Going Native

I'm going native. As in I think I'm turning into an Indian. I'm beginning to think in Tamil. "Nan Poyittu Vareanga". There is no word in Tamil for 'good-bye'. Did you know that? SURE you did. Essentially, I just told you that I was going away, but I'll be back soon because you mean so much to me. How's that for just charming as heck?

American made clothing is uncomfortable and hot. I don't want to wear any American clothes anymore. I love the four-hour Bollywood Movies and I actually think it's charming that I can figure out the movie plot within about five minutes, yet I sit through the entire 4-hour movie just happy as a . . . . . .rock. How do you think I'm going to live without rice? I want a Rick SHAW, not a Honda Pilot. I miss abusing and insulting the Indian men. They miss abusing and insulting me.

I miss the simple things of life - like surviving crossing the street to live yet another day. I miss the dogs, the cows, the chickens, the goats, and especially I miss the feeling of being so alive - and that condition could change in an instant. Every day brings a crisis, a problem, a conundrum, a frustration, and a joyful anticipation. Every night is a dreamless, exhausted, sleep. And I awaken with the sure knowledge that somehow, somewhere, someone, and something will be better off because I lived that day.

So, forget it. America, I'm on my way out. Vanhakkam. Aedhavadhu nalla angila padam oduhiradha.

I write this for the benefit of my grandchildren, all too young to read or to even care. Perhaps one day they will remember there is no such word in Tamil for good-bye. Poyittu Vareanga.

A Word About Government Regulations

When our children were learning to drive, we had a clear understanding with each of them. It went something like this: "Junior, you're about to take on a serious responsibility. Not only are you responsible for your own life, you're also responsible for the lives of others in the car and on the road. If you opt to drive dangerously, to break the laws, and to break our trust in you, you will pay. Oh my, yes, you will pay dearly."

Along with the driving privilege came other expectations. Juniors and Juniorettes were expected to keep their grades up. They had a curfew that if broken, had an established, painful consequence. If they received a ticket, they paid the traffic fine, in addition to the surefire 'hell to pay' at home.

Now, where am I going with this? What does this have to do with government regulation?

A car is a great blessing if used properly. It's also a tremendous responsibility. Without regulation, a car can become a volatile weapon, a tool of destruction, and an indiscriminate killer. A split second in a car can change the lives of families and friends forever. How silly would it have been if we, as parents, had meekly handed over the keys to our children without setting a standard of proper behavior? Who would have called that decision wise? Who has children who would have governed themselves in a mature way, even teaching themselves to drive? If so, send your children our way. We had terrific children and they all needed to be taught, tried, and tested in the furnace if affliction before they became fully trustworthy and responsible drivers.

As I have closely followed the great debate surrounding gun violence, I have noticed a clear pattern among gun rights enthusiasts. The majority are adamant in their refusal to be regulated, yet they are the very people who have made government gun control and gun regulations necessary. How have they done that? Through irresponsible gun ownership on the part of a few. How is it responsible to purchase a deadly weapon online, from a private home, out of the trunk of a car, or at a gun show without a background check? What does it speak of one's character when just days after the massacre of little children, he is trumpeting his "constitutional right" to bear any imaginable kind of deadly weapon and ammunition magazine, completely ignoring little children's constitutional right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? Those 'pesky' gun registration laws aren't for the arrogant few. It cramps their style. Our big, bad government has no choice but to step in and teach gun owners that along with ownership comes a singular obligation to register firearms, lock up firearms, and demonstrate an adult responsibility regarding gun ownership. It was sickening to see the sight of empty shelves and the news of booming ammunition and gun sales before the little Sandy Hook children were even buried.

Government regulation is in our lives because as a people, we have amply demonstrated through our lack of self restraint and good sense that we need them. Regulations on Wall Street were steadily eroded and ignored until in 2008, we stood on the abyss of a depression that would have made 1929 look like a walk in the park. Power Brokers and Hedge Fund Managers were given the car keys without a commensurate accountability and they nearly drove our financial cars off of the cliff. Many of us will never have the time to recover from what we lost in that debacle.

From the pollution of our rivers and streams by the "Don't Tread On Me" types, to the pollution of the air we breathe, there is a vocal minority among us who insist on behaving like selfish little children. Their world encompasses the narrow clutches of their own demands, their own needs, and their own arrogant, ignorant, paranoid world views.

So, why do we need government regulation? Because we lost the right to govern ourselves when we believed that our personal stampede in the pursuit of personal freedom trumped the personal freedoms and rights of others. If we don't want to be treated like children, then perhaps we should stop the bellicosity and put on our 'big boy' hats. That will, of course, involve a recognition that we're all in this together.






 

God, Did You Really Want the Ostrich to Look Like That?

Sometimes I felt like an Ostrich. Did God really want me to look and act like that?

When I was growing up, I hid a great deal of young angst and insecurities behind a killer sense of humor. Didn't we all?

