A Piece Of My Mind

2009-06-30T13:43:00.002-04:00

Several years ago. . . Who am I kidding? Many years ago I had an occasion to be piloting a small ship on upper Chesapeake Bay. It was a late winter night but the weather was clear and calm. We were making good course and speed. The radar picture could have been an overlay of the nautical chart. All targets were identified. I knew where I was and what I was doing - and then I didn't. Just that quickly and for no particular reason it all went away. I could have been standing on the moon. We called it "losing the bubble" and it is a really scary thing. What I remember most was that I was frozen. I knew what had happened and thought of several things to do, but could not make a decision. I could not even tell those on the bridge with me. I just stared out the bridge window while panic knocked at my psyche like the wolf at the door.
In the end, I stopped the ship right there in the middle of Chesapeake Bay and, card by card, rebuilt that fragile house.
Well, it's happened again - in a writing sense. So I'm going to stop the (penman)ship. Sorry. I'm going to stop the ship and start from scratch (or scribble.) It may be a while before I blog again. I hope you understand. Thank you.

2009-05-23T11:50:00.004-04:00

This is American justice, example number two. Michael Vick was recently released from the federal prison in Leavenworth, Kansas. Mr. Vick is the professional athlete convicted of conducting a dog fighting operation and just completed a nineteen month stint in jail. He caused the brutal death of many animals and some people feel that the jail time should have been longer, but at least there was an accounting.
The former Vice President is currently making the rounds of the rubber chicken circuit outlining crimes he committed while in office. These crimes resulted in the loss of over four thousand American lives plus over a million innocent civilian Iraqi lives. There is no call for an accounting. There is not even an investigation.
The lesson in American justice here seems to be: if you are black and kill dogs, you go to jail. If you are white and kill people, you get to brag.
I think Mr. Cheney needs to permanently retire to a secure location. One vacancy just occurred in Leavenworth.

2009-04-27T16:23:00.002-04:00

This is American justice, example number one. By now we are familiar with the crimes of the last administration; the kidnapping, the lying, the torture, the spying. I shall go no further into these. Except to say that if you don't think lying by politicians is much of a crime, be reminded that these lies caused more American deaths than the 9/11 hijackers.
The new administration feels that we should not waste time investigating and prosecuting these crimes. Rather we should move on, look to the future and not the past.
Consider this: last fall, as a parting gift to the energy corporations, the Bush administration, with little public notice, held an auction for drilling and mineral rights for millions of acres of public land. A college student by the name of Tim Christopher heard of the auction and attended. He obtained a bidding paddle, one of those hand held things with a number on it and he began to bid. He out bid everyone again and again until officials realized that Mr. Christopher was a fraud. The young man was charged with lying to government officials, but he had successfully halted the auction.
Here's the lesson in American justice. The Obama administration has decided that we cannot forgive and forget these lies and is continuing prosecution. Tim Christopher faces ten years in federal prison.
We still have a long way to go.

2009-04-14T09:43:00.003-04:00

Wow! I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I closed my eyes and when I opened them two months had past since my last post. Let's see - what excuses can I use here? My failing back failed me and it was uncomfortable to sit at the computer. Well, it no secret that I'm losing my "ro." I used to be robust. Now, I'm just bust.
I could say that my web browser went on the fritz and would freeze or shut down completely when I tried to open certain sites. (A note to Mac users: Install your software updates.)
Or that there is just so much to comment on that I became like a rabbit in the headlights and froze, couldn't decide what to say or how to say it.
O.K., O.K., I've been lazy. But I wanted to comment on three friends who have supported and continue to support my writing. The First is Sam Hoffer. She can be found at mycarolinakitchen.blogspot.com. Yes, it's about food and cooking with some other stuff, but this carolina kitchen is not about grits, ham hocks and greens although she could do those well and there is nothing wrong with them. In fact, I'm making myself hungry. Keep an eye out for her forthcoming book on life in the Bahamas.
Next is Nancy Simpson. Her site is called "Living Above the Frost line" at nancysimpson.blogspot.com. Nancy is a poet with many publishing credits but, more that that, she is a force for the writing arts in western North Carolina and surrounds. There are not many writers here who do not acknowledge her as their mentor. She sits upon her mountain and rules.
Then there is Glenda Beall. She can be found at profilesandpedigrees.blogspot.com. She is also responsible for our bulletin board netwestwriters,blogspot.com. Glenda is the good shepherdess that gently herds us, her reluctant flock, into the new millennium.
Thanks to all three.

2009-02-21T12:07:00.004-05:00

My mother passed away some years ago at the age of eighty-four. That fact is important here only in that most people would say that eight-four years is a decent life span. Most would like to be around longer, but it's decent.
In 1692 our forebearers, in what would become the United States, tortured and murdered their friends and neighbors for the practice of witchcraft. We recognize this as the Salem Witch Trials. Add eighty-four years to that and you come up with (wait a minute - activate the numerator and carry the positron) 1776. That was the year that our forebearers, in what was to become the United States, drafted the Declaration of Independence which stated "that all men were created equal..." What a tremendous step for our society to take in a decent life span, but it was just one step.
I feel that lately our society is leaning backward and if we continue to lean, we will take a backward step. Any time someone tells me what I should read, what I should see, what I should think, what I should feel, what I should fear, it is not for my benefit but their's. They are trying to control me, stop me from going forward, make me take a backward step.

2009-02-10T09:15:00.000-05:00

There will be no peace as long as there is profit in war.

