Horsing Around

Uncle Bubba had to go see a man about a horse... literally. The Duke called and said he was heading to the Oak Ridge training center to take delivery on a high strung hay burner and wanted to know if Bubbie wanted to oblige him in getting the equine unloaded from a trailer. Always up for an adventure with the Duke, Bubbie rode shotgun over to the training facility.

Oak Ridge is one of many horse racing training facilities in the area and typical of what you might find at any; long barns of well maintained stalls, piles of wood shavings, sawdust and horse manure, beautiful long-legged, muscled animals and herds of brown, spanish speaking gremlins earnestly attending to the thoroughbreds.

Uncle Bubbie watched as so many of the expensive and pampered animals were walked inside wooden rings, one gray ghost coyly peaking out at Bubbie in the cool morning air.

There are miles and miles of brown wooden fence surrounding grazing horses and a long, mile and a half track down the hill from the barns where the jockeys exercise the galloping athletes.

It's when one comes across an environment as this that one realizes the extent of immigration, legal or otherwise, has ballooned in America. Would anyone argue that money equals power? So the ones that hold the purse strings control the situation and they don't want you to know that while they are vehemently objecting to illegal immigration on Fox News, they are the very cause of it; hiring indentured servants at a cut rate price to serve their every menial need. In Bubbie's view, it has become a supersaturated solution and, sadly, passed the point of no return.

A Lumbering Lightness

Hey Y'all. Uncle Bubba thought we should document this refreshing rarity. For the uninitiated, here are pictures of a true lumberyard.

Yes, long before the likes of Home Depot and Lowes Walmartized the landscape of building material establishments, we used to be able to drive our pickup trucks into the yard next to the store that was abundantly stacked with piles of lumber.

One could pull up to the stack and load it directly onto the bed of a truck, often with yard employees assistance, and drive out paying at a drive-up booth.
What an efficient, time saving, and convenient idea!

Yet today's mega home improvement stores have put most of these lumberyards out of business, gone like so many mom and pop stores decimated by Walmart and the like. Now a hard working man has to park his pickup, get a cart and wheel it into a store, push it around loading lumber, wheeling it to the checkout counter, push it through the parking lot, then load it onto their truck, and as any decent person should do, return the cart to a designated area. In Bubbie's view, wasting time handling and re-handling, loading and re-loading lumber is best for the store, not the poor guy trying to make a living. Well, let's hope that the true lumberyard doesn't completely disappear 'cause they just make good sense.

Missing In Comedic Karma

Recently, Uncle Bubba was contacted by an old friend. Not just any old friend, but is oldest bestest friend. As the two were coming up as young cubs they were nearly inseparable and what mischievous stunts they didn't think of and crazy adventures shared. Their friendship was reinforced by a quick and slightly twisted sense of humor that carried them through the most awkward of teenage exploits. They could entertain one another for hours on end and Bubbie cannot think a a single time that they ever had a cross word or argument. In each other's company it was all fun, all the time. But then as young men their travels took them in different directions and before long they were miles apart both figuratively and literally.

Now, speaking for Uncle Bubba, his desire is to set the record straight. Of course we all know that each of us always wants to set the record straight, which only means their perception of the truth. In light of this, Bubbie is old school in most of his characteristics. He wears his heart on his sleeve and is fiercely loyal to a fault. His kind of love can be consuming and overwhelming to a weaker constitution. So when he says that he loved his bestest friend, he does not make the statement lightly. But here's the rub; Bubbie never realized that no one, and I mean no one thinks like he does. He thinks that his odd eccentricities are normal behavior to the rest of the world, except that he can't find it in anyone else and that creates his internal angst and mind bending turmoil. So Bubbie's record may be a little off center of reality, but its earnest.

Uncle Bubba has had previous "reconnections" with old friends in the past that did not go well at all so he avoids the process to the point, some may say, of hiding out, you know, keeping an unlisted number and guarding his identity online--no Facebook. So when his oldest bestest friend contacted him his stomach flip-flopped and his heart raced. Would this really be a good thing or another heart-wrenching heartache? His sensitive innards do not do well with heartache.

Straight up, Uncle Bubba loves his Sweet Pea. Has for nearly 30 years. She has been, is now, and forever will be his sweetheart and best friend and they have been through hell and high water together. They've invested in one another and have reaped the rewards of their devotion day in and day out. When Bubbie and his oldest bestest friend parted ways, Sweet Pea was there. She became Bubbie's total devotion. She knows Bubbie like Carl Sagan knew the cosmos. He was enamored by it's particles and understood the forces of energy on heavenly bodies such as motion and gravity, but for every super nova there is a black hole, and sides to planets never seen not to mention the vacuity between the particles. One could never know it all. As much as Sweet Pea is Bubbie's everything, our souls contend with our humanity. To quote John Donne, no man is an island.

So Bubbie and his oldest bestest friend have reconnected and in Bubbie's view it has been a blessing. His oldest and bestest friend, McFisher, short of Sweet Pea of course is still the nicest, most genuine and funniest person that he knows. And this reuniting revealed something missing in Bubbie's life like finding a lost jigsaw puzzle piece in the couch cushions, reigniting a spark of fun in Bubbie's life that could only come from an intimate kinship and he now has someone in sync with his wacky sense of humor. In Bubbie's view, is there anything better than when someone else gets it?

