Killer Storms

Killer Storms

Uncle Bubba cut off his cable subscription this past year as a conscious decision to depart from the propaganda. He wasn't sure that Sweet Pea would be pleased but he was as much concerned for her well-being as his. As it turns out, she is fine with it and has come to realize the benefits of it in that she has focused her attention on other things that she enjoys much more like crafting and listening to music. So Bubbie was unaware that they're now naming winter storms as they do with hurricanes. No sir, he had no idea that this was going on until he drove his son, Bubbie Jr. to the airport the day after Christmas. They were sitting in an airport restaurant eating lunch and a TV behind the bar was projecting the weather channel. Of course, when one is traveling the weather is a concern so it seemed appropriate to be airing the weather channel. But that's when Bubbie Jr. mentioned that he was glad that he missed Euclid. "Huh?" Bubbie thought, "What is that, some Jewish holiday celebration?"

"Yeah." Bubbie agreed, "Hey, it looks like another storm is coming across the state of Washington. The north could get another round of winter weather later this week."

"Yeah, it's Freyr." Bubbie Jr. replied.

"What?"

"They're naming winter storms now Daddy. And they're using some pretty strange names."

Uncle Bubba recognized that this is yet another ploy of the crappy 24 hour TV media that needs something to talk about. They invent things to worry about to try and bait people into staying tuned into them, which by the way, gives Bubbie another reason to be glad that he canceled my cable subscription. Once you know the weather report for the day do you really need to watch all day long? He's noticed that every storm is now a killer, that they can find at least one person that died. OK, remember when we were kids? It snowed, we shoveled, we played in it, no big deal. Then it would melt a little and then another snow storm would come for a day and repeat of above... Was anyone panicked? Did anyone die? Hell yes, someone always dies! We're freakin human and that's part of the deal!!! Some dumb ass kid will crash his car, or an old fart will have a heart attack while shoveling. Duh! But in Bubbie's view, we all bitch about how the news only reports the bad stuff; well how much news worthy bad stuff is there really because they repeat the same stories over and over for weeks. And they have to make up names of killer storms to scare people into staying tuned in.

Tis The Day After Christmas

Tis the day after Christmas and all through the house, not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse; well except for Uncle Bubba of course. Actually, Sweet Pea was up and early this morning to go in to work so Bubbie is sitting in the quiet at is kitchen table alone, sipping coffee and gazing out the window. The energy of the day before still lingers in the air and as he looks around the place the Christmas tree looks dark and tired after doing such an admirable job. Bubbie smiles because he can still see it lit up and glowing brightly the day before with all of the shiny, colorful presents encircling it's base and spilling out into the room. It was so pretty before the kids arrived and tore thru the gifts like a school of piranhas. There was a whirlwind of colored shards of ribbons and papers and little arms and fingers spinning around in the air over a high pitched sound of excited little voices and within minutes they had laid waste to the hours of preparing and wrapping. As the storm settled they looked around, still on the high of their frenzied avariciousness until their big smiles and wide eyes returned as they were reminded that they still had to empty their stockings on the mantel that Santa had filled. They all leapt to their feet and dashed off to find the last of the unopened gifts yelling, "Which one is mine?"

Uncle Bubba looked over at the kitchen sink and thought to himself, "I need to finish washing all of the pots and pans and get them put away for Sweet Pea today. That sure was some good food that Sweet Pea spread out yesterday. Man, did I ever eat too much!" There was a prime rib, a stuffed turkey breast, candied yams, mashed potatoes, green beans, and dinner rolls. She set out a pumpkin and pecan pie for dessert. Bubbie ate himself miserable!

Bubbie draws another sip of his hot, black coffee and feels a sense of relief that it's all over and life will go back to it's more mundane routine. He thoroughly enjoyed the holiday and received his only wish of being home with the family and especially Sweet Pea, but there's something about the endless celebration and anticipation leading up to Christmas that wears a body out. In Bubbie's view, he likes a nice break between Thanksgiving and Christmas. As he turns his gaze back out the window he appreciates the idea of the 12 days of Christmas; yeah, who ever came up with that knew what they were doing.

The Road Of Life

Uncle Bubba was riding down the road in his ol' black pickup truck. The sun was shining brightly through the trees and as the shadows of leaves dappled across his windshield he should have had a sunny disposition but he was wrasslin' around something in his mind. You see, Bubbie has always thought of himself of as a live and let live kinda feller. He's always treated folks the way that he's wanted to be treated, which is one of his tenets of life. He, himself, wants to be left alone. He reckons that most folks feel this way. That doesn't mean that he doesn't enjoy the company of his family, or friends. But he doesn't like the idea of being approached by solicitors, busybodies, or bigger yet, being under the insidious watchful eye of "big brother". So he goes about his business and in doing so he tries to be a good neighbor. He looks after his property with care. He tires to balance his time so that he has the time to keep his lawn mown and his bushes trimmed, his garden weeded and his house neatly clean and painted. He knows that his yard is not the best in his neighborhood, but it's better than others; after all he's a working man and only has so much time and energy to spend on it. But as he drives down so many roads he sees the property of others that is not so well maintained. These good folks seem to have the means to afford it, yet year in and year out they just don't get much accomplished and it causes him to wonder. Ya reckon they're just lazy? One never knows what is going on in another person's life - not really - so he reckons that the majority of them must be just plain lazy save a few with some real problems. That idea just sits like a burr under Bubbie's saddle and there in lies his dilemma! For if he acts upon his annoyance then he is not the live and let live kinda feller that he likes to think that he is. Yet we all know that some folks won't move unless they have a fire lit under them and for some even a 2 alarm inferno won't make a difference. But Uncle Bubba does what he always does; he moves on and remembers that it's often better to let sleeping dogs lie lest someone comes around complaining about him. As he drove a little further and thought about his thoughts, pondered his perceptions and deliberated his duality, a song entered the back of his mind and wiggled it's way through until he was humming the tune to himself. It was Torn Between Two Lovers by Mary MacGregor.
"Torn between two lovers, feelin' like a fool, Lovin' both of you is breakin' all the rules..."

"Oh Lord," Bubbie thought, "I've really lost it now!"

This whole split in his thinking must be wearing on him more than he thought! And what the heck was up with those '70s songs anyhow? That young lady sounded downright happy singing that song! She was telling her feller that she loved him and wanted him to stay but had another lover! That just ain't right! There were all kinds of weird songs like that back in the '70's. There was that Angie Baby by that Helen Reddy about a girl that weren't right and she stayed in her bedroom living in a world of make-believe. Then the sneaky peeper neighbor boy snuck over and she made him vanish with her loud music or hid him somewhere; we'll never know. Then there was Michael Jackson's song Ben, a doggone love song to a rat. True, it was for a movie, but it took off to be a hit record and still strangely enough it was essentially a boy singing sweetly to another boy. That ain't right! The list can go on and on but why sustain the torture. For Uncle Bubba, he has lived long enough to know that over time it's not easy to keep an open mind; it's an exercise and with exercise comes strength. He understands that his live and let live ideal gets him by and suits his nature but he eventually has to stand up for things as well; he just tries to choose his battles carefully. In Bubbie's view, the road ahead is smooth and clear and its best that he just stay looking forward out of the windshield; there's plenty of livin' to do.

Home For The Holidays!

