NGFF_20 Promo 1: Pat Shields

Walt Disney's Song of the South and Joel Chandler's Uncle Remus. A Controversy of Nothing?

 I'm not big on speechifying, but I do have opinions. Opinions are like arm pits; everyone has a couple, right or wrong is up to them that are on the receiving end of the opinion.

 I found a copy of Song of the South...the original 1946 version while searching for a fiddle tune on the Tube. I watched the whole thing with bated breath to see if I remembered right the story. It was pretty innocuous, considering it has been banned for years!

I was in first grade at Chase Street Elementary School in Athens, Georgia. the whole school walked Uptown to the Georgia Theater to see that movie. I LOVED it. 

It is with sadness I say that political correctness and censorship have stormed the libraries of America, deciding who can read what. 

I love Uncle Remus stories. I have all of them including one that I probably owe $100,000 in overdue fines ri the Chase St. School library.  I recently found and bought another copy of Joel Chandler Harris' Uncle Remus, His Songs and Sayings.   I have two copies, but who knows when the book burnings might begin. 

My mother and grandmother read them in dialect, something I strove to do early on. I can read a pretty good version of the dialect that Joel Chandler Harris gleaned from his black plantation contacts from middle Georgia cotton plantation to the rice plantations in Costal Georgia. His dialect is still the "standard" today. I use poetic license in my telling of these stories.

I was a musician working in rural schools of Braxton County WV. My Mama had read us the Jack Tales and Grandfather Tales collected by folklorist Richard Chase in the hills of Kentucky. 

singing for hours a day in classrooms takes its toll on the voice, and to rest my voice, I began to tell them, Kids were mesmerized. They told their parents about the Story Man that came to school. Parents and grandparents began to come on the days I was scheduled at a school. They enjoyed the stories as much as kid!

I was running out of material. I decided to try Uncle Remus' Brer Rabbit and the Wonderful Tar Baby. The teachers even laughed. Later, an older teacher said it brought back memories of her grandfather telling her that story when she was a girl in WV.

Storytelling is a fact of life in the South. A good storyteller can transform us to a place in our head called imagination...TV and movies can't do that. Those mediums fix and image in your mind that is indelible for life. The story may be captivating, but the images are fixed. No imagination needed. Try to remember the images that were conjured up in your brain when you heard the story of Hansel and Gretel...

Song of the South is a Disney movie and does depict the Old South, but on closer examination, after Miss Sally told Remus he couldn't see the little boy anymore in the movie, Remus decided to pack his belongings and leave the plantation. An enslaved person wouldn't have that option

 Many stayed where they were...on the plantation after the Emancipation. There was stability, a roof over your head and food. You workedat what you knew, yes, but you were free.

I was cautioned not to tell Brer Rabbit stories at public places as they were racists, degrading, offensive to everyone who heard them. A family member was horrified that I even knew them. Well, fact is I loved other black books that were banned ie Nicodemus, Little Black Sambo, and the Grimm Fairy Tales,

My objection to banning books is that children, young adults and adults watch TV. There are far worse scenes of murder and mayhem in a Marvel "Superhero" movie than were depicted in Song of the South. Get over yourselves, people.

When Dr. Suess books came on censorship chopping block, as they are now, something has gone weirdly wrong with this country. The Lorax movie offended the timber industry? PLEASE tell me lumber jacks are not that sensitive.

 My favorite Suess book, printed in the late 40's is "Who Knows What You'll Catch in McElligot's Pool".  most people have never heard of it. It's no longer on library shelves because it depicts a fish one might catch in McElligot's  Pool with a fur hooded coat...and Eskimo Fish. It is considered as offensive to Eskimo people (opps) as they are Native American, and the image is degrading. Hmm.

 I leave you with this question; would you rather hear a good storyteller weave images in your mind or watch yet another murder mystery on TV?

 

Things found that were never lost

 For the past couple years, I have been slowly slogging through the treasure trove of writings, pictures, postcard and flotsam and jetsam left behind by my 10 Lancaster family uncles and aunts.

All my mother's siblings lived well into their 90's. They came from humble beginnings in Floyd County, Virginia. and were scattered to the 4 winds of the Great Depression and WW 1 and 2.  They became lawyers, teachers, businessmen, nurses and executive secretaries. Not one returned to the farm. The Lancaster family had been on the farm for over 200 years.

My mother, Virginia Ruth Lancaster Shields was the last of the 10 siblings and died at 102 in 2000. Being the longest lived, she became the recipient of all that was Lancaster. 

The oldest, Attaway, was born in 1899; the youngest, John Kyle Lancaster, in 1923. They saw much and went far, but no one of them ever returned to the 70-acre farm, except for a few weeks in the summers.

 These brief summer gatherings of the 10 siblings, their wives and children (my cousins) were magic. Music, hikes, visiting old haunts and cemeteries, breakfast at Mabry's Mill, swimming at the white rock, frog gigging, walking to Leonard Smith's store for penny candy and visits with neighbors and family kin were a whirlwind of activities...and over too soon.

All Lancaster's were endowed with a gift of storytelling, music and wanderlust. We cousins were overwhelmed and awed at the experiences they talked of. Their early childhoods, the Great Depression, the World Wars. I think we cousins were blessed and never fell far from the orchard of the larger-than-life family trees we were born to. 

I know grass never grew under my feet. I can tell a tale as well as any of them and leaned my music by osmosis from the entire Lancaster/Phlegar clan! I still have Uncle Red's banjo with the skin head with the faded words to Ground Hog written on it.  

I was the recipient of Uncle John's LG-1 Gibson guitar. He gave me incentive to really learn to play. I found the guitar in a closet and had it restored. it has traveled many years to on stage gigs, jams and festivals.

As I was going through the prodigious mounds of pictures and writings, and hundreds of penny post cards, I began to see how connected they were to their mother, Rachel and to each other.

These cards seemed to me the " text messages" of the day. Most of them written to my grandmother. These cards and letters provided much insight into the daily lives and fortunes of my uncles and aunts. 

Uncle Robert Lancaster was a prodigious writer; a lawyer with a Ph.D. in Juris Prudence. He was Fulbright Scholar, and lectured at Bagdad University, University of Tokyo and a long history in the Administration at Sewanee, formally known as The University of the South. He had a great compassion for people and a wonderful Ben Franklin sense of humor.

Uncle Red once told me. "Patrick, you never let your schooling interfere with your education." I look back and say he was right... one's experiences are the sum total of one's education. He was a multifaceted personality, lawyer, scholar, hunter, musician, carpenter, writer, and influenced many a young man at Sewanee. The student body had a nickname for him...called him The Red Dog due to his uncanny ability to know exactly what mischief was afoot on a campus of 600 young men, trapped on a mountain top, miles from civilization. "Men," he would say, I've been young and done it all myself, hard to fool and old red dog."

I found this the other day in one of "Uncle Red's" lecture notebooks, in which he was outlining the Russo American foreign policy of the Nixon administration for a Political Science lecture. Typed on onion paper and folded neatly between the pages...

