Beyond the Ride

Uncle Bubba swivels, lifting his leg back over the black seat of his mighty iron steed. He enters the shade of the garage returning quickly with a soft polish rag to rub down the gleaming sliver chrome of his now statuesque motorcycle, not moments before a rumbling high-spirited stallion. While working over his heated, ticking machine, he recalls the images that played in his mind just moments before. He rode that long two-lane highway that borders the State forest; the deer hunter’s cars and trucks parked in clumps among breaks in the trees. He remained more attentive as he rode, aware that at any moment a frightened deer may bolt across the road in a mad dash to gambol across the pastures on the other side of the highway to escape the restless hunters. They may find false refuge in the calmness of the lowing cattle in the rolling tawny fields, but they will return to the woods too soon.

Out past the silent battle ground the highway rises and falls. Behind the white cotton clouds the bright azure sky fades to baby blue towards the horizon. The air smells of earth and wholesome musty winter trees. He rode on beyond, beyond time, before his memory. Encroached upon by the greedy glut of golfing developments, with their sardined, mimicked rooftops and unnaturally green lawns; sprinkled among vast acres of sparsely scattered rednecks with cluttered, overgrown yards littered with plastic and metal monuments are the older homesteads of the salt-of-the–earth; the farmers and ranchers. Their houses, though showing their age are neatly appointed in facade signifying that their inhabitants may no longer be able to keep up appearances, yet still live with a dignified demeanor. They are of another era, when a person was considerate of their neighbors, cherished their belongings and honored their commitments. A time that understood that with out decorum, no matter how crude, chaos ruled. They relied on the earth and change of seasons for their independent survival, and knew that only with respect of all would they create the longevity to not only live a full life, but retain enough to pass on to their younger generations.

Throttling on, above the rumbling roar of his exhaust, the wind pressing against his skin; Bubbie’s heart swells in fear and hope for this country that he loves. He knows that we have become far removed from those values that he so admires in those country folk and wonders if we’ve gone too far. Have we taken away a man’s independence with too much regulation and too much consumption? We’ve definitely taken away his manhood for the sake of political correctness. Yet these folks still survive, they still exist, they still have a vote. But is it enough to hang our hope on what remains of them? With the wondrous rolling landscape spreading out mile after mile, with the hunters in the woods, the farm houses standing as sentinels over the fields, Bubbie recalls the history of the American Indian who forever lost their country and culture by losing their identity through assimilation and the eventual conquer by the white man. The same Indian that galloped across this same landscape not so many years before; that so loved the earth and sky and change of seasons; that loved his family, his home, his powerful steed; who hunted and worked the land.

His metallic statue cleaned and polished, he fires it back to life and it rumbles into the shadows of the garage. Bubbie looks it over one last time, knowing that they have many more miles to travel together, and many more great adventures to share. In Bubbie’s view, life is good.

Thanksgiving

It occurs to Uncle Bubba that Thanksgiving is coming quickly this week, and we’ve become too far removed from the source of this holiday: the Pilgrims. If one were to look up the word pilgrim in several dictionaries, one would find a common theme in the definition; a person who journeys to some sacred place as an act of religious devotion. An interesting aside is a passage found in Webster’s 1828 dictionary, referring to biblical scripture: “one that has only a temporary residence on earth. Heb.11.”

Nevertheless, our pilgrims came to America to create a new society that used the Bible as its source of values, its moral compass and government. Remember that much of the world at that time was governed by Monarchies. The new Americans' biblical interpretation, of which relied largely on the individual, was due to environmental factors such as remote and isolated living conditions and the geographical and technological tardiness of communication. This predicated the best ideals of their interactions with the Indians. To insure their best chances to survive, they had to recognize that Indians are human beings that are created by God under the same principles that they were created, to have dominion over the earth.

This individualistic biblical source also grew into the basis for our republic; from self government to our local, county, state, and eventual federal government. If we are able to self govern our behavior, our society should remain free of monarchical type federal influence. This idea can be read throughout the Declaration of Independence, but is it where we are at today?

The Pilgrims were thankful for lessons learned and friendships formed with the Indians. Their drive and determination helped to create an America built on the foundation of a Christian respect of God, our creator. The best of all American social movements started from these same principles; buying land from Indians, the Civil Rights movement, the abolition of slavery, the Bill of Rights, etc.; however our own drive and determination has blinded us to human diversity. Not all cultures hold the same values and yet we are all thankful for abundance of whatever we hold dear; be it love or money, or health, or the earth, or a personal relationship with God.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving and celebrate the day with friendship and the symbol of our daily abundance, delicious food; but carry that with you everyday throughout the year. Open your eyes and free your mind to consider new or different ideas. After all, we would not have the America we do if the Pilgrims had not been willing to do so, putting action behind their beliefs.

The New NFL

It’s been some time since we’ve heard from Uncle Bubba as he’s been harvesting his garden and hunting and just been very busy, but along with these fall events comes the return of NFL to the TV. Like all commercialized events, such as Halloween and Christmas, it has come along far too soon in the natural flow of life; showing up in mid August. But what would you expect from a committee that touts such an un-photogenic mascot as Peyton Manning. Hardly an NFL commercial or paid talking head, moron prognosticator can speak with out touting the wonders of Manning’s superhuman abilities. Here’s the thing: he plays for the Colts. There are 31 other teams in the league! Hurray for the Colts fans, but the rabid fans of the other 31 NFL teams can’t stand Peyton! But does that stop the NFL from shoving mega helpings of sappy Peyton down our gullets? Nope. And why would they? This is the same NFL that obviously, following the ill advised cues of other entertainment industry hipsters, thinks that having their addled and inarticulate players introduce the starting lineup prior to each game. Now, don’t get me wrong, Bubbie is not the most articulate fella in the world—he has been considered at times to be quite the babbling buffoon—but these college educated (?) Ebonical, English language challenged players are an embarrassment. We all know that jocks are not always the brightest bulb in the pack, but let’s leave that secret in the locker room. In Bubbie’s view, the NFL should give their audience more credit for our intelligence and sensibilities. Now let’s go hunting.

I'm gonna make it do what it do, baby.

Why do we do what we do? In Bubbie’s view, there are two reasons; because we want to and because we know how. At its most fundamental form, if we live our lives on our own terms, we make our own decisions and live with the consequences. However this gets far more complicated when we regard the feelings of others; then we have to decide if we will compromise what we do for the sake of another. Like I said; complicated.

We also do things because we know how. We have learned lessons throughout our lives and most of them are only as good as the person that taught us. And let’s be honest here, we don’t always learn our lesson the first time around. (or second, or third…) But in the end, right or wrong, we know how to do things. This often comes into play as a reactionary maneuver, especially if we run up against circumstances that we are unfamiliar with. We have habits and rely on past experience to discern a course of action. If we add instinct to the equation, things more often than not tend to turn out OK.

