God Bless the Ranchers, God Bless the Farmers

Uncle Bubba was driving through central Florida headed north. For a man that has made the trip many times over the past nearly 20 years, it’s an oddity. It is definitely a case study in how mans’ greed and ignorance can ruin the environment as well as another man’s livelihood and lifestyle. Where it was once vast rolling green vistas of pastures and prairies, it is now a vista of shingled hip roofs. Fighting traffic and following ineptly poor drivers trying to get back to the country is nearly futile. There are miles and miles of highways and county roads that wind through what used to be ranch land. Now it’s just a cancerous growth of neighborhoods; a blight of cookie cutter homes and strip mall storefronts and gas stations. Myriads of fake grand landscaped entrances to second-rate developments appear for mile after mile. Uncle Bubba pulled out a detailed map of Florida and figured that, discounting wildlife management areas and parks and wetlands, one is never more than 2 miles from a road throughout most of the state. So have no fear if you should get lost, you don’t have far to go to find someone to give you guidance. Every so often you may round a curve and see a few lazy cattle grazing amongst their white cattle egret friends. In view of a few scattered palms or some old growth oak trees, they are sandwiched between developments where a rancher is trying to hold on to a dying business and lifestyle. You see, a man that makes it his life to make a living from the land has a different agenda. It only behooves him to take care of the environment and keep the things of nature in go working order for the long haul.

This says very little for the man whom chooses to be a developer as a profession. It’s painfully obvious that their god is money and their goals are shortsighted. Any thought of the future generations doesn’t enter their one track minds. Having an eye for esthetics, Uncle Bubba can easily point out the shoddy workmanship in the acres and acres of houses. It’s obvious to the trained eye that these homes are not built to last; rather they are built for a quick profit.

Shame on the rest of us that sign on the dotted line; we can’t wait to have our new home built and to hell with the land that was once a pristine wetland; after all, it was already stripped and plowed over, and we just bought one little spot. To hell with the rancher or the farmer who is dedicated to producing food for our tables. We don’t need them anyway; we can get our food from other countries cheaper. Who cares if it’s raised in sub-par standards with unrestricted use of chemicals and pesticides? Who cares if the livestock are mistreated and diseased? Who cares if we put our own families out of work? In Bubbie’s view, it is just this limited and expendable mentality that has created this once wonderful nation’s current disappointing condition. But then again we all know it, we just don’t care.

Lets Go Green!

Let's go green? Ha! You selfish son-of-a... In the light of the new revival to go green it has become the fashion to reuse and recycle and renounce. Isn’t it sad that we have to be sold on the idea that going green is good, only because its fashionable. What? you say. I am going green because I care about the environment. Really. So the ad campaigns and celebrity endorsements had nothing to do with it? Are you so lost in your own delusions of self importance that you’ve failed to notice that we have had to have a television channel dedicated to going green to make you feel good about yourself? Of course you realize that all of this marketing requires environmentally damaging energy to produce.

In Bubbie’s view, we should have never been un-green. God created us; He created the green earth. He gave us dominion over the earth with all of its sustainable resources to keep us alive indefinitely. He gave us intelligence, which no other creature has. And with our intelligence we are able to interpret and manipulate matter. So we are creators, just as God created us. So then, that is how God created us in His image. He made us all creators. To be able to interpret and manipulate matter can only be for our benefit or our detriment. Why would we want it to be for our detriment? Why would we want to destroy what God has given us? Why would we take the green earth, which is supposed to sustain us indefinitely, and ruin it so that we will all eventually perish? What is the point? But if we live in harmony with the earth, we use it resources to sustain our lives, and we use our intelligence to replenish what we use, then we are using our creator-ness in a responsible way. The only thing outside of our own sustenance is to take care of one another. That is our purpose. We are creators, we are to survive, we are to take care of one another and love one another. It is our motives that are in question. In Bubbie’s view, we should be green because we love our creator and His creation, not to brag to our peers how wonderful we are to reuse and recycle.

2010 Yobabytes Part 2

To expand on Uncle Bubba’s comments on knowing too much, he offered these points in our conversation. Consider email, texting, tweeting, facebook, myspace, etc... within seconds we can know anyones’ business. We can know their personal data that they voluntarily post like their birthday, address, schools they attended, etc... We know about they’re relationships, no matter how nasty or embarrassing. We can know all about their antics at every party, no matter how nasty or embarrassing.

We carry our cell phones everywhere, all the time. We text and tweet and check our email. We are constantly in touch and believe everything we read. We voluntarily contribute to gossip about our selves since we only write about what we are doing and what we think. Admit it, we only really care about what we are saying and not what someone has told us; not unless its juicy gossip.

Now consider your grandmama’s day. The folks of that era lived their lives in private behind closed doors. It was taboo to air their dirty laundry in public. Words were chosen carefully and actions were judged on their merit. The person in their immediate company was their primary focus. They had the time, and took the time to get to know someone; and with much invested they cherished long and meaningful relationships. Remind me again why that was bad?

In Bubbie’s view, life is to be lived and shared. He ain’t no more scared to skin a buck as peck on a computer keyboard; that’s just part of life today. But he values people and the quality of the time spent with them.

2010 Yobabytes Part 1

Uncle Bubba has been scarce lately. I’ve looked for him often but to no avail. This usually says more about me than Uncle Bubba; it usually means that I have become too inadvertently distracted and time has slipped by. So this morning, when I wasn’t expecting any company, there was Uncle Bubba on my doorstep. Like the father of the prodigal son, I welcomed him with open arms and apologized for staying away for so long. In typical Uncle Bubba fashion, he saw no need for a fuss and wondered aloud at why I make such a big ta-do about nothin’.

I think it was no coincidence that he showed up at a point when I was thinking about the new year... 2010 of all things. Didn’t y’all think we’d be farther along in things by now? I thought we’d be living a lot more like the Jetsons, with computerized automation machines in our homes and we’d be all flying jet powered cars. Anyway, at these few days after Christmas it’s hard to not ponder what the new year might bring and feel somewhat simultaneously nostalgic. In chatting with Bubbie over a couple of hot cups of coffee, we agreed that in contemplation of the state of our union and the state of our society, one doesn’t get all warm and fuzzy. In the words of Uncle Bubbie, “I look around and wonder what the hell is going on? We’re goin’ to hell in a hand basket!” Its not difficult to echo his sentiment recognizing that causality postulates that we now know too much. Yobabytes of information! We know so much that most of what we know has little to do with relevance or truth.

Think about our sources of information; gossip, cell phones, smart phones, text messaging, email, TV, computers, magazines, newspapers, books, and the internet. There is so much data available to us, it has become information overload. And most news is useless. For example, why do we need to know that an 80 year old lady was hit by a car in a town 200 miles away? Because it was a hit and run and they are searching for the perp, or there is some purpose as to safety and a lesson learned perhaps? But that is seldom the case; if you pay attention, much of the “news” is just random stories with no relevance to the betterment of the community. Today we heard that a trailer burned down on Christmas leaving a family homeless, but no information on how to help them. So much of the news is just story after story of bad news with no relevance to society’s advancement.

