Tis the time of year when everybody is busy. No time for blogs, only traffic clogs, snowy slogs and occasional fireplace logs. So I will just go ahead and wish everyone a Happy Holi - Oh, what the heck. I'll go out on a limb: Merry Christmas!! There, I said it. And I will leave you with a philosophical drumstick to gnaw on over the holidays. When Judy and I built this place, we used a variation on a method called cordwood masonry, a combination of logs and mortar where the logs are placed so that when you look at the wall you see the end of the log. Some of the logs were perfectly round with an even grain and uniform color. They were beautiful. But the ones that caught our attention were the ones that were misshapened, the grain warped and discolored. These became faces, bird's heads or anything the imagination could think up. We discovered that these logs were diseased or suffered from some other stress. From that followed the realization that people are the same. It is our afflictions that make us interesting. Happy Holidays.

The other day, my wife and I were thinking of a political cartoon. Unfortunately neither of us is talented enough in the visual arts to render it properly, but I will try to describe it. The image of Uncle Sam is lying face up in the dust of a Texas town. His hands are gnarled and his face is twisted in a death grimace. Three buzzards ready to feast surround the corpse. These are labled "A.I.G.," "Citi-Corp" and "Bear-Stearns." Three more circle overhead, "GM," "Ford" and "Chrysler." To the side is the image of George W. Bush in cowboy garb with a large, a very large, cowboy hat. He is blowing the smoke from the barrel of his six-shooter. No caption. No words.

OK-here it is. It's like we are passengers on a boat sailing down a river and for some time now over 80% of the passengers have realized that we are headed for a waterfall. The people rowing the boat know about the waterfall; the captain knows about the waterfall, yet, against the protest of the passengers, the boat is being piloted toward the waterfall. So the people elected a new captain, one who promised to turn the boat. The people are happy, except that the new captain has paused as he is about to accept the tiller. He is choosing many of the same rowers who have rowed the boat toward the falls supposedly because they know how to row.
We can hear the roar of the water. We can see the mists rise above the cataract. Let us take our place at the oarlocks, put our oars in the water and give way together. Speak. Write. Shout. Demand the boat be turned. Let us dip our blades deep and pull hard. Let us put our backs into it.

From the year 1747, we have the following: "As there are no men who complain more of the frauds of business than highwaymen, gamesters, and other thieves of this kind, so there are none who so bitterly exclaim against the frauds of gamesters, etc., as usuers, brokers, and other thieves of this kind; whether it be that the one way of cheating is a discountenance or reflection upon the other, or that money, which is the common mistress of all cheats, makes them regard each other in the light of rivals;..."
I found this while stuffing and shuffling, cramming and cajoling, bulling and butting my way through all 714 pages of Henry Fielding's "The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling" - on page 666 no less.
In light of today's economic situation, Hank would agree - the more things change, the more they stay the same.

A college professor once told me to always save my work. She was speaking to visual art which I was dabbling in at the time. She might not have said that had she seen all my dabblings, but though I no longer dabble, I have tried to heed her words with my writing. So I was rummaging around in my notebook the other day and found an exercise from a long-ago writing program. I don't even remember what the prompt was. After I played with the words some, I came up with the following. I hope it's proof there is a little good in everything.

In a Tent

The lantern hangs and sputters from the center-pole.
Water drips from its cover.
The whole roof leaks.

Curled around puddles,
we cuddle and coo.
She is a shadow beneath the blanket.

Why are we here,
camping in a hurricane?
What are we trying to prove
by refusing to give up on a weekend
doomed from the start?

Yet, here we are
wet, miserable
and falling in love.

My wife and I were watching some TV last Tuesday when she said, "Oh, today is Veteran's Day. I forgot about that. Thanks, Dick."
I said, "You're welcome."
That was pretty much our Veteran's Day celebration. I'm not much for flags, parades, and those little hats with all the 'doo-dahs" on them. But, it's nice when friends and family acknowledge the fact that I wore this country's uniform for twenty years. So I have thought for several days about what would make me feel really "thanked," and I've come up with a short list: Let's stop creating so many "war veterans." If we do have to create war veterans, let's make sure it's not for a lie. Let's not spend young lives for foreign resources or because we are too lazy or too unintelligent to negotiate for what we want. Let's make sure our service people don't die for graft, greed or politics.
There once was a serviceman's Code of Conduct, the first article of which went something like this: I am a United States serviceman. I serve in the forces which guard my country and its way of life. I am prepared to give my life in its defence.
The key word here is "defence." Let's make sure the next one is for defence.

There's an old story about a woman who went walking one cold morning and found a snake by the side of the road. The snake was near death, but managed a plea to the woman for help. The woman took pity on the snake, picked it up and carried it home. Once home, she put the snake by the fire and fed it warm milk. The snake recovered to the point that when the woman came to check on it, it bit her. In shock, the woman cried, "Why did you do that? I saved your life and now I'm going to die." The snake replied,"Hey, I'm a snake. It's what I do." Sen. Joe Lieberman, former Democratic Vice Presidential candidate, became an Independent when the Connecticut democrats turned him out because of his pro Iraq War stance, campaigned for the Republican ticket and was John McCain's preference for running mate, is, once again, seeking a spot beside the Democratic Party fire. Hey, it's what they do.

Well - it happened. Part of me hoped it would; part of me thought it wouldn't and part of me thinks that something will, in the end, prevent it. But, for right now, it has happened. The people of the United States of America have an African-American as president-elect. It took thirty years of lawlessness, Godlessness, and greed to push us over the edge and maybe it was worth it. (I might say here that while the nation celebrates the answer, my home state of North Carolina still mulls over the question.)
And if I may be allowed to intrude on the headiness of the moment, I would like to pose another question. At least as much as we see Barack Obama as black, why don't we see him as white? With one white parent and one black parent, would he not be as much one as the other? The fact is, we don't even consider him to be white. White is not a part of the dialogue. This is not just white America talking, this is the world.
As a son of the south who grew up in the forties and fifties, and a struggling racist myself, I cannot help but think that this is a root of a systemic racial bias grown so deep as to tap into our very DNA. It conjures up images of apartheid South Africa where there was white and then there was everyone else, black, Indian, Asian, whatever. It says that while there maybe inclusion in our daily lives, there is segregation in our souls.
While I do not wish to be someone who brings up problems with out offering possible solutions, I am at a loss to see one here. Except to say that today might be a good first step in the right direction. So, don't mind me. Sing. Dance. Celebrate. Congratulations citizens, you done good.

Whenever a third rate dictator from any third world nation is forced from power for any reason, the last thing they do as they walk out of the door is rape the treasury, steal as much as they can of the people's wealth. It's not a spur of the moment thing. It's orchestrated, formulated, planned and practiced. Much like the old time western movies, while the good gang and the bad gang fight it out at the ranch, the wicked land baron is in town emptying the safe. In the movie, the hero shows up in time to stop the wicked land baron, but that's only in the movies. In real life, the thief and his cronies slither away to live out their lives in luxury. Welcome to the latest version of this scenario: the economic bailout. The wicked dictator, George W. Bush, and his cronies, the corporate elite, will walk out of the door with a trillion (it will be a trilliion before they're done) dollars of tax payer money. Unfortunately, there are no heros to stop them.

Everyone must have a place where they can retreat to cry, scream, yell, curse, shake their fist at the world, send out thoughts of love, and maybe, just maybe, get some feedback. This is my place. If I go too far or not far enough you can cry, scream, yell, curse and shake you fist at me. And maybe, just maybe, we can come to some consensus, some agreement, shape each others ideas. Seems to me like it would be better to do it this way than to use guns or bombs.