In discussing this with Bubbie today, he took a slurping sip off of his scalding hot cup of black coffee and reminded me that though we do what we do, and know how to do, that is not the only thing to do. And though there is nothing new under the sun, there are new things for each of us to learn and apply to the circumstances of our lives; but only if we want to.

As I left, Bubbie yelled to me, “Try something new today!”

American Rogue

Uncle Bubba loves to watch movies; all types of movies. Just the other day he was watching “The King and Four Queens” starring Clark Gable. Not particularly a great movie, as a matter of fact he dosed off prior to the end, but Clark’s swagger got him to thinkin’. Throughout our history the implied image of the American male has been one of a maverick who takes an independent stand apart from his associates. We could debate the age old question of whether life imitates art or vice versa, but in Bubbie’s view many of the characters of literature and movies have been our heroes.

One character that Bubbie really enjoys is the American rogue. This is the man that is a maverick with an uncanny ability to use strategy and competition to win his objective. Many a movie star has been cast to perform this role but none did it so well as the fellas in the golden years of cinema; from the thirties through the sixties. The obvious basis for this is what is now considered to be male chauvinism, but back then it was chivalrous audaciousness. Simply put, men were men. Bubbie thinks that Clint Eastwood was the last real man in the movies and was hard pressed to find an idol, fictitious or otherwise to replace him. Not that Hollywood doesn’t try, but forget it, society is different. Now women are equally rendered “men-like” and they just don’t have that raw chemistry of a strategically competitive nature. Sure James Gandolfini’s Tony Soprano had it, but now he’s gone too.

I asked Bubbie’s advice, if I were to be like one of our heroes, what I might do and he told me to be tough but quiet--the less said the better. Be stern but fair and above all honest at all costs. Treat a lady like a fragile, and precious treasure; use your manners. Don’t be afraid to laugh. Be proud of the American rogue.

MC Bubbie

Uncle Bubba knows a little about rap. What he knows could fit on the head of a pin. Here’s what he knows; it’s been around for a good long time now, and it’s hard to understand what they’re sayin’. It sounds like they’re sayin’ they have the most money, the best dope, the most hos and if you disagree with them, they’ll shoot you…over, and over, and over again.

In Bubbie’s view, the only thing more stupid than the rappers making their “statement” are the people that listen to it over, and over, and over again. MC Bubbie out!

The Maserati Fella

Uncle Bubba was sittin’ in the ol’ Ford at a traffic light and that guy that owns the Maserati pulled up next to him. You know the fella; he’s always looked quite a bit older for his age ‘cause his hairline receding the way it has; except for a few of them hairs making one last stand on top, the rest have retreated to form a new defensive line around the backside. His pocked complexion is ruddy and rosacie piebald. He wears them flowery Tommy Bahamy shirts over his bulbous belly and a funky lanyard on his sunglasses. You know the guy; he wears all the gold I-talian jewelry: necklaces and bracelets and such. Yeah, that feller; I’m happy for him havin’ that car ‘cause he ain’t got much else goin’ for him.

A Blue Sunflower

One of Bubbie’s sisters, Sunflower, buzzed him on the telephone to give him the 411. Coincidentally she was grooving on the same vibe as Bubbie; he could hear it in her voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“What ever happened to common decency?” she replied.
“Oh, I know what you mean!” Bubbie exclaimed, “Please, tell me what’s going on.”

She proceeded to tell him how in a series of events she had hurt feelings due to the insensitivity and thoughtlessness of so-called friends and acquaintances. She had urgently taken a friend to the hospital, the emergency room namely, and had spent the better part of the day with her waiting for an indeterminate treatment. Surely, she thought, her family members would be along to sit with her, but hours passed. When a couple did arrive, they failed to even ask if they had eaten, which they hadn’t for 8 hours; Sunflower had not left her friend’s side for a moment during all that time and was ready for a break. Unfortunately it was late and the cafeteria as well as all the local stores were closed. Feeling worn and weary she walked outside and phoned a friend who abruptly cut her short. She later found out that she was dissed for a coquettish conversation with a cute neighbor. Sunflower was blue, and hurt. Her flirty friend never even said, “Sorry.”

We can all expound countless experiences of thoughtless exchanges where we were left standing aghast; if not physically, at the very least emotionally. What has happened to common decency? Is it so difficult to be kind? No; it’s just a manner lost. Our priorities are such that they revolve around our own crass agendas. We find entertainment in “reality” TV where rude hosts find sport in villainously crushing the hopes and dreams of willing self indulgent sycophants. We spill our guts and air our dirty laundry to anyone who will sit still long enough to listen. We purge our conscience by blaming our circumstances on others. It’s the decline of our society. We’ve had rules of decorum in place for thousands of years that have been replaced by punishable offenses of broken laws. Focus on one’s self chokes the light of society. In Bubbie’s view, that’s what has happened to common decency—but there is always hope for tomorrow.

Cattle Bidness

Well them four walls of Raiford, closing in on me
Doin’ three to five hard labor, for armed robbery
I had two years behind, but I could not wait the time
Every time I thought about it, well I died some more inside
– Lynyrd Skynyrd

The Duke stopped by Uncle Bubba’s to give notice that cattle had to be moved. He has 206 head at the prison in Raiford and needed to ride out pairs and get a count to fill an order for delivery in Texas. His crew along with the inmates could work them, but an extra hand is always welcome. Raiford, located on the backside of one of the few remaining tobacco farms in Florida, and namely the prison is ingrained in a sandy prairie, prostrate, baking in the sun. The Duke’s cattle graze slowly, contentedly on large pastures surrounding the caged men soundly incarcerated. Upon early arrival the cow hands rounded up 140 head and ran them through the pens to run a count and separate the bulls and young calves.


The calves were moved to a small holding pasture to mammy up with their mamas. The remainder of the mooing, moaning, bellering bovines were moved to low greener pastures to await shipping day.






Now let me just tell ya that the melodramatic matadors in Spain feign a prosaic display compared to the uncompromising dance of a cow hand in a crowded cattle pen. And for a few hours in the sweat of a July day of dusty dirt and cattle cakes there are no inmates, just men. And the work they do is for them as much as vein things since neither the inmate nor the cowboy can truly make a material living. The cowboys' day ended late on handshakes, stories, and a cold beer. But ironically, the inmates were rounded up, counted, and put back in their pens.

To Friendship And Beyond

In the course of human relations we find a kinship to others in regard to affection and trust. In Bubbie’s view, friendship is an unspoken mutual reciprocation from associates who provide affection as well as cooperation or assistance. In general, he believes that a true friend promotes goodwill and positive support in the lives of friends. It comes from the heart. Seems simple enough; then why does it appear to be such a rare commodity? Could it be because, as Emerson stated, “Let it be granted that our life, as we lead it, is common and mean…” and in the daily scrap to get by we partake of evil customs and limitations to isolate one’s self from a corrupt community? No one will argue that misery loves company and holds a powerful attraction much like a magnet cleaves to razor sharp iron filings; try to wipe them away and heavy price will be paid. Isolation as a form of self preservation, and misery, are prevalent to be sure and to distance one’s self from these takes a disciplined desire to prevail. Friendship is waiting at the other end. In Bubbie’s view, a friend is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, courteous, kind, obedient, and cheerful; and separates itself from a mere acquaintance by actions and deeds. A friend is upright and “cuts a straight road to everything excellent…and not only goes honorably himself, but makes it easier for all who follow him to go in honor and with benefit.”