Utterly The Best Calfateria

Uncle Bubba has been helping the Duke out around the ranch. They've been rearranging one of the barns and adding a kitchen to the barn apartment. While taking a break, Bubbie sat looked around at the plethora of farm contraptions and one thing in particular caught his eye. This is by far the best pail that he'd every seen in his entire life! And he's still laughing about it...

Git-R-Dun

In Bubbie's view, one of the responsibilities of being a member of the human race is to take the next step, intellectually, spiritually; to not put limitations on yourself. To say, "These are my shortcomings!" and work at improving upon them. The only way to get peace in our lives is to join all of the pieces and bring them into the whole. Can you rise above your ego? Can you step up, overcome, and then reach back and pull someone along with you? Of course you can! Git-r-dun!

Oh, I Get It Forrest!

Uncle Bubba was headed to the lumber yard to grab a few neccesities so that he could get back home and fix a few things around the house. Hitting the 2 lane highway he mashes down on the accelerator to bring his Ford pickup up to speed; well, sort of. Though the speed limit is 55, the vehicle just ahead of him in the left lane is jugging along at just about 50. But it appears to be creeping past the SUV in the right lane, or is it. The SUV keeps slowing down and speeding up. Uncle Bubba can begin to feel heat flush in his face as his blood pressure rises and his patience falls. Why doesn't the vehicle in the left lane move over to the right lane if they don't want to at least drive at the speed limit? What makes people so stupid when they get behind the wheel? Oh, I get it! They are not all that bright before they get in the car! In Bubbie's view, maybe that's what Forrest Gump's mama was talking about when she told him, "stupid is as stupid does."

The Hopeful Romantic

Uncle Bubba sits quietly in the back seat of his cab; the cabbie was 20 minutes late and Uncle Bubba let him have it with both barrels when he finally arrived at the hotel. He called the day before to make the arrangements and now he wonders if he'll make it to O'Hare airport on time to catch his flight home. (I can tell you that he won't, but that's another story...) For now he thinks of his Sweet Pea and anxiously awaits grabbing her in his arms at the gate when he arrives at his home airport. He imagines her sweet smile and adoring eyes. He laments that he has to stay away from home for such long stretches of time and knows that it would probably be easier on him if he wasn't such a hopeless romantic. He knows he lives too much in his head and carries his heart on his sleeve, but that's just Bubbie. He knows it's to his detriment. It's a hard life but could he be any other way? To deny one's self is death; fated to be a zombie, a shell of a person walking the days away to the end of the earth.

In Bubbie's view, the term hopeless romantic is a misnomer. The term "hopeful romantic" would be much more accurate to describe a person who daydreams about romantic occasions and dreams of chances where he/she will be able to perform a romantic act to their love. The sadness that this chance never comes is the hopelessness and who wants to think about that?! All hopeless romantics are idealists, sentimental dreamers, imaginative, and fanciful when you get to know them. They often live seeing life through rose colored glasses and as a result they prefer not to be steeped in reality. The hopeful romantic knows the reality of love is that reality has no business being in love. This is why they will often perform grandiose gestures that may be seen as unsettling or borderline crazy to non-romantics. But to the fellow few romantics these same gestures will be adored as beautifully and obscenely quixotic. And such is the "hope" of the hopeless romantic--to not only find the one who loves receiving such love, but loves giving such love. The true hopeless romantic would always rather give than receive because they know then and only then, will there be true love.

Going Home

The chilly winds of Canada are sawing hard on the back of Bubbie's neck. Even with a scarf pulled up around his nape and head his skin under his layered shirts shuttered and began to horripilate; shaking off the goose flesh he knew it was time to go home. Chicago has been good to him and he knew better than to complain of the cold. He no more liked it when northern folks come to visit and complain about the heat. Home is home to folks and Uncle Bubba supposes that one ain't no better than the other, it's just what you're used to. For him it's the South. Excited to see his Sweet Pea and get his arms wrapped tight around her. For years he could hardly go a few hours without her, but in the crazy year of ups and downs he's had to bear up to loneliness. A man, broken down from the miles from home yet strong enough to overpower the selfishness to pack it in, to quit. There's Sweet Pea, a family, friends and charities that rely on him to make money, and right know, that's the bottom line. Sometimes when he weakens and his heart goes faint, his mind wanders back to the days of no regrets. He and Sweet Pea had little and needed little. An hour of gazing into her eyes flew by in seconds and he'd swim through hell or high water to rush back to her from wherever afar. But they wanted more, nice things, and they wanted their kids to have nice things too. So they slaved to make their dreams realities, at least as real and as close to their dreams as they could get. Their reliance on each other developed integrity and ethics and loyalty. They learn discipline and what worked and what didn't. And now in a crappy economy, with jobs scarce and the future of America uncertain, Uncle Bubba and Sweet Pea keep chugging along. They weather the storms together which only strengthens their bond. They stay focused and committed to one another, having the intelligence to know that the residual of their love and their joint success will fall on those around them; no need to look for it.

