Writing for Sanity's Sake

1968…..

Fifty years is a long time. But I remember fifty years ago. I was a senior in High School. I had gotten most of the courses I needed to graduate, so I had two hours of “study hall” in a row that year. I sat there and read most of the time, but every now and then there was some excitement.

One of the radiators started clanking so loud once that we thought it was going to explode. Turns out it just needed draining out. The water in Trion is very alkaline, and water heaters, and radiators too I suppose, get this calcified sediment in them that causes them to stop working. I guess it does the same thing with kidneys, because after drinking Trion water all my life I’ve got about a hundred tiny kidney stones, and one big one lurking in my kidneys. My Urologist says don’t sweat the tiny ones, but if the big one starts to move “you’ll know it, and I’ll see you at the hospital “

We had several fights that year too. I can’t remember if anybody won. I think it was Mr. Hayes who broke them up

Most of the time though, I read books. I got a lot of them finished too. “The Count of Monte Cristo” by Dumas. “The Egyptian” by Mika Waltari, and most of all “Hawaii” by James Michener. That book made me a fan of not only Michener, but also of historical novels. I’ve read all of his books now, some more than once. Colleen McCollough is another favorite, with her long expansive historical series about Rome. Simply put, I became a fan of reading that year, and have never looked back. Those two consecutive study halls were more educational for me then any High School class I could have taken.

I also had Journalism that year, History and Typing II. I wasn’t much in mechanics, so I never took Shop. I kind of regret that at times, but never regret learning how to type 60 wpm. That skill has served me well through the years, first by being able to type my own papers in college (and charge other folks for typing theirs!) but chiefly with the development of the computer and its accompanying keyboard, I had a leg up on many people. I can still fly on the keyboard when I want to.

Gary Clark was the only other boy in that class with me that year. “Chocks” as we called him. Gary passed away one day suddenly from a heart attack quite a number of years back. I really hated to hear it. He was a good friend.

That year was also filled with some stress. Taking SAT’s, and trying to decide on a college to attend. I finally settled on West Georgia College, and have never regretted it. It was a much different school back then, with a small college feel.

The world was changing back in 1968. MLK was assassinated, then later on Bobby Kennedy, who had decided to run for president after Johnson decided he’d had enough, and had totally screwed up the Vietnam war, and lied about it to boot.

The Beatles were preeminent in music, and brought the British Invasion to a full scale victory.

There were proms and dances. Me and some of my buddies had a rock and roll band.

I dated some nice girls, and generally was the epitome of a slightly nerdy, sometimes cool high school Senior. I didn’t have my own car, and had an 11 O’clock curfew. I had maybe four pairs of pants, five shirts, and two pairs of shoes, one of which was for Sundays.

But, most of all, it was a great year. A year I’ll never forget. I was seventeen and was going to do great things. I knew it all, and Dad and Mom knew nothing. I was wrong, arrogant, and stupid. How many of us weren’t?

I’d love to take the time someday to really write about it in detail. It would probably be a very long piece.

Most of all, I’d love to go back for one last day to that study hall, with its old rope operated windows opened to the spring breeze in early March. I’d love to hear the river rushing by just outside the window, and smell the slightly “burnt” odor of the sanforized cloth running over at the mill. I’d love to hear the “twenty minute til four” whistle blow as I was walking Home up the eighth street hill, to a supper that probably include salmon patties and pinto beans. I’d like to see Mom and Dad again and tell them how right they were about things, and that I loved them for all they had done for me. I’d like to sit in the front porch swing after supper and strum my old Kay guitar until it got dark.

Just one day, then I’d come back…….I swear I would. And I’d be a better man than I am now.

I’m angry. I’m angry with a lot of the people in America, this “land of the free, and home of the brave”.

I’m angry with the direction American’s seem to want to follow. The direction of harshness. The direction of bias and bigotry. The direction of exclusion. The direction of hatred and condemnation. The embrace of leaders who fan the flames of the fires of discord. Leaders whose lies and deceptions are echoed on media outlets whose only purpose is to keep Americans divided.

I’m angry that so called Christian Americans act more like self righteous know it alls, than followers of the most empathetic human being who ever lived.

