Hard Times Sports Fans

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

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

A 'Mater Samich

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

Old Folks Were The Best Folks

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

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

Way Down Upon The Suwannee River

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

Freedom!

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

Boy Scouts of America

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

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

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

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

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

Scout Motto:
Be prepared.

Scout Slogan:
Do a good turn daily.

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

Tragedy in Binghamton

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

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

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

Susie Q's

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

A Nice Ride In The Country

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

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

A Cowboy's Rebel Heart

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

A Cowboys Life

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

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

Bubba Hears A Who

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

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

New School

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

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

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

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

These Are The Dark Ages

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

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

Some New News

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

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

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

Bubbie Memoirs - Uncle Gary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God Bless Billy Powell

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

God speed!

Another Stuper Bowl

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

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

Inauguration Day

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

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

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

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

Today, Lucky Today!

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

Bad Little Kitty

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

They will know we are Christians by…

When Peter Schools wrote the song, “They will know we are Christians by our love” based on John 13:35, I don’t think he meant our love of rude behavior. But y’all see it everywhere…right? Why just driving home from work two minivans cut me off with no turn signal. I was tailgated by an untold number of Christians. I know ‘cause they all had some sorta Jesus bumper stickers, or fish symbols on their vehicles. Yep, bump draftin’ for Jesus! I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few items for Sweet Pea and a couple of them Christians nearly run me over in the parking lot ‘cause I guess driving Christians have the right-a-way of walking Christians. No, in Bubbie’s view I think were are supposed to be loving each other not just ourselves.

Bail Out

Miss Dixie, the Duke’s faithful bride, called Bubbie with an urgent message. It seems that the Duke’s fishing boat that he keeps moored at the river had sunk. She asked Bubbie if he could take a look at it and figure out what to do. Bubbie reckoned he could deal with it and he’d head there after work. Miss Dixie’s voice seemed strained over the phone and Bubbie asked her if she was alright. She said she was, but she didn’t want to mention anything about it to the Duke ‘cause he was having a bad day and she didn’t want to make it worse. She explained how the Duke started the day by slipping on some ice in the yard and hitting his head on the birdbath on his way to landing in a rose bush—thorns and all! The image of his caught Bubbie as comical, but thought better of it.
“I hope he’s alright.” Bubbie asked.
“Yessir, he’s fine.” she said, “But with all the other things he has going on right now, this doesn’t help.”
Bubbie assured her that he’d deal with it and not to worry. Word travels fast across flat pastures, though Miss Dixie's best intentions were to protect her man, his buddies were all to happy to needle him and within minutes the Duke called Bubbie and recited the same story Miss Dixie had told him about his boat being undered. Bubbie smiled to himself and assured the Duke that he would take care of it. Hanging up he chuckled to himself that it was funny that the Duke left out the part about slipping on the ice and whacking his melon the birdbath; but a man has to have his dignity.

Later that day Bubbie was on his way to bail out the Duke’s boat and he ran into Sweet Pea as she arrived home from work.
“What in the world are you doing out here in your bathing suit?” she asked laughingly, “its December!”
“The Duke called,” he laughed, “and his little fishing boat is under water. Come on, I’ll tell ya about it on the way…”

Bubbie spied the boat and sure enough, it was sitting on the bottom of the drink. About an inch of the black 25 horse Mercury was sticking out of the water. It looked as though it got hung up as the tide went out and tumped over. As the tide rose again, the little boat was catawampus just enough to let the water slip over the top rail at the stern. Neary a minute passed and Bubbie slipped his body over the seawall and slid into the cool river water. Sweet Pea laughed at his trembling as he hooted and his eyes were big as saucers. He released the motor from the transom and lifted it from the stern of the boat. He balanced it against the seawall and then managed to get he little boat propped up with a plank like a floating bathtub. After an uncounted number of scoopfuls of water with a 5 gallon bucket, the little boat was bailed out and floating freely. With Sweet Peas help, they roped the motor and pulled it up and onto the seawall as the sunset.

Sweet Pea wrapped Bubbie in a big beach towel and they laughed all the way home. Friends take care of friends. Bubbie has bailed the Duke out more than a few times and vice versa, but this was the first time it was literal. Let’s hope it’s the last; but if not, let’s hope it’s in the warmth of summer.