Thank you for being my friend,
Bubbie

Giddy Up-n-Go

I stopped by to visit with Uncle Bubba since it had been a while. It seems as though things have been very busy lately. Bubba has been really getting after it and was at a low coming off another busy week. We sat on the porch and he gave me his view of some things on his mind. He was somewhat annoyed that he has had to tackle many things on his own; there never seems to be anyone available to lend a hand. This may have something to do with Bubbie never asking, but I didn’t want to bring that up in the mood he was in. But one thing that he said stuck in my mind and got me thinking. He was lamenting that so few of us go out of our way or one another. We’ll entertain and help others and even offer sanctuary in our homes; we’ll do a lot for others as long as we can do it from the refuge of our own comfort zone. But honestly, how likely are we to drive a few extra miles out of our way to visit a lonely friend, especially after a long work day? Maybe we don’t care to shop, but a friend needs help picking out some special items and it requires going to numerous stores. Perhaps we don’t like in depth conversations, but someone close to us needs our ear and some sage advice. What if you had plans to go somewhere and just had to postpone it for a few hours; would you do it unquestionably and not make a person feel as though you were annoyed or in a hurry? That’s love. It may be as easy as a warm smile and is hard as taking care of ourselves so that a loved one doesn't have to worry about us.

We as organic human beings are often most in need of time, effort, and affection but if we seldom give it, why would we think we would receive it? Maybe you’re lucky. Maybe you have people in your life the treat you especially nice, you know, its human nature to take them for granted. Think about it and take the time to appreciate them by returning love with action behind it. If you’re not so lucky, consider where your thought’s points of origin lie. Like Uncle Bubba, are they centered on yourself; your busy days, your routines, your job, your days off? Perhaps in the course of your busy days you can begin to find a little time to go out of your way and do something nice for someone else, no matter how tired or busy you are. I promise you’ll be surprised how easy it is and how good it will make you feel. Live life—get out of your comfort zone and giddy up-n-go love someone.

Zeus

Uncle Bubba and Sweet Pea were relaxing on the porch when the Duke sauntered up for a spell. He was feeling a little down because one of his best bulls, Zeus had died. He asked Bubbie if he go with him the next morning to pick him up off of his neighbor’s property. They had a gentlemen’s farm and were boarding Zeus there.
“He’s a monster.” the Duke said, “You don’t just dig a hole and bury a bull of his size.”
“No?” asked Sweet Pea.
“No ma’am; but I have a few big sinkholes that have opened up in the back pastures due to this drought and we can plant him in one of those.”
“Aw, I’m sorry Duke.” replied Sweet Pea.
“Yeah, he was a good ol’ bull.” the Duke lamented.

The next morning the two amigos rode out to the ranch and picked up the great behemoth. They found him lying on his side in the shade of a large live oak. Even in death, lying down he was a black mountain of bull. They carefully loaded him gently on the trailer. As unpleasant as the event was, the Duke proficiently took care of business as always; his cordial southern demeanor always shining through. The summer day crept into a nice long afternoon with cool drinks and fond memories of Zeus.

Poison Ivy

Uncle Bubba and Sweet Pea were sitting on the couch when Sweet Pea noticed a red mark on Bubbie’s arm.
“Does that itch?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“That spot, on your arm.”
“Not really.” Bubbie says dismissively.
Mere moments later, Sweet Pea spots a couple minute bumps on Bubbie’s thumb.
“Let me see your hand.”
“What?” Bubbie quips.
“Is that poison ivy?” Sweet Pea ponders out loud.
“Oh criminy.” Bubbie grunts.

Within the next hour, several other areas on Bubbie’s body broke out in the small bumpy rash. To say that the itchiness is annoying is an understatement and one will find a multitude of spots on one’s body that suddenly itch, even though they are unaffected areas of poison ivy. Sweet Pea finds it comical that he has a break out on a part of his body that is most precious.
“Well,” she laughs, “I guess we know the places boys touch first!”

The itch gets more intense and oddly couples itself with a burning sensation. At this point, Bubbie, who has been through this many times before, knows that this is going to take days to get over. Not a fun thought; but if this is the worst thing he has to deal with this summer, he can live with it.

Cows Don't Care

While driving among miles of pasture land, Bubbie views the sporadic herds of grazing cattle. There’s something about the scenery that Bubbie likes in a nostalgic way. Not primitive but old. It could be 1950, 40, 1850, heck even 1750. And those cows—they don’t care that cars are driving by. As a matter of fact, they don’t care about us, at all. They don’t care about when we were young and other kids picked on us. They don’t care about our painful awkward teenage years fumbling through pubicly, hormone drenched phases. High school crushes, summer infatuations. They don’t care about all the lessons learned in adulthood; responsibility, good choices, bad choices and their consequences. Nope, those cows don’t care about us and our self consuming thoughts. They don’t know how important we’ve made ourselves.

Bubbie thinks that if a cow could one day talk and he tried to explain our lives to that cow, the cow would say, “You need to get a life.”

Gas Pains

So, it’s been half a year since the elections and gas prices have crept up to a new record high. Do you recall how they mysteriously dropped prior to the election and some folks said it was just a coincidence, that there wasn’t any conspiracy to help certain officials get elected or re-elected? Do you still feel that way when you’re filling your vehicle up with gas? In Bubbie’s view, this is only the beginning. As the Spring thaw allows more and more northerners to venture out and travel, thus potentially stimulating the economy, there will be a delicate ballet of gas price manipulation to raise the price to the point where they’ve squeezed every red cent out of us. Yet we still have the power to change our ways, create new habits and stop using so much fuel. What are you gonna do this summer?

A Lesson, A Reminder

Uncle Bubba is somewhat of a solitary man. It’s as though he lives his life on a different level and in some ways doesn’t need the companionship of others, yet he loves who he loves deeply and cherishes and appreciates those that he holds dear. The other day he was telling me that he has had a few run-ins recently with some folks and though unpleasant, they served as both a lesson and a reminder. Let me tell you how…

Bubbie had an acquaintance named Possum that was one of those difficult fellas that kind of chronically complains and likes to “stir the pot” so to speak. Bubbie always treated Possum well, respectfully listening to his off center ideas and at times, ravings of working things out to its logical end. Bubbie always thought it was oddly funny that Possum’s “logical end” was shortsighted; he never seemed to think that there was more than his side of the story.

