s name engraved in it. I don’t know how I ended up with Pee Wee, as I never played a lick of ball in the infield. I was always an outfielder.

I tried out for third base once, but after I had stopped the first four hard bouncer’s that came my way with my face instead of my glove, the coach thought it might be safer to put me in left field. I agree with his decision.

I liked left field. It was one of those positions where you could kind of day dream a little. Most everything that came out that way was either an easy pop fly, or a one bouncer. I was a cinch at catching those. None of that “hot corner” stuff for me.

I once was standing out in left field during a game and looking down at the ground trying to spot any four leaf clovers that might be growing there. I heard the loud crack of the bat, and looked up to see the baseball headed over my head. Way over my head. I didn’t want to look completely stupid, so I turned around and stuck my old glove out and ran as fast as I could towards the fence. The ball dropped right into the webbing of my glove. I never saw it until it did. I heard a cheer go up from the stands, and when we came in, I got more pats on the back, and attaboys then I had ever gotten before. I just said “I had it all the way”

I could never bring myself to disappoint all those people by telling them it was just pure luck.

The other great thing about warm weather was spring lizard and craw dad hunting at Grandpa’s and Grandma’s house. When warm weather hit, we would go up there a lot more often. It was difficult during the winter time, because there were only two bedrooms downstairs at their house, which meant the remainder of the guests, had to sleep upstairs. During the winter time, sleeping upstairs was just like sleeping outside. There was NO heat. I spent many a winter night with 10 quilts piled on top of me, unable to turn over, but desperately trying to conserve what little body heat was emanating from me in order to be alive the next morning. I always managed to do it somehow.

So, besides at Christmas, I didn’t like Winter time visiting at the old folk’s house!

But with spring and warm weather coming, there was the promise of fishing, and in order to fish there had to be bait. This meant my favorite activities of digging in the dirt for worms, and turning over the rocks down in the little fast running creek in front of the folk’s house for Spring lizards and Crawdads.

The only draw back to trying to catch a bucket full of these water dwelling creatures was that they were also favorites of the snakes that prowled the banks of that same creek. I was never really too afraid of snakes when I was a kid until after my Grandpa’s Uncle “Lark” Davenport killed a rattlesnake one day that he stretched across the old dirt road leading up to Grandpa’s house.

He stuck its head end in the bank on one side, and its tail end in the dirt bank on the other side. Now, that little old road was narrow, but I estimate it was at least 7 feet across, so my respect for the snakes in those parts increased tremendously after that. I asked Uncle “Lark” how he killed it, and told me he cut its head off with a hoe while he was out in his corn crib. Apparently the rattler was stocking up on some of the rats that always frequented that place. “If he hadn’t been a rattler I’d have let him be,” said Uncle Lark. I’d have let him be anyway, I think. He would have owned the corn crib after that. Rats and all.

Some of those spring lizards that we used to catch back then were as big as small snakes. Imagine turning over a big old rock, and seeing something black wiggling around that’s about a foot long. Would you stick your hand down in there and grab it? I sure did, and laughed about it the whole time. “If the bass don’t bite that,” I thought “then it might bite the bass!” Either way, we get the fish.

The crawdads were harder to catch then the spring lizards. Have you ever seen one of those little boogers take off? They are like a backwards rocket! I don’t know how they do it, but when they get scared they shoot water out their rear ends, start flapping their tails and away they go. You had to be good at estimating where they were GOING to be, not where they had been, in order to catch them. I never had the least idea that humans ate those things when I was a kid. The first time I went to Louisiana as an adult, and someone tried to serve me a dish made with Crawdads, I got kind of nauseated. After I tasted it though, it wasn’t half bad. I kind of like Etouffe’ now.

Yep, that’s how I feel today with all this heat in the air. I remember how cold that creek water was, even on the hottest of June, July and August days. I remember how I would even dare to reach down and bring a handful of that pungent water up to my mouth and drink it in deeply.

My blood is partially made from that creek water, and my soul is partially lodged in that mountain land.

That little old creek is still there, but I don’t know what the new owners of the land would think about an old man tromping down the middle of their creek with a Styrofoam bucket and yelling yahoo every time he came up with a lizard.

I wonder if there are even any left?