The Ghost of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was truly a day of thanks this year. Surrounded by family, knowing that our relationships are bound with love, and realizing how fragile relationships can be and for that matter, life. As fate would have it, Bubbie and Sweet Pea ran into their sister-in-law just days before the holiday. Her husband, Sweet Pea’s brother, is away so they invited her and their children to Thanksgiving dinner. It had been years since they had seen each other and throughout the day, triggered by reminiscence, Bubbie was flooded with memories and emotions, neither of which he had dealt with in as many years.

Uncle Bubba was a sensitive kid that grew up in a rough part of town. He had to learn the hard way how to fight, and that meant fight to win, and to carry himself with bravado so people wouldn’t screw with him. It was counter to his natural kind and caring nature and fun loving spirit. This obviously created an internal conflict in Bubbie that he has struggled with his entire life. After many years of trying to fit into that environment, it became apparent that it was a self-fulfilling prophecy of doom. To make a long story short, by the grace of God and Sweet Pea he moved physically and mentally away from that environment. He worked hard both on himself and at getting ahead at work and has become a successfully happy man. But here he was on this day thinking about the past. He knew in his heart that his old peers would think he’d gone soft, sold out, and given in. He could almost here them, 1200 miles away, talking about how cushy his life was and how he wasn’t one of them in his nice, comfortable house full of luxuries. The gloomy ghost of his past was rising inside him. As much as he knew that their opinions weren’t true, he could feel that it had to be dealt with hastily before it grabbed a hold of his heart.

Here is the thing; more often than not you don’t have control of who you have for your peers, but you do have control over how much you interact with them. It took the toughness that Bubbie learned in his childhood to get to where he is now. It is his bulldogged tenacity to fight to win that keeps him moving ahead in life. Those old peers cannot appreciate the strength and resilience that Bubbie has had to lean on over and over to live life on his terms because they haven’t walked in his shoes. While they were out cheating on their wives, Bubbie was home romancing Sweet Pea. While they were getting divorced, he was working on forgiveness. While they were huntin’ and fishin’ he was at his kids’ ball games. While they were hanging out in the beer garden, he was home working on improving his property; being the best husband and father that her knew how to be. While they were driving home to saw some “Zs” he was driving to night school to earn straight “As” in getting a college degree. In Bubbie’s view, those old peers are old peers because he left them in the past; the future is bright, life is good and he has so many things for which to be thankful.

Stupid Begets Stupid

Bubbie bellers, “What in the world is going on?!” as he throws the newspaper down on the kitchen table. “They’ve arrested a dang thirteen-year-old boy for farting!” It’s true; in Stuart, FL. Can anybody tell me what law was broken? Was there a debate on the floor of the Florida Legislature with an outcry for justice? In Bubbie’s view, this is just another example of the dumbing down of America. Idiots and morons are running the country and ruining our lives and it crosses all party lines.

Bubbie walks out to his garden in silence and begins working; his mannerisms and energy still speak volumes. He could’ve ranted and raved about the stupidity of it all. He could have cried out for common sense. He could have expounded on the implications of these actions on the future of that boy’s life. He could have questioned how the “adults” involved can sleep well at night. But you might as well talk to a wall. What and despicable and crazy world it is.

Sunflower L' Biscotti

Uncle Bubba and Sweet Pea sit quietly sipping their aromatic morning cup of Joe. Bubbie lazily reaches over and takes a biscotti from a tin on the table. He can smell the anise and he raises it to his lips to partake in bite of the hard biscuit. The almond flavor tangles with the brewed coffee beans among Bubbie’s taste buds like a summer breeze and pollen in a patch of wildflowers. Life is good. His mind drifts to thoughts of his sister, Sunflower.

Sunflower lives 1155 miles away but two siblings could never be closer. They talk to one another for hours on the phone, usually late in the evening after many a long and stressful day. Sunflower loves to bake, especially those I-talyan treats, and quite often sends Bubbie a care package of some delicacy she has created. He snaps off a second bite he thinks, “she loves me.” My Lord, what a thought! Is there any better thought; to know someone somewhere loves you? You may not be able to see them because of the long distances between, but to hold a tangible object that was created just for you... you know you are loved. Bubbie will undoubtedly call her to thank her--again; but to pay it forward he knows that the best thing to do is to look for someone today to help or at the very least know they are appreciated. It’s gonna be a good day.

