Month: February 2019

Everyone knows how hectic the last few weeks and months have been. There’s been a lot going on with in my personal life this past year, as some of you may know.

There’s certainly a lot going on in our country and our world, as all of us should know.

As I begin to take a look at all things, I am finding of course that I refer more to the past than the future. I guess it’s because unless I live to 112 years old (which is possible, but not likely) I am already well into the last 1/3 of my life. I look back more than I look forward.

The present seems to pass by way, way to quickly into that past. Days are blurred. I can’t remember what the date is a lot of times. I guess it really doesn’t matter though. I feel like life is marked by events, not by dates. When I remember things, both good and bad, I usually don’t remember them “by date” but more by what was happening.

I couldn’t tell you exactly what the date was when the U.S. cleared out of Viet Nam. But all the images are burned into my image.

I don’t remember what day it was when my oldest son nearly got his arm torn off in a machine at work, but I can damn well tell you I remember coming into the office where he was sitting, before the ambulance even got there, and seeing the bones sticking up out of his arm, and hollering and screaming at their “first responders” to cover it up with sterile gauze.

I don’t remember which Christmas it was that my daughter marched out of her bedroom, sat down at her brand new little table and chairs that Santa had brought her (without even noticing they were there!) and demanded in her stentorian voice: “I want my Breakfast!”

I can’t remember the date my youngest son fell off the horse he was riding out in Idaho at Paula’s cousin’s house, but I was so scared he was going to break his neck I couldn’t even yell.

I just don’t know that dates are all that important. Its life that happens and what happens that matters.

I am joyous and hopeful for my children and grandchildren and for my younger friends. I wish for them all the possibilities and opportunities which I have had and more. I wish for them more success than I have had in many areas. I wish them fewer struggles with tough problems.

When I was young, I thought for sure I would grow up and be a singer, or a writer. I even entertained the thought of teaching. But, it didn’t happen.

I am what I am. (With apologies to Popeye the Sailor man) Life turned me this way. I am giving up on being a movie star, pop singer, best selling author, and millionaire financier. I am going to just continue to be me, and hope that it’s enough.

I think maybe that if I can do that, then I will realize how lucky I have really been.

I Guess I will be thinking that over this year when I watch ol’ Jimmy Stewart running down the streets of Bedford Falls!!

 

My dreams have been troubled over the past few weeks.  Dark dreams.  Apocryphal dreams.  Ones that I don’t like to talk about in detail, much less write down.

I know that dreams are just that.  I don’t understand what motivates the human mind to create them.  I wonder if it’s an aging process which is taking place within my brain.  I understand and remember from watching my Grandfather and my Parents as they got older, that the mind can go completely away sometimes, or it can become diseased and make a person think things which are not true, are true.  I also know that my Grandmother kept a very sound mind for almost all of her 100 years.  I’d like to think that maybe my genetic makeup is more like hers.  But then, there are those dreams.

Everything in them is gray.  Colorless.  In one of them, I remember wandering the landscape around Trion, looking for something, someone.  The buzzards were circling overhead.  I don’t remember what I was searching for, but I was alone and frantic.  I walked every street in Town, and became more anxious as I walked.  The buzzards that were circling, started to dive…. and then a huge group of cawing crows swooped in as if protecting me and drove the buzzards off.  I woke up then. The crows are always my protectors.

In some of my other dreams I have been with only people who have passed on.  I remember one of them telling me that “these grounds we live on are not  of our blood and bones, but of the blood and bones of others” and then vanished to leave me alone in the gray cold of a rainy sunset. That made me wonder.  It seems many of the most peaceful lands are those where the native peoples have inhabited that area for centuries or even millennia.  In the countries where the people really care about taking care of the natural world around them, and of the Earth, it seems they are substantially happier than we are here in America.  Countries like Scandinavia.

At times I wonder if the situation in the world today is the thing which is driving my nightmares.  I worry about the future and the lack of sunshine and happiness for my children, grandchildren and their progeny.  I think about it often.  I know a lot of people who have given me the advice to believe in God, and know that he has everything “under control”  I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that. We control our own destiny, given to us after our creation.  It’s enough that we were given life, and the freedom to control it.  We must not think we are puppets on a string being guided through everything.  If God has a plan, it’s to leave us be to test our resolve to survive and to become children of the light…or fall into the dark abyss of despair.   Would he then rescue us?  Time may tell.