Uncle Bubba made it home for the holidays. He was up every hour on the hour the night before in anticipation of getting the heck outta Dodge. When he got to the airport it was once again crowded. He waited in a long line with stressed out businessmen and fighting couples to check his bags and noticed an Army dude two people behind him in line. He asked the cammo'ed feller when his flight was and it was earlier than Bubbie's so he invited Joe Army to move up in front of him in line. Would you believe some people were giving snarky looks about that?! Sure, of course you would because that's the world we live in, the self centered America that we've all created. Bubbie was surprised when the couple that was spatting just in front of him eventually noticed the soldier and let him ahead as well. But the next man tried in vain to keep his head turned and not give notice and thus his precious place in line away. He succeeded in holding his place and proving that he is the jerk that he appeared to be.

Finally, after shuffling along in the long serpentined line, it was Uncle Bubba's turn at the baggage check counter. He set his first little suitcase on the scale and handed the lady his ID. She scans it and puts a tag on the bag. She pulls the suitcase off the scale and slings it onto the conveyor. Then Bubbie set his big suitcase on the scale and she's like, "Uh-Oh, it's one pound over. Take something out." He's looking at her like "seriously?" And she's looking at him like, "yes!" So he unzips it and of course all of his dirty, smelly clothes, socks and skivvies are on top because he chucked them in last, never expecting to open the suitcase until he arrived home. So Bubbie angrily reaches around in it trying to pull out something not so embarrassing and when he does she's says that it's OK now. She pulls it from the scale and abruptly flops it onto the conveyor. She yells over his head, "I can help the next person down here!"

Bubbie is left there a little stunned and quite annoyed, standing with a couple wadded up shirts and a goddarn beard trimmer. Great. Now he has to carry these on the plane with him. Lesson learned; put the big suitcase on first. Then you can stash any leftovers in the smaller one. By the way, how much UNDER weight was that small one? They couldn't average it out? What a bunch of dumb-asses! And what about the fat dude that sat next to Bubbie on the plane, the one that spilled over into Bubbie's personal space?!!! He's more than one pound overweight! Did they charge him more? There's not much worse than flying for travel. Yes, it's fast and that's awesome, but...

Bubbie collected himself and looked around for an escape route of which there was none so he had to excuse himself back across through the line of future, anxious, baggage checkers to the even more anxious security line. He took a moment to try and stuff his extra shirts and beard trimmer into his computer carry-on and while doing so, several rude people cut in front of him in line. He reckoned that he should have stayed right on the bumper of the dude in front of him but oh well, too late now. He considered making a comment but it was barely six in the morning and he just wasn't up for it. When they approached a point in the line where it split in two directions, the couple that jumped ahead of Bubbie where perplexed on which way to go. They were discussing the options and leaned towards the right line that appeared to be moving faster at the moment but zigzagged towards the front. Bubbie stepped up along the left side of the rude couple to assist them in their decision and they went for it; Bubbie was glad to be rid of them. He smiled as they kept looking in his direction to gauge if they had made the right move or not. Bubbie thought, "Some people are so stupid. What does it matter? We're all getting through the line when we get through the line." Eventually Uncle Bubba made it to the front of the security a line. The poor feller in front of him was as nervous as a canary in a cage full of cats. Bubbie gave him some space and told him to take his time, there was no pressure. While Bubbie was waiting his turn the dude behind him was trying to reach around him and grab a plastic bin! Bubbie said, "Excuse me, but you'll have to wait your turn. I need about 4 of those bins, and you aren't going anywhere until I do."

Uncle Bubba made it through the security line and quickly gathered his belongings. He found a bench to the side of the crowd and got himself redressed and his belongings back in his carry-on bag. He headed for the gate and noticed the rude people from earlier standing at the TSA counter with their arms out being scanned and patted down. Ha ha! That's karma!

On the other end of his flight he peaked around the chubby fellers sitting around him saw the familiar surroundings out the plane windows as the jet touched down. He was home! He knew that Sweet Pea was waiting for him in the airport and he couldn't make it there fast enough. He exited the tram and saw her standing across the room, her radiant beauty as stunning as any shining star. He hurried towards her and she turned to see him approaching and broke into a beautiful smile. He grabbed her in his arms and gave her a long and proper kiss. She smelled like a piece of heaven. In Bubbie's view nothing else matters for a time; Uncle Bubba is home for the holidays! Merry Christmas!

Lincoln

Uncle Bubba darted through traffic on a cold Ohioan night, switching lanes and sashaying trough the traffic lights and intersections as he struggled to find the theater. He was running late and was tired from a long week's work yet he looked forward with anticipation to spending a few mystical hours in a dark movie theater, lost in shadows between the flickering lights; a reprieve from eternal verities, an escape from reality. He parked his truck and shuffled quickly across the busy parking lot, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets and his collar raised to guard against the creeping dampness. He was running late according to the start time of the movie listing but he knew that he had a buffer depending on the number of previews that they were showing. As he stood a dozen deep in line he hoped that the quality of the anticipated viewing matched his conjured expectations. Then it was his turn at the ticket booth and he stepped up to the plexiglas, "One for Lincoln please."

Uncle Bubba navigated his way through the dark theater halls and rounded the corner and entered the dimly light, cavernous room of stadium seats and flickering images. He quickly surmised that there were only seats available down in the front area since he had shown up a bit late. Following the footlights he found a comfortable seat of the few remaining, settled in and watched the last preview before the film started. The tone of the movie is blue, cold and damp but Lincoln prevails through it with a warm and wise character. The film is based in part on Doris Kearns Goodwin's biography of Lincoln, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln, and covers the final four months of Lincoln's life so it's ideal to remember that it is not a documentary, it is made to entertain, not educate but it manages both wonderfully. The film makers and actors did an exceptional job of showing the complexity of Abe's life as father, husband, politician, and President measured against just being a man; all within 150 minutes.

Uncle Bubba realizes that he is heavily influenced by my own current life and the forces upon it in that he is sacrificing his home life and comfort to make a living and take care of Sweet Pea, but he came away from the movie thinking that it may be the greatest movie he's ever seen but he doesn't know why. There are so many layers and levels to sift through. The film poignantly displays examples of courage and sacrifice, courage by soldiers and courage by some irascible politicians of that era. Uncle Bubba is a man that prides himself on his toughness but admitted that he literally cried three times while watching and he doesn't know if he's ever done that in a movie theater. In the end, he was pretty choked up at the end and had to gather himself as the credits rolled. He sat in the dark as others shuffled to the exits and wondered why he was so sorrowful. He reckoned that it reinforced the sadness he feels for his country in it's present state and mourning the loss of someone who may have contributed even more to the quality of our lives. He finally gathered himself and slid his arms through the sleeves of his coat while heading for the exit. He walked slowly down the sidewalk looking into the storefront windows while mulling his thoughts. The cold damp air seemed almost welcome now, like a slap in the face to bring one back to their senses. He walked to his truck considering how carefully Lincoln weighed individual circumstances of citizens and therefore how far removed our modern day Presidents are from us. Bubbie started the engine and sat silently waiting for the motor to warm up and the windows to clear. After several minutes he fiddled with the radio to find some music to bring him back from his thoughts. He recalled that though it wasn't mentioned in the movie, Bubbie knows that the U.S.-Dakota War was being fought in the state of Minnesota at the same time as the Civil War and Lincoln had to deal with that as well. He marveled at Lincoln's fortitude to handle all of the difficult things on his plate and still retain a sense of humor. It made him consider the courage that it takes to rise above one's personal interests and to compromise to achieve the most and with that, it reinforced his idea that having vision is a rare thing. Now here we are on the precipice of another financial crisis and in Bubbie's view, our Congress should be forced to spend 2 1/2 hours to watch this movie together. They may come away from it with a spirit to compromise on the immediate goals of avoiding the fiscal cliff and manage the immediate impact versus attempting to solve the entire debt crisis in one bill. There is no one thing that will fix our economy. But why not find common goals and compromise to achieve them knowing that everything is dynamic; great works are sculpted over time. We can have it all, just not all at once.