To let a person lead them who has the morals of a gangster, the sexual perversions of a lecher? A man who is a glutton, a cheater, a hedonist, a promise breaker, an animal hater, an ignorant uneducated oaf, who basks only in the undeserved  adoration and adolation of masses of mindless crowds of screaming, frothing and uncharacteristically mesn human beings?

People who believe a man with no morals and no conscience, was “sent by God” to be President of this country, when the only reason God would send him as leader would be to punish our country for the genocide of its original inhabitants, and the enslavement of people of color for hundreds of years.

People who do not care about existing orphans and hungry children, but only about denying women the choice concerning their own body, and what to do or not do with it.

People who would be enthralled with a leader who cannot open his mouth without lies and embellishments of the truth spilling out of it.

I’m angry that murderous leaders of dictatorial countries seem to control the direction of our government more than the elected representatives who actually live here and who care about the country and it’s people.

When Putin can threaten us directly with nuclear holocaust without our President reacting, I’m angry. What American President in our history would have put up with this?

What American President would let a Turkish dictator tell us how our Mideast foreign policy should be conducted. Would let a corrupt Israeli Prime Minister call the shots. Would let a Saudi Arabian despot murder a journalist who worked for one of our own newspapers, and get away with it.

All while at the same time bellow and bitch about putting a “big beautiful” huge wall on our Southern border to keep out workers. To keep out women and children seeking asylum from repression, violence, rape and murder? To separate patents from their children with no plans to one day reunite them?

I cannot help but see a bleak future for America.  I see an America that is closer to a Civil War than at any time since 1860.  I hope I’m wrong, but I’m a pretty mild man and  if I am angry, as angry as I am, then I can only imagine how others who are less temperate and thinking than I am are feeling.

Weapon and ammunition purchases are at all time highs.  You don’t have to wonder what people think they are going to be using them for if you are even slightly to the negative side in your thinking.

Me and Mike Brown and David Hayes went up on the banks of the Chattooga river back when we were young, about twelve or thirteen years old if I remember correctly. We were on the south bank, and had originally been going to do some fishing. Summers back then were lazy days, baseball games and swimming in the river, hunting golf balls up at the Trion golf course, and exploring.

All three of us were dedicated golfers and golf ball hunters. We would go up to the slough on #1 hole and find 8 or 10 golf balls, and then move on down to the creeks on #2 and #3 holes. We’d go into that squishy mud barefooted, and feel for the lost golf balls with our feet. Sometimes some of the leeches in the creek would attach themselves to our legs or in between our toes. We never thought anything about it, we’d just pull them off. Occasionally a water mocassin or some other type of water snake would hear or see us coming, tromping up the creek and would splash in the water. I remember one time when Mike and I were hunting up the middle of the creek and a HUGE snake came swimming right down the center. I went to one bank, and he hit the other one. Once it swam by us, we went right back into the muck.

We needed all of those golf balls, because at that point in our golfing career we lost about two balls per hole. We got better as the years passed and we played on J.W. Greenwood’s golf team. In 1967 we won a big trophy and in in 1968 we finished just out of the “money” at the State tournement. I won a couple of individual medals both years and thought I was pretty good. I shot even par at a youth tournament late in the Summer of ’68 and thought I was gonna win for sure. Old boy named Andy Bean shot three under par, and I ended up in second place. He went on to do pretty good as a pro, and me…well, I think I peaked out that summer.

Back to the banks of the Chattooga that day I was originally speaking of…

We three decided we would find the Trion Dam cave. We didn’t know exactly where the entrance was located so we went past it and ended up climbing the rocky hill that lies just above the dam. I was hopping over rocks like a mountain goat, as I had pretty good balance back then. I heard somebody yell and saw that ol’ David was sliding down the rocks. He had turned his leg and torn up his knee. We helped him back home, and it was a long recovery. No more ball playing or fishing or golfing for him that summer. It was a little bit of a wake up call for me. I’d been way up ahead of him on those rocks and if I had fallen down, it would have been a lot worse than a torn up knee. It mighta’ been goodbye…

I looked up on that rock bank from across the river just a few weeks back as I was taking some photos and wonder what prompted me to climb up that high. Was I crazy?