I have had an overwhelming sense over the past few days, I’d almost call it a premonition, of something which is lacking.  It’s something in history which should have been done at some point between my birth in 1950 and some time in the past year.  That particular thing….whatever it is, would have prevented the world as it is now from falling into the gray, cold and dreary world that I have been dreaming about.  I’m not sure if it’s a thing that I was supposed to do, or if someone else was supposed to do this thing, and didn’t get it done for some reason.  But, I know definitely that the world is not the same now.  It’s darker, it’s more gray and colorless.  The spirit of the world is not the same as it was when I was a child. The brightness and newness is missing.  Again though, maybe it’s all just me and my advanced body. I need to ask some children their opinions and see what they say.  Could be they are a whole lot more optimistic.

Yes, it’s probably because I’m getting old.  I’ve got a lot fewer years in front of me then I have behind me.  That, in and of itself is a bummer.  But, to feel like there was something I should have done, could have done that I didn’t get done…well, it’s an unfathomable thought.

I hope my dreams start to swing with a pendulum of hopefulness back to the positive side.  I pray they do.  But, I’ll keep on tracking what I dream and if anything specific and important crops up, I’ll be sure and let everyone know.  Stay safe and be nice to the crows.

 

Today’s Random Thoughts…..

Without a doubt, much of what we think we know is false. Even being as “smart” as we humans think we are we don’t even know everything about our own bodies. When we move out from there, into the world around us, and eventually into the Universe that surrounds us, our knowledge becomes exponentially less and less.

There are SO many theories on how the Universe started, where it’s headed and how it’s going to end. Some of them are theological in nature, and some are scientific. None of them are right, probably not even near right.

I shudder when I think about how little I know. I have to take most things I do every day on faith. I have faith when I plug in the coffee machine that it is going to make me a cup of coffee. If it didn’t, I don’t have the knowledge to tear it apart and remake it so that it would. If I put my key in the car, and turn the switch and it doesn’t start, most of the time I wouldn’t know what to do. When I had my heart attack, I couldn’t fix my arteries. Of course there are people who DO know how to fix these things, and it’s a good thing too. Otherwise, most of use would be in a heap of trouble.

But, even those people who are “technologically” smart, don’t have all the answers. Every few years or so, a new theory comes out about how the Universe began. Of course, all religions would acknowledge that it was ‘created’ if you will, by God. A thinking consciousness started the ball rolling and made use what we are today. Makes sense to us as humans, because WE are conscious thinking creatures. That’s what separates us from the rest of the creatures….at least so we “think” ( I am not so sure sometimes, when my little dog plays me for a sucker that she is not “thinking” about what she is doing) I guess there is all different levels of thinking, and I am SURE that we are not in ANY way close to the “thinking” if that is what it is, of a consciousness so powerful it could create the Universe.

Now secularists have a harder time trying to explain how something like the Universe started on it’s on. I read somewhere a few weeks back that they think all the matter that it took to get the Universe started, could be compressed down into a ball the size of a basketball, but that it would weigh some astronomically heavy weight. Some basketball! When this thing decided to explode and start the Universe, it continually spread from a central point and made us what we are today. The scientists can look at light coming in from outside our Galaxy that took billions of years to get here. That’s cool. When we look up in the sky at night, and see the stars, we are not really seeing what is happening at the moment we are looking, but what happened years and sometimes hundreds or thousands of years ago and is just now reaching us. For all we know, some of those stars could be, and probably are, gone. Mind boggling ain’t it?

Well, I just don’t believe that either group has ALL the right answers. I personally believe the Universe was created, and didn’t just happen, but I don’t even PRETEND to understand the type of intellect it would take to do it.

I know that we have had books and bibles, and documents from the beginning of the time that man learned how to write, with all the theories about how things happened. All of those came from the minds of man, and have been shaped by the mind of man down through the centuries. None of them are accurate. I don’t think that we even know how to define accurate.