I didn't cook. I didn't sew. I didn't do much of anything, really. I could draw, I could read, and I had friends. I could also catch horny toads. Unfortunately, in the world I grew up in, cooking and sewing were the skills that mattered. I'm not saying I didn't try. I did try 4-H. Once. I do recall frying up a passel of chicken one day and I think there was a pie thrown in there somewhere. But I'm sure it was my Mom that actually made it.

I had to learn to sew or shop out of the JC Penney Catalog. Everything in the catalog had Peter Pan collars and loads of lace with puffy sleeves and full skirts. So I sewed. I made big shirts when I was little and little shirts when I was big. I just didn't fit. In.  My 4-H skirt, I kid you not, had seven gathered yards of fabric around the waistband. I looked like an Ostrich in a Sari.

So, I decided God had it in for me. I was supposed to look like a gangly little Ostrich.

Then I grew up. I left the nest. I realized that I wasn't, contrary to the confirmed opinions of some of my family members, the scum of the earth. I married well. I had wonderful children. I was a good mother. I hope. I realized that all Ostriches are created equal. Some don't cook and sew and they manage life just fine. I even saw Ostriches in plaid shirts and cut-off jeans. They looked just perfect to me. Ostriches are beautiful! God did intend for me to be an Ostrich!

What does an Ostrich learn when she is raised believing that ostriches are ugly and she will never be a beautiful Swan? And then one day, years and eons later, she realizes she just might be a beautiful Ostrich?

The first and most vital lesson is that no one has the right to label, judge or belittle another person. Especially within a family. The second lesson and almost as important is that an ostrich can learn to fly away. An Ostrich can peck and peck and peck in self-defense. But why bother? Fly away from the lack of respect for who you are. Fly away from the constant denigration. Fly away from the near constant belittling assaults on your intentions, your character, your intelligence, and your compassion. FLY. FLY. FLY.

God made Ostriches and God made Swans. He made just them just the way he wanted them. I'm glad I thought I was an Ostrich. It took me a while and a lot of loyal, loving, friendly Swans to convince myself that an Ostrich can keep mighty fine company with a Swan.

So, here's to all you beautiful Swans. Here's an Ostrich that's got your back.

BJ

Fatal Memories

I have pretty much spent most of this day feeling sorry for myself. It's been so bad, I espy a total stranger and I feel sorry for them, too. I'm feeling sorry for everyone on Facebook and anyone who calls me or emails me. I'm an equal opportunity pity person. So sorry if I extended you pity and you were actually having a good day.

I'm the only one I know that can hang on to a bad memory forEVER. I milk it. As a former friend also primarily responsible for most of my bad memories once so succinctly put it, "You love to WALLOW in memory." It's true. I'm a wallower. I can recount in colorful detail every single mistake I have ever made in my life. I can be out in the garden minding my own business pulling weeds in the tomatoes and suddenly a colorful memory envelops me and I've done a face plant into the green beans.

We're not talking about the nice things I have done. Nope. Nada. We're talking about the memories for which rugs and carpets were actually created: "Let's sweep that one under the carpet (rug), shall we?" We're talking about the bad stuff. On my worst days, I actually think my brother-in-law had it right. This may come as a surprise to you, but it was him who actually coined the phrase first when he pegged me as  "The Biggest Loser". Of course, he didn't have the good sense to copyright the phrase, hence he is now the biggest loser.

I don't suppose anybody here except me has these kinds of days because you, of course, have never done anything that you regret. Seriously. As in you wish you could get a lobotomy. Honestly, I remember wishing I would get in a serious accident and awaken as one of those lucky amnesia victims on TV. I would have a permanent short in my spin cycle and wow, would I be happy.

Fatal memories weigh you down. They can make a bright day sad. They can cancel out the good things you know about yourself and replace them with all the dumb, stupid things you have ever done.

Here are some fatal memory examples: Joe Rencher, I'm really sorry. You know why. So do I. Let's not wallow in it. Joe Langston, I'm really sorry I drove your pick-up into the lake. On purpose. I hope you have forgiven me. David Wilson, Melvin Hall, I'm sorry I shot a hole in your brand new pick-up. We should have had that hunting discussion before the date. Steve Palmer, Lawrence Turley, etc  . . . . . . . I'm really sorry. We just weren't on the same wave length, you know.

And those are just the people who have probably stopped wanting to kill me. I could name more names. But they're all living and they still want a piece of me. Or pretend they don't. Some of them get much more satisfaction from treating me as if I'm dead. That's fine by me. Zombies are so in, right now.

So-o-o-o. If you're thinking about doing something REALLY dumb. If you think it's worth it, stop for just a second. What you're about to read in five seconds will save you years of wishing for a lobotomy or amnesia - Whatever it is that you may think you want, you NEED, you deserve, YOU DON'T. Be happy with what you have. A good conscience is a lovely thing to behold - and even lovelier to own.