Finally, in speaking to Abraham Lincoln's vision, here is a quote that eerily predicted our future: “I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of my country. As a result of the war, corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high places will follow, and the money power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until all wealth is aggregated in a few hands, and the Republic is destroyed. I feel at this moment more anxiety for the safety of my country than ever before, even in the midst of war.”
–Abraham Lincoln in a letter written to William Elkin, 1860

Now, it's time for me to go. But I would rather stay.

Petraeus Betrayed Us

Petraeus betrayed us. That's Bubbie's story and he's sticking to it. We should all have a healthy sense of self worth and with that, have integrity. The old saying the integrity is measured by our behavior when no one is watching is something that runs through Uncle Bubba's mind all the time. Not so much because he is tempted to step out of line, but because of witnessing the asinine behavior of some many others. Leadership is accomplished by example, be it bad or good. Petraeus is just another self-centered public servant on a power trip. His apology is weak being that he never should have reached the point of having to need to apologize. He broke his oath and commitment to his wife, his family, and to all of us to which he served because he lacks integrity. Uncle Bubba sees this behavior on a regular basis; people in public service that abuse and misuse their authority to circumvent public ethical and professional standards. They have reached a level within their department where they quite honestly do very little hands on work. They walk around and are kowtowed to by the bootlickers and brown-nosers that are only looking to get a free ride or become their replacement. So the higher-ups, with a high income and idle time fall prey to their own egos and they succumb to their idealized immunity. Uncle Bubba's question is, how do we break the cycle? How do we bring integrity back into public service? It seems to him that we should begin by killing the virus that already exists in the system; purge the prevailing culture of corruption. Swift firing of lecherous perverts would do wonders for the government through and through. If that seems like common sense then common sense should tell you that this is not the way our government operates; quite the opposite. Sure Bubbie's scared, probably like you, that getting rid of fraudulent and unethical people wouldn't leave many left in service. But is that any reason not to do it? This is the home of the brave after all! But punishment is only half of the solution, positive reinforcement of ethical behavior and integrity will offer its own rewards. In Bubbie's view there are many good and honorable people ready and willing to step up and fill the void if only given a fair chance based on merit.

Declination of Fall

Uncle Bubba woke in his hotel room on Sunday morning with the sliver of sunlight slicing through the curtains. He rolled out of bed and into his clothes and walked out the door. He was greeted by the cool fall air as he walked out to his pickup; he had one thing on his mind: fishing. It was the one thing that he could do to not think about all the other worries of the world, if only for a few hours. Under the calming glow of the autumn sun, he drove to a nearby reservoir and pulled into a small park along the shore. His vehicle was the only one there so as far as he knew, he was alone. He grabbed his fishing gear and walked to the waters edge. There was a floating dock and he looked for the often common, "No Fishing From The Dock" signs. He didn't see any so he slowly walked out on it casting a lure left and right. He watched the water for any movement, a sign of fish in the area. As he walked out onto the main area of the dock he kept casting but took some time to drink in the moment, the beauty of the sky, the changing colors of the leaves.

Then he looked down and saw, "No Fishing" painted in faded red paint on the deck. He sneered thinking, "What am I hurting?" He fished a while longer before giving up. His stomach was hinting at his lack of breakfast and he hated getting skunked but it was time to head back towards the hotel, he was looking forward to getting cleaned up and a good meal. A couple classic rock songs played on the radio as he drove and he passed a fellow weed-whacking his lawn along the edge of his driveway. The dapper dude looked like an executive type, but proud that he's the manly type that's not afraid to roll up his sleeves and do a little hard work. Perhaps it was his sweatsuit, or his radio headphones, or his protective eyewear and gloves, or his coifed hair that gave him away. Bubbie laughed to himself because he knows what hard work is. That's when he was hit with an overwhelming feeling of melancholy. He wondered to himself, "Sure, he was a long way from home but it was a beautiful fall day. It wasn't even the sad Journey song playing on the radio." In Bubbie's view it was that knowing of the coming event over the next few weeks, after the beautiful leaves have reached their peak, after the lawn mowers have been put away. It's being wrapped in a universe of nearly unspeakable beauty and knowing that it, fleeting, will end all too soon -- the declination of fall.

What Have You Got?

Uncle Bubba is on the road again. He's been fighting off the blues because being away from his Sweet Pea for one moment is unbearable. He's learned a few tricks to keep readjusting his attitude and to keep him distracted from missing his beautiful bride. He stays busy, no grass grows under his feet. He's a shy feller but he tries to stay around people, at least enough to keep from becoming isolated in his own thoughts. For example, he went out to dinner with his coworkers and a good time was had by all... almost. He noticed a good looking, middle aged couple sitting across the room at the bar and discerned by there body language that they were uncomfortable with one another. Throughout the evening he occasionally glanced in their direction and could see that, with their hand gestures, they were having a low boiling argument. They would spat and then look away from one another for long periods of time. I hurt Bubbie's heart to see their trouble. He wanted to go over and say to them, "Think about your history and what you have, and what it would be like if you lost it. Do you think it can't happen? Consider how hard it is to find someone that you're compatible with. Maybe when you do you'll find that you have a lot of reasons to stay together. Is it worth fighting to get your own way and making each other sad to get it? If it cost you everything I bet it isn't." He thought about how much he missed his Sweet Pea and how precious his time is when he can be with her. In Bubbie's view, we should only be fighting to do all we can to keep a great and loving relationship. He and his group finished their dinner and they all arose to leave. Bubbie looked over at the couple one last time before walking towards the door. He secretly wished them each the best. He wondered if they would ever learn that they will only get what they most want when they become completely devoted to one another. He politely held the door for his friends before passing through it himself, closing the door on another day and getting him one day closer to getting home to his true love; Sweet Pea.

I Know Everything

It seems like we're living in the age where we know everything or at least too much, and Uncle Bubba is not so sure that he likes that. He doesn't want to know everything; like we know what's in hotdogs and we don't want to eat them anymore, or if we do it's just a little more difficult to enjoy them. Do we really have to know everything? Does it make things better? In the case of food, we are given all of the nutritional information right on the label and yet we're getting fatter; like the more we know the fatter we get. My grandparents each meat and potatoes cooked with lard, fried eggs and bacon, pies and cakes, three teaspoons of sugar in their coffee and lived long lives. They weren't fat. They also weren't aware that their diet was bad for them. It's seems that now we know what we eat will make us fat so our brains go, "OK, I guess I'll be fat!" It's like when Wile E. Coyote runs off of a cliff and he's doing fine until the roadrunner points out that he's not on the ground anymore.

You here it all the time; if your this age you should feel like this, if your that age you should feel like that. OK, back in the day they were also moving. They weren't parked in front of a TV or a computer screen. They gardened, they went hunting and fishing, they didn't have power steering and automatic transmissions in their vehicles so a trip wasn't like riding in a plush recliner like we have today. In Bubbie's view, not all progress is good for us. Yeah the world changes and we either keep up or get left behind, but as Bubbie's mama used to say, "If your friends jumped off of a cliff, would you jump off too?" Bubbie knows enough to keep things in balance. He knows everything in life is better in moderation.

Hammocks in the Hammock

Uncle Bubba was out working around the yard, no major chores, just the joy of puttering around in the fresh air and sunshine. As the hours passed he made his way towards his hammock that he has stretched between two trees. As he casts a short gaze upon it he reckons that he doesn't spend enough time lying in that comfortable cloth sling. After another lap around the yard he gives in to his inclination to flop into the hammock. He laid his head back and gazed up through the tree leaves, past the canopy up into the cobalt sky. How wondrous a sight of such a simple thing, yet of rare a sight if one does not take a moment to lie on one's back. A child wouldn't think twice about it. They fall on the ground and roll onto their backs and look at the clouds drifting by. But as an adult the view is different; it comes with more wisdom, more insight into what makes the trees and the clouds. And it comes with the knowledge that its finite, that nothing lasts forever; therefore the appreciation is much deeper, much more meaningful.