Now, don’t go all funny on me, and think I am being sacrilegious. I’m not. I don’t go around telling people what to believe, OR that what they believe isn’t right. I don’t have the right to do that, and neither does anyone else. There are, however, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, etc. who would disagree with me. All of those religions consider that they have been given the innate approval, by the being that created the Universe to tell everyone that there way of thinking is the only one that is correct. I happen to disagree with them. There may be some correctness in all of them. Being a Christian, I personally believe in that philosophy and some may think it is a conflict of teaching that I would state I don’t believe in telling OTHER people what to believe, but I don’t. Everyone has to decide for themselves, and I think on that particular point that the being that created us, God if you will, has been totally succinct. You choose for yourself whether to be good or bad, light or dark. This choice is yours no matter what your religion or philosophy.

I think we will all find out one day, of course. I think that God would be totally unfair to just leaving us hanging about the answer to things. Of course, I could be wrong about that too. We may go to Heaven, or we may lay unconscious of the passing of time until we come back around in the endless cycle of the Universes coming and going. We MAY know nothing, and that’s that. I highly doubt this to be the case, but….

Every day in every way Social media is becoming more of a minefield. It is the #1 source of false information and so called fake news (I really hate using that term). I see so much stuff that’s shared by friends that is blatantly false, especially if it’s political in nature. Obviously from sites or people who are not real, or who will lie about something simply in order to further their agenda. I’d guess that 90% of the “information” which floats around on social media is false or misleading. It leaves most of us to become like Don Quixote, always “tilting at windmills” and fighting invisible enemies…or fighting against causes and/or people who are doing us no harm, but whom we think are our enemies, because we see that they are according to the media outlets, or according to “social” media. Yet most of us cannot tear ourselves away, because social medial is such a powerful opiate, which feeds our ego and our need for positive reinforcement of what we say, and who we are.

Rarely is there a day that goes by in which I do not have to take some measure to combat a hacker, or a thief who originates from Social media. Whether it’s from a friends hacked account, or from information which I or someone else has inadvertently shared, and which bad players from anywhere across the globe have gotten hold of, and think they can use to cheat someone out of money or other goods, or use to further their narrative agendas, no matter what they may be.

Smart phones lend themselves so easily to being compromised, that it almost seems they were created with that purpose in mind. Once bad players get your number, whether by accident or mostly because someone who legitimately has it, sells your information so they can make money from it, you start to get call after call after call from people who want to scam you out of money or sell you something. I’ve talked to people from India, Pakistan or Kenya who say they are from the IRS, and they’re going to put me in jail. I had a dozen phone calls yesterday from numbers I didn’t recognize, and if I answer there is a recording on the other end wanting to sell me insurance, car warranties, online college enrollments, credit cards with lower interest rates, etc., etc.

I first thought back in the early days of social media, the “My Space” days, back in 1999 when I first got on Ebay, that this age of technology was going to be a boon for mankind, and in some ways it is and has been. There is good which has come out of technological innovation. But there is so much negative, especially in the way it has caused good people to think badly, that I fervently wish we could go back to the days prior to rise of this enormous monster. But we can’t. The bottle has opened and the genie is out, or maybe more appropriately the lid to Pandora’s box has been lifted and can never again be closed.

I don’t know what to do, other then to be as careful as possible during my lifetime and to hope my children or my grandchildren will be smart enough to solve this dilemma. I pray they can.

Days….

My word how time passes by, the days moving with the speed of hummingbird wings,

As the babies who listen to our lullabies, leave the notes of the last song they sing.

Echoing in the hallways and the bedrooms, as they pack their bags and wave so long. So long, see you soon. Maybe that might be.

So long, but oh so very short… that distance in between.

When we can call them our very own, and not someone else’s.

But it turns out that way, and it’s a natural thing.

Like a long cold old winter, that turns into spring.

Always moving forward as we catch a fleeting glimpse,

and turn it into memory, a color of love that age can’t eclipse.

By Larry Bowers.