Diversity of a Perception

Uncle Bubba overheard one of them diner conversations where the public at large is a pseudo expert on any issue. This one happened to be on recognizing diversity within our American culture. The alpha demagogue of this discourse was a confident man of African ethnicity and among the several participants was a slender, middle aged, Caucasian man. The primary alpha orator shared his experiences in the service and how often he felt like he didn’t fit in because of the stereotypes associated with his ethnicity and skin color. He shared his opinions on the experiences of different races. He was obviously bothered by a lifetime of feeling like he never quite fit in. He expounded about America being a melting pot and how we should celebrate our human diversity. Someone brought up Dr. Martin Luther King Day and Black history month; they discussed how often non-black people complained about such things. Alpha man shared how he struggled with this all his life, finally settling in his mind that everyday is the White Man's celebration day. That’s when his Caucasian counterpart piped up and apologetically stated that there were no white men worth celebrating. OK, this is the comment that got Uncle Bubba’s goat.
“Like it our not,” he thought, “you white apologist; this country was founded and built by many great ethnically diverse white men with the help of many ethnically diverse, multicultural Americans.”
You see, in Bubbie’s view, this is the problem with forced celebrating of diversity in a society; it is distorted by one’s perception. Uncle Bubba can sympathize with the alpha man of African ethnicity in his lifelong confliction of racially motivated repression, but he can’t experience it. The same holds true for the alpha man; he cannot know what it is like to be a Caucasian man in America. All have trials, all have troubles; we have more in common than differences. So celebrating diversity in America must include everyone, even the Whites. Uncle Bubba finished his black coffee and swung his leg off of the stool to head for his truck. As he passed the group he smiled and asked,
“Which do y’all want most, recognition of diversity or equality; cause y’all can’t have both.”
The men looked blankly at him as he paused, tipped his cap and walked out to his old pickup.

Say No To Jack

Bubbie rolled his iron horse up to the intersection and stopped as the signal was red. He noticed a small sports car passing by. As it got closer he recognized it to be a little MG, which is a British sports car. Then he noticed the license plate displayed a union jack; the British flag! Not only that, but the driver had the convertible top down and a union jack flag strung as the car’s bikini top, just sailing in the wind! A disgusted Bubbie looked around at the drivers of the other vehicles around him. Where was their disgust; where was the outrage? This flag is a symbol of our oppression! It represents the primary determinant of democratic, American traits and capacities and denote an inherent superiority of an imperialistic regime! We were once servants to this kingdom to which many of our forefathers gave their lives to free us! And now this “chap” can just ride around in his car and display that offensive symbol with no recourse? Where is the justice?! We should be able to enjoy the freedom of our democratic society and celebrate the honor and courage of our oppressed ancestors without having to look at this offensive symbol.

The Last Hero

The sun was going down but that last bright light of the early evening shown bright on Bubbie’s face. It showed a weariness. The lines were less lines and more crevasses and the skin on his face seemed to hang just a little looser like its musculature had given up its support. He was talking about some issues at work that were unseemly and his lament in having to go along with it to, “be a good employee.” But the sadness in his eyes told the story of a man caught in a day and age of which the ethics that he was raised are as burry as the early Technicolor films of his childhood. There was an era when the heros of the big screen were rough and tough, but stood strong on principle and always chose dignity over dishonor. There was John Wayne in so many roles, Clint Eastwood, even Burt Reynolds in “The Man Who Loved Cat Dancing.” Even if they were on the wrong side of the law their principles were noble and their resolve strong. These stories were born of the American spirit, the stories of which had been past down for nearly 200 years. Principles mattered, courage mattered; ethics mattered. The noble manner of their onscreen heroics translated into many a young man’s internal daily dialogue. I could virtually see that dialogue playing in the back of Bubbie’s mind; the movie flicker in the back of his eyes.

I suppose that this is the invisible line we all trip over at some point in our lives; that tipping point when our experiences and ideals don’t match with the world we live in. And I bet that if you asked Bubbie, he’d wonder about the ethical or positive influence of role models that kids have today; rappers, video game characters, or Harry Potter. Are these the heros that will influence, and program the leaders of tomorrow?

I hope for Bubbie’s sake he doesn’t let his guard down. I hope he sticks to his ethics and lives his life on the terms that have seen him through his wonderful life. I pray that he finds the strength to do the right thing as he knows it, and I know if he does...when he does, he has the resolve to see it through. He is the last hero.