" I had 12 bottles of whiskey in the cellar, and my wife told me to empty the content of each bottle down the sink---or else.

I began the unpleasant task. I withdrew the cork on the first bottle and poured the contents down the sink, with the exception of on glass which I drank. I extracted the cork from the second bottle and did likewise, with the exception of one glass which I drank. I removed the cork for the third bottle of shiskey and poured the contents down the sink.

I pilled the cork from the fourth sink and poured the bottle down the glass, which I drank. I piled the bottle from the next glass and drank one sink out of it and threw the rest down the glass. I pulled the glass out of the next sink and poured the cork from the bottle. I then corked the sink with the glass, bottled the drink, and drank the pour.

When everything was emptied, I steadied the house with one hand, counted the bottles. corks, glasses and sinks with the other, which were twenty-nine, and as the house came by, I counted them again. I finally had all the houses in one bottle which I drank.

I'm not under the alchofulence of Incohol, but thinkle peep I am. I'm not half so thunk  as you might drink. I fool so feelish, I don't know who is me, and drunker I stand the longer I get."

I took My Uncle Red's Political Science class as a freshman at Sewanee. I failed, as you might imagine. I was never destined to become a Sophomore at the University of the South. 

I left before Finals in the spring and hitchhiked home to Athens, Ga.

What's Next!

The Only Constant Is Change

How quickly things change. It's fall, again...my 84th! 

Nights are cooler than last month, day are shorter (YUK), leaves are changing, deer coats have gone from brown to gray and I wore my first pair of big boy pants yesterday. The garden is slowing down...okra, peppers and eggplant fading, collards and cabbage are kicking butt. I received word Walmart has Christmas Decor in stock.

We are approaching my least favorite time of year. Long cold nights and short unpredictable days. Grey, white, brown are not my favorite colors...but living in the South, winters ain't  that bad. I had my 20 years in WV. A friend in  Vermont and moved here. He remarked on his first summer here that in Vermont summer consisted of July 4th and 2 weeks of poor sledding. He was amazed that you could do stuff outside all year in Georgia.

One of my Ah Ha moments of change came one night a few years ago as i lay in bed on my stomach, reading.  I looked up to see and old man staring at me through the window only to recognise the reflection in the window was my own self!

 I started laughing.

 Janice called from the other room, "What's so funny?"

 "There's an old man looking at me through the window!" 

 "Nothing new about that, I see that same old man everyday!" 

Hmmm!

Further down the rabbit hole...

I never went to the doctor much until I did. Now our life's event planning revolves around Dr. appts. I don't know really how that started, but the same malady seems to be afflicting everyone I know. It get in the way of civil society. The scenario goes thusly.

 I say, "Hey, let's go play some tunes with so and so tomorrow."  "I'd like to, but I got a Dr. appointment; you know, if you miss one you'll have to wait for 2 years to get another one." or "I've got to take Mama to her Dr. appt. today, can we do it next week? I've got cataract surgery tomorrow."

I'm an early 1941 model human bean, and doing pretty well, I think. "My Chart" seems to think otherwise. I suppose my medical specialist are just that...they see more and more of less and less. 

The the picture they paint is not rosy; you got a heart is weak, your eyes can't see, you have terrible knees, you need two shoulder replacement...and a new hip followed by, you need to lose 60 pounds, plus, you have high cholesterol, your A1C ain't where I'd like it...and that's just the beginning. Time to jack me up and put a new me under the old one?

I suppose they want to keep us octogenarians around as an investment in their children's college education. The Hippocratic Oath our Doctor's take; Do No Harm is encouraging, but their prognosis after the probe and scan will scare hell out of you. I can guarantee you there is always another pill after a visit to the Medical Complex. The vultures in the Pharmacy are just across the street. 

I'm sure my insurance company would like to be rid of me...and hundreds and thousands of "baby boomers" who affect their bottom line. 

It might come to just that...health care as we know it for old people might just dry up. "Ya'll just hurry up and die...we can't afford you baby boomers anymore." I hope to keep going as long as they make spare parts. My siblings and I are on the right side of 80.  Every TV add seems to be a new pill to cure everything from flat feet to falling down stairs, ie "You're  old, grey and only in the way, obsolete, retired and need of 30 pills a day."

Some days I feel so damned unnecessary. AI, Bit Coin, cars that drive for you and talk to you. Car ads seem to  tout the sound system, leather seats and air bags, and climbing sand dunes in a mimi van... not the reliability of the vehicle. 

How do old folks navigate such? Your own your own...pretty much. Don't have a computer, lap top, tablet, cell phone? Might as well be in a time capsule or a museum for extinct life forms. Indeed, things change faster than a shooting star and the technology disappears just as fast, replaced by some other gadget.

But, friends, I have to say, as I look around at what my wife and I have accomplished at the end of our long dirt road: the pottery shop, tractor shed, green house, acquisition of another 15 acres, improvements to the property, things have changed. More importantly, it is still quiet peaceful, and I can  take an outdoor shower without the police showing up and arresting me for indecent exposure. 

That may change...this place used to be a cotton field in 1948 according to Dept. of Agriculture photos taken after WW2.

 WHAT! that was nearly a century ago. I'm 84! How'd that happen!

I think we should all embrace changes in our lifestyles as we age...we don't have a choice really. Here are my suggestions:

Love and cherish those who you do...they are the rope that will pull you out of any hole you dig. 

Take time to watch a good sunset, and may you have earned a porch swing from which to enjoy it and reflect on your day's accomplishment (s) with a glass of wine and a partner. 

Play and work as you can; don't sit with the sitters and knit with the knitters. Enjoy and nurture friends. They are your lifeline to the past...the ones who remember when.

Above all remember we, all of us, will relinquish our place in the choir to another voice...again and again and again. We will be remembered as long as someone says our name.

It is the Way.😎

Time crawls by like a snail in a foot of snow on the way to a funeral.

 Ever wonder if the weeks' vacation you have waited for 51 weeks will actual happen?

 Ever wonder where summer went and why it stays so cold outside for so long?

 How long did it take for school to let out for the summer every year?

How long did it take for Christmas to come in December.

At 15, how long did the magic year of 16 to roll around and the coveted driver's licence to come to fruition? 10 years? 20 yrs... definitely 20.

These are rhetorical questions I know...but our expectation and time are in juxtaposition. We want time to pass quickly, or more slowly. It's an agenda we all participate in.

Are we the only animal on earth that has anticipatory notions? 

Nope.

My cat knows when it's 5:00...and wet food dinner time. She parks herself in front of you and stare. She can hear the spoon hit the dish a mile away.

Pavlov's dogs salivated when a bell was rung and I think all animals in our care have the same built in clock. It's 5:00 somewhere!

In my experience with cattle, blowing the horn on the hay truck brought more cattle to field. Feeding time would find most of them gathered in the same place in the field as yesterday, and they also knew the sound of the truck motor before I came into sight.