Memories can be fatal. Contrary to popular opinion, fatal memories never go away. They may fade with time. They may have been a painful, but unnecessary learning lesson, they might even humble you, remind you that you're human, give you empathy for the suffering of others. But always and forever, you don't need fatal memories in your mind.

Take this little tidbit from a friend: If you persist in gathering fatal memories, mark my words, One day, you will be out weeding tomatoes and do a face plant into the green beans.

Yours truly,

Your imperfect, memory wallowing friend.

The Case for Barack Obama

Okay. Remember. I own this blog. Sort of. I'm going to be blunt and direct.

Time is short and the river is rising. November isn't very far away and we have a lot of mis-information, vitriol, and ridicule to swim through. I will be voting for Barack Obama for a number of reasons. Here are three of them: Decency, Leadership, Heart.

Barack Obama is a decent man. He could have been a drug dealer, given the shaky start he got. Instead, he is the President of the United States. He has courage. He is the epitome of a self-made man. He has a gift for leadership. He is widely respected and revered throughout the world. He has presided over a Congress with the lowest approval ratings in history and he has done it with dignity and grace. He is a family man and his dedication to his family is publicly demonstrated.

Barack Obama is a natural leader. He inherited an economic mess that nearly plunged us into a depression that would have made the first depression look like child's play. How soon we all forget who was responsible. Our present situation is not something our government created. Corporate greed and de-regulation of Wall Street brought us to the brink. Barack Obama has had to preside over a painful recovery made even more difficult because he has had to deal with a congress filled with obstructionists and know nothings who are blocking economic and political reforms.

Barack Obama has a heart. He has repeatedly defended the rights of the disenfranchised and the poor. He has expressed concern for the growing inequality in our society. Through sheer force of will, Obama confronted a disastrous health-care system that will bankrupt our Country if we can't get it fixed. Barack Obama has consistently kept attention on the needs of those least able to advocate for themselves. He best emulates the teachings of Jesus Christ and I'm serious about that comparison.

Decency. Leadership. Heart. Barack Obama does not deserve the vitriolic, hateful comments and opinions I see daily online. He is the President of the United States and he has served our Country faithfully and with tremendous courage and honor. I will be voting for him and hoping that he will represent our Country for another four years.

There. I'm done. For now.

On Becoming a Poet

I still haven't paid that traffic ticket. For some unaccountable reason, I'm having absolutely NO guilt feelings about it. NONE. I might feel a little regret if I'm ever caught speeding in Arizona again and have to spend the night with Sheriff Araipahoho or whatever the heck that bigot's name is. Remember him? He's the pot-bellied jackass Sheriff of Maricopa County that delights in housing inmates in tents and making them wear pink underwear. What goes around, comes around, Sheriff. I can't wait to see you in your own pink underwear and I hope it's August when they haul you into your little tent in the Arizona desert.

Since I titled this blog "On Becoming a Poet", I feel duty bound to at least try, so, here's the beginning of my sappy poem:

"I used to count the days when last I saw you,
Now I can't remember how many years since then,
I'm better now, and I've worked it through,
But I'm a liar, it's been almost exactly ten."

Right now, I can't think of a single person, place or thing to insult, aggravate, or offend. I'm having a slow day.

I usually pull Barack Obama out of my hat and irritate everyone with my steadfast loyalty. It never fails to irk nearly everyone I know. I'm just not feeling the love right now.

I do have some important thoughts and opinions. Give me a day or two to warm up.

Later.

Lawsuits

Hello,

I have done some fact checking and bought some insurance coverage against accusations of libel and slander. I know an attorney now. I'm ready to blog (blab) everything I know about everyone I know - and if I have a slow day, I'll just make stuff up. I'll probably make stuff up about the current political situation since everyone else seems to be doing it. I'm not averse to offensive retorts and certainly no saint in the retaliation department. Be forewarned.

So here we go. My first victim.

The Show Low, Arizona Police Department has seen fit to award me with a $249 speeding ticket through a radar controlled area of oh, about ten feet. I was caught at 14 mph over the speed limit. I got a notice in the mail with my (oops, somebody's) picture on it and the police are asking me if that's MY picture. Truthfully. Honestly. Candidly. What would YOU do?

"Why yes sir, that is most definitely my picture you took in that short ten feet speed trap. Yes, it's me, the speeding bandit. So sorry. Where can I pay my $249 speeding ticket? May I kiss your feet ?  May I enter Show Low, Arizona into the "best places NOT to EVER visit" contest?"

SHOW LOW,WOULD YOU MIND TAKING A FLYING LEAP INTO THE GRAND CANYON ALONG WITH YOUR RADAR CAMERA?

I never saw that woman in the radar photo before in my life, though I must say, she's a looker.

Nobody ever accused me of being a good person. No one's even mentioned it. No one's even come close. But I'm not bitter about that. We're about to find out the depth, the width, the breadth, and the heighth of my lack of a good reputation. Stay tuned.

You're going to get mad once in awhile. Just let me know and I'll make it worse for you.