Now it's just a cab ride to the airport and Bubbie will be going home. In Bubbie's view, everything is no more than nuisance to him; the cold, the traffic, the people, the hectic tension of the airport; all this keeping him from his Sweet Pea.

Daaaaa Brauts!!!

Uncle Bubba has made his way to a most obscure place for a good ol' southern boy in winter; he's in the greater Chicagoland area. In the approaching inclement cold he finds himself even further from home, as misplaced as a back pocket on a t-shirt. But, he has a job in a bad economy and has learned, in his gruff and sometimes grumbling way to appreciate the subtleties of his often forced adventures; this time in northern Illinois. For the most part, outside of the ghettos, the area has a different vibe--it's almost mundane. There's a myriad of sprawling suburbs each having the air of a small town and seemingly detached inkling of the rest of the world. Bubbie noticed some intriguing examples of this, one of which he relayed to me...

It's unfathomable that hordes of husky heartlanders will stand on line, out the door--a revolving door--in cold windy weather to have a doggone hotdog! Dat's right; and in their own unique vernacular, when made with sausage it's a sassage sammich. They love their Italian Beef sammich, a local delicacy consisting of piles of spicy sliced meat in a perilously soggy bun and let's not forget Daaa Brauts! If you haven't figured it out by now, the Chicago area is, incidentally, a culinary cornucopia. As a matter of fact, in a hotel lobby he picked up a Chicago tourist guide of the best and hottest places displayed 35 of 40 pages hawking restaurants. Bubbie swears that when he lays in his hotel bed at night and the howl of the wind dies down he can hear the distant hardening of arteries.

Bubbie has forever heard of Chicago as the windy city. Often upon hearing it he admits to thinking sarcastically, "Yea right; you're in the North, its cold, what do you expect." But now that he has spent a few wintery weeks living like a native, he admits that the relentless wind has a significant stinging bite, no matter how light or how heavy. At times it hurts, it makes a colder, tougher go of things. But you don't hear the locals speak of it, they don't complain about the cold.

The landscape is relatively flat. He reckons that short of the plethora of near empty glass and steel office buildings there's nothing to stop the cold Canadian air from sweeping down yonder. Who knows, but in Bubbie's view the wind in the windy city is as viscious as a Sarah Palin with a hot-flash.

Chicago-round

Chicago is a landscape littered with revolving doors. This is an unnatural way to enter and exit a room for a simple country boy. Cited first as another big city obnoxious annoyance Bubbie's view a been altered... if just a little. He surmises that the functional purpose of the revolver is to keep the weather out. There seems to be no time in Chicago that a chilly wind isn't whistling pasted one's ears and with a revolving door, the door is never really left open. No absentminded employee can leave a door propped open and no chivalrous patron can politely hold the door open for long periods of time and long lines of shoppers. The side affects of revolving doors are the practice of patience since one must wait for each person to walk through, and politeness since, while waiting a turn to revolve, momentary decisions of etiquette are performed as to who goes first. With that comes the thought that, "Hey, I can't stop now that I've revolved or someone is going to rear-end me!" When exiting a revolving door you might hit the person in front of you if the line stops and the person behind you may suddenly be pressed against you for a second of awkward stranger relations. Your mind may be thinking, "Whoa, someone is touching me." But then, after several instances Bubbie tends to think... so what. We're all just people trying to get by. In Bubbie's view, he'll keep going around until he can get back home where a revolver is something that sleeps under your pillow.

Charlie Daniels, Talk Is Cheap

Uncle Bubba was takin' a trip out to L.A. (Lower Alabama), toolin' along in a Chevrolet, tokin' on a number and diggin' on the radio. Just as he crossed the Mississippi line he heard that highway start to whine, and he knew that left rear tire was about to go. Just about this time Charlie Daniels started a-pickin’ and a-singin’ on the radio.

“People say I'm no-good,
And crazy as a loon.
I get stoned in the morning,
I get drunk in the afternoon.
Kinda like my old blue tick hound,
I like to lay around in the shade,
An', I ain't got no money,
But I damn sure got it made.

'Cos I ain't askin' nobody for nothin',
If I can't get it on my own.
If you don't like the way I'm livin',
You just leave this long-haired country boy alone.”

“Ha!” Uncle Bubba laughed right out loud to himself. “Yeah buddy… that mighta been true back in the 70’s when that song came out; well what a different world we live in today!”
He’s been out here amongst these long haired country boys and buzz cut rednecks for that matter and they’re all livin’ on the government. In Bubbie’s view, they’re beggin’, barrowin’, and stealin’. They’re all bitchin’ about Obama but they’re all takin’ the money.

Bubbie's World View

Uncle Bubba sat scribbling on a wrinkled paper, his mind adrift as he gazed out the window.
"Whatcha writin'," I queried.
"I was wondering if there is any place left in the world that people haven't seen," he said thoughtfully.
It seemed rhetorical with the quiet tone of his voice, but then he continued.
"So I was sitting here killing time and started to jot a few things down. I did a little research on figures and do you realize that a persons linear field of view taking in the circumference of the earth can see about 3 miles? Their angular field of view for binocular vision is about 120 degrees. So it would take three people standing back to back to see 360 degrees. The area of that circular field of vision is 28.37 square miles. The earth’s surface area is 57,500,000 square miles so using this formula: 57,500,000/28.37 = 2,026,788.86 X 3 = 6,080,366.58, we see that it would take about 6,080,367 people to see the entire area of the earth."