Bubbie relaxed and with a deep sigh he closed his eyes. He could feel the warmth of the sun dapple on his face as it danced through the leaves. He felt the air move across the hair on his arms as he rocked, floating above the ground; suspended comfortably. He would have loved to drift off to catch a few winks except for a bug that he felt walking on him. It made is skin crawl as he flinched. A bug. A simple, tiny insect, yet so annoying. In the chaotic business of life we often say that something bugs us. In Bubbie's view its a poignant moniker for those pesky buggers, the bug. So on this day he couldn't nap but he still had the rest.

PVT or VP?

The first thing that popped into Bubbie's mind...

Yeah, I can see some similarities. I'm afraid that more will become evident as time goes by.

What's Your Pleasure?

I received a rebuke of sorts from Uncle Bubbie about the last post. Behind his simple, soft spoken demeanor is lot of wisdom and I sometimes forget to take it all to seriously when I chat with Bubbie. He is so goodnatured and pleasant that it's not hard to laugh off many of his comments without regard for the wisdom which is imparted in them. Anyway, he reminded me that we had talked about finding happiness and when I had written, "the same theme repeated over and over throughout his tales, consider the thoughts and actions of someone other than yourself" from the last post I didn't go far enough. Bubbie and I were sitting on the porch in the heat of the afternoon discussing how happiness is not the same thing as pleasure. Happiness comes from within. As Aristotle says, happiness is an activity of the soul in accordance with areté (excellence or virtue). That's the ancient Greek Aristotle, not Buzz Aristotle that has the lumber mill out on county road 417. Buzz knows timber but he's not a people person. But now, pleasure is the natural accompaniment of unimpeded activity; a momentary feeling that comes from something external - a good meal, our stock going up, making love, and so on. In Bubbie's view, we here in the US are a pleasure seeking society. Most of us spend our energy seeking pleasure and avoiding pain, and hoping that by doing this we will feel happy.

Bubbie told me that for too long he walked around preaching that we should all try just a little harder to be happy but then realized that what he was preaching was his idea of happiness, which is different from anyone else's because we're all individuals. And since it comes from within one's soul, he could not know what anyone else could be feeling to generate their own happiness. He was quick to tell me that he still believes in finding happiness and the act of giving, but now on a different level. Likewise with pleasure, he assumed that all pleasure was positive but he now reckons that that ain't right either. Many folks find pleasure in destructive actions like gossip and drama. Why some of Bubbie's closest family and friends find pleasure stewing in their own misery; they must or they wouldn't do it. Take Wesley, a feller that Bubbie's known most of his adult life. In terms of our society's idea of success, Wesley had everything - a good job, a lovely wife and children, a beautiful home, and time to enjoy it all. Yet he was not happy. While he had momentary feelings of happiness while watching the truck pulls or drinking a cold beer with his friends, he also felt anxious and depressed much of the time. As the years passed and Bubbie hung around Wesley, it became apparent that Wesley's main desire in life was to have control over people and events. He wanted others to do things his way and to believe the way he believed. He was frequently judgmental with his coworkers, wife, children and friends, believing that he was right and they were wrong and it was his province to straighten them out with his judgment and criticism. Over time his natural demeanor had become hard and tough and he would be like a steamroller in his efforts to get his point across and get others to do things his way. When it worked and others gave in, Wesley felt a momentary pang of pleasure. But it wouldn't last and all the beer in the world couldn't easy the letdown. Uncle Bubba would spend hours trying to talk and more importantly listen to Wesley because as Bubbie said, "That's just what friends do." He discovered that Wesley also wanted control over his own feelings, and would often judge himself as harshly as he judged others in an effort to get himself to perform well and feel okay. He especially judged himself harshly when he felt rejected by others, frequently, secretly telling himself that he was an inadequate jerk. Poor ol' Wesley has never really changed. Sadly he could never see that happiness is the result of choosing to be a kind, caring, compassionate and gentle person with himself and others - quite the opposite of the judgmental, controlling person he had chosen to be. How much better would he be if he could learn that happiness is the natural result of being present in each moment with love and kindness toward himself and others rather than trying to control the outcome of events and others' behavior. Bubbie reckoned that if Wesley could be open to a different idea he'd discover that he'd feel true happiness whenever he'd let go of control and chose caring instead.

Uncle Bubba told me, and I agree that it is not easy to shift out of the deep devotion to control and become devoted to love and compassion toward oneself and others; most people need a teachable spirit and some good support to make this shift. That because our ego wounded self has been practicing control since we were very little; it's our nature. Yet the moment our intent is to control, our heart closes and we feel alone and anxious inside. Our intent to seek safety and pleasure through controlling others, outcomes, and our own feelings leads to an inner feeling of emptiness. Our feelings of emptiness lead to more pleasure seeking outside ourselves that can lead to addictive behavior. In Bubbie's view, that's reason enough to get over on the good foot and give a new path a try.

As he put it, "Sometimes we just have to let go of our ideas of what is best for others and trust that it will all turn out just the way it should. After all, God is a-watchin' over us; He's got it all cyphered out if we'd just get out of his way. People been a-thinkin' that the end of the world has been comin' since the dawn of time; but life goes on - best we just ride along and enjoy it... Ya know, be happy."

Thinkin'? Just Wonderin'

Uncle Bubba has noticed a bushel barrel full of new trends in our society and he'd thought he'd share a few just to get y'all's take on it. For instance, we're getting lazier. Not in the "cant get up and move" way, that's obvious; but the "I don't care" way. Several times this week, Bubbie has gone to a store or some public place and parked ol' Blackie in a big ol' parking lot. Then walking, had to stop suddenly on the edge of a curb so as not to get run down by vehicles rapidly approaching with no apparent regard for pedestrians. He's had people walk in a door just ahead of him and let the door swing shut almost hitting him in the face. He's held the door for folks and had them walk out, look him in the eye and not say a word; not a thank you... nothing. Bubbie sees too many people spit on the sidewalk, throw trash out their car windows, cuss in front of children, carry on loud cell phone conversations in restrooms, restaurants and stores, and just generally showing out in public dressed inappropriately with poor hygiene. It seems that we've lost any sense of decorum or manners. Then when it does show up it seems misplaced. With social media there seems to be a never ending succession of public apologies from comedians, or actors, or even the average Joe. Comedians tell jokes that are often offensive. Is that anything new? Being able to laugh at off color topics is a way for many of us to release stress and tension. So you're offended and for whatever reason you feel the need to post that on Facebook. Bubbie reckons that it's to show everyone your moral fortitude. OK, it's your right to post it just as it's the comedians right to tell jokes. But what's wrong with these jokers quickly offering the now obligatory apology as they step off of the stage? We say what we say and it's our right to say it. Of course you're going to offend someone; that's their problem. Stop kowtowing to these narcissistic moralists. Tell your joke and move on. Go get busy writing some new material because it takes the funny out of it when you apologize.