So Possum had an idea the Bubbie had done him wrong over some inconsequential item and confronted him about it. Bubbie was taken aback, not only at the theatrics of Possum’s assail but also the triviality of his attack. Bubbie understood how Possum could have drawn the conclusions that he did, but it hurt him that Possum would have thought that Bubbie was anything but sincere. Still he claimed responsibility for his actions and apologized. That should have been the end of it but Possum wouldn’t hear of it; he went on and on about how he felt wronged. Bubbie decided that there was nothing left to say. He could see that Possum would never see or admit that he had culpability in things too and had hurt Bubbie’s feelings; he had all but called him a liar. He quickly parted company with Possum who was still ranting on about how he is an innocent victim in everything. Bubbie knew better, he was no liar, he was one to always be honest at all costs; it’s not the easy way, but it’s always Bubbie’s way.

In the end Bubbie’s view was that he had learned a lesson that no matter what he had said to Possum, he would never see Bubbie’s side of the story and he didn’t need Possum’s approval to validate that he was a good man. Though he had a heavy heart, he had a clear conscience which, he said, is all any body can ask for.

It also served as a reminder to always be honest, respectful and loving, not just with others but with you. Relationships are sometimes difficult and they take two people willing to meet in the middle. Bubbie said that he wished Possum only good and would keep him in good thoughts; that is all he can do. He believes that we are meant to love and respect everyone, even the sometimes “unlovable”, yet give everyone grace and space. I think I’ll take his advice.

Free Speech

In Bubbie’s view, free speech is the right of all Americans regardless of race. It has been said recently that free speech is for everyone unless your white, then one must be guarded against being perceived as being racist. This view imposes a limit to free speech, which is not the case. One can say whatever one wants; there is just a consequence to what is said. You can offend people with words. This double edge sword strikes both ways; one person or group of people cannot say whatever they want without repercussion, even if they may be on the morally “right” side of an issue. It’s each of our individual choice to exercise our right to free speech and suffer the consequences or hold our tongue for the sake of peace.

It’s critical to keep free speech free. Please don’t ever give up your right to any of your freedoms, no matter what the cost.

Imus Expound

In speaking with my friend about the recent uproar over the comments made by shock-jock Don Imus; Uncle Bubba’s suggestion is to have the African American community hold a vote under the administration of their own objective committee. They can decide their standard of decency and equality that they can all live with and uphold within their own community. Then they can offer their proposal to the Caucasian community; maybe it can be mediated by the UN or something. A negotiated agreement can be reached on the American Standard of African American/Caucasian Racism Act and we can end all of the sickening rhetoric. Wow, not bad, a peace agreement between to warring factions. What a novel idea. Then we can move on to more important things like cleaning up this country from all of those illegal aliens; oh yeah, and don’t forget about those sneaky Asians.

Happiness Is A Sharp Knife

Uncle Bubba pulls out his pocket knife and quickly cuts a piece of rope. The short blade slipped effortlessly through the tautly braided strands of interwoven cotton and nylon. As he pressed the dull backside of the blade against the side of his dungaree thigh to close the knife, he thought, “Happiness is a sharp knife.” Why? Because it works. It does what it is supposed to do, efficiently and effectively. How many items do we buy in the course of a lifetime that frustrates us because when we try to use it, it doesn’t work well? Case in point; a dull knife. This is why Uncle Bubba resolves to keep his mind honed and wit sharp every day.

Protect & Serve?

There’s never a cop around when you need one. Have you ever really thought about it? We usually say it when someone else is doing something that is bothering us, or most likely breaking the law. You know, like when some yeah-hoo is tailgating you and then passes and speeds off in a fury. But tell me, what’s a cop gonna do? Pull the dude over and give him a ticket? Sure, that would be gratifying, but that doesn’t do anything to change the fact that the guy is an asshole.

Police are only able to react to an action. The word police as a verb is to clean and keep clean. So at best they show up after an offense has happened and, well, do whatever it is they do. To be fair to them, I’m sure that if they were to witness a crime, they would probably do something to protect our society.

This may be the reason that people think that they can get away with a crime. But is the answer to hire more police? God, I hope not! I think the answer is to improve the standard of morality of our society, thus leaving us to police ourselves.

Bike Week Buddies

After a morning of wild hog wranglin’, Uncle Bubba and the Duke rolled into Samsula, FL at the intersection of Pioneer Trail and Tomoka Farms Rd. A rent-a-cop in an orange vest flagged them by to a dusty parking area out in a field behind the Cabbage Patch Bar. The usual large crowds of Bike Week partiers were gathered around the huge fenced area in the middle of the sandy acreage. The infamous women’s coleslaw wrestling event was in full swing and unfortunately for the two weary hog wranglers, it was the super-heavyweight division goin’ at it. They surmised that the one big ol’ girl may have been wearing a bikini but it was suspect. The two didn’t hang around long; after wetting their whistle, they got back on the road and headed further east to New Smyrna Beach to have dinner at J B’s Fish Camp & Seafood. After a fine dinner—the Duke had shrimp and Bubbie had a blackened grouper sandwich—they rode up US 1 to Port Orange and then traversed the intercostal causeway over to A1A. Destination: Main St, Daytona. The Bobby Friss band was rocking Dirty Harry’s and electricity was in the air.

Bobby’s first rowdy set was over, it was about 11:30 pm. Uncle Bubba looked over at the Duke and they nodded to each other unenthusiastically that it was time to get out of the crowd and find a place to lie down. The Duke pulled the small wrinkled paper and angled it a couple times in the light to try and read the chicken scratch scribbled across the end.
“What’s that, your grocery list?” Bubbie joked.
“Naw,” said the Duke, “it the directions to the camp.”
Bubbie’s smile fell from his face.
“We gotta head back, 9 miles from the Cabbage Patch and then look for some big power lines that run over the road. It’s a half mile from there.”

The two friends had been up since 5:00 am to catch wild hogs and now they were facing a ride to a friend’s camp back down RT 415, south of Samsula. They walked back to their hawgs and layered on their leather jackets and gloves. Bubbie considered donning his chaps but it didn’t feel too cool. Big mistake. They weren’t a mile out of the city and the fog laden road was cold and damp. 25 miles later they were shivering, driving in pea soup fog, trying to look up over their heads for power lines; not an easy feat on a motorcycle. After several U-turns and double-backs, the Duke finally spotted the large wooden double gates to his friend’s property. They unlatched the chain holding the gates together and rumbled through into a dark wooded pasture. Both were a little unsure that they were in the right place, but cold and tired; they were willing to take the chance. ¾ of a mile down a sugar sand lane, mined with cow pies, deep into a wooded hammock, they found the bunkhouse.

