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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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You know there are a lot of things that we would all LIKE to do every day.  I would love to be able to find some time to write blogs and communicate with people, write and answer emails, and generally find out what’s going on in everyone’s world.

I would love to visit my family more.  I can’t remember the last time I went and visited either of my son’s, at their places.  My daughter lives closer..so I “pop” in and out or run by to pick up something.  But to REALLY visit?  Gosh, I am ashamed.   This past Sunday all of our family, and my Brother’s family with the exception of my Nephew got together at my folks house to draw names for Christmas.  It was the first time in AGES that our families have really gotten together for a while.  I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it.  I was going around snapping photo’s of everyone, especially my Niece’s new little baby boy who everyone was taking turns holding.  It makes me think back again…back to the old days when visiting was really an art!

On Sundays back when I was a kid, sometimes my Grandmother would invite the preacher over after Church to eat.  Everyone would gather around the table (yes, that’s right, we ate around a table back then) and would all take place in conversation while passing the fried chicken (FRESH fried too…like as not this fowl had probably been foraging for a meal the night before when he got a RUDE surprise!) and the fresh biscuits made with Lard.  Now for those of you who don’t remember, Lard is pig fat that has been skimmed of the top of boiling water which has pig parts floating around in it, and has been allowed to cool in order to use in which to cook.  Now, I never really thought I would see the day that I would hark back to that process with found memories, but I guess it’s here.  And, to beat it all, now we are being told that it’s probably better for us to use Lard then to use the stuff that they came up with back in the forties and fifties, which was so full of palm oil, and all that other dangerous stuff that it clogged up all our arteries!

Well, I digress.  But in any case, we sat around that table sometimes for an hour, or hour and a half.  People would take their TIME eating, and in between they ( I say they, because we little kid’s didn’t get much of a turn at talking…and back in those days the old saying about kids being better off seen than heard was in full force!)  they would discuss things.  Religion of course.  Politics, hunting, fishing, gardening, and just about anything you might be able to think of to talk about.  By the time you rose up from the table, your meal was well on it’s way to being digested.  Contrast that to what we do now.  Some days I go eat NOTHING but stuff from dang fast food places!  If I don’t bring my lunch, it’s a trip out at noon to get some “nutritious” deep fried greasy fish, or a double helping of barbeque at the local bbq joint.  French fries by the ton, and Frosty’s.  Oh yes, there are always those!  It’s no wonder I got stents sticking in my arteries!  I am surprised that all of my generation hasn’t keeled over from the way we live.  If most of them are like me, they get up long before dawn has cracked, leave the house and drive to work for an hour, work all day, drive back home for an hour and if you got anything that needs to be done that night you go through the fast food joint again that night!!  Arggh!!

I long to sit down at a table for a meal, and not have to feel like I have got to wolf it down like a pig and then get up and be on the run doing something that I really don’t need to do.  After all, when you think about it, how much do we REALLY NEED to do?  We think ALL things that are going on are important.  “Gotta catch that kid’s soccer game.”  “Gotta get on the computer and get some work done…need that extra money”  Yada Yada.  I tell you, I don’t even ever remember my Grandfather doing any work much, besides getting out and raising the food they needed to get by, and tending a garden and some bee hives.  Hey, I know that their “standard” of living certainly wasn’t up to the Rockefellers…but really, what did it matter.  When you can find the time to sit around a table at a meal for an hour and a half without you’re britches getting so itchy to get up and do something that you can’t stand it, then..maybe then…you have accomplished something.

You know, I would really like to turn things around.  I am so, so tired of the way that we have to live that it just get’s frustrating.  I think back to when I was young and wonder where it said that I HAD to have some of the things that I’ve got.  I think a lot of  the way we live has been forced on us, especially we “middle class” people by the system and the government.  We really have gotten caught in the MIDDLE.  We are in the middle of paying the most money for taxes of any class.  We are in the MIDDLE of being the class that all the retailers and drug companies depend on to rip off for their profits.  (not to speak of our friends in the Oil and gas business)  We are in the MIDDLE of having to support everyone who can’t, or more likely WON’T pay their hospitals bills, so WE have to pony up to the bar and pay the bill through higher deductibles on our insurances, and higher charges if for some reason….God forbid…we have to go into a hospital or an emergency room.  I tell you, next time I go, I feel like going somewhere first and buying me a fake i.d., and telling them I am indigent, or faking a Russian accent or something.  (I can’t do a Hispanic accent, and besides I don’t think they would buy that one!)