Home Again

Uncle Bubba had been away for several months working on a particularly complex project related to his job and had returned home last week. I gave him some time to enjoy his former home life with Sweet Pea and his familiar homestead before stopping by for a visit. We sat together on his porch and watching the sunlight dance on and off of the breezy green leaves the surround his home, Bubbie calmly reflected on the experiences he’s been through, always pointing out the highlights and putting the best spin on the events and people that have touched his life. I could tell that he was still a-ways off from feeling comfortable at home; he was obviously reconciling things that were and things that are. As we talked he shared with me how the past four months have changed him and yet he knows he’s not yet developed into the man he hopes to be. He was honest in accessing how life went on at “home” without him. His family still celebrated birthdays and holidays. They had get-togethers and cookouts. The place where he normally works didn’t shut down; it didn’t even, hardly skip a beat. His friends missed him but stayed busy with their own lives, “as it should be” he notes. But now he’s home again and true to Bubbie’s typical view, it’s a chance to start again and live life anew. He feels that this is an opportunity to get things right and live life on his own terms, which to him means living a life that is pleasing to God. He says that over the coming days and maybe weeks he is going to put a plan together to live a more balanced life and then put that plan into action. That’s one thing that attracts me to Uncle Bubba; in his view life is to be lived. He is as much the actor as he is the audience and always enjoys the play.

Hillbilly Yard Sale

Uncle Bubba was rollin' through the bluegrass hills and tobacco farms of north Kentucky, round about Owenton when he unwittingly attended at a hillbilly yard sale. He stopped at an infrequent stop sign and was parked next to a house fortified with a bank of belongings in the front yard. It seemed to be no more than 8 feet from the curb to the front porch and two fellers were sitting on it having a smoke. That's when Bubbie noticed that they were surrounded by numerous red gas cans and other petroleum based liquid containers obviously needed to service the many dilapidated lawnmowers and decrepit power tools that surrounded them. It became obvious that it wasn't a yard sale at all, just two fellers havin' a smoke and he'd better stop starin' and move on. Good times!

An Ol’ Dog Can

Can an old dog learn a new trick? You betcha. How does Uncle Bubba know this? Because he knows it’s a dog’s nature to live in the moment. A dog lives by its instinct and conditioning. That’s why Uncle Bubba admires his ol’ bulldog, Bubba. That’s right; Bubbie’s dog is named Bubba. Uncle Bubba figured that since a dog often resembles its owner he might as well have a like name too.

Bubbie woke up this morning and made a pot of coffee. He sat sipping a cup of the hot brew; black of course, looking out the window and the sun was shining down. The blue sky inspired him to saddle up his iron horse and go for a ride. He walked out to the garage and rolled out the shining beauty and fired up the rumbling beast. He rode out to the highway and looked north; the sky had an ominous dark hue of an impending storm. Bubbie wound the throttle back and headed south embarking on a beautiful ride out through the country. He rode out beyond the traffic on the rolling and twisting two-lane byways, among acres of pastures and stands of pine forests. He rode for a while. He rode through an area where it had been raining just moments before and the cool moisture spat at him from his tires and passing vehicles. Bubbie knew it might rain before he returned home and he didn’t care; it’s all part of the deal.

Too many times Bubbie has pulled up a barstool next to a black leather clad bro to have a cold beer and have had to listen to the bitching and moaning of pour riding conditions. He’s smart enough to know that if the ramblings weren’t anything more than mindless babble of a beer soaked brain, then the dude would have to apply considerable effort to think of something pleasant or meaningful to say. But the fact is we ride in the elements, so what. We ride to live in the moment, just like an ol’ dog. In Bubbie’s view we could learn a lesson across the board from that ol’ dog.