With nothing but the bike headlights to help them see, they fumbled around to find the door, then the doorknob. Incredibly there wasn’t one and the door was locked. Armed with a cigarette lighter, the two stumbled around the shadowy corners of the structure to find another way in. Luckily there was a back door and it wasn’t locked; they ventured in. The Duke pulled out some scratchin’ paper and lit a scant torch to inspect the murky surroundings.
“Well, there’s bunks so we must be in the right place.” the Duke declares.
“It ain’t much, but I’m ready to lay down just about anywhere.” Bubbie replied.
“There’s lights. There has to be a way to turn them on.” says the Duke.
Like two archeologists searching the black bowels of an Egyptian pyramid, the two road warriors shuffle about to find the secret to turning on the lights. The Duke leads the way with is lighter and mini torch of any paper he can find to light. After a good half an hour of flipping switches and searching for a panel box, Bubbie finally concedes, “That’s it. I’m laying down. I don’t need no light on to sleep. There’ll be plenty of light in the morning when we get up.”

The two hit the bunks and within minutes they were asleep. Perhaps hours later, Bubbie suddenly woke to a rustling and over the pounding of his heart he heard a door to the cabin open. Sure that it was a bear or the owner coming into to shoot them, he snapped his head around to see if the Duke was in his bunk and could faintly that he wasn’t! He was outside relieving himself.

Early the next morning Bubbie woke to a racket that sounded like golf balls dropping on a 55 gallon drum…and he was inside the drum! He cracked opened his eyes and his tired gaze fell on the ceiling of the bunkhouse. It had a nearly flat metal roof that was nothing but rafters and sheets of shiny corrugated metal. The heavy dew from the dense fog of night was dripping off of the trees and dropping loudly onto the roof. It didn’t take long for the two to get up, pack up, get out of the drum and back on the road. Walking outside, Uncle Bubba was slightly taken aback at what the bunkhouse looked like in the daylight; it was probably better that it was pitch dark when they found it the night before.

“All I need is a cup of coffee.”
“Sounds good to me.” replied the Duke.

It was the perfect cool sunny day for a ride home. After coffee and a doughnut at the nearest gas station they rolled back across the byways home. After a safe return they laughed as they both agreed that it was the perfect trip and vowed to make it again soon, but next time with a few more friends.

The Great Hog Roundup

Uncle Bubba and the Duke had quite a weekend. The Duke is having a pestiferous wild hog issue at the ranch and called Bubbie to join in the havoc of dispensing of the sounder. (Yankee translator: a sounder is a herd of wild boars) The wild boar are rooting up his pastures and ravishing everything in sight. Friday night they dispersed a pungent washtub of swill in the trouble spot to lure the sounder to the bait. At day break, the Duke, Bubbie and the cowboy crew met at the barn to make the plan. The cowboys unloaded in their dogs and horses as the Duke and Bubbie pulled up. They were wide-eyed as the Duke unloaded an arsenal of weaponry.

“Alright men,” the Duke says, “the plan is that we’re gonna take as many of these hogs as we can.”

“Uh, I dunno about shootin’ round my dogs.” one of the hands says nervously.

“Well then… we’ll grab as many as we can…” the Duke pauses, “but if we have to shoot, we will. Now let’s get down the lane, they’re waitin’ on us.”

Heading down the grassy lane between the pastures in the light, early morning fog, Bubbie spotted the dark profiles of stocky beasts rooting under a large live oak.

“They’re right there Duke!” he said excitedly pointing to the area where they had dumped the swill the night before.

“Let the damn dogs out!” the Duke yelled through his windshield. Unfortunately the cowboys were too far ahead to hear and hadn’t yet seen the beasts. Finally one loose dog cut out after the hogs and the fracas began! The men were sure that the hogs would split up and scatter into the woods lining the pastures but they circled the small pond and emerged from the other side like a 16 car freight train chugging down an adjacent lane and breaking across a pasture. The Duke had all ready wound up the white diesel Ford pickup and set out after them. He rounded the corner of the lane and gunned it down the straightaway. Dale Earnhardt Jr. had nothing on the Duke as the sod flew and he had ‘er fishtailing over the bumpy ground. In a streak of lightning he threaded the big Ford through the open pasture gate and broke into the pasture.

“You can turn’em if you beat’em to the corner!” Bubbie yelled.

“I got’em.” the Duke calmly replied as the tree line approached rapidly.

Sure enough, he turned the wild little freight train of hogs and they bolted back down towards the far end of the pasture. By now the cowboy with the cage of cattle dogs in the back of his truck had caught up and was bounding parallel to the Duke across the pasture with the freight train of hogs charging between them. The cowboy’s tailgate was down and the coup gate was open and there were dogs flopping out of the back with every bump. Stunned they’d get to their feet and realize the melee was on and the hogs were fair game. They fearlessly charged into the herd and the hogs dispersed. The Duke slammed on the binders and stopped the truck. They hurriedly bailed out to wrangle hogs. Uncle Bubba bolted around the back of the truck to find the Duke holding the biggest black boar by the hind legs, wheelbarrow style, and a dog latched onto each ear. The sound of hogs squealing, dogs barking and growling and men yelling was fearsome. The two men yelled and kicked at the dogs to try and shake them from the boar and get after another.

“Yaw! Git! Bubbie, grab a rope!” the Duke commanded. “Let’s get this one tied so we can get another.”

After hog tying the snarling squealing black monster, they looked around the pasture and each cowboy was on a hog. The dogs were still excited, yapping and biting at the hogs tied up and laying on the damp sod. The men smiled at one another as they looked over the captured quarry.

“We’ll load’em in the back of my truck and take’em up and put’em in the trailer.” says the Duke.

“Put’em up in the front and untie’em.” one of the cowboys croaks.

“Ah-ight.”

The Duke and Bubbie unloaded the hogs into the trailer.

“Shut the gate.” the Duke orders from inside the trailer. Uncle Bubba wonders how the Duke is going to untie these hogs without getting mauled inside that trailer, but the Duke has spent a lifetime handling livestock and fearlessly wrangled each one out of its rope cuffs. The Duke is Bubbie’s hero.

The hogs had little fight left in them by now and the Duke took command of them in short order and they were untied and cowering in the front of the trailer.

“That’s all right,” the Duke laughs, “Six hogs and not a shot fired.”

Yep, says Bubbie, “That’s cowboy huntin’!”

Bubbie checks his watch. “Hey it’s 8:00.”

“Time to get on the hawgs and ride to Daytona.” barks the Duke.

The two laugh as they hop into the pickup and head back to the house.