Think again about our sources of information; gossip, cell phones, smart phones, text messaging, email, TV, computers, magazines, newspapers, books, and the internet. Each one of these items documents information originating from a human source with an innate agenda. There is nothing wrong with that; its only important to remember that nothing is truly objective. Its been proven that most “experts” on any media outlet is more than likely an expert in talking for money, not necessarily an expert on any one subject. In Bubbie’s view, we’d test a well to make sure that our livestock are not drinking contaminated water, yet we’ll so eagerly draw our news from contaminated sources poisoning our minds. As his mama always told him, “There’s 2 sides to every story; and somewhere in the middle is the truth.”

Bacon!

It was a cold December evening with a bone chilling drizzle falling like drops from a large showerhead. Uncle Bubba went to his favorite market, no doubt looking for some comforting cuisine to warm the cockles of his heart buried beneath layers of cotton clothing. In his quest he bought a small package of bacon thinking of sharing the aromas and robust flavors of a hot breakfast of bacon and eggs with Sweet Pea. He smiled warmly thinking of gazing into her sweet sleepy eyes through the steam rising up off his cup of black coffee. Ah, yes Bubbie thought, we need coffee and he strolled off toward the coffee isle, bacon in hand. Let me tell you what that delicious bacon was not; it was not processed by grinding the small pieces of pork belly into an emulsion and, adding a cure mixture that includes chemicals such as sodium nitrite which is added primarily as a color fixer that turns meats a reddish, fresh-looking color. The emulsion is cured for a predetermined period of time and thereafter placed into molds and slowly cooked at varying temperatures. The molded cooked product thereafter is chilled. In an alternate process, the small pieces of pork belly are cured prior to grinding into an emulsion. In a further embodiment, the bacon product is chilled after curing and packaged for marketing. Mmmm… Doesn’t that just some so good?!

No, Uncle Bubba’s bacon was cut fresh with the dark brown cracklin’ still running along one edge.

If you have never had real bacon, it looks like ham in color and texture. And its cut thick, at least one eighth inch if not more. When frying you can hear the cracklin’ crackling, calling and cackling out over the rim of the frying pan to your belly, “Get ready baby ‘cause I’m coming to getcha!” Shrinkage is not an issue unlike the shriveled up slivers Oscar Meyer delivers and the whole house doesn’t stink to high heaven. The bacon Bubbie bought was lightly smoked and the flavor is mild. As it accompanies a couple of fried eggs and toast from the kitchen counter to the breakfast table, the scenery is beautiful; the aroma enticing. As Bubbie enjoys that crispy bite he wonders why we stopped expecting all of our food to be fresh and healthy and naturally tasty. In Bubbie’s view, its time to get back to natural foods and use our common sense. Mmmm… Now that’s bacon!

Throwbacks

Have you noticed all of the throwback jerseys in MBL and the NFL this year? Why do you think Major League Baseball and the National Football League desire to have their players wear those old style uniforms? A cynical person may presume that it is all about merchandising and money. But in Bubbie’s view it has more to do with a collective subconscious to go back to the days when men were men. Before a player was groomed from the womb by is mama to chase the money; men used to compete in sports for competition’s sake. It meant something to be declared the best. It meant something to be looked at as a tough guy by one’s peers.

How ‘bout we throwback to the days before PC? Before it was politically incorrect for calling a poor sport a jerk. Before it was wrong to call out a prima donna for being a spoiled wuss. Let’s throwback to the time when the coach told the players what to do instead of the reverse we have today. Let’s just not throwback to the NBA days when those overgrown lanky pituitary cases wore those shorty shorts.

Goodbye Dear Friend

One of Uncle Bubba’s best friends, JD, passed away last week. Uncle Bubba told me that words cannot express the sadness he feels. As I visited with Uncle Bubba, he shared a few happy memories of JD and he growing up together. JD was older and young Bubbie was all too impressed by that. You know that in our adolescent high school minds that the smallest details often carry the most weight, and JD was a good looking, popular guy. It was clear in his reminiscence that Bubbie admired JD’s humor, his ferocious spirit and, as Bubbie stated, he was so big hearted. JD was courage in action. He was kind and generous.
 
JD had great taste; he always wore beautifully stylish clothes that fit him to a tee. His hair was thick and wavy and always perfectly styled. And he loved a nice car; it had to be fast, stylish and shiny. What young man wouldn’t look up to a guy like that? JD and Bubbie also thought of themselves as quite the ladies’ men as well; boy, were they ever dreamers.
 
But beyond all that, JD and Bubbie talked. They shared their ideas and dreams. They wondered about their futures and admittedly were both a little lost. They knew we were expected to be men, but not just your run-of-the-mill schlubs, but straight shooting, stand up men; someone of whom their families would be proud. Unfortunately neither one of the young knuckleheads knew how to go about getting there but they had each other, jobs to afford some spending money, and cars. You know that young men need to be everywhere, all the time, all at once; that was JD. He had to be at every school event, every social function, dating every pretty girl, while traveling between home, the cottage on the lake, and both sets of his grandparents—and thankfully, with Bubbie in tow. Oh what fun they had! Life was exciting and full of possibilities. To this day Bubbie is thankful for the wonderful memories of staying at the cottage—waterskiing and boating, swimming in that ice cold lake!

Uncle Bubba recalled how JD would get so intensely worked up over things, but to me that just showed how fiercely he loved his family and craved everyone’s acceptance. JD loved with his whole heart. When he cared for some one or some thing, he was passionate; there was never a doubt about the way that he felt.
 
JD eventually enlisted in the army. He was struggling with life as most headstrong young men do; feeling unfulfilled with his choices with college and knowing that he needed some structure and discipline to help find his way. Young Bubbie was crushed. He couldn’t believe he was leaving and yet he was so proud of JD for making such a bold commitment and following through. To this day, thinking of his courage to take action, he inspires a spark in Uncle Bubba to boldly be the best that I can be. Life is tough and we all need motivation to succeed. Bubbie often reflects on owing it to JD and the old gang of friends to represent, to be courageous in his decisions, and be fiercely committed to his family. JD influenced Uncle Bubba to be his best, to not only love with all of his heart, but express it. JD was a true friend, to be loved forever and remembered always. Uncle Bubba has shared stories of the adventures he and JD had with his children, both as lessons and as funny antidotes. JD was truly the best. In Bubbie’s view, life is too short and relationships too precious not to make the best of every moment, every day. Goodbye JD, we will meet again one day in heaven.
 

Screwed, Blued, and Tattooed

Uncle Bubba was driving his ol’ pickup truck through town with the radio on. He was just running an errand, you know, aimlessly driving with a few mundane thoughts drifting through his somber brain. He barely noticed the commercial innocuously buzzing on the airwaves. It was something about a tattoo parlor but it didn’t click in his consciousness until the tag line said, “If you love it, ink it.”