Yes,  the MIDDLE has to do it all, and the only time we get any attention is when the politicians want us to go out and vote them back into the office so they can sit on their fat rumps and get rich through the offices we put them in.  ( I hope I am not sounding too frustrated!)

But, back to the dining table.  I think I am going to rearrange my wife’s house so that we are using the bigger room which is NOW our living room for a dining room.  I want to get a table big enough for 8 people or more to sit around, and then on Sunday’s and holidays I want to invite my family to my house.  We can sit around the table and take as long as we want to eat.  NO TV!!  Maybe everyone can relearn to talk to each other and have conversations over the course of time.  We can discuss what we need to do in order to get out of the MIDDLE of things!!  ( I guess I don’t have the answer for that one yet)

In any case, it would be nice to get back to the old days, if only for a few days a year.  Maybe it would help….I think it’s worth a try!!

I love pockets, I have always loved them. The need for pockets came about during the Middle Ages when people had a need to keep their coins somewhere. At first they started putting them in bags and hanging them around their necks. They wasn’t good, because it was easy for some “cut purse” with a sharp knife to cut the string and steal your money. Then people started carrying their “purses” inside their pants so the thieves couldn’t get to them. Problem with that was when you went to pay for something you just about had to take your pants off. People started cutting slits in their pants so they could get to their purses…and from there some smart person figured out that “sewn in” purses or “pockets” would be a dandy idea. This was sometime in the 1700’s.

This was a great invention!

I recollect being about 4 the first time I realized I had pockets. I was out in the front yard around the porch and noticed the little bugs we used to call “rolly-pollys” I had caught a double handful of them and having no other place to put them…I shoved some down in my pockets. Of course, I didn’t get them all out…so I heard from Momma on that one! From then on though, pockets were for everything.

I have pockets full of rocks, marbles, worms, crickets, bugs, arrowheads, marbles, coins, clover, grass, lightning bugs, and just about anything else you could get into a pocket. If I go to buy a pair of jeans, or pants I’m going to wear every day the first thing I will check out is the depth of the pockets. I don’t like shallow pockets. You sit down on the couch, or in a chair and lean back a little bit and when you get up there will be a bunch of stuff there that has “oozed “out of your pocket. I don’t like losing my stuff, so I check my pants out really well before I purchase.

I have had some important things in my pockets before too. I put mine and Paula’s wedding rings, which were in those little black ring boxes, one in each pocket. I have carried an old pocket knife which Dad gave me in my pocket, before I put it up because I was afraid I was going to lose it. (I put a tiny piece of marble from Greece in my pocket and I can’t tell you what famous building up on top of a hill from whence it came…so shhhhh.) There have been other things…

I’ve also, at times gotten holes in my pockets and have lost things…mostly change. I’ve lost a ring or two that I had put in my pocket and they just slipped right out, and down my leg and into the grass of “neverwhere” where they probably remain today. But I’m pretty careful.
I worked with a man over in Calhoun, named Max who I never, ever saw wear anything but overalls. He loved those pockets and had something specific for each of them. He passed away unexpectedly one year while I was still there and they buried him in his overalls with a John Deere hat on. I think it was one of the most appropriate uses of clothing I have ever seen. He would have loved it.

Well, just to show you that I do “practice what I preach” in this case, I dumped out the content of my pocket and posted it along with this little story. As you can see, I had just a few things squirreled away in there. Whenever I go to the Drs. Office and they weigh me, I always mentally knock off ten pounds for “pocket contents and clothing” I guess when I quit carrying stuff in my pockets it’ll be a sad day

Can one second last an eternity? I think it can.

Could our Universe fit on the head of a straight pin. I think it might could.

For you see, relativity is everything.

What we think we know, and what is truth, are probably polar opposites.

Mostly because we are not open to thinking…. past “what’s for dinner tonight?” We take the easy answers as the gospel.

To find truth is like being a gold prospector.

Every great once in a while, one may find a small nugget laying on top of the ground….but most of the time, the gold has to be sought after with singular focus, and with hard, backbreaking work. Digging, uncovering, carefully looking, spading through tons of muck and nastiness until finally the main vein is located.

Truth is like gold. Actually it’s much more precious.