Anticipation slows our concept of time. In an emergency situation every second seems an hour...or a year

A friend and his Dad were waiting for his Mom to go out to dinner. "What's taking so long, my friend asked. Dad replied, "Time waits for no man and only 15 minutes for women." 

Reminds of a song written by a blind fiddler from West Virginia. Composed in 1929, it became commentary on the Great Depression and the struggles of poverty and societal change. The song became a significant work of social commentary and was added to the Grammy Hall of Fame in 2020. 

To wit:

There once was a time when everything was cheap,
But now prices nearly puts a man to sleep.
When we pay our grocery bill,
We just feel like making our will

I remember when dry goods were cheap as dirt,
We could take two bits and buy a dandy shirt.
Now we pay three bucks or more,
Maybe get a shirt that another man wore.
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Well, I used to trade with a man by the name of Brown,
Flour was fifty cents for a bag of twenty-four pound.
Now it's a dollar and a half beside,
Just like a-skinning off a flea for the hide.
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Oh, the schools we have today ain't worth a cent,
But they see to it that every child is sent.
If we don't send everyday,
We have a heavy fine to pay.
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?
This song was originally posted on protestsonglyrics.net
Prohibition's good if 'tis conducted right,
There's no sense in shooting a man 'til he shows flight.
Officers kill without a cause,
They complain about funny laws.
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Most all preachers preach for gold and not for souls,
That's what keeps a poor man always in a hole.
We can hardly get our breath,
Taxed and schooled and preached to death.
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Oh, it's time for every man to be awake,
We pay fifty cents a pound when we ask for steak.
When we get our package home,
A little wad of paper with gristle and a bone.
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?
This song was originally posted on protestsonglyrics.net
Well, the doctor comes around with a face all bright,
And he says in a little while you'll be all right.
All he gives is a humbug pill,
A dose of dope and a great big bill.
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

A commentary on our present social and political climate?

Keep people poor, keep em hungry, keep 'em uneducated, keep in a chaotic state, and you have them where you want 'em... not subjects, but subjected.

HMMM!

 

Some Words of Wisdom

A mouth can break it's nose - Irish Proverb

To celebrate with confetti is not a celebration to those who have to clean it up. tractor thinkin

If it takes a worried man to sing a worried song, many should be singing the blues.  tractor thinkin

Remember your humanity; forget the rest.  Bertrand Russell

Santa Claus has the right idea; visit people once a year. Victor Borge

it's funny that all you have to do is say something people don't understand and they'll follow you anywhere. JD Salinger.

I fell so damn unnecessary! Anonymous

I was never lost, but I was mighty confused for a week one time. Daniel Boone

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose; freedom ain't worth nothing, but it's free. Bobbie McGee and Chris Kristofferson

History is merely a list of surprises. It can only prepare us to be surprised yet again. Kurt Vonnegut

She's a nice person. Well, she fibs a bit. How you know that? Ain't that much truth. Wendell Berry

Six month before I married Sally, I could 'a eat her up, now I wish I had. (paraphrased) Wendell Berry

There are worse crime than burning books; One is not reading them. Joseph Brodsky 

He who will not apply new remedies must expect new evils. Francis Bacon

Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored. Aldous Huxley

It is better to waste one's youth than do nothing with it at all. Georges Courteline

Finally, my all time favorite

Likker talk mighty loud when it get loose from the jug!  Joel Chandler Harris' Uncle Remus

Weather Alert

Expecting snow in Danielsville, Ga  and most of the SE on Fri. Let the games begin. Car insurance futures are up.

Tractor Thinking as 2024 Slides Away

 My young brain and old brain are coming to an understanding.  I had to become old to realize my young brain was telling my old body to do some things it did years ago. After a few attempts, the old body told what was left of the young brain to go to hell. Old bodies don't bounce, climb, run, carry, and have the stamina the young brain remembers.

Case in point:

 One day in my mid 60's, my aging body was on a hike around the lake. In a cove, a group of  young Tarzans and Tarzanettes were having a great time on a rope swing hanging way up over the lake in a huge Sycamore tree.  I stood, watching the younguns flying, flipping laughing and launching themselves from earth into the sky back to water and to land. I stood smiling as I remembered many such experiences. My young brain said, " Hey, go for it, you used to be a pro at showing off. The old body  agreed and got in line. 

The results were less than magnificent, and nearly catastrophic. I nearly pulled my once big strong  arms out of the socket at the bottom of the arc as my excessive bulk overcame my arms ability to pull it off. I hit the water a 45 degree angle bouncing off  the bottom very close to shore. Not good. One of the Tarzans took pity sakes on me and helped me up the bank, smiled and said, "nice try," adding insult to injury.

The experience was new and totally unexpected. I hobbled the half mile back to the cabin, a bad foot  sprained knee and severely damaged psyche. My "10 foot tall and bullet proof" body of my youth had failed me! You can smile, but don't laugh. You've have all been there if you're over 60. If you ain't, hopefully you will be.

The old body and brain have become more familiar with one another. They have worked together to work out  most of the every day things I do. We have a Council of War to create a battle plan for new attempted, once no brainers, to negotiate the activity in question. So far, so good. I do fall occasionally, and thanks to football and tumbling skills I have so far escaped the Emergency Room; knock on wood! 

My "devices" to help in my survival include a cell phone,  a cane, a walker, and two rollators. One rollator I keep the house and the other at the tractor shed for rolling heavy, awkward stuff around. 

Falls, sprains, replacement parts are a part of becoming older]I At least they make replacement parts. I have two reverse shoulder replacement and a right hip replacement in my 84 years. Without them my my physical self would not be able to function as well as it does. I am still fairly active for my age, I think. 

I do have one more issue with my present brain. I'm guessing most "elders" have the same complaint. There is stuff in my brain that I do not need, and have not used in many, many years. There are things that are more current to my lifestyle now I would like to store. The brain does not have a delete option. Storage is becoming an issue. Long term memory is dominate to short term memory. This became apparent when I try to learn new song lyrics. I can remember words to older songs of 60 yrs ago but new lyrics are here today and gone tomorrow.

My wife commented on a tune I was playing on a 100 year old Gibson mandolin that had been lost at a repair shop when they moved to a new location. It was found a year later, repaired, and returned. Reunited, I was playing some tunes and my wife,remarked she had had never heard me play that tune. I suppose the association with the instrument I learned it on brought it back to my pudgy little fingers. I had learned it in another life in the hills of West Virginia.

 The brain is indeed a wonderful thing. Learning to use it is another! The older body and the brain are now syinced. It is a work in progress.

A Giant Tale

 

A Giant’s Tale, the Fortune of Abbeyoyo

This is a tale of what happened in the small country of Bazoga many years ago. The Kowabasinga of Bazoga, the keeper of all things historical, left us this record of trying time in his country due to the presence of a hateful old puke of a giant named Abbeyoyo.

Abbeyoyo was shunned by all his relatives as being rude, crude and plain socially unattractive. If his family couldn’t stand him, no other giants wanted anything to do with him.