Bubbie isn't the least bit interested in being on Facebook or Tweeting on Twitter. But he's heard many a tale of someone writing something on the inner-tubes that gets the family riled. Here's the thing; people say stupid stuff all the time. We all step in it every once in a while. Why even Bubbie knows that feeling of hearing the words coming out of his mouth and simultaneously wanting to pull them back in. It might get you a rebuke or a dirty look. But when you write it, it's worse. First of all, the average Dick and Jane ain't professional writers so crafting a statement or paragraph to express their thoughts or feelings is like committing verbal hara-kari. And then the readers interpret the writing with their own perception. You might write witty sarcasm but they read that you're viciously stupid. So what's the result? Consequences. Responsible adults know what consequences are; children, irresponsible adults, and morons don't. But just like avoiding VD, abstinence and manners would serve society just all that much better. We're all bitchin' about the world we're living in but look around and see who's doing something about changing it. In Bubbie's view we keep hearing the same theme repeated over and over throughout his tales, consider the thoughts and actions of someone other than yourself. That's because he cares about the world and everyone in it, even if he is just a simple country boy.

Gator Bites

Uncle Bubba sat at his kitchen table and sipped a hot cup of coffee as he looked upon the newspaper. He choked in astonishment as he drew a sip when he read the following story: "In Everglades City, an airboat captain whose hand was bitten off by a 9-foot alligator last month was charged Friday with feeding the animal. Wallace Weatherholt, 63, posted a $1,000 bond and received a court date of Aug. 22 on a charge of unlawful feeding of an alligator. According to the Fort Myers News-Press, Weatherholt was attacked on June 12 as he was giving an Indiana family a tour of the Everglades. The family said Weatherholt hung a fish over the wide of the boat and had his hand at the water's surface when the alligator attacked. Wildlife officers tracked and euthanized the gator. Weatherholt's hand was found but could not be reattached. Feeding an alligator is a second-degree misdemeanor." He roared with laughter and Sweet Pea walked in the room to see what he was up to.
"It's this story that I just read in the paper about an alligator attack."
"You think an alligator attack is funny?"
"No," Bubbie paused, "It's not that, but the stupidity of everyone involved! The old feller lost his hand in the attack and still the officer arrested him for feeding a gator!"
"Losing his hand isn't enough punishment?"
"Exactly! Then they tracked the gator down and killed it. So apparently it's illegal to feed a gator but not to kill one! This level of stupidity is squarely what's wrong with this country anymore! If'n a feller is stupid enough to get bit by an alligator that's his problem. And if'n a officer has nothing better to do than arrest him for it, and then hunt and kill the gator, then he's an idiot and a waste of our tax dollars. Yet he's in authority and is coached to do it by his supervisors! There's no common sense in government anymore and it's putting us all in the doggone poor house! We need leaders that have the guts to lead, to make changes, and fire proven idiots!"
"Amen Bubbie, Amen."

Our tax dollars at work. At least there's no line at the doughnut shop!

Note: Before this post was published a story came on the news about a plane that was hit by a bird. The impact crushed the nose of the airliner and opened a gaping hole in the sheet metal. Then it was reported that the type of bird was unknown but tissue samples were being sent to a lab to determine its species. Seriously? The government has to waste our money in determining what type of bird hit the plane? The airline company isn't paying for it, we are! So what's the deal; if it was a bald eagle are they going to press charges against the pilot? Again, this business-as-usual, idiotic waste of time and money is common place in government and will only end when we say enough is enough.

Willard Mitt Romlympics

I don't know about y'all, but that Romney feller is ruining my Olympics watching. Personally, I don't need some half wit wannabe busybody traipsing all over England pretending to be our President, embarrassing the rest of us. Somebody oughta tell that dude to knock it off! And, of course, shame on the TV stations for putting him all over my Olympic coverage like he IS the doggone President! In Bubbie's view, the Olympics are about triumph of the human spirit and national pride, not empty headed politicians buying screen time.

God's Gift?

Uncle Bubba has a birthday coming up and it got him to thinking about a sarcastic saying that he's heard in the past; the one that about if'n you're God's gift the world. He remembers walking in on a project at work and his coworkers were struggling with trying to make things cultivate. When Bubbie showed up on the scene he had a completely different solution to offer, different from anything that had been previously suggested or tried. When he spoke up confidently to offer his solution it fell on deaf ears. People just looked at him annoyedly and told him that he was way off base. He persisted in expressing his opinion and one person quipped, "Aren't we lucky that God has graced us with your presence." Of course his solution eventually turned out to be the one that worked but that's beside the point. We have these expressions that are meant to put one another down, to put someone in their place.

But the truth is that God did did grace us with your presence. The question is, is the world a better place because you're here? It's been Bubbie's observation that most folks think that on the inside, they are really a good person. We may do bad things on occasion, but that's only because of the circumstances around us. Sometimes our biggest transgression is not doing anything at all; being absent when we should be involved. Or as in a previous post were Uncle Bubba told us about a person that damaged someone's car with a shopping cart and anonymously drove off. If you could find that idiot and ask them if deep down they are a good person, they would undoubtedly say yes.  Try it for yourself; out of the blue, casually ask anyone you know if they think they're a good person. You'll reach the same conclusion. But now turn it back on yourself and what do you see? It's Bubbie's opinion that most people fall just at 50% on the scale of goodness. The world isn't a better place because we're here, but we contribute to some marginal betterment in the lives of our loved ones. So how much more effort would it take to reach 51% and actually be a graceful presence? Wouldn't it be nice to work with pleasant coworkers? Then be one. Wouldn't you like to have great friends? Then be one. If you don't know where to start, in Bubbie's view if you could just hold kindness in your heart, that would be enough.

No Conscience

Uncle Bubba was building a set of cornhole boards for a little backyard fun and need some supplies from a home improvement and building supply store. That's what we call lumberyards now, I reckon it's more politically correct or something. So he got in his ol' black truck and commenced to drive to the closest one. Pulling into the parking lot he began the ritual of finding a parking space that was safest for ol' Blackie. Bubbie scanned the area for a place that was away from the usual cart collection areas, away from any contractor's trucks towing trailers, and people that were loading their vehicles. This typically annoys Uncle Bubba because he feels that he has to protect his property from knuckleheads juxtaposed against feeling silly for worrying about it. Luckily on this day the lot traffic was light and the spaces were many. He quickly parked and made his way into the store to purchase the pieces of wood that he went there to buy. He found what he was looking for, two 2' X 4' sheets of sanded half inch plywood. He placed them on a cart and proceeded to check out. As he pushed the cart across the parking lot, he avoided getting run down by the steady stream of apparently self important motorists that rudely paid little heed to his pedestrianism. He noticed a store employee and what he assumed was a customer standing nearby as he dropped the tailgate and loaded the plywood. As he turned to walk the cart back to the store he noticed why the two men were standing there talking. Some unconscionable jerk had run into a shopping buggy and knocked it into the customers car and apparently drove off!

What kind of world are we living in that people can just damage another persons property and drive away? It's the act of a criminal mind. As the world gets more populated and we live in closer contact with others, basic respect should take a higher priority in a persons conscience. We don't have to necessarily like one another, but we do have to live peacefully with one another. And if you damage someone else's property, own up to it. What if it was your property that was anonymously ruined? How would you feel? And now Bubbie won't be able to toss a game of cornhole with the boards that he's making without thinking about what he saw. Where's the fun in that? In Bubbie's view this self-centered, uncaring, all-to-common lifestyle is the erosion of the very ideals that this once great country was founded on; united we stand, divided we fall.