2009-02-01T09:52:00.002-05:00

This is chapter two in the "mouse" saga. Yes, I know it's a mouse. I saw the little nuisance. No, it wasn't in the truck, it was in the shed, more particularly in the chainsaw box. I was going to use my chainsaw (there is nothing like the whine of a well-oiled chainsaw to destroy the serenity of a crisp winter morning) and I went into the box. No, the chainsaw wasn't in the box; the tool I use to open the gas and oil caps was in the box. I don't keep my chainsaw in the box. Who does that? When I opened the box I saw the telltale clump of leaves, twigs and paper. And, a little head peeked out from the mess. Ah ha! I slammed the lid down, took the box into a clearing and called Ms Mousse. Ms Mousse is our Labrador Retriever. No, she's not the animal "moose", she's the dessert "mousse", because she's chocolate and she's sweet. I dumped the nest on the ground, she shoved her nose in it and the mouse took off. Now, the Mousster is sweet, but she's also old and slow, much like the humans she owns. I had to take her by the collar and put her onto the mouse's trail. They played hide and seek for a while, Mousse is susceptible to the double-back, until the mouse skittered up a tree. She did have fun tearing the nest apart. I told her she killed the nest and let the mouse get away. I haven't seen the mouse since. The saga continues.

2009-01-21T10:22:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, I did something I don't much do. I watched the inauguration. I participated in Carter's, but not by choice. I was part of the U.S. Coast Guard contingent that marched in the parade. As I remember, it was bitter cold that day, too. I also remember that Maya Angelou read a poem at Clinton's, but that's about all. The others are reduced to sound bites.
While I watched, I was filled with a giddy sort of feeling I can only discribe as hope. Now, it's a disturbing thing when a cynic feels hope. Cynicism and hope don't go well together. However, I found myself smiling and feeling good and bubbly. This hope stuff was all right, and I thought about what could happen to help a confirmed cynic, please excuse me, "keep hope alive." For me, the answer is "Prosecute."
In the service, the thrill of a successful mission was always offset by the knowledge that now came the paperwork. You can enjoy a great meal, but someone has to clean up the kitchen. Or the best analogy is that when we have suffered disease or injury, before we can say we are fully recovered, there must be that period of difficult and often painful time known as rehabilitation.
I know, people are saying, "Look to the future, not to the past." But, it's not a matter of future and past, it's a matter of finishing the job, cleaning up the mess. To not do it means there is just more to do next time. It doesn't go away.
What better way to rehabilitate our image in, not only the world, but our own psyche? What better way to prove that we are once again a nation of liberty and laws and that no one can run roughshod over both? What better way to say that change is here than to prosecute, prosecute, prosecute?

2009-01-10T09:40:00.002-05:00

This has been going on since the beginning of fall and I need some help. I have an old pickup that I use to piddle around the property, haul stuff, etc. I call it my "ugly truck." Around here there is a premium on flat space so it's parked across the drive from the well house a few hundred feet from the main house. In early fall something, mouse, squirrel, vole, chipmunk, something decided the glove compartment of the truck would make a nice winter nest. There were leaves, pine needles, twigs and bits of paper all fluffed into a soft mesh. It was cute and comical in a way. Except that I kept my registration and insurance card in an envelope along with a notebook/log for the truck in there. That's where the paper came from. Imagine trying to explain that to the cop at the check-point. "Well, you see officer, there's this mouse. . . "
Anyway, I tossed the mess out and next week it was back. This time with insulation from my firewall. I put mouse traps in the truck and in the glove compartment with peanut butter no less - nothing. The peanut butter turned to stone. But the nests keep coming back. The thing is eating my truck. It's beginning to work on my mind. On one hand, I want to rush out every morning to check for the nest and on the other I'm afraid I'll find one. Believe me, this living with nature has its drawbacks.

2009-01-03T10:31:00.003-05:00

I was contemplating the new year recently, looking ahead to some things I might like to do. It's been a while since Judy and I have gone some place other than to funerals or visit relatives and some of these were the same trip. There are some bicycle tours that sound challenging. Judy has mentioned a desire to visit the Alabama coast. Maybe just a weekend in Chattanooga or Atlanta.
But then I wondered when we could fit this in. The medical doctor wants to see me sometime and he probably has some tests he thinks I need, just because I'm a senior citizen. The eye doctor will want to see me too. The dermatologist will want two visits from me as will the dentist. And the dentist wants me to become a ping-pong ball between him and the periodontist. I feel like a client Judy had when she was in psychiatric social work. There were only three times in the client's life: when she was preparing to brush her hair, when she was brushing her hair, and when she had just finished brushing her hair.
Well, here's my new year's resolution: if it don't hurt, I aint goin'. I know, there's a lot of bad stuff out there and some of it can sneak up on you. But, I'm in pretty good shape and nobody knows me better than me. And I know that some of the stuff they want to do isn't good for me. The side effects are worse than the illness. If I think there's a problem, I'll get it checked out. Other than that, they can deal with sick people and leave me alone. If I blow a gasket or crash and burn no one should feel bad. I checked out happy and doing what I wanted to do.

2008-12-15T10:34:00.003-05:00

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.

2008-12-07T09:26:00.000-05:00

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.

2008-12-03T16:25:00.000-05:00

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.

2008-11-23T10:38:00.000-05:00

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.

2008-11-20T11:16:00.000-05:00

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.

2008-11-16T10:28:00.000-05:00

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.

2008-11-12T09:46:00.000-05:00

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.

2008-11-05T09:24:00.000-05:00

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.

2008-10-30T10:05:00.000-04:00

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.

2008-10-25T12:26:00.000-04:00

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.