Abbeyoyo was 30 feet tall, had long greasy hair infested with all manner of varmints because he never washed or combed it. Buzzards circled his ugly head like flies. He had bad breath and green teeth because he never brushed them. His nose dripped because he never blew it. His hands and fingernails were dirty cause he never washed them…same with his huge nasty feet. So, as you see, Abbeyoyo had no regard for anything except himself…and no regard for physical hygiene.

The giant daily roamed the countryside creating chaos and mayhem as he went. Abbeyoyo stomped on farmer crops and tore down fences out of sheer meanness. He ate cows and sheep as he pleased. He kicked barns and houses over for fun.

Years of dealing with the uncontrollable giant afflicted people with a syndrome called “giant shakes.” Any mention of the name Abbeyoyo caused uncontrollable shaking, sobbing, and wailing.

Just Plain Bill lived and cared for his parents, both terribly afflicted with giant shakes. Bill cared for his Uncle Wally, a Wizard, who lived in a small house next door; an absent-minded scholar very distracted in academic pursuit. He was, however, a jovial character, telling wonderful stories, and Just Plain Bill spent many happy hours with Uncle Wally.

Uncle Wally translated ancient written languages, becoming expert in deciphering runes carved on the tombs of the long dead Wizards of Bazoga. He discovered the magical powers hidden in them.

The Order of Wizards bestowed Wally with Order of the Blue Robe for his work.   

Uncle Wally had an enterprising spirit. To fund his research, he used his knowledge of runes to create Uncle Wally’s Wonder Stick. He found that by carving runic figures on an ordinary stick that stick or wand, could alleviate the owner of a mundane task…washing dishes, doing laundry, answering only to the password of its owner.

Wally charged 10.95 + shipping, no COD’s please, for Wally’s Wonder Sticks. A handsome sum in that time.

You simply told Wally the task was desired, within reason, and received a stick. There was a warranty guaranteeing your Wally Stick’s spell would hold for one thousand years for an extra 2 bucks. Business was brisk.

Just Plain Bill asked, begged and cajoled Uncle Wally for a disappearing stick to hunt down Abbeyoyo and make the menace disappear and cure the giant shakes that afflicted so many citizens in Bazoga. Uncle Wally refused his nephew’s request, because Wally took the stance that stick it could be used to do harm if used improperly.

Uncle Wally watched helplessly as his family became unable to function because of their affliction. Wally, after long deliberation, presented his nephew Just Plain Bill with the disappearing stick.

Just Plain Bill loved to take long hikes in the hills around the village. One day, he left home in the cool dawn and hiked up the steepest hill to see what was on the other side. As the sun rose, he saw, lying in a field below, Abbeyoyo, fast asleep.

Just Plain Bill pulled out his Wally Stick, carved for the occasion, and crept as close to the sleeping giant as he dared and whispered his password, Abracadabra Shazam.

The results were instantaneous!

 A violent whirlwind sprang up, followed by a dense cloud of smelly orange smoke that rose high in the air and drifted away. Abbeyoyo had gone up in smoke!

News spread that the wretched giant had vanished. There were no reports of Abbeyoyo sighting for a week. His countrymen began to breath a giant sigh of relief.

His parents lost the Giant Shakes in a couple of weeks

 Just Plain Bill was happy, but happiness comes with unintended consequences; he had become a hero. He disliked the fuss and acolades. The Kowabazinga of Bazoga wrote in a book in the Great Library of Bazoga that a simple lad, Just Plain Bill had vanquished the evil hateful puke of a giant, Abbeyoyo, for a thousand years.

A story, or saga was composed to commemorate Just Plain Bill’s heroic deed. (to be sung in any minor key to any melody that fits the meter.)

There was a man called Just Plain Bill. Who walked one morn to the top of a hill.

 Bill looked down in the valley below and saw the sleeping giant Abbeyoyo.

 With his Wally Stick no giant Bill feared, with a mighty flash Abbeyoyo disappeared.

The people danced, feasted, and sang, Abbeyoyo was gone and never seen again.

Over centuries a Cautionary Tale survived the Abbeyoyo story. The threat of Giant Shakes and Abbeyoyo were duly administered by parents and grandparents to disobedient children. Most children rolled their eyes laughed saying, “Yeah, right. Abbeyoyo who?”

Here’s the Rest of the Story…remember the stick had a thousand-year guarantee. Hmmm!

Although Bazoga is no longer a named country, its territory made up a small portion of the present country in which lived two pre teenaged boys with dreams.

The first dreamed of playing mandolin just like Bill Monroe. His parents bought him a secondhand beginners instrument. That mandolin had trouble teaching its pupil from the beginning.

 Mando Boy couldn’t make sense of the 8 strings and 12 frets. But as a luddite, he picked, plucked, plinked, and played on his mandolin every spare moment. He was determined to pry something intelligible out of the sound hole. His parents offered lessons. Even his instructor gave up on him.

Our Mando Boy was a junk store junkie looking for old comic books. He found an old mandolin instruction book rummaging through a pile of magazines. It showed him where to put his finger on the fret with black dots. The book came with a cassette tape with some simple play-a-long tunes.

Mando boy learned three chords in the Key of G in one afternoon! His head swelled in size! Now he could play chords.

Using these simple chords he hummed a little la de da da tune. He enthusiastically took the mandolin all over town and serenaded everyone, invited or not, with three chords and La De Da, La De Da Da, La De Da Da, LA De DA Da.

Our next young man strived to be a World Class Magician. He had only mastered a now you see, it now you don’t trick with a quarter. He loved to have things disappear! His friend, Mando Boy mastered the quarter trick in 10 minutes. Bummer.

 Magic Boy tried to find a teacher but found no magician wants to share the tricks of his trade with others. Magic Boy was on his own to pursue his dream best he could. All he could practice was what he found in books. Boring.

Magic Boy went to his grandfather’s house after school each day until his parents got off work. Grandpa napped every afternoon, leaving the boy in his own custody.

Bored, he began poking around in the old stuff in the grandpa’s attic. Under a pile of ole curtains, he came on a little trunk carved with strange characters. Magic Boy examined the small trunk each day looking for a way to open it.

 

 After weeks of feeling, rubbing and looking, he found that there were two small blanks in the carvings that just fit his first and second fingers of each hand. He placed his fingers in the four blank spots, and CLICK, the top sprang open.

 Once opened, he found a threadbare, moth-eaten blue robe, a small book with funny signs written in it and a small wooden tube holding a plain ole wooden stick. What was that about, he wondered?

He slid the stick out of its tube and felt an immediate buzzing sensation; startled, he dropped it, only to have the stick bounce right back into his hand. He felt it was it was trying to tell him something. He closed the box, taking the stick home with him. He marveled at the carvings and wondered what they were. He felt the stick was talking to him. The stick had a gentle vibration like a cat purring when he held it. His world seemed better with his new stick friend.