A Reflection Of Our Soul

Uncle Bubba got a new Wal-Mart store in his small town and he wondered about the conscience of that Sam Walton fella. He wondered if ol' Sam died happy with the way that his stores have blighted our American panorama much like Dutch elm disease slowly traveled the world's landscape and ravaged the majestic trees. You see, Bubbie's small town all ready had a Wal-Mart store. Admittedly, it was a small storefront by Wal-Mart standards, located in a plaza with a handful of other businesses; a grocery store, three restaurants, and a barber shop. But somehow the Walton industry decided that they needed a new store in a new location. So five miles down the road, on the southern edge of town, they began cutting down trees and clearing the landscape of underbrush. They tore up the ground only to level it and cover it in concrete and asphalt. They built their new building to house the store, which by the way, is not much bigger than the old store, if at all. Then they cleared out the old store of all that they couldn't sell and moved south for the grand opening. Uncle Bubba was working out of town during most of this event. As you know, he has been traveling a lot for work. But this last trip home brought him down Main St. past the old Wal-Mart location. His heart sank as he laid eyes on the empty parking lot with the un-mown grass and the vacant, disheveled storefront. The ugliness was exacerbated by an outline of letters spelling Wal-Mart on a begrimed blue banner above the dark, impassive doors. Several vehicles dotted the parking lot long the edge of the plaza where the other businesses were obviously contending to carry on.

It was then that Uncle Bubba was reminded of something a sage cowboy had once told him; that his horse is a reflection of his soul. It was there, staring at the scar that was left on his hometown that he was reminded that our world, the earth is a reflection of our soul. In Bubbie's view, if we prioritize it's commercialization then our reflected value is only in the landscape's short term monetary value. There is less of, or virtually no value in Nature or sustenance for the future. The condition of which the Walton's left the old Wal-Mart store is a metaphor for the condition of our collective souls. Our silent acceptance of their substandard tenancy is a reflection on us. We are no better than the corporate devils that scourge the land and march off in the name of good business.

Rocking To The Rhythm

Uncle Bubba has once again returned home from a long five weeks on the road. He's been home for a little over a week and I haven't been anxious to bother him, but I ran into Sweet Pea at the Piggly Wiggly and she said that Bubbie was doing well and feeling rested; she insisted that I stop by for a visit. So the following day I made the trek along the wooded country roads to Uncle Bubba's. I could see him thru my windshield as I approached down the lane. He was working in the yard; one of his favorite domestic endeavors. I was glad to see the familiar smile and wave as I drove up the drive and parked my truck. After the initial greetings we walked to the porch and sat in a couple of wooden rocking chairs and wiled away a couple hours. After catching up on what we have both been up to lately, Uncle Bubba shifted gears and pointed out how when we first began rocking in those wooden rocking chairs, that we are rocking at different rates until we relaxed and fell into the conversation. At that time we had slowed our rocking and rocked more in unison. As he brought it to my attention I did notice that the deeper our conversation delved, the less and less we rocked and then as our repartee lightened we would rock a little more carefree. In Bubbie's view, there is a rhythm to life. Each of us lives at our own rhythm and we can only be in tune with one another when we are rocking at the same rhythm. Bubbie says that you either get it or you don't. There's no in between. A person has to be perceptive to the rhythm of the others around them and adjust to a rhythm to accomplish the most. Occasionally we'll meet people that we are naturally in sync with so talking and working with them is easy. Others we may be on opposite sides of the spectrum and it takes monumental effort to get your rhythms to meet in the middle. One's natural rhythm may be fast and the other slow. Or one may have an erratic rhythm. Uncle Bubba has noticed that troubled folks have erratic rhythms. People think that in an ideal life there shouldn't be waves, there are. They think that life should just float along smoothly, whatever their rhythm, but that's just not the way that it is. We are all rocking to different rates and bumping into each other; how can there not be waves? The key is to see it and stay as steady as you can until you can get back into a peaceful rhythm as soon as possible.

Uncle Bubba and I sat there on the porch as the sky turned from blue to a pale orange. It was good to have my friend back home where he can truly enjoy his life, at his rhythm. As I left for my own home I looked back over my left shoulder as I drove away and saw Bubbie and Sweet Pea sitting on the porch, smiling and rocking in rhythm.

6/20/2012 Update: Shortly after posting Bubbie's view about the rhythm of life, I coincidentally came across some information about neuroscientist Richard Davidson and his work on conditions like ADHD and autism. He focuses not on fixing what is wrong, but on rewiring our minds with life-enriching behaviors. Dr. Davidson indicates that discoveries within the neuroscience community have found that there is a brain rhythm that is called gamma oscillations. Gamma oscillations are recorded through the electrical activity of the brain. When you observe gamma oscillations in a normal conventional person who has not gone training of the mind, you see the oscillations for very short periods of time, typically one second or less. What scientists observe in the long-term practitioners during certain kinds of meditation, particularly meditation on compassion, is that these gamma oscillations persist for a much longer period of time; they persisted for minutes continuously at very high amplitude. You can imagine my astonishment in discovering this information right after my poignant conversation with Bubbie. I don't reckon that I'd have to tell Uncle Bubba that there is scientific evidence that our brains have rhythmic impulses for him to know that he's right. Uncle Bubba knows what he knows and that's why we have Bubbie's view.

Suspended Reality

I stopped by to visit Uncle Bubba on a quiet afternoon. I found him sitting in his backyard, in a shady spot reading a book. I nearly stopped and retreated in quiet as I feel that a person quietly reading is sacred event. But Uncle Bubba noticed me and smiled as he rested the book on his lap and motioned for me to join him. As I sat down near him he told me about the book he was reading. After a brief plot summary our discussion turned to the idea of suspending one's reality to lose one's self in a story. It's no secret that human mind has the ability to suspend reality and buy into the apparition of a story. It's so much more enjoyable to believe in the setting and that the characters exist and revel in their adventures and emotions. Bubbie gave me a knowing squint as he described this as a gift from God, an escape from the stress and brutality of a world also manufactured by men. This also incorporates what has been described as the suspension of disbelief in which the reader would suspend judgment concerning the implausibility of the narrative and often applies to fictional works. This is because its man's nature to be skeptical and disbelieving.

Juxtapose this now against the current chaotic climate of Reality TV, Facebook, and Twitter where the mundane and inane is posted and proclaimed as the truth. The imagination of the person posting is exercised in the reflection of their perceived reality, yet the readers do not suspend reality, but take everything as actuality. It no sooner hits the web or the airwaves than the news outlets pounce on it to be the first to proclaim it as truth and thus validate the inveracity. In Bubbie's view, our willingness to use "reality" as entertainment causes a loss in our ability to separate fact and fiction and therefore creating a void in our intellect. In our laziness to challenge an allegation or account we easily fall prey to ignorance. This way of living, this self imposed brainwashing threatens our ability to learn a lesson from a story; to suspend reality and explore morality without causing harm to others. But in Bubbie's eternal optimism he walked with me back to my truck with the idea that by pausing, by taking the time to discover the truth, we can move ahead while holding onto the best of what humanity has learned.

Serious Laughs

Uncle Bubba sat at his old wooden kitchen table with a white coffee cup and saucer full of piping hot coffee in front of him. He had a big smile on his face as I pulled out a chair to join him at the table. He showed me a magazine that he received in the mail from a firearms company. He got a kick outta some of the ads and shared a few with me. One is from Nordic Components that claims to sell "zombie eradication necessities". Nordic Components claim to be Zombie Hunters Guild approved and Bubbie's glad because zombies don't kill themselves!

They also advertise a concealed carry tote that, "accommodates all the tools you need to survive the urban jungle!" It's a "low profile carry case that looks like a mild-mannered-computer-nerd accessory, but it's designed for your pistol as well as your PC!" Because you know how dangerous the urban jungle is for unarmed naive nerds. As I thumbed through the pages of the tiny magazine I read a quick article that started with , "The first rule of gunfighting is, of course, have a gun." Bubbie reckoned aloud that the second rule is use it first." In Bubbie's view it was refreshing to see that a company uses a little humor to advertise their products, obviously assuming that their potential customers have a brain.