GOLFING IN THE SNOW

I took up playing golf when I was fourteen years old. I had ruptured some ligaments in my knee while swinging too hard at one of Don Durham’s curve balls. I was looking for a fast ball, and had dug my spikes into the ground really deep at home plate. Don had a ferocious fast ball. However, I had always been able to make some contact with the bat against him, and usually ended up getting a hit. The slow curve ball totally fooled me, and as I over swung at it, my spikes hung up in the soft dirt, and I felt something pop in my knee. Pain shot through me from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes, and I grabbed my knee and fell to the ground writhing in agony. To beat it all, it was only strike one!

I ended up staying for three nights at the Trion Community Hospital, with my leg in traction. It wasn’t so bad, as the only thing I had to do was lay around and read comic books.

After about three weeks of recuperation, old Doc Clemens said I should start to get some exercise, and that walking would be good to build up my thigh muscles, and hopefully prevent that type of injury again. (It didn’t) My Dad had played golf when he was younger so he suggested we try that. He bought a used set of left-handed clubs for me, and we drove up to the Trion Golf Club.

It was early May, and as we rounded the big curve right before the entrance to the course I gazed out over the course with awe. The greens were a deep emerald color, with flag sticks that had bright red flags on top, flapping gently in the spring breeze. The Chattooga River flowed by the first hole, a deep sapphire color, not having been by the mill yet to pick up any contaminants.

The old log club house looked pristine, sitting dignified on a little rise overlooking the river. You could smell the sweet Bermuda grass as it was being cut, a pungent, lovely odor that lingered in the air like a kind of hypnotic perfume. Big tall pine trees whispered their spring symphony as the winds blew through their closely knit limbs. It was magnificent, and I fell in love with it at first glance. I still get the same feeling even now whenever I go to that familiar site. Goodbye Mickey, Roger, Yogi, and Whitey. Hello Arnold, Jack and Gary Player.

Some of the members of the club were teeing off when we pulled up, and I watched as they sailed those Titleist and Maxfli’s straight down the fairway toward the number one green. J.W. Greenwood was playing and saw us walking up, and referred back to the beginning of my little league career: “If you knock all your golf balls in the river HERE, you won’t be a hero.” He laughed. (referring to the time I had hit all the practice baseballs into the Chattooga river during my first little league practice)

“Looks pretty easy to me.” I exclaimed excitedly. I couldn’t wait to get up there and smack one of those little white balls straight down the fairway. It could not be any harder than hitting one of Camp’s fast balls.

We paid our green fees and my Dad teed up and went first. He took an easy swing, and sailed the ball about 200 yards down the middle. It was my turn now.

I teed up a new ball, took my stance, and did a little be-hind wiggle like I had seen the other guys do. I took a huge back swing, and uncoiled in an explosive and powerful movement which ended up with a beautiful follow through, looking down the fairway to see where my drive had gone.

“Nice swing,” coached my Dad. “You missed the ball, though.”

I looked down at the tee, and that little white, dimpled devil was still sitting there undisturbed.

I slowed my next swing down slightly, and this time made contact, and sent the ball bouncing down the fairway about fifty yards.

“Topped that one.” Advised my Dad.

I took an eight on that first hole. A quadruple bogey.

“This is not as easy as it looks.” I muttered

On hole number 2, which was a short par three, I took a seven iron out of the bag as my weapon of choice. As I stood over the ball, I looked out at the two creeks, and one swamp that the ball would have to cross before getting to the green, and bowed my head and prayed silently to God to please let me at least not lose all of my golf balls on this one hole. I exhaled, kept my eye on the ball, and took a smooth swing. The ball sailed over both creeks, and the swamp, bounced in front of the green once, and rolled gently onto the putting surface about six feet away from the hole.

“Nice shot, son.” I could barely hear my Dad say, over the pounding of my heart.

There was enough adrenaline flowing after that shot for me to have picked up an automobile.

Although I played another year of Pony league baseball, my High School athletic career goals had just changed. Goodbye Mick. Hello Arnie.

Anyone who has never played golf, can’t understand what motivates people to chase a little white ball around a large field, whacking it with a club. All it takes, however, to remain motivated is one great shot every once in a while. About the time you’ve topped three in a row, and are ready to throw your clubs in the creek, the good Lord, who I believe approves of the game, looks down and commands the next shot to be a humdinger.

“How ‘bout that shot I made on number four,” you reminisce as you write down your third bogey in a row on hole number eight. “Almost a hole in one!”