Todays current world population is 6,875,936,198, so if we divide that by 6,080,367 we'll find that we could see it 1,131 times over. Doesn't the world sometimes feel like a small place? So why are we fighting?

Kentucky Ladies

Uncle Bubba has spent the the entire summer in eastern Kentucky working in the hills and hollers. Arriving in late Spring he has witnessed a turn of seasons and a turn of circumstances. It's late October and he is putting the wraps on another job well done. He has several more weeks before returning home to his Sweet Pea but now he sits in the breakfast area in the lobby of a fine Lexington hotel. Sitting alone he slurps a sip of his hot black coffee and attempts to keep his early morning mind clear for soon enough it will again be hard at work. Try as he might, he can't help but to overhear one of two women who were sitting close by. As his gaze falls upon them he notices that their mere appearances represent the two distinctive flavors of Kentucky women. The woman sitting at the left was angular with her tresses of charcoal gray hair coiffed in a late 1940s or '50s style, bowed up high and rolled back from her high cheekbones, straight slender nose and chiseled chin. She was natural and sweet and sat straight upright while casually nibbling at a muffin while her more pretentious friend on the right sat expounding about the images appearing on her iPad. Her chatty friend was a petite older woman with short blonde, very blonde hair. She had dabbed on a little makeup and, though casual, donned designer clothes. She chatted incessantly about Facebook, Glen Beck, that O'Reilley fella, and Nancy Pelosi. Her rapid fire repartee triggered a thought in Bubbie's sleepy mind. In the past few years he has spent a fair amount of time in hotel lobbies, diners, restaurants, and bars and has noticed a split in the topics of talk depending on similar characteristics.

There are a lot of folks in this still great country that live in much the same way as our rugged ancestors. They work hard everyday and come home to care for their family and home. They survive, doing what they must do and in doing so they try to find some modicum of joy. If you strike up a conversation they speak of the weather, not just in passing but because they have to deal with it; it effects their work, their crops, their weekend plans, or how much money they'll spend fighting it. They share stories of their families and kids. They'll tell you about their day or how great a man their granddaddy was; they may even interject comments about the Lord. They almost never talk about Facebook, Beck, O'Reilly, or Pelosi; that seems to be the loquacious mantra of the upper middle class. But then again one would have to have something to lose to vehemently worry. For as much as technology and TV are useful tools, they are also used even more by the average American as entertainment. Oddly, we've forgotten that. We've stopped thinking for ourselves and swallow everything hook line and sinker. In Bubbie's view, the good old USA was stronger when folks were natural, polite, used common sense and thought for themselves.

Extraordinary Courtesy - Life or Death on the Road

Uncle Bubba has had the occasions to drive many, many miles over the past few summer months; from the deep south of lower Alabama up and down Highway 65 to Chicago, and Highway 75 from Florida to Kentucky and back several times. Aside from the beauty of the American landscape, the one thing that most stands out to Bubbie is the total lack of courtesy. He remembers a time when there was a phrase of "common courtesy" but what was once common is now extraordinary--and not in a good way. The risky and dangerous driving maneuvers that people make at any instant are stunning in so many ways. First and foremost is the fact that they are willing to wreck their vehicle, other's vehicles, physically maim or kill men, women, and children to get one place ahead in a line of traffic; such an inconsequential achievement with such potentially tragic results. No one, and that means no one, will slow to allow another driver in line. Everyone's first reaction is to stand on the gas and speed up to pass. If you are overtaken by the urge to be courteous, and for that matter safe, and you yield to another you'll inevitably be punished for mile after mile by the person behind you tailgating until they can pass you coming as close to hitting you as possible just to make sure you get the message.

Add the fact that people do not want to slow down in a construction zone, or pull over while passing a stopped vehicle on the shoulder, cut each other off at the gas pump, honking their horn moments after a light turns green and racing for a parking place, and you'll see just how rude and self-centered we truly are. In Bubbie's view, we are who we are before we get in a car.

Redneck Nachos

Uncle Bubba walks into the kitchen of his friend Wild Bill in eastern Kentucky and eases himself slowly into one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table. It's been a long hot summer day of hard work and the two men are starting to think about scarring up some grub. Ain't nothin' worse than being wore out from work and then having to come up with some appetizing dinner.
"You hungry?" Wild Bill asks Bubbie.
"A bit."
"Yeah, me too," says Bill, "but I ain't starvin'... too hot. I wish we had somethin' easy to whip up that goes good with a cold beer."
"Yeah, like some redneck nachos."
Bill's head spins around and his beady eyes focus on Uncle Bubba over his glasses. "Say what?"

Uncle Bubba was working down in beautiful Dauphin Island, Alabama (yeah, that place that the BP oil spill is ruining) and ate a barbecue lunch at a little roadside stand. That was the first time he ate redneck nachos. Now get a pen and paper and write down this recipe; dump some Frito Scoopables on a plate, toss on some pork, baked beans, sprinkled with a mess of cole slaw. In Bubbie's view, it don't get no better than that.

