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.