Olive You

Uncle Bubba was finally home for a weekend and he and Sweet Pea had an awesome Easter, just the two of them, together. While getting reacquainted with his community he came across an ad for a local olive orchard. He and Sweet Pea decided to take a short drive to investigate. Long story short, they wound up purchasing two olive tree saplings; a Greek variety Koroneiki olive, and a Spanish variety Arbequina olive tree.

This mission provoked research and gave enlightenment to Bubbie in the mysterious elixir of olive oil. Without a doubt the most important bit of knowledge that signor Bubbie can pass along is that good quality olive oil should have some cloudiness and even some sediment in the bottle. What most of us are purchasing here in the U.S. is a blended, reduced concentration of oil. We are being flummoxed. To explain this further, Uncle Bubba refers to an explanation of the term Extra Virgin.

"In Europe and many other countries, “Extra Virgin” is a narrowly defined grade of olive oil. Standards developed by the International Olive Council (IOC) require it to be produced entirely by mechanical means (no solvents) under temperatures that will cause no alteration of the oil (less than 86 degrees F). It must have a maximum free-fatty-acid level of less than 0.8 percent (a measure of the soundness of the fruit) and a peroxide value of less than 20 meq (a measure of oxidation). It must be free from defects when evaluated by a trained sensory evaluation panel and possess at least some degree of fruitiness.

Unfortunately, the U.S. government does not enforce IOC standards for use of the term “extra virgin.” As long as the product is made solely from olives, it can be labeled “extra virgin olive oil” in this country. A petition has been filed to adopt the IOC standards for “extra virgin” in the United States. In the meantime, the playing field is anything but level for the domestic producer of true extra-virgin olive oil who must compete with low-cost imports that could never to be sold as extra virgin in Europe. (hobbyfarms.com)"

In Bubbie's view, the failure of the U.S. government to adopt a higher standard in the grading of olive oil is the problem with the standard of the U.S. government across the board. We should be setting the standards to which the rest of the world aspires.

Adios Pennsyltucky Peaches

Uncle Bubba is glad to see Pennsyltucky in his rearview mirror for no other reason that he is headed for home. He's a southern man, which he admits skews his perspective, yet sees folks at face value. Most folks at that level are nice and have far more in common than the media would have us believe. But in this commonwealth that has given us such small minded thinkers as Rick Santorum and Gerald Sandusky, Bubbie gave me one word for the Keystoners, wacky. They'd be surprised, no doubt, to discover that they aren't exactly the friendliest folks one might come across. They have a spooky way of looking right through a person and not acknowledging that you're there.  (Bubbie now better understands that lights out look in Santorum's eyes.) They don't offer a mere hello, let alone a handshake or a glass of water to a thirsty worker. Yet when they are engaged they're as pleasant as most. One day Bubbie was jawing with some locals and mentioned that he reckoned that he saw a peach tree orchard in his travels.
"Peach trees!" they heckled, "Apple trees for sure, but not peach trees!"
Uncle Bubba felt a little embarrassed and suddenly felt like a southerner, an outsider as he waited for their snickerin' to die down.

A few weeks later he was cruising along no more than 20 miles from where he was lightly chastised for thinking that there were peach trees in Pennsylvania when low and behold, there was the doggone peach orchard!

Yessir, right there under the noses of the narrow minded locals were some pretty pink peach blossoms just as sweet as any Georgia bloom. Uncle Bubba knew that he wouldn't cross paths with the local yokels again, but it did shed some light on the phenomenon that we all suffer from; shortsightedness. We live within a few miles of our homes and seldom leave except through what we see on TV. We'll quickly rant that we all know that what we see on TV is not real, yet it seems to drive all of our opinions and perspectives. In Bubbie's view, he got the last laugh but it didn't really seem all that funny. He pitied the rubes that didn't know what lied outside of their own community, yet was oh so happy to be rolling home. Not only that but he was thankful for his innate propensity of open-mindedness and that he got to see the beauty of a Pennsylvania peach orchard.

We're Too Cheap

As you may know, Uncle Bubba travels around America quite often and in doing so, something jumps out at him time and again. No, not deer. It's the glaring contrast in the quality of building through the ages. He mentions this because the phenomenon is in accord with the steady decline in our American ethos. As y'all may know, he has been rambling through the farmlands in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania recently and around every turn, history abounds. After all, this is not far from where our country was governed prior to the establishment of Washington. The landscape is studded with old yet meticulously maintained stone houses, many predate our constitution.

They were built by people with ancient (European) values that understood that a job wasn't worth doing if it wasn't done to the highest standard. They didn't need to be told how to build a structure, the homes and barns predate building codes. So could a case be made that with the increase in laws a correlating decrease occurs in individual deference? Bubbie apologized for digressing from his discourse. But the two neighboring properties in photos below are an example of what Uncle Bubba was pointing out. In the foreground is a modern wood framed, vinyl sided, aluminum clad complex. It was built cheaply with inferior materials. Do y'all reckon that it will hold up over time like the pristine, Italianate style structure on the hill in the background?

In Bubbie's view, we can never go back. Look out your window; like the architecture that we so easily look past, America is on a new course with new principles. We need to consider where these principles come from as well as our individual participation and legacy.

The Snail

Uncle Bubba rose on a cool morning. It rained during the night but the clouds had passed and the sun was peaking through the trees. As he walked out of his front door, the hot steam from his caldron of coffee was outright comforting against the damp air. Looking down he noticed a snail crossing his porch. He studied it for a moment, considering how long it must have taken to crawl its distance during the night. Thinking that he'd help it along it's way, he picked it up to place it on a rock in the flower garden. The moment he touched its shell the little snail quickly recoiled into it's curly little home upon its back. "Don't worry lil' fella." Bubbie said, "I'm just trying to help you. Wouldn't want you to get stepped on." He carefully placed the snail on the wet rock in the garden and walked back inside to finish getting ready for work. He walked out to his old black Ford pickup truck shortly thereafter and noticed the snail still in the same spot as where he had left it. "You'd better get moving my friend." Bubbie said. The thought crossed his mind that the little snail was exposed for a hedgehog to make a meal out of as he climbed into his truck and drove away. Returning home later in the day the little snail was gone. Uncle Bubba wondered if it crawled off or became a hedgehog hors d'oeuvre.

In Bubbie's view, this is the story of humanity. In our attempt to help others, we often put them in a position that they are not ready to deal with. Conversely, when we are moved out of our comfort zone we recoil and dig our heels in. Some folks never recover and are devoured by the very thing that they are trying to avoid.

Markers Demarcating The Remarkable

On a sunny, early spring day, Uncle Bubba drove the twisting two lane highways that snake between the farmland and pastures of Pennsylvania. The brown hillsides masked the gliding hawks that preside over the golden farm fields until they appear against the light blue sky or turn to reveal their golden feathers in the sun's reflection. He drove through the townships and boroughs from hamlets to crossroads, past stone houses and barns. After passing archaic gothic churches, their flanks guarded with grave yards, a few things occurred to Bubbie. To him, the headstones mark the remarkable lives of those of whom have passed; each one a story. You see, Uncle Bubba has an odd affinity to cemeteries; so let me back up to a time when Uncle Bubba was just a little Bubbie. He was barely big enough to see over the front seat of his parents blue Ford station wagon. His mama would pack a picnic basket with bologna sandwiches, or worse yet, cheese and mustard that were so thin and dry that you'd think you were eating corrugated cardboard. It was always mustard on the sandwiches because his mama would worry that mayonnaise would grow salmonella during the car ride. Once the station wagon was loaded, they'd head out for the annual trip to visit his grandfather's family at the old farm. For hours they would ride further and further out into the countrysides. The distance between towns and houses would expand as they traveled into the farmland until his father would turn the car into the driveway of the old homestead. They would cross the railroad tracks and pass a small apple orchard beside the old gray farmhouse. It was gray because it's dried wooden planks had not seen paint in a hundred years if ever at all. The tradition after visiting with the old folks was to head to a cemetery and begin the headstone hunt for lost relatives. Invariably it would be lunchtime and right there in the cemetery, Bubbie's mama would lay out a blanket and set up lunch from the picnic basket. After a hot bologna sandwich and a glass of water, Bubbie was free to wander among the graves. "Don't step on them!" his mother would harken as she packed up the basket. So as a little boy Bubbie had developed a relationship with the carved granite blocks, the sunken ground, and the spirits that pass thru there.