Magic Boy and Mando Boy were classmates. Both had comic book collections and loved sharing/trading comic books. Magic boy traded Mando boy a comic book about a kid from outer space, who by saying the word SHAZAM, would turn into a superhero named Captain Marvel.

That word hit Magic boy like a thunderbolt. After school he took the stick to the park, and whispered SHAZAM. A stream of red smoke dribbled out of the end of the stick. He repeated SHAZAM, a puff of smoke. Nothing else did the stick say.

The English teacher gave a class assignment for a book report on Tales of the Arabian Nights. Magic boy found it a fun read. A magician in one of the stories shouted Abracadabra! to create a spell.

Magic boy tried it next day, ABRACADABRA, and to his surprise, yellow smoke came from the tip of the wand.

He told Mando boy the news. Mando boy immediately said, “DUH” bro, try em both at the same time, and see what happens.” 

Back in the park after school, Magic Boy whispered ABRACADABRA SHAZAM and lo and behold, best beloved, streak of orange fire came out of the stick and an old tree just up and disappeared! Everybody knows that red and yellow make orange! The secret of the stick was revealed.

Unfortunately, it was the beginning of trouble and the end of the fun for both boys. Magic Boy became a nuisance making things disappear, practicing on parking meters, park benches and once, by mistake a statue of some old man that was a landmark in the town square. Mando boy was frequently ticketed for busking without a license. The mayor and council banished the boys from town. School and home, that was it. They had done it to themselves was their consensus of the local Board of Commissioners

 Remember Plain Old Bill? Magic Boy’s grandfather was a direct descendant of Plain Old Bill and Uncle Wally. That’s where the little chest came from, passed down through generations until no one in the family could recall its history; it just was passed on to the next generation. Who knows if anyone other than Magic Boy had tried to open it.

 Uncle Wally’s warranty had held Abbeyoyo prisoner for one thousand years. The Abbeyoyo sentence would expire on this coming Sunday morning.

 

Friday, Day 363

Magic Boy’s grandfather had a fishing cabin on a lake a few miles out of town. He gave them permission to use it. On that Friday after school, the two took their bikes and headed for the cabin for the weekend. They grilled and devoured 3 hamburgers as proper for growing boys, and a quart of Mountain Dew washed down half gallon of Moose Tracks ice cream.

Saturday, Day 364

The boys fished from the dock, swam, and rode to the old mill, hoping to catch a water snake. More burgers and bed!

Sunday, Day 365

Screaming. Honking, and Holy Pandemonium, Bat Man!

 Mando Boy awoke to sirens. He ran to the porch hearing faint cries of Giant, it’s a Giant! Run for your lives. Cars were bumper to bumper leaving town.

 Mando boy headed for the porch to see the largest, smelliest Big TOE he’d ever seen. Looking up and an even uglier site… ABBEYOYO!

 “Woo Wee, now that give ugly a bad name, shore enough” thought Mando Boy.

 Mando Boy could never explain why. He ran for his Mandolin, confronted the giant and yelled “HEY! Hey, YOU WANNA HEAR MY SONG”?

Abbeyoyo stopped his roaring and stomping and looked down at the boy.

 “SONG? WHAT BE SONG”? He picked Mando boy up by his shirt collar and peered at boy with his big blood shot giant eye. “SONG. NOW” said Abbeyoyo.

In a brilliant moment Mando boy added words to his three chords. He began singing ABBEYOYO instead of LA DE DA DA as loudly as he could.

Abbeyoyo had never heard a mandolin or a song…especially one about himself. After a minute, he put Mando Boy on the ground and the ferocious giant Abbeyoyo began singing and dancing.

 Mando boy did fancy footwork to stay alive. Abbeyoyo sang and danced till he became so out of breath he lay down to catch his breath. He was soon snoring.

Magic Boy was watching from the porch. The Uncle Wally Wonder Stick buzzed and bucked and sparked so that Magic boy had to use both hands to hold it. He wasted no time! SHAZAM ABRACADABRA. Abbeyoyo was still there! Worse, ragged pants disappeared. Not a pretty sight.

“Other way around!” shouted Mando boy.

“Abracadabra SHAZAM!” shouted Magic boy. An orange streak of fire shot toward Abbeyoyo. BOOM! a tornado appeared, pulling a smelly plume of orange smoke up and away. Abbeyoyo was not more.  Just Plain Bill’s Wally Wonder Stick had done its work again!

 Mando Boy and Magic Boy were unlikely heroes. The only reward they wanted was to be able to come to town and hang at the Mall.  No more monkey business, they promised the Commissioners.

The Abbeyoyo Song, previously the La De DA DA song topped the charts and became the official town song, sung at all civic events, rodeos, hog callings, goat roping’s and ball games.

Mando boy eventually became the mandolinist of his dreams, not a Bill Monroe clone, but adequate in his own mind. After two years of college, he was asked to manage the Music, Visual Arts, and Thespian facility in town. The Commission voted to rename it “Abbeyoyo Hall, Less We Forget”.  

 Just Plain Bill’s Wally Wonder Stick went back into the little chest, which is in the possession of its master, Magic Boy. It just followed him home from Grandpa’s house one day, chest and all. They still practice making things disappear, mostly soda cans and obnoxious roadside billboards.  

As Magic Boy puts it, “Who knows, Abbeyoyo may come back, He did it once.”

Magic Boy teaches Giant Studies, Runic languages at State College. Married with twin boys, who are as mischievous as their Daddy.

An old Bazoga Proverb discovered by Magic Boy in his studies of the little book in the chest reads

“Abbeyoyo has decreed little boys and girls be in bed by 8:00 on weeknights and 9:00 on weekends”. No argument from children OR their parents in THAT town. Abbeyoyo’s one good deed!

  

The Boy, A Bear and The School Master

 “John Lee Ransom, approach the desk this instant, barked school master Collins. John got out of his desk, walked to the front of the room, and assumed the “bend over,” position at the desk. The class laughed. They knew what was coming. The School Master held up his hand. The laughter stopped.

Simply put, John was a common source of entertainment for his classmates, and a constant distraction to the class of 15 students.

They were in grades first through sixth, or wherever they walked away from their schooling. Mr. Collins was satisfied if a student passed the 6th grade competence test.

“I am assuming you put the frog in the water bucket?” spoke Mr. Collins.

“Yes Sir, “answered the boy.

“Please explain your action, IF there is such an explanation!” demanded Mr. Collins.

  “Well, the frog looked pretty thirsty,” John replied, still in his bent over position, eyes on the floor. The class laughed again.

Mr. Collins and John Lee Ransome had hooked horns from the beginning of John’s school career. This was Master Collins’ tenth year and John Lee Ransom’s fourth. The whole community knew their adversarial relationship.

“Young man,” began Master Collins, “you have pulled your last bit of monkey business in this school term. You are suspended from school for the rest of the term. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!” The Master barked.

“Yes, SIR”! answered John. He was out the door and gone.

John Lee Ransom felt relief. He took his usual creek trail home. Most kids, including his siblings, took the dirt road.