“Oh my gosh!” Bubba thought, “There ya go!” You see, that sums up the conundrum that’s been perplexing him for some time. It seems that these days, everyone from teenagers to middle aged, and that middle is ever so close to the far bottom of the “over the hill” age, has some patch on their carcass tattooed. And here’s the question; do they get the tattoo to accentuate the body part, or do they get the tattoo to cover up the body part? LIke, what is it they are trying to show off; the bizarre choice of personalized artwork or the hair’d-over kankle or flabby scapula back-flap that it adorns? In Bubbie’s view, he don’t wanna see either! What is it about a woman’s protruding, jello-like spare tire that makes her stamp it like a USDA approved side of beef and then display it for all the world to see? What statement is she trying to make? “Hey, look at me! I am a lazy, unfit, overeating glutton, and proud of it! And I celebrate the marvel of me by permanently inking my flesh to show you!” Uncle Bubba digresses. He’s lived long enough to know that he will never know some things. Heck he’s even got a few old tattoos himself, but in his era tattoos were a statement of nonconformity. Isn’t THAT ironic! A tattoo branded a man a rebel.

In Bubbie’s view, a tattoo is a personal choice. And with all choices, they come with the responsibility of ownership and living with the resulting consequences.

Just Another Day

It’s not yet twilight and Uncle Bubba is in his old Ford pickup headed to work. As he drives towards town the full moon is still high in the western sky and some dirty pink clouds are faintly waking in the east. Bubbie’s thinks about how seldom good things come at the early morning hours of a day but don’t it all change in an hour; for the birth of a new daybreak is starting to glow as he turns his wheel to the right and starts the long drive over the usual two-lane highway. The sky glows golden dressed in pink and corral underneath gray clouds and a pale blue sky.

At the next red light Uncle Bubba sits among the other vehicles, waiting. He looks in his mirror at the drivers behind him. Ladies are checking their look in the visor mirrors while others sit with blank stares. They are all someone’s unsung hero; tired, overworked, underpaid, under appreciated. They have children, spouses, parents all depending on their loyalty, their diligence to face another day at work. No one is going to shoot a documentary about their life. No one is going to give them a prestigious award for honor, or a beautiful gold medal for courage. No, they are doing what they must to have what they have.

The light finally turns green and Bubbie drives off with a soft song playing on the radio. A smile crosses his lips at a fond thought of Sweet Pea. He rubs a tired eye and sips hot black coffee from a travel mug and wonders what the day will bring. In Bubbie’s view, it’s a shame that we don’t know more about our neighbors and what small thing we might do to make their mundane days just a little bit better.

What Goes Around...

It has been a while since I’ve visited Uncle Bubba so I stopped by to catch up on things. I hopped up the couple steps of his porch and knocked on kitchen door. No answer. So I walked around back and found him in his vegetable garden.
“Well, hello stranger!” he barked as he saw me walking toward him. He had that old familiar grin that was so nice to see. Uncle Bubba’s eyes were about the size of double-ought buckshot and just as hard. They sparkled when he spoke like the fireworks in his brain might break containment and give you a flash burn. I always figured that was because he knew a lot more than he was tellin’ and that’s probably just as well ‘cause I won’t get it anyway.
“I am pickin’ some vegetables to go with some venison steaks I’m cookin’ for dinner. You’re eatin’ some with us so they don’t go to waste.”
How could I argue a direct order? Being that it was early fall and deer season was weeks away, I didn’t seem inclined to ask if the steaks were frozen or fresh, though I know they were the latter.
“You seem to be in good spirits.” I quipped.
“Yeah well,” Bubbie said, “I’d come through a rough patch. You know that sometimes work can get a man down.” He paused, “Not the work so much as the bull that goes around on the job. Every once in a while it gets too deep; you know what I mean? This last go-around got to me more than I thought so I decided to throw it all away. Life is good man! Too good to waste on the pinheads of the world!”
Bubbie let out a roaring laugh, cracked open a cold beer and took a swig.
“My good times are a higher priority than making my boss happy. I’ll do my job and do it well... but I don’t have-ta like it.” Bubbie added, “It’s what I do, not who I am.”
With that he laid out the red steaks on his grill with a expertise that would arouse a French chef. After another beer he tilted his head back and looked up into the clouds. As he paused the corners of his mouth curled slightly in grin. He kept his head tilted back, his beady eyes in a full on squint as he spoke, “Don’t forget to look up several times a day and see the big picture.“
And with that, Sweet Pea hollered out of the kitchen window that the table was set and when the steaks were done, it’d be time to eat and I wondered why I stayed away so long.

The Mermaid & The Manatee

Beneath the overhanging sweet gum and cypress trees, under the glassy lid of the lazy river, there was once a mermaid who was a creature of habit. Everyday she swam to the deep, fresh water spring along the same aqueous passage. She and her fish friends floated gently among the sunbeams, above the sandy bottoms and muskgrass shaded by the banana lilies. She was a delicate soul who wished no one any harm; she just loved to swim and witness God’s creation. Every Fall, when the air gets cool and the days get shorter, the manatees swim back to the warm spring to winter. The mermaid loves to see each friendly face as they drift in from the gulf; they share hugs and tales of there adventures in the deep blue sea.

Then one day a stranger came to the spring; an albino manatee that was haughty and more strident than the rest. The albino manatee claimed that it’s ancestors were the rightful owners of the spring and thus vociferously declared ownership of the spring and all the waters around it. The others didn’t pay much mind to the stranger, they were used to boisterous others that had come before it and pitied it for its nature. At first the albino manatee decreed that the mermaid and the manatees were allowed to joyfully swim as usual; however it didn’t take long before the new manatee began to object to the mermaid and her daily rituals. Surely, the manatee thought, that a mermaid who enjoys herself that much must be getting something from the spring, and though it was unsure of just what, it was something that belonged to the manatee. The albino manatee first put up a sign to stop the manatee from swimming along her regular passage. The mermaid was put off by the sign but decided to slightly change her route and continue to swim with her friends to the area of the spring. So the obstinate manatee hired some large, intimidating snook to patrol the spring and report any trespassing; however there was little to report. They informed the manatee that the mermaid swam past everyday, smiling and spreading goodwill. This made that ol’ albino turn flush pink and even more paranoid; certain that the mermaid was stealing something from the spring, something special. It was time to take matters into it’s own flippers, so it swam to the opening of the spring and decided to wait, just out of sight, and see what the mermaid was taking. Day and night the manatee waited, sure it was going to end the abuses of the mermaid. Eventually days turn into weeks, weeks into months until one day the manatee weak from hunger had to come out from the spring to eat and found that all of the other manatees had long parted as winter was over. The manatee was all alone. Alone except for the mermaid.