Hogs, to Hawgs, to Hogs

Uncle Bubba and the Duke are recuperating from a wild weekend. The short story: wild Hog hunt, rode Hawgs to Daytona for Bike Week, watched a couple-a-Hogs (a.k.a. Humongous Overweight GirlS) in bikinis wrestling in coleslaw. Stay tuned, details comin’…

Dreams I'll Never See

Bubbie’s view from his windshield is clear on this bright sunny day. The sky is cloudless and brilliantly blue. The green in the trees still have that yellowish spring tint that denotes happiness and joy and signals the coming of summer. One of his all time favorite CDs, The Allman Brothers Band from Polygram Records is playing the backing track to his day. Seven great songs that stir Bubbie’s emotions as he travels through the back farm-country roads. (Actually it’s been playing for nearly two months now; he’s having his own little contest of how long he can listen to it before he’s had enough.) Coming over a rise, just between a peanut field and a pine stand, Greg Allman is floating along in one of the solos in song #6, Dreams (7:18 mins.). Attributable to the excellent production of this recording and Greg's talent, one can almost picture his fingers as he plays. That’s what Bubbie loves about the Allmans, the tensioned layers and humanness of there performance, often subtly playing ever so slightly behind the beat. It projects a cool demeanor, like they almost don’t regard their own genius before skillfully, fluidly passing the passage of to the next musician as a brook flows into a stream.

Bubbie rolls up to a red-light and patiently waits to turn onto Hwy 41. He sings to himself as he turns the radio down, “Pull myself together, put on a new face, Climb down off the hilltop, baby,
Get back in the race.” The light turns green. The sky is blue. The road is straight and clear.

Can’t?

I overheard Bubbie talking to the Duke the other day and he said his grandma Mabel always told him that “Can’t never did anything.” It was one of her favorite sayings. I got to thinkin’ about that and here it is days later that still rings in my ears and then it occurred to me like a slap on the forehead! We can do anything that we really want to. If we took the word can’t out of our vocabulary, we would have to replace it with the word won’t. That has a whole different connotation and one that is much more truthful.

Sign of the Times

While Uncle Bubba travels the byways, traversing the various country sides, he has noticed an aggervatin’ anomaly and has expressed his disgust of a growing trend. Y’all know Uncle Bubba can get down on some dark topics and when he’s in a mood he’ll freely share it. Anyway, the growth of this trend is so evil and insidious that it may just doom us as a civilization. If you disagree with that you may agree that at the very least it is a symptom of the grave illness that our society suffers from. What is it you ask? Warning signs! Now before you through the baby out with the bathwater listen; remember when a warning sign meant something horrible might happen to you? Danger—Slippery When Wet—Icy Road—Steep Grade—Flammable, No Smoking.

The new breed of warning sign now expresses the implication of harm, but is really intended as just a precursor to a declaration absolving the property owner of culpable responsibility. Here is an example that Bubbie showed me today:



Obviously if the driver of this truck doesn’t clean it off after loading it with dirt or debris prior to driving it down any old road ahead of you, and a rock falls off and cracks your window, it’s your fault. By the way, following at 200 feet is about the length equivalent to two-thirds of a football field; not an easy feat behind a crawling rock-hauler in any town or city.

I can see how walking around your rig to quickly inspect and sweep of any potentially dangerous material might be too challenging for the average truck driver. How could anyone expect to do that every time; after all, I’m sure his job description is truck driver, not truck driver/cleaner? And of course they post this warning on there because rocks never fall off and crack windshields or chip paint. It’s just because.

Here is another:



So if the ol’ Ford is parked, waiting for the moving machinery that opens the gate to launch into gear, and the chain snaps and lands smack across the hood of Bubba’s truck, it’s his fault. You reckon if a fella were to slap a warning sign on his .45 Smith & Wesson with some duct tape and a sharpie, he could shoot whom ever he wants and he’s not responsible. Hey, just like Dick Cheney!



Uncle Bubba thinks it’s time we all grow up just a little bit and take responsibility for something, even if it’s just a little bit to start. Like the Duke says, don’t worry 'bout the mule son, just load the wagon (translation: just do your part and I'll do mine). Smile at a stranger, make a handshake count, and let the lawyers starve.

The Thoughtful Thinker

I would like to send you a smile today. Do you consider yourself to be a thoughtful person? If you were to search a few dictionaries to get a good definition of thoughtfulness, you may be surprised to find that there is more than one definition, however they all revolve around and agree with two points in particular. One being, “exhibiting or characterized by careful thought.” and the other “considerate of the feelings or well-being of others”. The first being a generalized statement and the other being related to the first but is a more focused description that I think we all relate to when we use the term “thoughtful”.

Being considerate of the feelings or well-being of others is not the entire story. In my opinion, true thoughtfulness is to be considerate of the feelings and well-being of others at the risk of inconveniencing ourselves. Let’s face it, we all think we are thoughtful but as soon as someone else’s feelings infringe on our own ideas and contentment it’s over. In Bubbie's view, when we can count the number of times we’ve held our tongue or walked away from a fight or given someone a hand or helped a friend does not make us a very thoughtful person. It should be so ingrained in our lives that we couldn’t begin to count and no one should even notice. Often our most thoughtful act is taking very good care of ourselves so that others don't have to be burdened with our shortcomings.

I would never want anyone, from a loved one to a friendly stranger, to ever feel that I wasn’t taking them into careful thought 24 hours a day, seven days a week, but I know it happens. This is because even though I try hard to always be thoughtful, I am human and often have my own agenda as to what I think is best for someone else. Also, each of us has our own perception of what we think others are thinking of us. But in the end, I pledge daily to lend quite support and consideration to every person in my life. My daily goal is give my best effort to be considerate of the feelings and well-being of others at the risk of inconveniencing myself. Won’t you join me? *smile*

Ah, Sore Ecstasy

Bubbie woke today with one thing on his mind; going for a ride. After downing a couple cups of hot black coffee he gears up for a cool morning ride. Unfortunately he has to swing by the chiropractor first to get a couple dislocated ribs popped back into joint before rumbling through the country side. (The sore ribs were left over from last weeks incident that involved a couple of beers, a couple of good ‘ol boys and an unfortunate remark about someone’s mother; but that’s a whole ‘nother story. )

After throwing on his leather jacket he pulls his gloves snuggly over his fingers. He saddles his trusty steed and with a healthy choke, fires the rumbling beast to life. She sounds high strung, starved for gas; Bubbie makes her wait until he eases in the choke. The whining whir slows to a throaty rumble and then kicks her into gear and they are gone.

Later, rolling out of the bone-cracker’s parking lot, he throttles it up to hit the back country roads. Before long he is rolling up the highway to destination unknown. The speed limit is 65 and that’s fast enough on this cool winter morning. His knees hug the gas tank to siphon some warmth from the roaring V-twin. It’s not long before traffic and civilization become sparse and he can relax his mind to take in the beauty of his surroundings. After heading north for a while he glides his machine off of a ramp to an intersection. This is where it all happens. Since he had never turned right at this location, he decides today is as good a day as any. It was the right decision. He’s found a long smooth road through the tightly knit pines of the Goethe Forest. Mile after mile he rides, the road lined with swampy marsh and tall green slash pines boxing him in like a mouse in a maze. He eventually rocketed out the other end of the forest and straight into wide open pasture land. The stark tan winter colors majestically frame the dusky green oaks that spot the landscape. Round and bulbous, they are stoically waiting warmer days, conserving energy yet anticipating a spring where they can turn up the volume of there shiny green leaves.