In his young mind the three R’s Master Collins seemed so intent on teaching were unnecessary to John Lee Ransom’s young life.

John studied nature. He had learned the ways of the animals in the fields and woods. The knew from experimentation a hellgrammite would give you a bite worse that a crawdad’s pinch. To his Ma’s dismay, John kept Praying Mantis egg cases in his room, and thousands of small mantises hatched. It took forever to rid the house of them. He knew bird calls, rabbit trails. He had raised a young coon until his parents made him release it.

He arrived home. The house was a typical with two story farmhouse on 60 acres in the Blue Ridge. Pa’s father had built it. He took a long breath and walked inside.

“What are you doing home,” his Ma questioned.

So, “You put a frog in the drinking water bucket,” John Ransom, WHAT in the devil possessed you to do such a thing?”

“Ma, the frog looked thirsty, and ole Mr. Fancy Pants Collins said not to never come back to school again, and I ain’t never going back.”

“Don’t get smart with me, young man, and we’ll see what your Pa has to say about that,” she answered, tight lipped.

Pa had plenty to say, and was about to give John Lee a good whipping, when Ma intervened. “Let the boy be, we’ll figure this out. You need help this fall, put him to work on the farm, and let’s give it some time.”  That was fine with John Lee Ransom. Trading a small room with four walls for a big world with four seasons was a win!

John took his work on the farm seriously. He pulled corn fodder for the milk cow until his hands bled. He split stove wood for Ma’s cookstove, and winter wood for the fireplaces after he and Pa cut the trees with the crosscut saw.

 His farm chores included carrying water up from the spring to the house. He helped his Ma with the clothes washing, filling the black wash pots with water and keeping the fire under the wash and rinse pots going. There was hay to put up, stock to feed and a cow to milk twice a day. John dug and stored potatoes and went to the neighborhood hog butchering. Despite the hard persistent of work on the farm from “can see to can’t see,” it was the better option than Mr. Collin’s education in John’s mind. He was happy with Mr. Collin’s decision, and began to wonder how his Pa had managed to do all this work by himself.

Going to the grist mill was a pleasant day off. John had shelled corn with an ancient hand cranked corn sheller and filled sacks from the bins of black buckwheat grain that Pa traded for. The grain was ground into flour at the grist mill. Cornbread and buckwheat cakes were mountain folk staples.

His older brother and sister had their chores, but John Lee accepted the brunt of the everyday tasks.

November came bringing the cold west wind and shorter days.

The Oak tree acorn mast drew all kinds of critter to gather and store nuts for the cold mountain winter. John found time to sneak to the woods and sit by the creek to watch the critters get ready for winter. Change of seasonal habits in the animal world was fascinating. How did they know what to do? John began to realize that all living things were bound to seasonal cycles.

 It dawned on John Lee Ransome that he was no different than the squirrels storing nuts for winter. All life was a journey through seasons, even his own. Something in him changed that day. He was on a journey! He had decisions to make. Ma and Pa couldn’t make them for him. He had learned much in his 3 months of work on the farm.

 Harvesting Chestnuts was an age-old mountain tradition. The nuts of the American Chestnuts in a prickly mass of husks that the cool fall weather would dry, and the prickly balls would fall from the branches releasing the large brown sweet chestnuts.

The ground under the massive trees was littered with these husks and their fruit. The sharp spines were impossible to escape and contained something chemical which caused painful red festers on tender fingers, gloved or not.

One evening, light fading fast and his hands aching from the spiney husks, he hurried his haul of nuts down a mountain trail blurred with leaves, picking his was around roots and rocks, eyes on the ground. He heard something coming toward him. He looked up to see a black bear with two cubs following! The bear slowed, rose up sniffing the air. She grunted, turned, and ambled back the way she came, the cubs galloping behind. John was stunned. Never had he seen a bear on the mountain. He waited until he could no longer hear the bears as they shuffled away and made his way home. He said nothing about the encounter, knowing his Ma might forbid his ramblings.

 School Master Collins was a bachelor and lived in a small house some three miles from the school halfway up a holler road. No one lived above or below on the steep, rutted half-mile road. Master Collins liked it that way.

A couple of days before the school break, Mr. Collins began to sniffle. He thought nothing of it, but a sore throat the next day gave evidence he was catching something, suspecting it was the illness half his students had contracted.

It was well known that School Master Collins had family in Roanoke and went home a few days after the Christmas break started. He stabled his mare and buggy and the livery in town as there was no one to care for her up the holler.

 School out, Mr. Collins went home, built a good fire in the coal stove, and began packing and putting the house in order. He fed the coal stove and read in his chair awhile before going to bed. Later that evening he awoke with chills and decided it best to delay his trip to see how this played out.

The first big snow came blowing in the the next afternoon late. John was up with the first light and made his rounds to feed the stock. Snow was two rails high on the sheep lot fence.

 His Ma gave John permission to go sledding with the neighbor kids on the Big Hill on the Justice farm just past Mr. Collin’s road. His siblings were still not well, and Ma said they must stay inside. They complained bitterly.

 John and the neighbor kids had an exhausting day of fun. The sun’s red glow on the new snow said it was time to head home. Sleigh and wagon tracks had packed the snow on the road, making it a bit easier to walk. John Lee was last in line, tired and cold to the bone.

 As he came to Mr. Collin’s road, he saw bear tracks going up the hollow. He stopped, examining them. Sure enough, big tracks and 2 sets of smaller tracks heading right up the middle of the road. He smiled and continued walking, stopped, he turned and walked back to the holler road. There, going up the holler were bear tracks, but absent were buggy tracks coming out of the mountain holler road.

“That’s odd,” John Lee thought “ole fancy pants usually take his buggy to town to catch the train morning after school closes.”

John ate supper, and went to bed, exhausted. He kept waking up with a premonition something was wrong up the holler. Bear tracks going up, no buggy track coming out. Finally, he slipped out of bed, no longer able to sleep. He quietly dressed, quietly slipped down the stairs, fetched a couple of biscuits and a piece of ham from the warmer oven on the wood cook stove, and quietly let himself out the back door.

The half-moon was low on the horizon when John made it to Mr. Collin’s holler road. The cold on the new snow made the surface crisp. Luckily, John was light enough not to fall through the crust, which would have made the uphill trek much harder. The bears’ tracks were clearly visible, but no buggy tracks at all.

 The boy was breathing heavily when he reached the small barn below the house. The horse was in the stall with no hay and only half barrel of water. She nickered softly as John entered the barn. He quickly threw hay at the manger and went to the house. No one had been to the barn in a day!

The door to the house was bolted, and windows pinned shut. John saw there was a small scuttle window above the porch. He found a ladder in the shed behind the barn and got to the roof. It took some work to negotiate the snow-covered roof. A bit of jiggling and the window fell on to the ceiling floor breaking a pane. John heard no noise from below. The house was as cold as the outdoor temperature; well below freezing. John removed the small access door in the ceiling, calling Mr. Collins name a couple times before dropping heavily to the floor. He walked to the bedroom and caught his breath.