The mermaid circled the albino manatee from a distance and watched it nibble the grassy river bottom. She smiled a weary smile each time their eyes met. As the albino ate it gained strength; time passed and the days grew longer. It knew it was time to swim back out to the deep blue sea for the summer.
“Well Miss Mermaid,” the manatee grumbled, “I guess the spring will be yours until I return in the Fall!”
The mermaid smiled as she swam along her favorite passage.
“You really don’t get it, do you? The spring, the river, and all of its surroundings no more belong to me than any other living creature. We are here by the grace of God, and the spring will be here long after we’re gone.”
“But I own it!” the manatee protested.
“You may own it in your mind,” the little mermaid replied, “ but you do not live here all the time like I do. It is vital to me that it remain a clean, peaceful, and loving place to live. To me, it’s a gift from God to be respected and shared.”
The great white manatee gave a powerful flip of it’s tail and turned to the direction of the sea. It was still flush pink, and red-eyed from its ire with the mermaid. It barked one last order as it swam into the distance.
“You cannot share what isn’t yours to give!”
“And you cannot share what is yours to give.” the mermaid replied.
But she knew that the albino manatee didn’t hear her; it wouldn’t understand her even if it had. The mermaid knew that the albino would stay in her prayers for a good long time, hoping that one day it would see the light. In the meantime she and her fish friends would joyfully swim beneath the overhanging sweet gum and cypress trees, under the glassy lid of the lazy river, to the deep, fresh water spring along the same aqueous passage. She floated gently among the sunbeams, above the sandy bottoms and muskgrass shaded by the banana lilies.

Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness

Uncle Bubba and Junior went to a major league baseball game one recent Sunday afternoon. If one has never attended a ball game, there are wonderful intangibles that are missed in a TV experience; the smells, the sounds, the activities that surround the stadium, and the crowd experience. Any professional event tightly packs as many carcasses into as many seats as they can because seats is money. So you’ll be literally rubbing elbows with prefect strangers; and quite honestly, most of the time, it is a great and pleasant experience. It’s fun. After all, a ball game is a happy event and people come to enjoy themselves. This was the case for Uncle Bubba and Junior on a pleasant Sunday afternoon.

Here’s the thing that in Bubbie’s estimation has been lost on the current American society. We have an obligation to one another, which is a social contract to co-exist for the sake of the betterment of the society. This is the difference between a civilized and uncivilized society. In a civilized society, first and foremost we agree to cleanliness. This basic tenet undoubtedly unfolds into a multilayered discipline; branching into personal hygiene and cleanliness of the mind. Personal physical cleanliness is our best protection against disease. Just beyond bodily hygienic practices is keeping one’s personal space clean. So for example, if one attends a public event and partakes in concessions; then they should pick up all of the dropped food and empty wrappers, cups and bottles that they made manifest. I believe that is why there are rather large cylindrical binds known as trash receptacles located all about a stadium. For if you do not dispose of it--you know, the paper, plastic and residual food items covered with your saliva and DNA--them the other patrons have to walk through it to leave and someone else, most certainly an employee, must. That employee is someone’s mother, or father, or brother, or daughter. How much would you appreciate someone treating your relative in such a manner? Are employees and your neighbors beneath you? Are you improving the world around you; leaving it a better place than the way you found it? Yes, in Bubbie’s view, cleanliness is next to Godliness. Or as Bubbie would say, “Pick up your gal-darn trash you lazy SOB. Git-r-dun!”

Gates & The Policeman

The black Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. and Cambridge, Mass., police Sgt. Joseph Crowley who happens to be the white police sergeant who arrested him agreed to disagree. This was after accepting President Obama's invitation to discuss the July 16 incident over a beer Thursday evening at the White House. Here’s Bubbie’s view of the basic issue; a man was arrested for being in his own house. That’s it! So Gates was incessant and boisterous in his own house, HE’S IN HIS OWN HOUSE! PRIVATE PROPERTY THAT HE OWNS!

Having spent some time working in public service, Uncle Bubba would like to share this bit of advice to the police; if it takes 4, 8, 10, or 12 hours to wait for someone to calm down and reach a reasonable, peaceful decision, do it. You have nothing more important or pressing to do; that’s why there is a police force, so other police employees can handle other issues at the same time. It is far more important that Americans feel safe in their own homes, even from the police, than to rush into something that can cause harm on so many levels and egregiously waste tax payers money. How much do you all think that “beer at the Whitehouse” cost us? In Bubbie’s view, Mr. Crowley should pick up the tab.

Hard Times Sports Fans

These are hard times sports fans. What will future generations think of this era in sports history when we have to account for all of the pro athletes that have been accused of or convicted of crimes or cheating? Just listing the rehashed and ever growing laundry list of names isn’t worth the time, and frankly, Uncle Bubba is too busy to try. But a few things just seem to get under his skin that he just can’t help expounding on.

In particular, Uncle Bubba was watching ESPN’s First Take and the infamous Skip Bayless was debating the 2 Live Stews (Ryan and Doug Stewart) about Michael Vick’s re-instatement into the NFL. Regardless that Mr. Vick’s “handlers” are touting him as a father and provider, yet during his life prior to incarceration he was a pothead thug gambler that cruelly abused packs of animals. (Wow, how a few good years in prison can improve a man.) The show questioned whether or not the NFL Commissioner, Roger Goodell, has too much power. Please! This is a private, for profit business; not no gall-darn democratic commonwealth! Anyway, the 2 Live Stews made the statement that all sports commissioners are white and if they weren’t, the players would get different (more favorable) treatment. What?! In Bubbie’s view they are all but saying that a white man has higher principles than a black man.

A 'Mater Samich

Uncle Bubba just polished off yet another a ‘mater samich. When one eats a home grown ‘mater samich, one of the best parts is that faint taste of the vine; it’s almost like the flavor goes up one’s nose and down through one’s core. It travels, taking the diner back through the vine into the dark, rich soil--the earth, the creator of the earth. There’s nothing better. No wonder Uncle Bubba loves a mater samich.

Old Folks Were The Best Folks

Uncle Bubba was sitting in a roadside diner hunched over a plate of eggs, bacon and a hot bowl of grits. The aroma of his black cup of coffee ran up his nose and ran circles around his brain. He heard the door rattle as an glanced over at an elderly couple walked in. He tried not to stare but he couldn’t take his eyes off of them; they were obviously an old farm couple but not undignified. They were dressed to go to town and looked nice yet out dated by generations. They reminded Bubbie of his own grandparents long since passed.