Bubbie rounds another bend and it looks like another town is coming soon. The signs hint of a waterfront area and it’s not long before he notices a very large lake on the left hand side of the road. He believes it might be Lake Rousseau and there is just enough of a breeze to give its surface a pretty good chop. The tangy fresh scent of the dark lake water hits him and he smiles at a wealth of memories and a primitive stirring in his soul to the primordial beginnings of life.

As the lake drifts off behind his left shoulder, his sore back muscles stiffen from his morning adjustment, which also makes him smile. Good times and good friends. But with that he knows it’s time to turn for home. He rolls back into the throttle and shifts up through the gears. Sweet Pea will be waiting to share a hot meal and a few laughs as the sunny afternoon unfolds. It’s good to be Bubbie.

Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag

Bubbie has recognized that this is a monumental week with the resolve of some war issues. No, not Britain announcing their withdrawal from Iraq but the burial of James Brown and the disputed internment location of Anna Nicole Smith.

Now that the children of the Godfather of Soul and his former partner have decided on where the soul singer should be buried, nearly two months after he died. Hey, surprise! Their agreement is part of a legal battle over control of the estate and assets of the singer. It is complicated by a dispute over whether his former partner, Tomi Rae Hynie Brown, was legally married to him.

Anna Nicole’s strange friends and estranged mother have been locked in a televised trial to determine who gets custody of her remains. Bubbie wonders if this is racism. Is this what our African American brothers and sisters are always so angry about? ‘Cause she is white, her grotesque Jerry Springer type trial gets total TV coverage while Mr. Dynamite’s bottom feeding family didn’t get no press time! What’s Bubbie know; he’s of the Caucasian persuasion and freely admits to being too ignorant to understand these complex issues. But he thinks it has more to do with Anna Nicole’s scandalous past and enormous breast size than her race. The Godfather had his own scandalous past, and he was young and sexy; but his time had passed. Anna Nicole was still attractive enough to be able to command attention in life, and for better or worse the mother of a 5 month old baby. It seems to Bubbie that these elements along with her nefariously outrageous behavior were the driving force behind the dirt on TV. Anyone can only hope the she is now at peace. God bless her.



Rest in Peace James Joseph Brown – The Hardest Working Man in Show Business

Licensed to Disturb

Traveling along packed highways and byways of the south in the winter months, you’ll invariably notice the plethora of diverse license plates. Though they are viewed as a random assortment of colorful representations of individual states, there are certain likenesses that the drivers all have in common. Our northern visitors invariably drive slowly in the left lane. My theory is that they intend to turn left at some point, which might be 30 miles away, but they are in that lane to insure they correct position when they reach their cornering destination. These same slower paced individuals also tend to speed up and slow down in a random surging motion (obviously unable to operate the often complicated cruise control button), none more noticeable as when passing a Reduce Speed Ahead sign and having to speed up to reach the minimum speed. (Apparently the reading of traffic signs is not practiced much in the north.)

Notwithstanding, our southern neighbors obviously suffer from NASACAR fever and seem to be unable to operate a vehicle without speeding, drafting, and committing overly invasive and evasive actions while passing. With all of this in mind Bubbie has some alternative suggestions for a few of the license plate logos so proudly displayed.

Alabama – Stars Fell On
• Foot Fell On Accelerator
Connecticut – Constitution State
• Cut U Off
Delaware - The First State
• Left Lane Forever
Georgia –Peach State
• Let’s Kill Sumpin’
Illinois – Land of Lincoln
• Drive Like Lincoln
Indiana – Hoosier State
• Pull Out - Drive Slow
Maine – Pine Tree State
• We Just Drive Slow
Massachusetts – Old Colony State
• Old Arrogant Apathetic
Michigan – Great Lakes State
• Missed Shift Again
New Hampshire – Live Free or Die
• Live Free in Florida Past Our Expiration Date
New Jersey – Garden State
• Watchu Lookin’ At
New York – Empire State
• Confused Urban Rednecks
Ohio – Buckeye State
• Brake, Gas, Brake
Pennsylvania – Keystone State
• You Think They’re Slow
Tennessee – Volunteer State
• Suicidal
Texas – The Lone Star State
• Laws Don’t Apply
Virginia – Old Dominion State
• Old Dominion 500
Vermont – Green Mountain State
• We Just Suck

NASCAR News

Bubbie and the Duke agree; addin’ Toyotas ruins the Great American Race. The good ol' boys have gone soft; how 'bout we act like men that our granddaddies would be proud of and stop letting big money dictate what we get. Start the gal darn race at 1:00 pm, and stop with the Superbowl type hype and hoopla. It ain’t a concert, it’s a race! And the Chevy commercial with the hippity-hop version of Sweet Home Alabama is sacra-relig. You’re puttin’ our whole dang southern culture on the skids. Speaking of which, a gentleman doesn't cheat. This includes listening into your opposition's radio transmissions to hear their strategy. That's cheating!
Oh yeah, and congrats to Kevin Harvick on the win.

The Duke

Bubbie has some good friends and one of them good ol’ boys is a cattle rancher called the Duke. Now he ain’t no Ben Cartwright type, but more of a Thomas Dunson who was the self made rancher in the Red River story by Borden Chase. He could very much be like Wyatt Earp, the marshal lawman who at times could be on either side of the law depending on his circumstances; but when it comes to cowboyin’ there’s none better. The Duke rides high in the saddle and like a charismatic general, he takes command of his band of cowboys and sage green pasture of bovine like Sam Houston riding into battle; sure, strong, and morally upright.

Out of the saddle is a much less austere man. He is warm and genuine. Quick to offer a pleasantry and takes time and interest in each individual he speaks with. This dichotomy of the Dukes personality is what Bubbie admires in the man. The Duke is not a man of vagary or capriciousness; he knows what he likes and he sticks to what he knows. He may not understand the purpose or agenda of a liberal society, but he won’t say much in public to refute it. In turn he’ll drink a beer with Bubbie and they share a love of music and riding their Harleys. Here’s to the Duke.

This is Your Brain on TV

Hey y’all, remember that commercial on TV when the guy held up an egg and said, “This is your brain.” Then he cracked it and dropped it into a sizzlin’ hot skillet and said, “This is your brain on drugs.” If you do, then I bet you’d agree that it had some impact on your life. What a contrast to the commercials we are bombarded with today: Roserum, Boniva, Claritin, Allegra, Ambien, Enbrel, Celebrex. Did you ever think you’d know so much about drugs? And yeah, these are just as bad for you as the illegal ones; just listen to the side effects. I’d rather live with the symptoms I have, thank you very much. And why am I telling my doctor that I have liver disease, kidney and heart ailments? Should he be the one telling me that?!

Let’s think about that for a minute; would the pharmaceutical industry have to push these on us if they were really all that great? Why do they work so hard at convincing us that “Mother’s little helper” is a cure-all? Uh, probably cause it’s not? You need it cause they need to make money. Wait, are we talking about the illegal drug pushers or the pharmaceutical companies?