At 65 years of age I think about how lucky I have been to be able to survive this life up to this point, where some of my friends and comrades have not. Michael Brown has been gone for quite a few years. Old David is still around, and I have seen him a lot over the years. He still has a bit of a limp from tearing his knee up that year. I came out of it with just a few bites from some little leeches, and maybe a bee sting or two. One has to wonder at how fate, luck, time and place have so much to do with how we end up.

I’ve eaten a lot of different kinds of food in my life, especially as a kid.

I had to stay with my Maternal Grandparents a lot when I was young because Mom was sick quite a bit. I stayed there almost one entire school year in the 4th grade, and almost every Summer I spent 3 or 4 weeks with Grandpa and Grandma. Grandpa had grown up eating wild game and he never intended to change as long as he had a choice. He had deer horns lining the upper beam of his front porch from one end to the other…there were dozens of them. Rattlesnake rattlers also hung down from the beam, trophies of killing some of the biggest Eastern Diamondbacks I ever remember, or want to think about.

My Grandpa’s Uncle Larkin Davenport once killed one that stretched from one side of the old dirt road to the other. I wish there had been iPhones back in those days, oh the photos I could have taken! But, back to the food…

Besides venison, Grandpa also had a craving ever now and then for a Possum. Yes….a possum. The kind you see lying dead on the side of the road almost every time you take a trip up the old Alabama highway. Of course Grandpa wouldn’t pick up roadkill! That was for the REAL hillbillies in the backwoods of Kentucky. Up at the end of Snake Nation road in the Blue Ridge mountains, things were done in a civilized manner.

Grandpa would trap or catch a possum when he had a craving for one, and keep it up under a big old, huge wash tub for about a week. During that week, the possum would be fed the leftover vegetables from our meals, along with the peels and scraps from the vegetables. Grandma gave the little beast bread with a little honey on it on the day before it was to meet his maker. I believe it was to “sweeten” the meat, although maybe it was a last little treat for the critter too.

I had to help Grandpa skin the possum, and it was done just like skinning a rabbit. If you have never skinned a rabbit, I won’t go into it right now, but if you need to know, send me a message and I’ll give you instructions. Chances are if you grew up in the deep South you already know.

Grandma was very particular about cooking wild game, so she carefully cleaned the possum and poured nearly boiling water over him in order to get any scraps of hide off. All of this was done early in the morning. The possum then went into a large pot for parboiling. After about an hour of parboiling, Grandma would take the possum out, put it on a large pan, and sprinkle salt and spices onto it. Peeled sweet potatoes where added, and some slices of bacon, in order to add back some of the flavor which was lost during the parboiling process…which was essential in order to make the meat tender. It then went into the oven to finish cooking by being baked.

I have to note that parboiling was also necessary when preparing and eating squirrel, if you were going to fry them. If stewing the squirrel, you just went right on and kept boiling, but added some spices and some other ingredients. I ate a lot more squirrel than I did possum, and they aren’t half bad.

The last possum I ate was back around1960 if I remember correctly, when I was ten years old. My Grandfather was 67 years old that year. I can’t remember ever eating possum again, although venison and fish still graced the table at times. For the most part Grandma stuck with fried chicken, and beef roasts, and other pretty ordinary stuff in the subsequent years. Of course her cooking was anything but ordinary. Never had another biscuit as good as hers, or a cherry cobbler, or fried chicken…or fried apples for breakfast straight off the apple tree, or…well, you get the picture. I have wished a million times I had paid more attention to how Granny prepared food…especially the biscuits!

As for the possum? Well, I ate the sweet potatoes. The meat was just too greasy for me.

It’s amazing to me that we as humans give so much credit to the brain for everything which we do.

For some reason this afternoon I have been considering the fact that when I really have a deep feeling, whether it be love, sadness, anger or longing, that feeling wells up from within my chest, never from my head….

I feel my heart beating within me every night and I thank God for allowing it to continue. Life is so good, even with all the bad things that often happen. Even with the spirits of darkness which swirl in the air around us on a daily basis…..life is good.