The old man held his lady by the arm as they passed through the busy diner. As the host seated them, they physically parted, but the spirits were one. The invisible force between them resonated with a oneness, a commitment to one another that was both primitive and ageless. Uncle Bubba thought of Sweet Pea; he was so far from home. He wondered if they had that kind of devotion. He saw it in his grandparents. They worked hard and relied on each other because technology did not pamper them. The toughed out the Depression. They clung to their values as they slowed with age and the world sped up. There was no propagandized 24 hour news on TV. There was no internet or email where complete strangers can send derogatory, biased and misleading chain mail; they formed their own opinions. They lived by their wits because they had to. In Bubbie’s view, the old folks were the best folks. With that thought he slugged down his coffee, paid his check and left the waitress a big fat tip. He knew he had to get back on the road and call Sweet Pea just to tell her he loves her.

Way Down Upon The Suwannee River

Way down upon the Suwannee River, far, far away; that’s where my heart is turning ever, that's where the old folks stay. The truth may be that the old folks along the 266 miles of the Suwannee basin are the heart of Florida. They are the folks that were there long before Walt Disney and all those crazy Spring Breakers. The old folks and their ancestors are the folks that others make fun of; the folks that live and work in their community through good times and bad. They believe in God and Country and proudly display the 10 Commandments on the steps of the courthouse. They enjoy hunting and fishing and feel fortunate to live in a place where that is respected. They say, “Yes ma’am” and “Yes sir”; enjoy music and a good laugh. In Bubbie’s view, he reckons they’re a lot like folks in other rural areas of the US. Leave ‘em be and go on about your own business. All up and down the whole creation, sadly I roam. Still longing for the old plantation and for the old folks at home.

Freedom!

The whisper of wind carried the scent of orange blossoms and freshly cut hay. On the roadside a mockingbird danced with a locust. The crescendoed whir of tires on asphalt and the rush of a passing car brought Bubbie back to reality. He fired the growling engine of his Harley and gunned the throttle; it always shocked his heart like a defibrillator. Looking back over his left shoulder he kicked the bike into low gear and slowly released the clutch. Ahead the pavement shimmered like water yet as fast as he rode he could never catch it; he knew it but it never ceased to amaze him. In Bubbie's view, these fleeting moments are as close as one can get to freedom in America today.

Boy Scouts of America

I asked Uncle Bubba where he got his strong sense of community and moral convictions. He laughed and said he was just wondering the same thing not long ago. In Bubbie’s view it came form spending the majority of his childhood involved in church and the Boy Scouts. As a cub scout he’d walk to the Turner’s house, where Mr. and Mrs. Turner held their weekly pack meetings. “My Lord!” Bubbie laughed, “I was only but 6 years old then! But what great and loving people. I was friends with their son Timmy.”

According to the BSA website, “Since 1930, the Boy Scouts of America has helped boys of cub scouts age. Parents, leaders, and organizations work together to achieve the 10 purposes of Cub Scouting:
1. Character Development
2. Spiritual Growth
3. Good Citizenship
4. Sportsmanship & Fitness
5. Family Understanding
6. Respectful Relationships
7. Personal Achievement
8. Friendly Service
9. Fun & Adventure
10. Preparation for Boy Scout”

Uncle Bubba then graduated to Webelos, which stands for We Be Loyal Scouts. It’s a 20 month program for 4th and 5th grade boys to prepare them to join a Boy Scout troop. Mr. Tom Martin was his pack leader and is still to this day, all these years later a positive influence in Bubbie’s life. Uncle Bubba then became a boy scout and eventually attained the highest rank of eagle. Bubbie reckoned he’d been brainwashed from reciting the scout oath, law, motto, and slogan so many times, but only in a good way; see for yourself.

Scout Oath:
On my honor, I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my Country and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.

Scout Law:
A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.

Scout Motto:
Be prepared.

Scout Slogan:
Do a good turn daily.

He learned about citizenship in his community, the nation, and the world. He cheerfully performed many an act of community service. Why he told me that to this day he thinks about doing a good turn daily and doesn’t feel right until he’s accomplished it. You know, it’s one of those things that y’all don’t see the value in for years and years; then one day it all at once occurs to you. Thank God for good folks, adults with good values that take the time to mentor young’uns.

Tragedy in Binghamton

Less than 12 miles from Bubbie’s mama and daddy’s house, from his childhood home in West Corners, a tragedy occurred that made the national news; a gunman opened fire on a room full of immigrants taking a citizenship class, killing 13 people before committing suicide. Don’t y’all wonder why these idiots don’t commit suicide before harming anyone else? Cause he was mad I reckon. Mad about losing his job, mad about maltreatment, just mad... like insane! So of course the do-gooders start right in on preaching for gun control. In Bubbie’s view, had he been locked in a room with a “gunman”, he’d prefer to be armed.

Bubbie worries about his family there; it is such a traumatic event so close to home. Why do these things happen? There have been a rash of mass shootings lately; Alabama, California, North Carolina, and Binghamton in less than a month. In Bubbie’s view it is because of fear. Since 9/11 this country has been under the pressure of fear with our own government turning and tightening the screws. Our government that we expect to protect us had fallen short and instead of admitting it and taken responsibility, they played a trick on us; they blamed us, put us on the defensive, and isolate us by ethnicity, religion, and economics. We have been preached to daily to fear our neighbors, to lookout for and report anything to authorities. It’s become our national, communal mindset. Fear, like a cancer, spreads insidiously into every area of our lives, we don’t trust anyone anymore leaving us to feel isolated and alone in our own homes. But that is not how our society agreed to live! Remember united we stand, divided we fall?! Sure, we’re all mad; we’re mad at our neighbors who bought and built houses that they couldn’t afford. We’re mad at the banks--the bankers--that gave the bad loans. We’re mad at the congressmen and women that are so adept at berating their friends, the heads of corporations--whom by the way paid to get them elected--that make the “laws” that let them rape and ravish our banking and financial system. We’re mad at the cost of gasoline and groceries. We’re mad because we are fighting two wars in the Middle East. We are mad because our future is uncertain which breeds more fear. But we can’t lose our heads, we need to band together and take care of one another. We need to have positive talk and positive support for one another and we’ll recover. We’ll get back on track and, if we learn from it, we’ll be better off for it. Ain’t none of us gettin’ out of here alive, but don’t we love our families enough to leave them a better place to live? Wouldn’t you want to know that your loved ones are living in paradise?

Uncle Bubba told me he sometimes thinks about former president Bush. Sittin’ in his fancy new mansion in Dallas; wonder what he’s thinkin’? Never mind.

Susie Q's

Uncle Bubba was traveling, driving through the countryside and all of a sudden... BAM! he got hungry. Y’all ever get hungry like that? Like all of a sudden your belly is like a bottomless pit and you gotta eat, and you gotta eat now! Luckily he was comin’ up on Susie Q’s, a little ol’ barbecue shack on the side of the road in Sumterville. He pulled ‘er in and got himself a barbecue pulled pork samich with baked beans and a sweet ice tea. It was a beautiful day so he sat at one of the picnic tables on the side of the shop and thoroughly enjoyed his lunch. Mmm... the baked beans had generous pieces of barbecue mixed into it. His pork soused gaze fell upon the sign out by the side of the rode that read, “Stop! or we’ll both starve” and it got him to thinking. In these trying times don’t y’all just feel like independently owned and operated businesses deserve our patronage just that much more? I know, folks that work at chain restaurants need to make a living too, but in Bubbie’s view it’s time to get back to the independent spirit that America was built on. His lunch tasted all that much better at Susie Q’s.