Wild Bill laughs and says, "OK, let's do it! But I'm not so sure that you didn't just make that up."
Uncle Bubba, always the stalwart of honesty and one to give credit where credit is due pulls out his cell phone and laughingly shows Wild Bill the proof:

God Bless Our Troops, Shame On US

Uncle Bubba has been in Kentucky to work with issues associated with the recent flooding. During his work day he deals with members of the National Guard. It is striking to see the youthfulness of the men and women laden with such responsibility. Many, if not most of the troops that Uncle Bubba encountered had been to the Middle East or were new and eventually headed to serve there. Another striking thing that Uncle Bubba witnessed in the backwoods and hollers of Kentucky are the rattle trap, pieces-of-junk humvees that our service people showed up in. Obviously, we expect so much from our military personnel, yet invest nothing in their equipment. In Bubbie's view, we should be ashamed of ourselves.

Alabama Secret Gentlemen's Club

Uncle Bubba was toolin' down Highway 231 in L.A. or should I say... Lower Alabama, when an innocuous looking sign caught the corner of his eye. "What?", he yelled out laughing. He pulled the steering wheel to the left and U-turned in the median; he had to go back and see if he saw it correctly. Sure enough, he did...

SECRETS GENTLEMANS CLUB - BYOB
What in tarnation could be goin' down in the kinda gentlemen's club that ya havta bring your own beer?! Never mind, I don't wanna know.

Good Fences

When young Bubbie was still wet behind the ears he used to grab his daddy's old boat cushion and wade through the tall grass spooking the grasshoppers and dodging the honey bees, venturing out to the ol' charcoal gray split rail fence. With his arm through one of the straps of the cushion, he'd grab each of the weathered, rough and grainy rails and pull himself up. They felt hard as iron, like petrified wood as he climbed high, destined for the top rail. He had his favorite, one with a flat spot near the cross posts where he could precariously balance the boat cushion while he straddled the rail with his little legs and poked his small feet into the straps. Now, mounted on the saddle of his mighty stead, his hands holding the reigns, a short piece of rope tied to the cross posts, he could ride any range. Maybe today he'd punch the doagies grazing aimlessly on the other side of the fence, paying him no mind. Or he might have to save the day of course, chasing away the bad guys.

Now Uncle Bubba is a grown man, mature, life worn, road weary. But as he drives the back country roads of America he passes many old wooden split rail fences and they can at any moment make him smile. Uncle Bubba recalls that even as a young pup he admired the creators of fences; though he never recalls ever seeing anyone build one, they just seem to have always been there, as natural as trees. Yet the work and effort it must have taken to lay them straight and set the posts and rails had to be one of thankless dedication. As straight and true as it's creator could construct, these wooden jigsaw puzzles served a function, built sturdy enough to deter the livestock yet, maybe unexpectedly, esthetically pleasing to one's neighbor. Uncle Bubba has had some experience over the years of building and mending fences. Not the magnificent creations of old but of steel and wire; and in his mind, short cuts as so much of life today is about. Even so it's hard tedious work. But in Bubbie's view, when finished there is a sense of pride and accomplishment that one knows will go virtually unnoticed on the landscape. And he smiles.

FAME!

Yesterday Sweet Pea and Uncle Bubba drove up Hwy 65 through Birmingham to head to northern Alabama. They were escaping Montgomery for a few days to visit Huntsville in the northeast corner of the state. Just north of Birmingham Uncle Bubba decided to crank the wheel hard to the left and detour to the northwest corner of the state to visit Muscle Shoals; in particular Fame Recording Studios. They have been an integral part of American popular music from the late 1950s to the present. Artists who recorded there included Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, Tom Jones, Duane Allman, The Allman Brothers Band, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bobbie Gentry, Mac Davis, Paul Anka, Etta James, Andy Williams, The Osmonds, Waylon Jennings, Travis Tritt and many others.

Muscle Shoals is a small town just south of the larger city of Florence. They were surprised when they happened to spy the studio at how inconspicuous it was, swallowed up in a busy intersection of CVS, Walgreens, gas stations and every imaginable fast food restaurant. Oh those awful chain stores, a cancer on the American landscape. Anyway, they pull the old Ford into CVS parking lot to access the small studio parking lot. Uncle Bubba excitedly jumped out with my camera and started taking pictures! He couldn't believe he was actually standing in a place that he had heard of all of his life, since he was a pup. This remote place that seemed like a lifetime away from where he grew up. A place that he tried to imagine but could never appreciate because he didn't know where it was, what the landscape and the environment was, what the air smelled like. On this beautifully sunny day, after taking the obligatory pictures outside, Bubbie walked up to the front door to see if they'd let him in and guess what; he and Sweet Pea sashayed right in to the very small reception area fortified by two glassed, cluttered but empty offices on either side and an ancient sectional couch and coffee table. No one was there to greet them but they could hear people in the building so they waited and looked at the many pictures of famous people and gold records that lined the paneled walls. A man came hurriedly down some stairs and, seemingly preoccupied asked if he could help the enamored gawkers. Bubbie asked if he could look around and take some pictures. He said, "Sure, feel free." and walked out the door. Then a receptionist named Suzanne showed up and took them right into the studios! Uncle Bubba couldn't believe it! There are 2 studios, A and B. A is much nicer than B.