Firewood Chickens

Bubbie has returned home form a tour of obligation in Indianapolis; a very nice city as cities go. It is clean with pleasant architecture and the folks there are courteous and polite; a pleasant experience that one could get used to in a hurry. But back home is where the heart is and there are things there that a fella just can’t get in the city like a country road the winds through a tunnel of live oak trees, strong and majestic straining to hold up their green canopy draped in Spanish moss like military sentinels with swords crossed honoring passersby and occasional cracker houses. The other end of the tunnel breaking forth among vast green pastures waiting patiently to be nibbled down by unhurried horses and cows. No, in the city one doesn’t get the pungent scent of manure or the distant waft of a burning leaf pile. You won’t glance down a crossroad and see a nervous deer on the edge of a wood line looking back at you. You won’t see an oblivious Mr. & Mrs. Sandhill Crane silhouetted against a grassy mound posing as God’s own lawn ornaments. No, in Bubbie’s view one won’t see all these beautiful things or the unintentional folk art of the country businessman the likes of which might be trying to sell firewood chickens.


Bubbie chuckled to himself when he saw the sign, “that would be a good name for a group of country pickers.” He could almost here Porter Wagner announce, “And now ladies and gentleman, WSM and the Grand Ole Opry welcome the Firewood Chickens to the stage, here to play some of y’all’s favorites! Take ‘er away boys!”

Stuck In The Middle With You

As you know Bubbie has been somewhat stuck in the Midwest, namely Indiana, for going on 3 ½ weeks. It’s the longest that he has been separated from Sweet Pea and his home. He told me that it has forever changed him, but for the better because it has aided in his realization of the priorities of, and in his life. At first one misses everyone and everything equally. It is grief. Then time begins to peel away the layers and the material belongings fall away; likewise with social and demographic scenery; the familiarity of culture, architecture, plants, driving familiar routes on familiar roads. One still misses them, just on a lesser level than one’s loved ones.

The longing for loved ones and friends, familiar faces and common conversations become more prominent. As much as one has studied faces; shared funny smiles, laughter and tears, time clouds those memories and the subtle nuances fade without strained focus. Thoughts of our people are pictures in our mind, missing the glossy sparkle in one’s eyes, the curl in their lips and the blushed glow in their emotive cheeks. How precious the smallest items that are so easily taken for granted.

Beyond the memories is missing a touch, a hug, holding one’s hand. How nice it would be to have a loved one walk up and put a hand on his shoulder and touch Bubbie’s arm while conversing on any menial topic; to sit side by side with arms lightly tangential.

Yes, being alone lends itself to living for one’s self. In an unfamiliar environment, knowing no one, it is more difficult to serve others. Tremendous value is gain from the smallest acts of kindness. What Bubbie have lost in physical affection has been lessened in severity by looking to serve others; since all are strangers one can offer little more than smiles and polite courtesy. But the smallest things can add up quickly and warm the heart. The good news, in Bubbie’s view, is one doesn’t have to leave all behind to reap the same benefits; forget the petty annoyances of the one’s you love—smile, touch, and serve.

Hot Wings

Bubbie had a craving for a treat today and thought he'd go have some hot wings. He went to Chilli's of all places cause he had them there before and they were good. Yep, they were good today too. As he bit into the crispy, tasty, deep fried morsels the peppery aroma and taste reminded him of a time some 25 years ago. He was a young man and worked as a tree climber. He had worked with a 4 to 6 man crew depending on who showed up for work that day (mostly due to hangover recovery) and they normally could do two jobs a day; climbing trees and sawing them down, loading the chunks on the trucks, chipping the brush, grinding the stumps, and raking up the area. In a part of town known as West Endicott was a bar called Stu's Place that they would often try to arrange to eat lunch at because of the hot wings. According to the big boss man, they had to be reasonably located in the area to justify taking the time to drive to that area of town. They could usually finagle a reason to drive through there around noon. Tears well in his eyes and he sniffs his nose a little from the pyretic heat of his hot wings as he reminisces smiling, he’d get a dozen for three bucks! Now you get half as many for twice as much.

Sharon, the woman that cooked them delicious hot chicken axillaries gave him the recipe which consisted of varying amounts of hot sauce, butter and ketchup, but Bubbie could never replicate Stu's flavor; probably because of the atmosphere, the barroom fryer oil, and the fact that they were ravished from working hard all morning. In Bubbie’s view, those Chilli's wings tasted that much better because of those great memories.

By the way, Stu was a bit of a goober; bald-headed and a little arrogant. The crew used to call him Mr. Pid as a joke (git it? Stu Pid) and that still makes Bubbie laugh. They'd never say it to his face cause he'd bar ‘em and they'd have to wait weeks before he'd let ‘em back in. Good times.