Steve Hammond and I were passing acquaintances before we both took up golfing. We went to the same church, and Steve’s brother Tommy was the same age as I was, and we were often in the same classes at school. Steve and I never got to be close friends until my freshman year in High School when I went out for the golf team.

J.W Greenwood was the golf coach, and when he saw me come walking up to the clubhouse on the day we were to play a round as a tryout he again ribbed me good naturedly:

“There comes ‘ol scatterarm.” He grinned. “This ain’t the baseball field Bowers,” he continued “It’s the golf course.”

“That’s O.K.,” I said “I’m here to try out for the golf team.”

I don’t think J.W. thought I was serious, but he got the idea when I teed off of number one, and put one straight down the middle.

“Dang boy, you must have been practicing.” Said J.

I had. Every day it didn’t rain since I had picked up my clubs. Many days me and my neighbor Mike Brown had taken our clubs and walked all the way from Eighth Street. I made the team, and so did Steve. We became practice partners, competitors, and teammates. We were golfing maniacs.

Every time we had a spare minute, it was up to the golf course. We practiced drives, putts, irons; you name it, and we did it. Swinging a golf club became such second nature we could do it in our sleep. We read Arnold Palmer’s book and studied Jack Nicklaus’ grip. Our record as a golf team reflected our practice. We won the region title in 1967 at Hogansville, which was Steve’s senior year. I had a chance to win as low medalist that year, but fate wouldn’t allow it.

I was in the lead by one stroke coming to the last hole. It was a dinky little par three, with no hazards whatsoever. Just a straight shot up a little hill. All I needed was bogey to win. I was confident, I was pumped up! I was stupid. I went with too strong an iron, and it sailed over the green by about twenty yards. I heard a loud ringing sound:

“Dong!!!”

I didn’t have a clue where my ball went, because I’d never seen it land.

As I approached the green, J.W. was standing there shaking his head slowly from side to side in disgust. My ball had landed smack dab in the middle of the big thirty gallon barrel that was being used for a trash can. The rules for the tournament were very strict. You had to hit it from where it lay, no matter what. If you couldn’t do so, it was a stroke penalty for a drop. Not being able to crawl into the trash can for my shot, I had to drop the ball, and take a stroke penalty.

I could still win, all I had to do was to get up and down in two strokes. However, the combination of the trash can shot, and the crowd which surrounded the green, had also shot my nerves. I chipped the ball up and over the front of the green, eventually struggling to a six, for a triple bogey and third place. J.W. Greenwood never let me live down that shot in the subsequent 45 years I knew him. Every once in a while, he would still poke me about it:

“You remember that shot you made at Hogansville that year that went into the trash can?” He would ask.

Yes I remember, but luckily time has made it much less painful than it was on that day.

J.W. passed away not long ago, and he is a man I surely miss. Always willing to help children and budding athletes. Always giving his time to other people. He was a great man.

Steve and I even liked to keep our swing in sync during the winter.

One gray, cloudy, bitterly cold December day, we put on three sweaters and a scarf, and went up to the golf course to play nine. The weather prediction was for snow, but we figured if it started in snowing too bad, we would just get in Steve’s car and come back home. As luck would have it, we were excellent, and I mean EXCELLENT that afternoon. We were both one under par when we reached number four, and the flakes started to descend.

“Let’s see if we can finish.” Steve suggested “We’re playing too darn good to quit.”

I agreed and we kept on going. By the time we got to number six, we were beginning to have our doubts. The snow was coming down faster and faster, and had already accumulated to about two inches on the flat fairways. As we teed off on number seven, the only way we knew where the ball was at, was because of the furrow it dug in the newly fallen snow.

“Uh…I believe we had better go.” I suggested

“No way!” Steve hollered back over the howling wind.

Despite the semi-blizzard, he was still one under par.

We played on to number eight, and when I chipped my ball up onto the green, it gathered snow as it rolled, and ended up as almost a baseball size snowball.

“How in the heck am I going to putt that?” I thought

Suddenly we heard the blast of a car horn from behind us, and turned to see Steve’s Dad sitting in his work truck, with an incredulous look on his face. We were supposed to have left if it started snowing, and Steve’s Dad had visions of us off in a ditch somewhere in the blinding snowstorm.