Studio A

But with the decor, the smells of wood and carpet and whatever, the sound (that muffled sound-proof air), you'd swear that you stepped into a time capsule and it was 1970! There they were; where all of the magic had happened; where the mystical sounds that came out of our radio speakers for all these years had originated. There were instruments set up; pianos, organs, drums, amplifiers and microphones. Each room had high ceilings and a large semi mirrored window that hid the control rooms. It was incredible. Bubbie and Sweet Pea stayed for a good while and just soaked it all in... he wished he could have stayed for days, even weeks, but he didn't want to overstay their welcome. As they left and drove over the Tennessee River and across the rolling countryside to Huntsville, Bubbie's head was buzzing with dizzy pleasure. He still can't believe that he did it; it feels so great. And thank God that he had Sweet Pea by his side to share it all with. In Bubbie's view, many great adventures are always on the horizon but he thinks that this day will stay with him for a long, long time.

Final Four... Say What?!

Uncle Bubba was watching the Final Four of men's college basketball last night. You know, the March Madness tournament, oh yeah, it's now April but that's another story. So while Duke is playing West Virginia in the later game and the CBS commentators are interviewing Brad Stevens, the winning coach and player Gordon Hayward from Butler University. If you haven't seen coach Stevens, he's a white, youthful looking 33 years old. Gordon Hayward is white as well. CBS Commentator Gregory Anthony, who by the way is black, prefaces his comments with what should be an innocuous statement of casual observance when he says, "You two look like brothers." Say what?! He didn't just say that! What; does he think all white guys look the same? If that had been a white man speaking to two black men, he'd have been fired by the time they came back from commercial! He'd be offering an apology to Reverend Al Sharpton on his way to rehab!

In Bubbie's view, who cares. We've become too politically correct, but if you start a fight you'd better be willing to finish it. Don't accuse others for things unless you're willing to take equal responsibility.

Air Show

Uncle Bubba has drifted back to Montgomery and this weekend there's an air show. Being a heavily populated area of military bases, the show is a big deal. The news has warned of traffic issues and urged patience in getting around the city. Now if y'all have been reading this blog, you'll know the Uncle Bubba is not fond of crowds. It didn't take him long to decide that he'd be avoiding the area off the air show but would also keep an eye to the sky to perhaps catch an awesome sight of aeronautical daring. Uncle Bubba really enjoys flying and has soloed himself. This got him thinking, or should I say reminiscing about some great moments of his childhood. Growing up in a time that now seems so remote from our present techno-culture, it was a time of no cell phones, no PCs, no video games, and 4 stations on TV. Every so often little Bubbie's grampa would take him to the small community airport out beyond the boundaries of their town. He recalls his grampa strategically parking near some hangars and inviting him to get out of the car. Bubbie would poke his little fingers through and hang onto the chain link fence and peer through the diamond shapes to see if an airplanes were around. His grampa would keep reminding him to look to the sky to see if he could spot any. Every so often they'd get lucky and one might be circling and landing or just taking off. His grampa would always spin a tale of adventure to accompany each event; the folks on the plane may be returning from a safari or taking off to land on a far off indian reservation. Young Bubbie somehow knew that the ephemeral moments that he and grampa shared were more wondrous than the mysteries of flight they each marveled at. And now, in Bubbie's view, later in life, the lessons of a few quite hours shared with someone you love seem far more precious than texting, shopping online, virtually killing people for entertainment, and tuning out to 500 channels of stupidity.

Ode to Sweet Pea

Sweet Pea is one of a kind. One doesn't have to spend much time in the company of Sweet Pea and Uncle Bubba to notice something special, something just a little bit different. Though they've been together near about 30 years, they act like a couple of pups in love. Uncle Bubba will tell you that he can only account for his side of the relationship, and in doing so will tell you that he chooses to only focus on Sweet Pea's best qualities. And brother let me be the first to tell ya that there's a lot of them! In Bubbie's view she is still that sweet and sassy innocent little girl that he first laid eyes on... well, it seems like just yesterday. Yes, she's attractive to say the least, but there's an aura about her; classy yet hmm... I don't know. She's glamorous and earthy. She is kind and warmhearted, always ready with a big smile. She is generous to a fault and has opened her home to many a stranger or wayward friend. She won't mince words when she speaks her mind but prefers silence for quiet's sake. She's as protective as any mama bear and I dare say will back Uncle Bubba to the death. She'll defend her man whether he needs it or not.

Once when I mentioned how much I admired their relationship, Uncle Bubba flat out told me that the best feeling he ever had was when he first laid eyes on Sweet Pea and then tried to speak to her without making a dang fool of himself. "It was like floating on a cloud and I never wanted to come down." He added, "So I won't." I get it. We have the mind and the will to do anything. Why not stay in a place that you absolutely love? After all, as Uncle Bubba says, we have free will and it's our choice.

I've never spoken to Sweet Pea about such matters, but something tells me that I'd get the same response. And I can tell you that after knowing them both for so long, Uncle Bubba relishes delving into the mysteries of life and Sweet Pea is always right behind him; I dare say a match made in heaven. Everyone should be so blessed as to have a Sweet Pea of their own.