 Mr. Collins looked pale as death. John called his name again, “Mr. Collins, can you hear me, it’s John Lee Ransome.” There was a slight moan. He went to Mr. Collin’s bed and felt the man’s hands. They were cold as ice.

John rushed to the coal stove and shook the grate. There were still live clinkers enough to start a fire with the help of a couple pieces of pine lighter wood. Next, John scooped up a large pot of snow from the porch and put it on the stove.

Going back to Mr. Collins, John began rubbing his hands and arms and talking to him. He had watched his Pa do this with newborn calves and lambs born in the cold mid-winter. “Wake up Mr. Collins. wake up!” After a few minutes, Mr. Collins coughed softly. John beathed a sigh of relief. At least he was alive.

The small house warmed quickly, and John found towels, and hung them near the stove to warm and placed them on Mr. Collin’s chest, neck, and head and arms. Mr. Collins opened his eyes briefly and coughed. “It’s me,” he stated, “John Ransom!”

The sun was just over the trees and John knew Ma and Pa would be frantic when they found him missing. John’s mind raced. Mr. Collins was much too weak to move under his own power and too heavy for John to carry. He decided it was best he walk back home to get help. He knew it would take at least an hour to make the trip.

First things first. Stabilize Mr. Collins. He wet a cloth in warm water from the stove and swabbed his face. The warm moisture brought on a coughing fit. Mr. Collins eyes opened briefly. The sick man was becoming more responsive to John’s efforts to revive him.

John found coffee and made it on the small kerosene kitchen stove. John stirred honey in the black coffee and carefully spooned the liquid into Mr. Collins’ mouth. He coughed, opened his eyes, and smiled slightly. Half an hour later Mr. Collins sat up weakly in bed with John’s help.

The house was warm, and John remembered the biscuits in his coat pocket. He placed them and the piece of ham in a small pan on the coal stove to warm. John drug Mr. Collins chair to the bed, and with effort got him in it, pulling it closer to the stove. The effort produced a coughing fit and a nasty yellow green sputum.

Mr. Collins was in a bad way.

John explained to Mr. Collins what he must do. Mr. Collins nodded and, in a whisper, said, “Take the horse, she’s broke to ride.”

John went to the barn, bridled the horse, and led her out into the brilliant sunlight. She was a tall horse, and it took several tries to get on her back. He headed for his house, thought again, and headed to Dr. Bentley’s house a mile further down the road

 He reached the main road and tried to put the mare in a trot, but the frozen solid road was slippery and rough. Ten minutes later he met Leonard Smith and his wife in their buggy. He stopped them, explained Mr. Collins’ situation, and asked if they would see after Mr. Collins. They obliged, and John went on to town to find Dr. Bentley.

John hitched up the Doctor’s buggy as the Doctor stocked his bag saying to John, “sounds like pneumonia to me.” They arrived to find Mr. Collins awake, coughing but not as spasmodically. Mrs. Smith doctored Mr. Collins with what she could to make him comfortable, and Leonard had tended to the gathering in coal and cleaning the stall and filling the water barrel from the creek.

Doc Bentley examined Mr. Collins and announced he did, indeed, have pneumonia and would not have survived the day were it not for John and the Smith’s intervention.

Dr. Bentley asked how John came to be there, as everyone in town knew he had been suspended for the semester. John told of his observation and premonition. Dr. chuckled, “Well, I never heard a story quite like that, and you just saved you School Master’s life, I think.”  

The Doctor headed back to town saying he would stop by his Ma and Pa’s and tell them he was safe and was staying with Mr. Collins. The Smith’s went on their way.

John administered the medicine Doc left per instructions, and fed Mr. Collins the soup Mrs. Smith had put together. Color was returning, but his coughing was deep, but not persistent as it had been earlier.

John sat in a chair next to Mr. Collins and dozed off by the stove. He woke with a start with the late afternoon sun coming in the window on his face. He got up and quietly stepped out on the porch into the chilly air. It felt good. The house was stuffy warm.

He leaned on the rail of the porch thinking about the day’s events. Hearing something, John looked to see the big bear ambling slowly up the holler road with two cubs cavorting in the snow behind her. John crouched watching as she passed behind the horse barn. Neither she nor the mare paid any attention to each other. The bear took her time, slowly waddling up the hill. John knew there must be a den cave further up the mountain. Life was, indeed, an adventure.

It was dark when he heard the wagon coming up the holler, lantern swinging from the brake arm. Ma and Pa would be here moments later. Sun sets fast up the hollers. He checked on Mr. Collins and stepped out on the porch as the wagon pulled up.

Ma, in her usual manner, said “You little rascal, you scared us to death.” Pa just shook his head, smiling, “glad your safe, son, we were worried, but I knew you were up to something,” pausing, he continued, “Good job son,” and went out to deal with the horses.

 Dr. Bentley returned and administered to Mr. Collins. The Dr. and Ma made the decision Mr. Collins should come to recover at Ransoms’ house when School Master Collings was able to travel.

Ma stayed the night with Mr. Collins, and Pa took John home for some much-needed rest. Doc brought them home the next day, feeling Mr. Collin’s was able to travel three miles to the Ransoms.’

Ma’s cooking would make a yard stick fat. Her nursing skills were natural, and Dr. Bentley’s medicines were effective. Although weak, Mr. Collins was up and moving a few days before Christmas. Mr. Ransom telegraphed Mr. Collins’ relatives of the situation and said that he was recovering from pneumonia thanks to John.

On Christmas Eve the Ransom family went to the small Presbyterian Church for the “singing.” John elected to stay with Mr. Collins. It was the first time they had been together without interruption since the late great unpleasantness.

Sitting by the fire, Mr. Collins went straight to the point.

“John, what really made you come to my house that night”? John told him he just put two and two together. He knew Mr. Collins needed help, as he always went to Roanoke on holidays. That evening, coming home from sledding, John noticed bear tracks going up the holler but no buggy tracks coming out of the holler. That told John Mr. Collins had not gone to Roanoke. He finished with “I knew something wasn’t right and came looking.”

They sat quietly watching the fire as it crackled and sparked.

John, I know we have had disagreements. You were like no other student I’ve experienced. You are a conundrum; intelligent, clever, curious, observant, and exasperating disruptive. I found it impossible to challenge your intellect as your head was somewhere else. Your antics were clever and disruptive.

I was very frustrated to watch you waste your time, that of your classmates and my efforts to teach. I did not know what to do with you. I let you go, however; I knew something in you would click one day and you wouldn’t be prepared for it. Native intelligence and education go hand in hand. You have a God given sense of curiosity far superior to any pupil in my teaching career of 20 years. Formal education is another tool, John, why not embrace it, it’s not that painful. It can be an adventure!