Country Folk Wave

Bubbie took a trip over the weekend through the southland. Sweet Pea went home to visit her mama and left Bubbie with a hole in his life. He figured he’d fired up the ol’ hog and rumble some thunder over some hills and down through some valleys; destination nowhere. He got on it and got outta Dodge. He was just about to really open ‘er up and let ‘er roll when, out of the corner of his eye he spied a fella standing on the side of the road. He was a thin man with black rimmed eye glasses and a gray mop of hair poking out from under an old floppy black cowboy hat. He wasn’t really on the “side” of the road, more like the far side of a grassy easement; just standing there smiling at him, giving Bubbie a wave as he went by. Bubbie kind of nodded as he whisked by still turning the throttle up. He was caught of guard by the fella and checked his mirror wondering if he’d cross the road, but he didn’t. He just stood there grinning at the next vehicle come far off.

Over several hundred miles ridden that weekend, more than a handful of folks waved to Bubbie as their paths crossed; some in pick-up trucks, some pumping gas, some old-timers just shading themselves out in the yard. You see, in the hectic pace of Bubbie’s busy life he forgot that country folk wave. They travel at a different speed taking time to notice those around and acknowledge there existence. Beyond that they care enough to give a smile with a genuine esteem to wish one well. That hole in Bubbie’s life began to get closed in on the bottom and started to fill up again.

There’s nothing to take the place of his Sweet Pea, but what the heck; absence makes the heart grow fonder and he found some other things in his life that he’d lost track of. All that from a smile and a wave from a stranger.

Kissin' Cousins

As we’ve recently seen, The Texas Supreme Court has decided that the Texas authorities had no right to remove dozens of children from their parents who are among the citizens of the polygamist Yearning for Zion Ranch. It seems that folks don’t approve of the lifestyle of them bland old, plain dress wearin’, long haired, no makeup wearin’ white polygamist ladies and their paunchy old baldheaded husbands. Among other concerns, the child protection agency was worried that some underage girls were compelled to marry older men in the sect.

Well y’all, the court system came to a reasonable conclusion with out a bunch of hubbub. In Bubbie’s view, this is they way our justice system is supposed to work. One branch of government acted errantly and another branch swung the balance back to center.

Bubbie says he finds it ironic that the authorities felt compelled to rush in there and remove the children, saving them from their “degenerate” parents while in other common American communities, it’s normal for folks to have multiple babies with multiple partners and it’s not uncommon for 13 and 14 year old girls to have babies and no one is rushing is there to save the day. Maybe because if they did there would be waves of flamboyant preachers and such screaming into TV cameras that these poor, underprivileged, sorry folks are being discriminated against. FOX News and CNN would have 24 hours of talking heads debating their brand of sound bite righteousness till we are all so sick of it we don’t care about common sense or the welfare of the children; and the government will be handin' out checks, food stamps, and a blocks of government cheese. Fortunately our forefathers set up a system that tries to keep things in balance.

On this Memorial Day, let’s remember that many a young life was given to keep our system moving forward, as flawed as it may be. People should be free to live the way they see fit, without harm to others, in a free society.

Aside Effect

Uncle Bubba had to get away; he just felt the urge to take a hike. He set out to ascend the wooded mountain behind his place. As he neared the crest he anticipated seeing a clearing that he knew lied ahead; perhaps he could catch a glimpse of some wildlife. He could see the sunlight showing through the thinning forest ahead. Stepping carefully through the wooded underbrush he was all too surprised to see an old dude and his old lady sitting side by side in old claw-foot bathtubs. Guarding his eyes from their wrinkled, naked carcasses he asked what on earth they might be doing there. Apparently they had come to see Alice…who ever she is.

Miss Edsel Corsair

The wind knows how I feel. The sun knows how I feel. The road knows how I feel. The grass knows how I feel. Sitting upright in the saddle the earth revolves beneath my wheels. The byway curves in a long lazy bend that turns for miles. Adrift in my thoughts a homestead comes into sight. There, under the shady arc of a live oak tree is a white and sea-foam green 1958 Edsel Corsair with a continental spare wheel pressed snuggly against the trunk. Her striking beauty is dwarfed by the green landscape yet bright enough to detract from the old white clapboard house tucked ever further beneath the gray Spanish moss curtain.