Now, as he drove by a cemetery on this early spring day, he considered that a portion of these grave markers were from pre-civil war times. He envisioned all of the people in the America. Just driving, even on these back country roads, there's so many houses, and so many vehicles on the road; people everywhere. Yet it occurred to him that there aren't enough grave markers to account for all of the dead that have passed in the past 250 years. Why is that? And why do you almost never see anyone visiting a cemetery? Of the hundreds that Bubbie has driven past in the past year or so he can't recall ever seeing anyone just visiting a cemetery short of the caretaker mowing or weed-whacking around the headstones. He's not saying that no one ever visits to pay their respects, but it is rare… watch for yourself.

Bubbie mentioned that he would be remiss if he didn't elucidate on the spiritual aspect of his cemetery exposé. In general terms, he believes that a person's soul leaves their body as the body dies, yet where the body is laid to rest there is a spiritual connection, an opening of energy to which a spirit can access our world and we can connect with them. This area of energy is more to our benefit since we are grounded in the physical world. It is available but optional depending on the spirit and us, after all, it takes two to make a relationship. In Bubbie's view, we are too intent on living within our little world that we ignore those that have come before. In doing so we disregard the lessons their lives could teach us, which destine us to repeat them.

Mr. Perfect

No matter how good one tries to live their life, there are trials and tribulations the come along to shake things up and rock the boat. Some of them are small and insidious like a mole burrowing through your flower garden. Others, like the lyrics of many a rock song, will rock you like a hurricane. Uncle Bubba had just such an encounter not so long ago. While within the throes of an argument aimed at evoking a visceral reaction and putting Bubbie on the defensive, his foe declared that he, Bubbie, thought that he was perfect. Bubbie shared with me that at the time the accusation was made, he realized that the person was setting a trap for him that he deflected and he did not address the comment. But in speaking with me about it, he said that in an odd way it was a punch in the gut. He felt that he was getting busted for putting his best foot forward. After all, he never said that he was perfect, ever. He doesn't even think that he's perfect and knowing him as I do, I know that this is true. He is a humble man that would love to do nothing more than help a brother out. Another endearing quality of Bubbie is his willingness to admit when he is wrong. As he always says, he's all about moving ahead, not saving face. But here are some of the things that stuck in the craw of Mr. Perfect *kidding*. Uncle Bubba grew up in an era when children were encouraged to do their best because life is a competition. It was a social notion that those who worked hard got farther in life, meaning that they got a better job with better pay and better benefits. This would translate into having a nice home and the accompanying amenities, and a beautiful wife. Bingo! He played sports and won awards and trophies for excelling over the competition. He was a boy scout and worked on acquiring badges to attain higher ranks. He was groomed, often against his will, to constantly be achieving the next best thing. Throughout his adult life he has followed this format for which he was trained over and over, sometimes failing but often achieving whatever he was attempting to accomplish. It's the curse of the ego; more, more, more. And as you may know if you've read this blog, that he is not one to rest on his laurels. Bubbie finds joy in exploring, learning, and discovering new things. He is vigilant of his own potential shortcomings to see if there is any area for new growth, which we know is a never ending quest due to our human fallibility. Uncle Bubba mentioned that he heard of some cave paintings that were discovered in France that are 35,000 years old. There is evidence that someone worked on and touched up some of the paintings 5,000 years later, but that was still 30,000 years ago! So in Bubbie's view, that is evidence that it is in our DNA to want to keep improving, and achieving to attain our best.

Aside from this, Bubbie told me that the thing that annoyed him most about his adversary was that he was being judged by someone who really didn't know him. That person had never walked in his shoes. He was demanding that Bubbie give him respect, yet was doing nothing to deserve it. Had he taken the time to get to know Bubbie a little better and had considered Bub's point of view, he probably would have tried a different tack in dealing with him. Bubbie's view is this on that, take ownership of your own stuff and before you point the finger at someone else, look in the mirror. And if you feel that you really want to accuse someone else for your problems, make sure you consider what they are going through as well.

For What Its Worth

Bubbie jumped on the Harley and rode to the beach. The smell of the salt air as he traveled thru the sawgrass flats to get out there is transcendent, timeless. It's thick and fills his nostrils making it heavy to breathe and yet gratifying. He feels his lungs pulling the oxygen from the salty air. The warm wind on his face. Every trip out thru the sawgrass, the huge expanse of palm tree and cedar islands, if I caught a glimpse of an elephant or giraffe out of the corner of my eye I wouldn't be surprised. As a matter of fact, sometimes he thinks he has… just for a moment.

It was windy and a little overcast so the sands were sparsely dotted with naked Yankees outnumbered by the slightly more cantankerous seagulls. Sandpipers scurry and bob, their twiggy beaks probing the sand. Children chase the birds in vane. A big flock of black skimmer terns land en masse on the sand with their beaks pointed east into the wind. 

In Bubbie's view, the freedom that comes along with the ride is a spirit that we should all carry in our hearts. The beauty of our American landscape should be retained in our minds and we'd willingly sacrifice and fight for our country.

Reverse Entitlement

Entitlement as defined in the dictionary as belief that one is deserving of or entitled to certain privileges. When you think entitlement, you think of government programs. But more specifically, you think of the mentality of the lazy who’ve come to expect and depend upon the fruits of government programs passed down to them. Recently Uncle Bubba has experienced kind of a reverse entitlement that, if we admit it, is all too common. This is where lazy people have a job and are bad at it. He described his experience as the perceived entitlement of nosey busybodies that think that it is OK to get into his personal business. You know the type, the self righteous lady that has the Nazi-istic approach to customer service. They try to make their problem your problem. He or she crosses expected boundaries, not to assist you but to assist themselves in getting you to do their work for them. They are unconscionable in their annoyed attitude and lacky-ism to the company cutting their paycheck. If these people worked for us we'd fire them immediately, without question. Uncle Bubba shared an example of how insidious this reverse entitlement has penetrated our culture. Certain employees in the Human Resources Department, the department focused on the personnel regarding them as a significant asset, are far less focused on support of the person as they are in arbitrarily interpreting company policy to avoid actually working. This always results in erroneously, yet irreversibly taking money out of Bubbie's pocket simply because they can without redress. It would take effort to do more, to assist Bubbie, improving his attitude and thus retaining a good, productive employee. I offered to Bubbie that these folks had a job to do like anybody else.

He said that he didn't begrudge anyone that, it is beyond that. It is the arrogant designation of authority that these idiots (his words) think that they have over anyone in their field of view. They have tunnel vision. It's as though they've trained themselves to not recognize that we are people behind the issue that they are trying to resolve. Most of us, the victims of reverse entitlement are good people with incredibly complex and complicated lives. We have our own jobs to perform and our daily struggles. In Bubbie's view, this laziness can only be remedied through personal accountability and the recognition of our humanity.