Saturday Night In The Bayou

Uncle Bubba had his fill of a long work week and a nice sized bundle of greenbacks in his pocket to show for it. He had made up his mind early in the day that he was going to twist off from the usual routine and treat himself to a little fun. After all, all work makes Bubbie a dull boy and runs completely counter to his general life's philosophy. He's told me many times that he's "tryin' to live 3 lifetimes in one."

He returned to his hotel room in Mobile for a shower and change of clothes before jumping back in his pickup and slipping under the Bankhead tunnel under the river. He rolled up to Felix's Fish House for a nice dinner of cornmeal fried oysters, crab soup, and corn & jalapeno fritters. The place was packed but Bubbie found a table in the bar. I tight little 3 piece band was playing low in the corner; he heard some Creedence, Little Feat, and Dilbert McClinton to name a few artists that the band covered. An hour, and too full, later it was time to move on. With no desire to head back to the lonely hotel he drove to some neon lights dimly shining down the road. There, jacked up on pylons, sat the Drifters bar. He could hear music playing from inside as he stepped out of his truck and it grew louder as he climbed the stairs in anticipation; this could be the worst places he's ever been or a diamond in the rough...

Stepping into the smokey bar he was surprised at how few patrons seemed to be present, but it was still early, he thought. The band was playing and they sounded good, though he can't recall their name. They were a four piece group that played much louder than the last band he had heard just minutes ago. But it was a fairly big joint and the sound carried well so it didn't seem overpowering. Bubbie saddled up to the bar and ordered a beer while politely smiling to others eying him. I should say that Uncle Bubba has an essence that tends to draw attention, whether wanted or unwanted. I can't say what it is, but something about him makes one take notice, though Bubbie is oblivious to it. Its somewhat comical but he always thinks he blends right in with any crowd. So grins and nods are passed around the room as he settles in. Invariably some local yokel will start chatting with him about where he's from or politics; neither topic is one that Bubbie cares to cultivate. But he'll politely defer. He notices an outer area through the back of the room and maneuvers that way. As he steps out onto the deck he's taken aback at the crowd hanging out and just having one helluva party and the view of the moon shining off of the water below. Before you know it it's drinks all around and singing along with the band; the parties on brother! Bubbie's view is a little hazy but he remembers singing Sweet Home Alabama (several times), shaking a lot of hands, and shooting back through the tunnel under the river. Good times in the bayou on a Saturday night!

Goin' Mobile To Mobile

Uncle Bubba traversed the Tensaw Delta like a skippin' stone skittering across bayou. He was clicking down 65 south through the cypress stands as the twin towers of the bridge, like great arched ladders rose into view on the horizon. The elevated highway merges onto 165 which mercifully carries it's travelers over the rough areas of Prichard with Mobile on the near horizon.  Its a task to take in Mobile coming in off of 165 because it literally drops you off on North Waters Street which runs along the docks on the left and the City on the right. The enormous cranes, lined up like so many gargantuan skeletal bones at a museum; quietly looming, waiting for they're prey to pass by. The city itself is the epitome of a southern port town. It's southern charms are typically grand, formal, and quaintly dignified. The historic downtown area around Dauphin St. and Joachim St. is dressed in wrought iron lace and its own rival to the New Orleans French Quarter.

Uncle Bubbie has landed and checked in to bed down for the night, but not before a nightcap at Veet's Bar on Royal St.; Doug Previto and the Family Jewels are layin' it down as usual. In Bubbie's view, a few days and nights in Mobile is gonna be a great thing.

Miss Montgomery & Hank

Here's more details from Uncle Bubba's letters from the road. He wrote...

Howdy Y'all,

Yesterday was quite a day! I checked out of my hotel in Montgomery and wanted to see some sights before leaving town. It was early so I drifted over to the cemetery and visited Hank Williams grave site. It's quite a memorial; the twin towers of Miss Audrey and Luke the Drifter! I then headed down hill and downtown to partake in the Hank Williams museum. It is a small but interesting exhibit with some maudlin and macabre things on display. Y'all, when a person dies, and you show up to see their things, y'all are probably gonna see some strange stuff. A lot of the stuff is owned and on loan from Hank Jr., like Hank's '52 Cadillac convertible, the back seat of in which he expired. OK, I could deal with that... this car was very important to him. But there written on a sign outlining the cars history declared that Hank Jr. wound up with the car and drove it to high school for 3 years! I mean, would you wanna drive around the car that your daddy died in? I'm just sayin"... 

From there I drove up to the other end of the city, which is about a dozen blocks and stopped at the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church where Dr. Martin Luther King was pastor. Interestingly it is one block from the State Capital Building. I walked around to take some pictures and there was a civil rights rally going on at the Capital Building; lots of black folks holding signs and police standing around watching them... a bit surreal. On another corner by the church, three angry black people were holding up signs of Jesus and yelling through a bullhorn at me, "the whites" for lying and mistreating them. Whoa; it must be hard y'all to be that angry all the time.