“Are you idiots’ crazy??” He yelled.

This display of emotion from a man who normally never, ever raised his voice was alarming to me. However, it did not seem to bother Steve.

“C’mon Dad,” Steve shot back. “We’ve only got one more hole to go, and I’m one under par!”

Amazingly enough, Mr. Hammond waited on us and followed us home in his truck after we finished the round. Steve lost his ball in the snow on number nine, and I made him take a stroke penalty! Thus his splendid one under par round in the blinding snow was snuffed out. It was the most fun I ever had playing a round of golf, before or since! Wish I coulda’ played yesterday….

Sadness seems to creep up on me lately, mostly in the form of nostalgia. There’s no use in giving in to it though. So, at night…now very soon, I will meditate, I will pray (some will be surprised at that) and I will turn over and go straight to sleep.

You see, I feel everyday which I live is a gift, and a pop quiz. I didn’t like those pop quizzes when I was a student! I usually did better than most though. But when life throws them at you, it’s a bit different.

“Did I take my meds today?” ….and the answer is….dang I dunno!

If I didn’t do that, then the rest of the quiz is going to go really bad.

We have so many things coming at us on a daily basis in such an unexpected way, we are definitely tested. The world continues to test us. It will chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful…sometimes even if you are! Rely on your family, and friends…those who love you, to help you through. Most of the time they will be there for you, and give you the boost you need to feel better about yourself.

And don’t forget to enjoy the gift of life. No matter where you think it came from. Don’t quibble about the root origin, just live. It’s a one time, no satisfaction guaranteed if you don’t try, awesome experience. I think it’s a great gift, but you guys call it what you wish.

I’ll hopefully continue this journey when the sun rises tomorrow, and maybe I’ll see you round. If I don’t I’ll send you a picture or two and maybe write a couple of lines.

I got to thinking last night that I need to start tidying things up a bit. By that, I mean start getting rid of more of this stuff I don’t need or use anymore. A lot of this junk I have accumulated over the years that doesn’t mean anything to anyone else besides me.

I fully feel that I can start to whittle my junk down to a smaller pile , because I just don’t want anyone else to have to deal with it once I’m gone. I know it can be done because I’m surely not bringing in much stuff now. Not nearly what I used to bring home. I’ve actually went to Trade day four times in a row, and haven’t bought a dang thing. I believe that to be a record.

I’m going to start selling a lot more stuff in the near future. Keep an eye out cause it might be something you need. I’m also in the process of organizing all my photos, and archiving a lot of things I’ve written.

I mean, I’m not planning on checking out anytime soon, but it doesn’t hurt to get ahead of the game….and one never knows.

I once had a very vivid dream in which I was walking up one of those old dirt mountain roads, like the ones that I used to walk with my Grandma Stewart. For some reason, I was alone, using a cane, and I knew somehow that I was 92 years old. I also knew that once I topped the hill that I was walking towards, I would never, ever return. I was sad, but satisfied.

Hopefully, my old body will stay together a decade or so longer, and I can finish up on some of the aforementioned projects. It’s my intent to do so, and to also continue to love and help my kids and grandchildren as much as they’ll let me, and to enjoy the bright sunshine as it shines, the tomatoes as they ripen, the music as it plays, the books I need to read more of, and my wife’s company.

To each and every one of you, no matter what…I wish you peace and health on this Sunday night.

Frederick Douglas provided a great statement on individualism after the Civil War was over in explanation to his former master: “I have often thought I should like to explain to you the grounds upon which I have justified myself in running away from you,” wrote Douglass. “I am almost ashamed to do so now, for by this time you may have discovered them yourself. I will, however, glance at them.” You see, said Douglass,

I am myself; you are yourself; we are two distinct persons, equal persons. What you are, I am. You are a man, and so am I. God created both, and made us separate beings. I am not by nature bound to you, or you to me. Nature does not make your existence depend upon me, or mine to depend upon yours. I cannot walk upon your legs, or you upon mine. I cannot breathe for you, or you for me; I must breathe for myself, and you for yourself. We are distinct persons, and are each equally provided with faculties necessary to our individual existence. In leaving you, I took nothing but what belonged to me, and in no way lessened your means for obtaining an honest living. Your faculties remained yours, and mine became useful to their rightful owner.”