A Nice Ride In The Country

I wonder if this happens to everyone; Uncle Bubba was driving the byways--intensionally avoiding the highways--and yet riding in traffic. I mean he was way out yonder where he should only see trees, grass, and cows. He had some great music on the radio and was throughly enjoying the scenic beauty of the pasture land and old farm homesteads, and yet a woman was tailgating him soooo closely. He checked his dash and he was 3 or 4 miles per hour over the speed limit, which was tenuously too fast for some of the curves on such a narrow stretch of road. Y’all know they can stretch that asphalt pretty thin on those country byways, no need for wide lanes and shoulders; it ain’t in the budget anyways. The lovely lady finally passed him nearly skinning the paint off of his bumper as she wheeled around him. “Well,” he thought, “sometimes we’re all in a hurry” and he drove on enjoying his trip. A few more miles down the road a big black shiny SUV came screaming around a curve headed in the opposite direction. Bubbie noticed that the tires looked like they were bending from the rims as they hugged the curve; straining to keep the black monstrosity from crossing the double yellow line and slamming head on into him and WHOOSH, it was past. “That fella can’t even realize the beauty he’s passing, and probably couldn’t care less”, he thought. “What a shame.”

Uncle Bubba spends a lot of time on the road, not by choice, but for his job. He can’t believe that everywhere he goes... everywhere he goes... everywhere... there is someone there, and guess what; they’re in a hurry. Thank the good Lord that bump drafting ain’t been made legal yet, though so many folks would just as soon love to run y’all over as look at you. It’s rude. It’s selfish. When are we all gonna get it that we are supposed to be looking out for one another, through the eyes of love? In Bubbie’s view, it better come soon.

A Cowboy's Rebel Heart

Uncle Bubba remembered, after I made the last post, that there was a sweet antidote that meant the world to him. He was singin’ his cowboy set at the museum and kicked ‘er off with America the Beautiful. He sang two verses and then noodled around on the guitar in the same key of D a little before seguing right into Dixe. He’d been a watching this fella standing at the entrance, about 15 feet away that was quietly singing along. As Bubbie started into Dixe that fella removed his cowboy hat and held it over his heart! He looked over at Uncle Bubba; smiled and nodded before closing his eyes again and quietly sang along. Bubbie was so touched at the thought that his music had stirred that cowboy’s rebel heart. Of course—it’s what’s in one’s heart that matters most. God bless.

A Cowboys Life

In the movies, between the indian attacks, shoot outs, and rescuing the beautiful ladies in distress; a cowboys life is one of long days of working chores, mending fences and tending cattle. This workaday part of a cowboy's life is still alive today and it is as far from glamourous as any lifestyle with little monetary reward, but a cowboy is at one with the environment--at any moment the victim of Mother Nature’s whims or champion by the grace of God. Nature not withstanding, their profit margin grows or shrinks on the turn of the market. A small portion of this life has been captured in an exhibit at the Florida Museum of History titled, “Florida Cattle Ranching”.

The Duke called on Uncle Bubba to join him at the exhibit this past week. It was the grand opening as well as the State Legislature’s Regular Session had convened and the Duke had to go press the flesh and lay down the law. Uncle Bubba has been known to play a little guitar and sing and, remarkably, the Duke asked him to serenade the patrons of the exhibit with some ol’ cowboy songs. Bubbie was honored that his friend thought enough of his musical talents as to think he could contribute to such a noble event. With Sweet Pea by his side, Bubbie sat comfortably on a stool outside the entrance to the exhibit and sang classic songs of Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Eddie Arnold, and Sons of the Pioneers. The cattlemen and their families passed slowly through the exhibit with smiles and small talk. Bubbie met some of the folks that were featured in the exhibit including members of the Seminole Indian tribe. They were very complimentary about the music, and there was just a tremendous sense of goodwill. Once again Uncle Bubba and the Duke had pulled off a remarkable experience and come out better for it.

Bubba Hears A Who

Uncle Bubba was laid up in his hammock under cypress and swamp maple trees. He closed his eyes and an unrestrained breeze whisked across his exposed skin. Through his eyelids he could perceive the brilliant sunlight dancing through the green canopy in the cloudless blue sky. Then his eyes cracked open and he squinted, staring up through the delicate green foliage into that blue endlessness. It was then that he had one of those profound moments when one realizes that we are on this tiny round speck floating around in space. It is right there, beyond the tree tops; space. In our daily perspective is derived from our upright posture always looking forward rather than up. We lay prone in our beds at night, in the dark, looking at the ceiling. We avoid the perspective of living in an enormous galaxy of 400 billion stars and their planets which is 100,000 light years across. It never crosses our minds that the only thing that separates us from deep space is our atmosphere that we see only as that brilliant blue sky; and adding clouds only clouds our vision; it’s too much for our egocentric minds.

So our focus is on our puny little lives. We pompously debate issues such as global warming instead of taking care of our own backyard. We think that our use of chemicals to fight bugs, keep a green lawn, a clean house, our eggs from sticking to the pan and our hair in place is so small that it could never an mount to anything dangerous. We drive by the litter on the sides of our roads and shake our heads at the contempt of the litter bugs, but we never stop and pick it up. We spend billions of dollars on research to discover things we really don’t want to know or heed. We fight wars and wait for poor people to fail so we can swoop in and take what little they have. We separate ourselves by race, religion, and economics; never thinking that we are living on a speck floating in space. Who do we think we are?

New School

If you read the previous post about the Dark Ages, this conversation with Uncle Bubba came from that. He wanted to go on the record on the topic of public education. In Bubbie’s view, the current public school system is broke for the sake of being archaic. It is an outdated method for not just educating our children and improving their strengths, but serving the family, our nation, and future generations.

Our schools are failing because they are organized according to a bureaucratic, monopolistic model for which $115 billion is allocated over the next two years. And we all know this number will decrease dramatically once the Congress get their greedy hands on it, but nonetheless, this is a lot of money spend on a broken, hold the line, status quo, brick and mortar operation. Why not spend that money setting up an educational system that combines home schooling and technology? Each child in America could be set up with a laptop connected to a satellite WIFI secure network. They could work at there own pace for less hours per day lost in preparation, travel, socialization, and wasted time in group dynamics in the classroom. The thousands of teacher’s and administrator’s salaries would be eliminated as only a few will be needed to teach the entire country. How much money could be saved if we eliminated the hundreds and hundreds of school superintendents that individually make hundreds of thousands of dollars each year?