How can that scene, that slice of time, take one’s heart back to an era that predates one’s birth? A flash of a vision that ignites a longing for what was; a simpler time. Life was never less complicated, but it was less hurried. In an age before designer labels on t-shirts, accountability was faithfully focused on family and not mandated by government. A home was cherished and not flipped, and “made in America” gave each person in the chain of commerce a sense of pride.

As quickly as I had passed the idyllic scene the Edsel was long gone in my mirror much like it’s era in our history. The road has straightened under my wheels and I am looking ahead, eagerly looking for the next cool sight to appear on the horizon. The wind knows how I feel. The sun knows how I feel. The road knows how I feel. The grass knows how I feel. It's a new dawn. It's a new day. It's a new life for me, and I'm feeling good

Crying Foul

In the course of a busy life, it had been a while since I paid a visit to Uncle Bubba. He was in good spirits and told me of a recent anecdote regarding a foul cow. It was half past twilight when the phone rang. The Duke was on the other end citing that he had a cow down and asking Bubbie to go out with him to get her stood back up. He said she’d more than likely gone foul and needed help to get back to her feet. Of course Bubbie was all too eager to join his friend in another event. Hanging up the phone he slipped on his drawers, kissed Sweet Pea and walked out the door. The Duke pulled up in his GMC Sierra and Bubbie climbed up in. They had an hour ride to get out the Williams farm were the Duke leases some beautiful rolling green pastures.

The Williams farm is a long standing working farm that takes full advantage of the southern extended growing season; growing corn silage to mid summer and green beans in the same fields in late summer. The remainder of the season they alternate fields planting rye grass of which the Duke’s cattle graze and get fat. Cattle are moved from one large pasture to the next as they graze down (and fertilize) the landscape while the rye grows nearly knee high, green and strong in the adjacent dale.

Entering the property there are two very large silos that can normally be seen from a long way off, standing as enormous monuments to ancient farm gods. On this night however, these cylindrical towers had disappeared in the dark until the Dukes headlights momentarily glance off of them in the opaque distance. Driving out through resting, sleep flushed bovine, looking sleepily surprised at the whirring diesel weaving slowly past but too lazy to bother to stir, the cowboys rolled to the far side of the dark dale.

“She’s on the far side of the next pasture.” the Duke croaked. “There’s a hard road that runs along that edge of the property and some folks have moved out there over the years. They’ve moved there and then don’t like living by a farm so they call and bellyache over every little thing. It’s been some deal; we have to fight with animal rights people of all things.” The Duke says grumbling.

At the edge of the edge of the property, at the end of a narrow white beam of a spotlight they found her. She was under a stand of scrub oaks laid out prone on her side along side the barbed wire fence. As one may or may not know, cows nibble the branches off of trees at cow height which is about 5 feet high. This makes a grown man stoop to walk beneath the low limbs. The Duke and Bubbie crouched and stumbled through the dark shadows adjacent to the spotlight beam to the waiting cow. The Duke cautiously gave her the once over and looked puzzled as he checked her teeth and felt her legs. He couldn’t surmise any reason why she might be down, but she obviously couldn’t right herself. Bubbie watched the Duke perform his inspection waiting for instruction.

“If she gets up, make sure you have a clear path out of here and get out of the way cause she’ll slap run you over.”

Just then a car arrived over the rise on the hard road and turning its intrusive lights towards the pasture, ground to a halt at the fence line. An older, white-haired gentleman appeared from around the headlights in a white polo shirt and tweed shorts. Peering over the fence he was first to speak:

“Do you think you’ll get her up?”
“Don’t know yet. Who are you?” the Duke muttered.

“My name’s Buford, Buford Wilson. I’m the one that called about the cow. I live down the way, but my daughter lives right up the road here and she’s the one that saw her first and told me about it.”

“Uh-huh” he Duke grunted, still looking down at the foul cow. After a long pause the Duke slowly looked the old man up and down and then turned to face him.

“I appreciate the notification, but what I don’t appreciate is folks reporting us to the animal rights activists over every little thing!” his stern tone setting old Buford aback. “I treat these cattle better than my own kids, but sometimes the cattle biddness is a hard biddness. Sometimes a cow gets old and sick and dies; just like people.”

“Oh, I have no doubt…” Buford retorted in his most apologetic tone.