“I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. I’m offering you the gift of knowledge for Christmas. School starts back in a week or two, and I hope to be there, and hope you will be there, also

Thanks to you and your family’s kindness, I’m alive. I survived what could have been my final life’s adventure. Not all adventures are pleasant, but that’s life.

 John did not commit that Christmas Eve, but he knew Mr. “fancy pants, School Master” was right. Life is indeed an adventure. It’s not every day one sees a bear or saves someone’s life. A big Mama bear and a School Master changed John Lee Ransom’s life adventure.

Well, not really. John “done it to his self.”

He slept better that night than he had for months.

 

 

 

 

That's That and That's Where It's At...

 As John Dickerson so aptly put it after the election: "Buckle up"! 

I rooting for us We The People. We have just punted and we'll see if the defense can hold.

I'll paraphrase something Wendell Berry wrote in his "Doing's and Sayings" collection of homespun idioms. 

"He a nice man"

"Lie's a bit, I reckon"

How you know that"

"Ain't that much Truth..."

Enemy Within? That's BS, and "everyone knows this"?

 Tractor Thinking...again

I did not vote for someone who:

Has been tried and convicted 34 felony counts by a jury of his peers.

Been accused and found guilty of assaulting at least 2 women without consent and disrespects a woman's right to do with her body as she sees necessary.

Accused of taking secret and top secret documents from the federal government claiming they belong to him...and defying authorities saying they are his, and his alone...and evidence that they were shared by people with no security clearance.

Made phone calls imploring Ga. Sec. of State to find enough votes for him to win.

Accused, and indited of inciting a riotous crowd to descend on the Capitol of the United State of America to stop his own Vice President from certifying the official vote tally of each State of the Union, as required by law, in order to keep himself in office as President of the United States of America. Further, watching the proceedings on television and refusing to interfere, although implored by those in his family and staff to do so. 

Making false claims of voter fraud in many States, all of which were debunked by US Courts of Law, some by judges appointed by the President himself. Yet he still insists it is true.

Has promised retribution against anyone, past and future, whom he feels has "mistreated him".

Admires and hobnobs with dictatorial leaders of countries not friendly to our country or way of life.

Consistently lies,  and creates misinformation to confuse, and infuse distrust in the processes of our government agencies.

A man who would "abolish the Constitution" in his own words.

Someone who said, "Hitler did some good things".

Used political campaign donations to play legal fees in fighting legal woes.

Used every mean possible to delay, put off, blame and muddy the waters to save his own skin at the expense of others. He has thrown many who have done his bidding under the bus, including his own Vice President... 

Someone who would replace civil servants with persons who swear allegiance. The Pendleton Act of 1883 established a merit-based system for hiring federal government employees, rather than using political affiliation and including nepotism.

Lastly, I do not accept that I am "the enemy within" in United States of America. I am an American citizen with all rights and privileges granted by the Constitution.

 

It Ain’t About Red or Blue, but We, the People.

Remember this quote: "There are no winners or losers in war...only who's left". A truly sobering thought.

I became a Dove long before the Dove/Hawk days of Vietnam. I was scratching my head over man's insistence on destroying each other. I listened to the news during the Korean "conflict". I became convinced that avoiding wars would be a good thing. 

Talk is cheaper than bullets. I know it's hard to listen when people you have issue with talk. Walk a mile in their shoes and then listen. It's easier to be objective, and have productive dialog when you understand the issues from both sides. 

I'm an early baby boomer, 1941 model. I was born six months before WWII started. We came together "in our finest hour" some say. 

The world remained in a state of war until July of 1953. Does war really qualify as our finest hour? I have a few  friends who never knew there father because of WWII, Korea etc. We are only who's left.  

Our country is barely a teenager compared to the age of many of the world's civilizations, Rome, China, India all have fallen to rise again from the ashes. There are lessons to be learned from history that led to the fall of centuries’ old civilizations.

Another quote, if you please.

“Old men start wars that young men fight”.  

 The United States of America is a resourceful country now being tended by old men whose time in the political arena should 'a, would 'a been over years ago.

My pre baby boomer generations “political” life was the mid 60's and 70's, ie Nixon/Clinton administrations, yet there are senators, congressmen, etc. from those times still stumbling around in the halls of Congress. 

I have nothing against old age and functionality. At 82 I do pretty well. 

Tractor Thinking #1

Garden plowing, road work, bush hogging and hay making are also tractor thinking time. Things just pop into my head and I follow down the rabbit hole. I thought about all the goings on just in my family and realize I can't keep up with the world anymore. It changes so fast I'm left in the dust of my own generation. I came to the conclusion I like it that way. I could care less about smart watches, 80" TV, the latest "athletic" shoe or "smart" phones self driving cars or the #1 movies, the next best chef, concert or dance move.

Tractor thinking #2

We cannot afford another worldwide conflict started by old men sending young men to war.  The stakes are too high. Some say the population demands wars to push down population. That's BS.

There are to many unhappy souls with too many red buttons to push, drones to fly and triggers to pull. Why are the most popular games on X Box or whatever medium "war games". It's hard enough to tell friend from foe in this country just walking down a city street. We wring our hands and our hearts go out to families of senseless mass shootings, suicides, and senseless acts of violence.

There is enough chaos out there in the universe. Let it stay there. Have we forgotten about random acts of kindness, paying things forward, the notion of all good things come with patience? Instant gratification is the rule of the day, it seems.

Tractor Thinking #3

Why do we no longer teach civics in schools. I enjoyed my 9th grade Civics class.

Tractor Thinking #4 

When did politics become a Bonafide occupation? Eating at the government trough for a lifetime ain't how Legislator and Senators were created. It was designed as a civic calling. 

Why were Term Limits drawn into the Constitution if you just get a job as a congress person and stay for 30 years? Just heed the calling, do your civic duty at the local, state or federal level and go back home to your family and personal life.

Tractor Thinking #5

The formative days of our Republic were tumultuous from everything I've learned. My Uncle Red was a Lawyer and professor of Jurisprudence. He said there was always lots of cussing and discussing, sad talking and slow walking, but Compromise won the day and our way of life. We have had our dark days, yet we still are the UNITED STATES of America. Don't give up on it now.

Compromise means eating some crow. Compromise is not an easy walk in the park. Compromise sure ain't what we see in our country today. Compromise means no one gets exactly what they want, but accept the decision made and move on to tackle other issues. 

Tractor Thinking #6

One particularly unsettling rabbit hole the tractor   introduced me to be the concept of politician's unwillingness to deal with issues. It is apparently less painful to fence sit and play the blame game card than not being re-elected to the gravy train our present political system offers our politicians. One for all has become all for me and mine. 

Maybe Tractor is right

HEY, YOU GUYS, PAY ATTENTION, YOU MAY GET WHAT YOU WISH FOR and or WORSE.

WE the People are the UNITED STATES. WE NEED TO STAY THAT WAY!

Let's not forget that.

1

We The People should not stand by and watch the baby be thrown out with the bathwater!

Be a critical thinker. Get information for trusted sources and make decision on valid data. It's the best we can do, I think.