It is not unusual for a child to have a minimal average of 4 hours worth of homework per day; that’s home schooling folks. A side benefit of Uncle Bubba’s idea would force the interaction of parents increasing family time. Since the children are not tied to a fixed schedule, the parents can no longer use the excuse that their work robs them of time with their children; they will actually have to be accountable to their children.

Alternatively, we could use the old brick and mortar schools for daycare. It would be cheaper to hire babysitters and daycare professionals to watch over our children as they socialize and have play time while parents worked. Bubbie admits these are lofty thoughts from a simple old country boy like himself, but it seems that with little effort the details could be worked out; we just need to get out of these Dark Ages and into the light.

These Are The Dark Ages

One cannot turn on a TV, radio, or read anything that doesn’t expound the gloom and doom that our country faces; frankly, because misery loves company. Nothing was ever made better, no problem was ever solved by repeating over and over again how dire one’s circumstances are. Uncle Bubba shared an interesting perspective with me stating that these are the Dark Ages; adding that we have to realize where we are before we can map out where we want to go. He points to specific examples that I hadn’t recognized until he mentioned them. The best that the big three American auto makers can come up with for “innovative” design is to remake modern versions of classic muscle cars; the Ford Mustang, the Chevy Camaro, the Dodge Charger and Challenger. Of course we know they are preying on the aging baby-boomers whim for their youth; but if we look a little deeper, we see that they have proven that as innovators, this is the best that they can do. Come on, since the mid seventies we’ve known that these cars, any gasoline powered car would quickly become a dinosaur. This is the same generation that grew up watching The Jetsons. We are supposed to be riding around in hydrogen powered bubble jets by now.

This is but one example and in Bubbie’s view, here is the core issue. This Dark Age is exactly like the original period of cultural decline or societal collapse that took place in Western Europe between the fall of Rome and the eventual recovery of learning. The reason is that we have too much technologic information. Technology, especially computerized calculation of data has sped up time so that time is traveling faster than the human bio-rhythm of life so our best minds are working slower than even the potential of the current technology. It is going to take a renaissance in thinking to propel us to reach the potential that we all know exists. We cannot repeat the same old tired pattens and expect something new to come of it; that’s insanity. We need to stop resting on the laurels of smaller faster PCs and cells phones that do crazy, but useless things, and increase the quality of our lives across the board while saving money and the environment. We need to achieve the dreams of our dreams; where the light is.

Some New News

In Bubbie’s view, its time to get back to some basics. In particular, we need to turn off the news and get back to work. If we look up the definition of news in the dictionary we find that it is nothing more than a report of recent events and previously unknown information. The thing that strikes Bubbie is that it doesn’t say anything about reporting facts. So without fact, news can be a lie. Through technology, we have developed a non stop inundation of news, which has turned into machines of propaganda. Have you noticed that it’s everywhere? One can hardly go to a restaurant or even the gym without a 24 hour news channel piping in the propaganda.

Here’s the thing, there was a time when a man needed to know the weather and knew how to read the signs in nature. A few short moments were spent reading the newspaper because there was work to do, which by the way included making sure one’s neighbor was OK as well. Remember the first bit of news? The good news, the gospel; the news we were supposed to read and share.

So in Bubbie’s view it is time to start anew. Take the energy expended in worry, perpetuated by the news, and put it to work. Turn off the unceasing TVs and get busy.

Bubbie Memoirs - Uncle Gary

Memoirs are but a window shade that is drawn back just far enough to peer in and glimpse experiences, circumstances and relationships that influence one’s life. Recently Bubbie shared some memories with me that were too relevant to his life not to write down. He laughed raucously as he regaled tales of Uncle Gary. Uncle Gary is Sweet Pea’s uncle; her father’s younger brother, the middle of three sons. But for some years he was Bubbie’s close compadre and traveling buddy. Bubbie was in his twenties then. A time when he was living, existing, fighting, struggling, and yet enjoying the many of life’s moments. Don’t we all think we know it all in our twenties only to grow and know that we are so young, so inexperienced yet so alive. Uncle Gary was ten years older and that much wiser than Bubbie, or so Bubbie thought.

Uncle Gary liked his beer; Budweiser his preference. He also loved to cook out on his kettle grill and many a Sunday was spent in his backyard tending a slow cooking brisket, swapping stories, and sipping a cold beer. Between drags on his cigarette and sips of Bud, he’d lift the lid of the grill and throw a handful of pecan shells in the coals for some smokey flavor. This was so well choreographed that it was invisible to the untrained eye because the air was alive with his non stop spinning of hilarious tales that he always swore was the “gospel truth”. He’d recall how Sweet Pea’s daddy, Butch, made him smoke cigarettes they stole at 7 years of age. They took then from home and the only way he could stop Gary from squealing was to make him smoke them too. Then there was the time at about the same age, that Lowell Baldwin run over him with a tractor. Yep, it run right over his stomach and if the ground hadn’t been soft beneath him, it’d a killed him.

Bubbie and Uncle Gary made many tales of their own. They had an agreement that they go into the beer drinkin’ business and occasionally finish drywall on their days off. Uncle Gary could tape and bed three coats of drywall mud as glassy smooth as Michael Angelo polished marble. He’d bark at Bubbie, “ Just dust the sander boy, don’t sand it hollow!” and then he’d half laugh, half bluster as he told of all the times he had to fix some laborer’s overly profuse, ignorant mistakes. He was a true craftsman and took pride in it, and wouldn’t mind telling you as much. On occasion Bubbie found Uncle Gary’s arrogance tiresome, but more often it’d make him laugh. Bubbie always figured and man that doesn't have much needs something to hang his hat on. Uncle Gary didn’t have much. Outside of his family--his wife, and four beautiful daughters--a few constants were his drywall finishing skill, an old truck, his drywall tools and his golf clubs.

Uncle Gary idolized his older brother Butch, but he could never reconcile Butch’s propensity for meanness. Gary was a friend, not a fighter; Butch was the opposite. Gary marveled at what he saw as Butch’s ability to manipulate people, “just like Tom Sawyer”. Nevertheless, Gary tried in vain to emulate is big brother through imitation. Bubbie recalled a morning when they were headed to work. As usual, Uncle Gary rolled up to a waiting Bubbie and he’d jump in, anxious to start the day. True to form, Uncle Gary, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette, regaled him with the events of the previous evening as he navigated the old tuck about a 30 mile ride through the winding, 2 lane country roads and rolling hills towards Ithaca, NY. His brother-in-law, Todd, had come by and Gary was exceptionally proud of himself in that he convinced Todd to change the brake pads on his truck. Convincing Todd was always as easy as handing him a cold beer and complimenting his mechanical abilities. Next thing you know he is covered in black grease, buried up under the wheel-well of the flimsily jacked vehicle with Gary standing, watching over his shoulder, coaching and keeping the cold beer readily on hand.