After several exhaustive attempts at lifting and pushing the heavy cow to her feet, the Duke, breathing heavy with hands on his hips stared at Bubbie in contemplation.

“I don’t know as you’re going to get her up.” Buford lamented.

The Duke grunted in disgust. It was more aversion that old Buford was still watching over them in his tweed shorts than failing at righting the cow.

“Bub, get the rope out of the truck; we’re gonna have’ta drag ‘er out of these trees where we can get some leverage on her.” the Duke spoke, exasperated. It was growing apparent to the two of them that there was something perhaps more seriously wrong with the cow than just being foul. Due to the tight quarters and position of the animal, her head facing the truck, the Duke looped the rope around her neck and Bubbie ran the other end up and tied it to the trailer hitch.

“You’re going to drag her by her neck?” old Buford asked cautiously.

“What choice do we have?” the Duke barked. “You’d be surprised how strong that thick neck is and we only have 6 or 7 yards to pull her out of here. Bubbie, get in the truck and give it a slow steady pull and if we get ‘er going don’t stop.”

As Bubbie crouched and stumbled under the shadowy low tree limbs back to the truck, he considered the prospects of the next few minutes; he smiled to himself recalling the Duke’s statement to old Buford that he treats his cattle better than his own kids. He climbed up into the pickup and turned the diesel over. Pulling the shift lever into gear he eased his foot off of the brake and onto the accelerator pedal. The truck rolled slowly forward has Bubbie craned his neck to watch out of the back window. Looking down the spotlight beam he could see the taught rope disappear into the trees. He then saw the Duke appear from the shadows, stooped but motioning to keep pulling ahead and then he saw the cow pop out of the dark stand of scrub, skidding along the ground on her side. Once free from the brush she slid easily over the dewy green grass. On the Dukes command Bubbie stopped the truck and then backed up to take the tension off of the rope. The Duke slipped the noose from the big cow’s neck and the two cowboys tried in vain to stand the exhausted cow.

As they paused, Bubbie looked up into the vastness of the enormous night sky and took a deep breath; the stars numbering in the millions. Tilting his head further back he felt so small and insignificant there in the wide open pasture, swallowed by the negritude of the warm night. He heard the cow breathing heavily and the Dukes feet shuffle across the grass.

“We’ll have to leave her here and hope the coyotes don’t get her until I can get the vet back here to look at ‘er.” the Duke said, walking back to the pickup truck.

The agricultural business can be a rough and gritty business. In Bubbie’s view, most Americans don’t even consider what sacrifice it takes to grow, nurture, and harvest the food that we eat with so much enjoyment and gluttony. While we sit in the comfort of our homes watching TV, or with our friends in a barroom or coffee shop, the farmer and ranchers may very well be working, and doing some rather unpleasant things. They serve at the pleasure of Mother Nature, no matter how seemingly fickle or cruel and at the oversight of countless agencies—both governmental and private watchdogs. Thank God for the folks who have chosen the agricultural profession; their love of nature and independently determined spirit prevails when most of us would quit.

Rah! Rah!

Rah! Rah! Its bowl time again! The sudden death end of the college football season that will crown champions and break hearts. The prognosticators will analyze and expound on their predictions as fevered as the traders on the Wall St. Stock Exchange floor. Afterward they will wax nostalgic about the greatness that could have been, but more than likely wasn’t. As we know by now, Bubbie always has an opinion and college athletics generally stirs him up. Lately, he says, he has noticed that a lot of the “professional athlete” (he rolls his eyes using that term) punk-ness and showboating has crept into the college ranks. Maybe it always has, but it’s taking away from the purity of what college sports are supposed to be all about. Sure, let’s celebrate a score, a touchdown, a field goal. But let’s stop acting out on every tackle; let’s stop dramatically pleading with the Ref on EVERY play that there should have been a penalty. Here’s an idea, hustle to the huddle, play each down to the best of your ability, when the whistle blows to end the play, hustle back to the huddle and mentally prepare to play the next play to the best of your ability. Let your actions do the talking and stop all the trash talking and the gyrating. You look like a damn fool and a cry baby. Football players should be tough. Carry yourself with class and decorum, and lest we’ve forgotten, be a good sport.

Beyond the Ride

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

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

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

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

Thanksgiving

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

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

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

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

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

The New NFL

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

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

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

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

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

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

American Rogue

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

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

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

MC Bubbie

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

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