The other danger that I am most concerned with, and what takes us back to the old “this is your brain on drugs commercial”, is the power of suggestion. Replaying an image over and over while repeating the way you will feel is a way to brainwash someone into believing the implied truth. Whether you pay attention to the commercials or tune them out, they are still repeating their mantra over and over in the background. Advertisers know that this subliminal bombardment eventually gets into your mind and takes root. I’ll give you an example; I often put one of the 24 hour news channels like MSNBC on while I work and I noticed one day that in the course of about an hour they aired a commercial for some drug for men. It starts by saying that many men over the age of 50 have prostrate problems. I bet I heard that at least 10 to 12 times in that hour and I started to wonder about my prostate. Then I thought, “Hey! Wait a minute! I take very good care of myself and I’m not gong to start believing that I will have these problems!” I realized that I was in a mental battle to not by into the suggestion. If I had not consciously fought it, I might be convinced that by the time I am 50, I will have prostrate problems. The truth is I could live to be 100 and never have a prostrate problem. So the drugs can get into your mind through your eyes and ears via the TV. Don’t let the bastards win. Make the conscious choice to be healthy and find preventative methods to manage your health choices; before you need drugs to remedy them.

Let's Go Racin' Boys!

Bubbie’s sink into his lazy boy and reaches down with his right hand and fumbles for the shifting lever. Feeling the familiar wooden handle he rears back, gives ‘er a rip and launches himself into race watchin’ position. It’s the Busch race at Daytona; the first of the season and the day before the big one. From Bubbie’s view he’s noticed a few poignant observations that maybe y’all can help clarify.

Mark Martin: didn’t he retire? I thought he had his final farewell tour?
Dale Earnhardt Jr: Why is he the most popular driver when he drives around in the middle of the pack in 18th to 21st place?
I heard them announcers talkin’ about Fords, Chevys, Dodges, and even Toyotas, but I didn’t see a one; I saw about 40 NASCARs. Aside from different paint schemes, they’re all the same car. Hell, they could be showin' us a replay of a race from 3 or 4 years ago and we might now even notice.

Hey, you know what would be cool? If we did get some of those manufactures vehicles and let some good mechanics fine tune them and then race them around those NASCAR tracks. We could call it Stockcar Racin’ and them blue-collar guys that had the mechanically best car and a great driver that day could race hard, compete and win some fans. Now that would be some kinda fun!

Recovering Racist

I stopped by Bubbie’s whom had gone out the night before to a comedy club. He proceeded to tell me about the evening of frivolity until a comic came on that was, well, I guess you would say of black African ancestry. Bubbie described how he referred to all the men in the audience as niggas and the women, bitches. I didn’t take long for a disgusted Bubbie and Sweet Pea to walk out, though many if not most of the people there were guffawing and rocking in their seats elbowing each other in the slats with laughter.

Later, at an all night diner, Bubbie recognized a couple of young men that he had seen at the comedy club and they were laughing at the jokes they had heard, and generally having a good time. This wouldn’t have been unusual except that they were black and a lot of what they were saying was “whitey” this and “cracker” that. Now Bubbie admits to being as racist, or not as racist, as the next guy. He holds no ill will towards any group of people and truly tries to not be offensive, as much as any good person, but he admits to sometimes making an off colored remark in a fit of frustration. The thing that bothers him so is that if a non-black person uses the word nigger, they might better be strung up by their private parts than face the deluge of criticism and condemnation that accompanies it. But this is a free country and the first amendment to the United States Constitution applies to all citizens. Freedom of speech is the concept of the inherent human right to voice one's opinion publicly without fear of censorship or punishment. Well, a reasonable person knows that using offensive language carries with it a consequence that one must chose to bear if one chooses to use it. But don’t tell Bubbie that one of black African ancestry can say some form of nigger, and he can’t. It’s un-American.

As Bubbie says, we’re all racists. If we’re good people we try not to be; but lighten up and get over yourself. Bubbie wasn’t all that offended by the young men’s remarks in the diner because he is wise enough to know we are all different and to each their own. His choice was to ignore it and enjoy the company of his Sweet Pea. After all, in the morning the news was going to report on more troops killed in Iraq and that’s something to get upset about.

The Sun

Uncle Bubba takes a few minutes to dust the leaves out of the hammock in the backyard and he lies down for a few minutes of quality time. It’s a beautiful cool day, yet the sun is shining brightly in the azure blue sky. With eyes closed against the brilliant sun he takes a deep breath in through his nostrils and his mind drifts back, back to when he was a young boy living in New England. The chirping robins and the whir of the small plane drifting by overhead recall a time when he thought everyday was an eternal gift from heaven. As his skin begins to tingle from the suns intensity, his mind tries to comprehend just how hot the sun really is; it is so far away and yet it can burn our skin.

Do you remember a day when you were young and took a few minutes away from playing to soak in your surroundings? Just a few minutes where you felt the air on your skin and breathed deep the scents drifting on the breeze? I bet if you quietly close your eyes right now, you can go back there and relive that moment. Doesn’t it feel so good? That is your life everyday; you just have to stop and recognize it.

Educator and Chief

I stopped by Bubbie’s this morning and he was already in rare form. He has been thinking about the war in Iraq and the young men and women that are putting their lives on the line for…well…whatever.

His random ranting covered the many comments that we’ve all heard in the news lately.

“We need to win the war.” You mean we haven’t? We’ve destroyed a country and toppled its government.

“We need to spread democracy.” We are not a democracy, we are a democratic Republic.

“We need to send more troops.” This really boggled Bubbie’s mind and set him off. Don’t the representatives we elect, including the President realize that we don’t choose them because they are smarter than us; we elect them to represent us. They are to listen to the majority consensus and vote accordingly to express the views of the electorate.

Oh, of course they don’t know this; they think we’re a democracy and that they are smarter than us.

The World is My Ashtray

Bubbie’s View this morning, is out the windshield of his ol’ Ford pickup truck. Sitting at a red light, five or six vehicles back from an intersection; the drivers of the two cars immediately ahead of him take their last drags off of their cigarettes and flick the white butts out their drivers’ side windows. Bubbie, a non smoker, is disgusted, annoyed, infuriated and saddened, all at the same time. He would like to ask those people why they think it is OK to toss those butts out of the window. Do they think that they are littering? Do they think that others may not appreciate seeing the millions of little white cigarette butts littering every roadside and parking lot? What about the fire hazard? Do they realize that throwing a burning cigarette butt onto dry, roadside debris can cause a fire? Do they care about the environment, or the legacy and lessons they are leaving our children?

Please, if you smoke, help me to understand the thought process behind this anomaly. Why don’t you put the cigarette out in your ashtray and deposit them in the garbage when you get to your destination? I suspect it is because the butts are dirty and smell stale after they accumulate for a few days, which smokers don’t care for; but I’d like to hear what the smokers’ answer is.