No Palace Like Home

Uncle Bubba is home. Big deal, right? Well, it is to him; he's been working in eastern Kentucky for 54 straight days. He's spent so much time there over the past two years that they've given him the honorary title of Brother Appalachian American, that's what hillbillies like to call themselves now. And why not, it has been well documented that these fine folks are very clannish and their isolated existence is tribal like. It's Bubbie's view that if the rest of the country had the strong sense of family and community that Appalachian Americans do, we'd be fighting together instead of against one another.

But I digress, back to Bubbie returning home. His bosses, and there are many of them, think that they own him. They have made it clear to him that he is a resource first and a person second. So they couldn't care less if Uncle Bubba or his co-workers get homesick and tired of living on the road. But in returning home there are so many things that most folks take for granted, yet make a house a home. Uncle Bubba shared a few things with me that often strikes him after a long stay away from home; like having a refrigerator, to walk over, open it up and peer inside. How wonderful to have choices of food to select from when one is in the mood. There is the choice of all of his clothes in his closet and dresser to wear as opposed to the few items in his suitcase. Oh! And some real coffee; not that muddy hotel sock water that seems to be at every hotel. He also has to take a few moments to relearn his TV remote and channel lineup, how to use the settings and buttons on the microwave, things like that. In Bubbie's view, and he knows it's cliche, but there really is no place like home.

September 11, 2011

Uncle Bubba strolled through the hotel lobby, headed for the first morning cup-o-joe. He sipped the hot black liquid as the aroma filled his head and he glanced at a headline in a newspaper. In regard to the attacks on America on September 11, 2001, it said that the mantra: "Make sure the terrorists don't win." Bubbie scoffed at it. Yes, it's been 10 years since we began to beat that drum and if we take off our rose colored glasses we'll have to admit that we have traded our freedom for security; have you flown on a commercial flight lately? We, born and raised in the good ol' USA are treated as criminals in every facet of our lives; from the 8 forms of ID needed to renew a driver's license to restrictive, intrusive security at sporting events. We can't cross a boarder without a passport and the threat of incarceration, yet we just keep opening the door to potential volatile anti-American foreigners and letting them into our country. In Bubbie's view, we'll never forget the tragedy of 9/11 but will we ever remember America before then?

Road Crows

Uncle Bubba was driving the byways of Eastern Kentucky twisting over the switchbacks and rolling along the rock ledges to Buckhorn Lake. It was early morning at the crack of fog as he climbed higher and higher out of Hazard, headed to a rendezvous with a Kentucky bass. As the miles mounted the sun cracked through the trees as he left the fog in the valley's below. Rounding a rock ledge curve the road actually, remarkably straightened out for several yards and Bubbie descended a slight grade. Three black crows stood in the center of the road as Uncle Bubba quickly approached. Two crows hopped and flapped and hurriedly flew to the trees that lined the road, but the third crow stood in the middle of the road just a little bit longer. It took a few steps towards the left lane before eventually flying off to join it's mates, annoyedly watching Bubbie speed past. Uncle Bubba smiled to himself and thought, "I reckon I'm just like the third crow." The third crow hangs out to check things out and get the whole story. He has to get the most out of every situation, he can't be flighty and maybe miss something. And there's a little rogue in the third crow. He enjoys the thrill of a near brush, a dramatic close shave, the edge of danger. In Bubbie's view, that third crow has no more choice in his approach to life as Uncle Bubba has. We all have our own God given style.