My own opinion is that In being “free thinkers” we must also be fiercely protective of the rights of the individual. While we must all depend upon each other to some extent, we have to be careful not to go too far. We give over too much now in the way of our individual thinking to the collective “aura” of those who control us through money.

Everytime I hear the national anthem, I still get chill bumbs and tears still fill my eyes. When I see the flag of my country flying high from a flagpole, I am so proud to be an American. I hate to see it abused, I have reported municipalities and schools in the past for not taking down the flag and taking care of it. I also, cried like a baby when Johnny Cash sang “Ragged Old Flag” before the not so “Super Bowl” a few days back.

Most of my ancestors have been in this country since the earliest of early times. I have half a dozen who fought in the Revolutionary War, and a dozen who fought in the Civil War. I have Native American ancestors by the dozens also. My roots go very deeply in this beloved soil we call America…and I call my home.

My Daddy fought in World War II and Korea…and went into the fog soup of radiation on a Navy ship right after they tested the Atomic bomb at Enewetak atoll in 1946. I’m certain part of his health problems later in life were due to this, but he never got a dime. He never asked.

I grew up with many of you who are my Facebook friends. We were close in Trion. Most of our experiences were practically the same. We had the same teachers, the same “mill town” environment, where most of our Daddy’s and Momma’s worked their rears off in the cotton mill to raise us kids. To give use things they never were able to have during their depression years of growing up.

I graduated with many of you, I have worked with some of you over the years. I went to college with some of you. Some of you I have never met, except through Facebook.

I have been a religious man over the years. I was baptized when I was 8 years old, in a Southern Baptist Church. I spent 52 years as a member, including 12 years as a deacon. I became disillusioned about 6 years ago and now keep my own peace…but I respect the beliefs of everyone, as long as their beliefs are peaceful.

I have hunted, with bow and with gun. I have fished the rivers and the lakes…the streams and the creeks of this wonderful country.

I don’t care how many guns you own, as long as you are careful with what you got…and you know you are responsible for how they are used.

I don’t personally believe in abortion. I would counsel any family member or friend who comes to me against it. However, I do not believe it is my responsibility to tell other people what they should or should not do. (see three paragraphs back)

I’m an opinionated man. Anybody who knows me well, knows that. My opinions are not shared by a lot of people. I know that. For many years, it has been much easier to keep my own counsel concerning things I believe and don’t believe, and how I believe. With the coming of “social media” it has become harder and harder to actual have opinions, and have them ON “social media” without it causing hatred, hard feelings, name calling, and other myriad of bad things. Things which cause emotional and physical reactions, which a man with my problems doesn’t need. It’s hard for me to not make comments and share my opinions. It’s almost impossible for me really. I think it goes back to the old “blank page” syndrome for me….in which if I open Facebook and start reading stuff I just have a compulsion to open my mouth and say something….or write something on my timeline….my own “blank page”

Some of it may be the chance to finally have somebody “like” what you write….but unfortunately also have many “hate” what you write…as it pertains to politics, and perhaps also as it pertains to religion. I’ve tried keeping it mostly to photograhy which I love..but which I’m not that great at, and also some “homey” writing…which I also like to do, but which is mediocre for the most part.

I have said all of this, and have come this far with this post just to say that in my condition as a human being it’s in my best interest to stay disconnected for a while, think things over, and see what happens from there. There are a lot of things I am not happy with that are going on, and one of them is me. My attitude, my feelings, my need to gain more empathy and understanding for others.

There are many who are so unreachable in the security of their opinions and beliefs, as to never be able to be persuaded by either reason or love…by compromise or negotiation, by anger or pathos, that we humans, we Americans, have so much more in common than we have different. We cannot see past our bias and our ignorance to realize that once…we liked each other, perhaps once we even loved each other, but we let it slip away and we let it go just because we HAD to be the one who was right.

I don’t have to be right all the time. Neither do any of you people. If we just realize that, then perhaps we could see a little more peace in this lifetime.