Bubbie and Uncle Gary were finishing drywall in housing units for Ithaca College students. As Uncle Gary spun his tales, they made their way through the early morning light to Route 96B which waves along the high hilltops before diving deep down a long, long, steep, straight grade into the town of Ithaca. There was an intersection and convenient store about half way down the hill that they stopped at for a morning coffee and to fill the cooler with Budweiser and ice for the trip home. As they neared their turn, Uncle Gary pressed firmly on the binders. From under the front end came an awful whirring sound that grew as he stood harder on the brake pedal. They slowed some, but passed right on by the intersection! His thigh muscles pulsed as he pumped the brake pedal harder and harder; Bubbie could hear Uncle Gary choke back the panic in his voice as he cursed Todd. Finally the old truck, whirring and squalling, whoa’d at the bottom of the hill just short of running out of road and near catastrophe! Uncle Gary turned and made it all the way back up the steep grade without a word; as if it was just business as usual. Bubbie held his laughter as Uncle Gary glided her to a stop in the small parking lot of the Jiffy store. Trying to keep a serious face he slipped out of the passenger side door and took a look at the front calipers.

“Oh my God!” declared Bubbie, “The pads are on backwards! He’s got metal on metal and the pad against the piston!”

I knew I shouldn’t have taken my eye off of him,” Gary ranted, “ I only went inside for no more than a minute to use the John!”

It was a few hours and a few beers later by the time Uncle Gary cooled down enough to talk about anything else but what an idiot his idiot brother-in-law was. Bubbie offered to help him fix the problem when they returned home, but Gary grumbled, “Naw, I’m gonna make Todd do it.” as he drove off.

A few days had passed before Bubbie saw Uncle Gary again. A man sometimes needs a few days to get his dignity back after a big event. Bubbie figured he need a cooling off period and little was said about the incident for a long while... until Gary could laugh about it himself. The triumph of it was that he could. Uncle Gary taught Bubbie so many valuable lessons in life, often what not to do, but lessons none the less.

Bubbie has so many fond memories of Uncle Gary and other characters that filled his life with love and laughter. I’ll do my best to share more of his memoirs in the future.

God Bless Billy Powell

God bless you Billy Powell. You became a roadie for Lynyrd Skynyrd in 1970, eventually promoted to keyboardist and a full fledged member of the band. What a life, you played on some of the best Southern Rock recordings ever made, you survived a plane crash... a plane crash in McComb, Mississippi in 1977! And you were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006. So many accomplishments for a young man taken from this earth at age 56. Rest in peace and tell Ronnie, Steve, Alan, Cassie and Dean we miss them all, and keep rockin’! God bless you Billy Powell. You brought me great happiness and contributed to the theme song of my life.

God speed!

Another Stuper Bowl

What can one say about yet another Stuper Bowl? Sure, it satisfies the need for greed in a few overbearing rich dudes. It’s sometimes even entertaining, sometimes. However it, as NASCAR, has reached the point of no return. The show is bigger than the event; like eating chicken broth from a gold plated tureen. The NFL quite successfully stages the façade to presume that the “game” is for everyone, but it’s not. It’s only, and has always been only for the fans of the teams competing. But for the rest of us, it’s as good a reason as any to have a party.

In Bubbie’s view, some of the funny things include the players introducing themselves. Yep, these fellas obviously get paid too much money for beating people up. I’m sure the dean of UNC was proud of his former student declaring he played at the University of NORF Carolina! Or that skinny little number 10 that plays for the Pittsburgh Steelers declaring that he always wanted to be a super star, and now he is one. Hmmm… a little pretentious? But it was a good game, sure to be declared one of the greatest, but then aren’t they all? Bubbie says that with that kinda hype up front, it’s sure to lead to a pile of bull left behind.

Inauguration Day

No doubt that there were Americans that didn’t regard today as anything but mundane. Some have been overheard to mutter that inauguration day is no more than an exchange of politicians, all liars and “the same old thing.” Well Bubbie is not one of them. Though Bubbie did not vote for the statuesque man at the podium with his left hand on the bible, Lincoln’s bible, his right hand in the air; Bubbie cannot cast aside the feeling of hope, hope for a better America in his heart. In Bubbie’s view, you can’t deny the ugliness of racism, especially within the lifetime of Martin Luther King Jr., and appreciate the significance of the inauguration of President Obama. Let's get off on a good foot; start anew, raise the bar, and work together to build America back into a prestigious country, a world leader that stands for good.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

Uncle Bubba drove to town. He turned from the hard road out on to the 4 lane and wound up his ol’ pickup, stabbed ‘er into 4th and motored on. “My Lord!” he thought, “When times are good our senseless leaders do spend some money.” as he noticed the plethora of signage littering the roadsides. Good God almighty, have we become so dumb that we need large yellow diamond shaped signs telling us that the speed limit is going to change, just prior to the slower speed limit signs? Some of those suckers are so big they take two posts to hold them up. As he slowed from 55 mph to 45 mph to the town speed limit of 35 mph he passed 4 signs within a couple hundred yards to let him know what 2 signs did before. Yessir, now we need a sign between two signs to tell us that the next sign is going to be differ’nt.

Well, in Bubbie’s view, during the housing bubble the tax revenue flowed like an overflowing river after a spring thaw. Our commissioners and such had an abundance of money and a scarcity of vision. They spent it all. On signs.

Today, Lucky Today!

In Bubbie’s view, TODAY he is the luckiest man on the face of the earth. He supposes that it may be that he has lived just long enough to see the braided threads that create the colorful fabric personifying his life's history and the advantage of a vision that enables him to see far beyond his corporeal senses. Of course there may be an evangelical southern preacher or two that will declare that there is no such thing as luck, that God has blessed us all and fate dances with faith to a silent tune heard only by babies, madmen, and prophets. True as that may be, Bubbie doesn’t pay that much mind for fear of silencing the vibrant song in his own heart--you know, like finding love only when you stop looking for it. He knows what he knows and today he knows that a secret may not be truly a secret, only a sound that cannot be heard by all. He knows who is playing his tune. He knows that TODAY he is happily floating in grace with his head bumping against the sky blue sky. As he bumpity-bumps along, the vibration will create a precipice between the cotton clouds that he can slip through--rising to the next level. He also knows the rhetorical result, that he hasn’t lived long enough to know what’s coming next and peace abides in the moment were he also holds his attention. TODAY, RIGHT NOW, THIS MOMENT!

Bad Little Kitty

Uncle Bubba found a cat. It was old, scrawny, and haggard but it had all the appearances of potentially being a cool cat. As it turned out, it had been left for dead several times and was virtually alone. He brought it in an nurtured it, fed and watered it, tended to it wounds. Before long it began to grow healthy and in spite of its quirks Uncle Bubba grew more fond of it. Unfortunately as it's strength came back it would occasionally nip and scratch at Bubbie until one day he was floored as it pounced on him and bit him hard! It was then that he realized why the cat was alone when he found him. Not only that but he hated cats! In Bubbie's view, that potentially cool cat turned out to be just a miserable ol' pussy.