I am thankful for my family and my friends, who give from their hearts to me when I often am undeserving.

I am thankful for my friends who exist for the most part here…in this land of pictures and words and images, even those with whom I have never had a handshake or a touch. I value your good intentions, your kind words.

Henry Van Dyke said: “A friend is what the heart needs all the time” and it is true…

“Its mind over matter” they told me in school….

“If you don’t mind, it don’t matter….”.

But, if nothing matters, what’s the point in even living?

If goodness does not matter, then what’s the point in existing? And love?

If love doesn’t matter, then we are all simply empty husks being blown by the winds of chaos.

But, I DO care…so things do matter. The right things. The proper things. The logical things. The things that may be hard, but that matter for the good of ALL mankind.

Not just a select few who think they matter the most because they have accumulated more strips of green paper (some call it money…cash…riches) than everyone else.

Green paper won’t protect you from everything. There’s a solution for that, and the solution is simple.

It’s mind over matter.

We have been given a great gift, whether by luck or on purpose, depending on your belief system. In either case, it is a wonder and a miracle. It is our life here on this wonderful planet.

Out of all of the stars in the sky at night….the millions and billions, our star…the Sun, Sol… sustains this third planet from the sun and we live here in relative comfort.

Out of all the species on Earth, we humans have become the dominant life form.

I think we fail to realize sometimes that the resources here on our planet are finite, not unlimited as we seem to think. One day, all of the things we take for granted will run out. Chief amongst them in rank of importance would be air to breathe, water and food.

I don’t know how quickly things are becoming critical, but it seems to be happening faster than many scientists have anticipated. I’m not sure how severe things will become in my lifetime, but certainly the next couple of generations will see changes that will require major adjustments.

It is to that end that I am concerned with issues involving our environment. I think it would be to our advantage, for the sake of our descendants, that we all be concerned, and do what we can to preserve a world on which those descendants can live.

My generation has been the luckiest and most fortunate of almost any which have come before, as far as the manner in which we have been able to live. I feel ashamed personally for not having had the foresight and the resolve to be more careful about what we have been doing to our world. I’ve been on “cruise control” just sailing along and not thinking of anything much other than my own immediate needs and those of my close family.

If indeed God did create us, and give us a caretakers role for the Earth, we haven’t done well. I hope future generations will do better, and I’m trying to help them what little I can while I’m still around. We all should. We owe it to the future residents of this wonderful planet.

HABITS

by Larry Bowers

I lost my watch,

And it’s an embarrassing situation,

To go around looking at the back of my bare wrist,

And talk like I’m doing some weird incantation:

“Two hairs past a freckle.”

I murmur to no-one in particular.

It’s like the time I lost my glasses,

And went around poking my finger at the bridge of my nose.

People thought I was crazy.

At least they thought I was close.

So don’t lose anything,

Lest you go round showing other humans

what a creature of habit is man.

When we started measuring time, our eyesight got worse,

From concentrating on the “our” hand.

LOVE’S PLEDGE

by Larry Bowers

What would I give to you?

I would give all that I have and hope to have,

Every beat this heart could beat.

I would give a healing hand, like a medicine to your soul.

Or a gentle gaze, like a soft summer wind.

What would I give to you?

I would give all the joys of a joyful life.

All of the encouragement you need,

Built up like a protective wall around your heart,

To keep it warm when days are dark.

What would I give to you?

Nothing that some other might not give.

Only more willingly because I wish to,

And eternally, because I love you.

….but yet there are ones so young that they believe they can overcome the darkness and build a place of light for all of us to dwell. A future of hope wrapped up in their innocence, without futility in their nature. No cynicism walling up their ideas of a new paradigm for humanity.

And if the world is turned over to them, we will have fewer worries. The dreams they dream will be of tomorrows in space exploring the universe, and problems here on Earth boiled down to mathematical formulas and solved.

There will be no violence and no war. There will be no racial hatred and religious killing. Police officers will again become peace officers.

There will be paper made of hemp for all of us to write upon….and the soft, sweet smell of ganja drifting on the breeze from the joints of the old people in pain, who will be smoking them to relieve the pain in their joints….

Can you dig it?