From there I drove around the block and on the opposite side of the capital, just across the street, is an old grand house that was the First White House of the Confederacy. It was the residence of President Jefferson Davis and family and is now a museum, but unfortunately it was closed. I sat on the front steps for a while and wondered what Montgomery must have been like in the 1850's and 60's. Hey, my 2nd grade teacher was Miss Montgomery! She was young and pretty. So with the morning fading I'm hitting the road and headed to Mobile. I'm gone.

Oh Montgomery

Uncle Bubba spent an oddly snowy day in Atlanta yesterday. The billions of large white flakes fell like little feathers from the sky and littered the bare winter ground with bleached crystal specks.  The cold wet dark asphalt seemed to creep up through the bottom of his shoes and chill his leg bones. After a restless nights sleep he left Atlanta this morning and arrived in Montgomery, Alabama early this afternoon. Crossing the GA / AL boarder also crosses the timeline into central time so Bubbie gained an hour. It was a beautiful day and driving along red highway 85 through the countryside was quite scenic; lots of hardwoods and farmland. Shooter Jennings' "God Bless Alabama" was cranking on the radio as Bubbie sped across the State line. 

Montgomery appears to be of considerable size with some very new parts in the east and some very, very old parts. Uncle Bubba crosses the Alabama river, twice, to get to work. He drives through abandoned brick warehouses and tall rusted water tanks that remind him a dinosaur bones. As the days here unfold, he expects to explore more and more. There is the Hank Williams museum, his burial site, and the museum which was the Whitehouse of the Confederacy. The folks seem very friendly and and typically southern polite. In Bubbie's view the most exciting adventure still lies ahead as he travels out into the outlying communities and witnesses how people really live.

Atlanta's Burnin' Down

Hey Y'all! Don't y'all just love that Dickey Betts song; "Atlanta's Burning Down"? Uncle Bubba had it fired up on the radio as he burned into Atlanta at twilight this evening after a sunny first of March. The smoke was rolling off of his tires as rounded the corner into the hotel parking lot just in time to stretch a leg and calm a nerve. On the way along highway 75 passed numerous signs for BBQ and he got himself a powerful hankerin' whilst traversing the asphalt monster... traffic was heavy and from the GA boarder north to Macon; it seemed like one looooong construction zone. Anyways, he passed the Old Hickory Restaurant by the hotel so he doubled back after check-in and got some good, old fashioned Georgia Barbeque. 3 meats, beef, pork, and ribs, mmmmm...

He come out smellin' a whole lot more aromatic than he did goin' in; like hickory smoke! In Bubbie's view, he's off to a great start on his rode trip. He just wishes y'all could be here to share in it with him. If yer game, he'll load y'all in the back of his pickup and tote y'all along!

A Day With The Duke

Uncle Bubba drove out to the ranch to visit with the Duke. It was one of those nice winter days where the sky is blue and bright beyond the bricolage blanket of alabaster clouds, and though the grass is straw brown, the air feels like Spring might show up and show out in a few days. It was one of those drives where you don’t care when you every really get there; everything looks beautiful and you notice every little detail of scenery as you speed past.

Uncle Bubba cranked on the steering wheel and turned off of the hard road onto the thin lime rock road that leads to paradise. It cuts razor straight thru a small pine forest and the bronze brown Mexicans with there jet black hair could be glimpsed between the shadowy rows of pine, hand raking pine straw into great mounds. They looked startled to see Bubbie pass by. Beyond the pines and thru a wooded pasture of lazy bovine, the sky opens up to shine brightly on the pastures that surround the ranch. The Duke's house sits poised in the middle beyond the trail of old live oak trees dressed in Spanish moss. Bubbie rounds the bend by the barn and rolls into the tunnel of oaks that stand like sentries along the drive to the main house. On the other end of the trees the dogs run up to greet every visitor with much to-do and barking; they are always happy to get company.

Uncle Bubba parked and already feeling satisfied, rolled out of the driver’s seat. It was good to be in the country; there is something so cathartic in it for him. It pleasantly touches a place in his soul that connects him to the Universe, the best in mankind and its history. The Duke is boarding some juvenile delinquents also known as the five thoroughbreds. They are tall, reddish brown young horses that are as beautiful as they are wild. The Duke has them fenced along the pasture by Bubbie’s parking place and to see them all in a line up is quite impressive. They are nervous power, flexed muscle and restless strength. They were born to run…run at full speed, and they don’t care if they have a rider, that would just cramp their style.



The Duke and Miss Dixie are as cordial and nice as ever to see their ol’ friend. Greetings are passed around to be savored and appreciated. There is no hurry to catch up, there’s always time to do that. The Duke always has chores to work and errands to run and his pardner Bubbie is always obliged to partake. The boys loaded up the white Ford pickup truck with supplies. The Duke kissed Miss Dixie and off they rode, back out the dusty lime rock rode. They talked about cattle feed mixtures, trucking operations, cow fecal testing and other pleasantries. Stopping at a filling station for diesel fuel they grabbed some fried chicken breasts and gizzards and a Coke for lunch. Yessir, life don’t get much better than that. It is living the moments of life that Bubbie is most interested in, and gathering the riches of giving. The day will pass as sure as the sun arcs across the sky and Uncle Bubba will return home to Sweet Pea. What could be better than that? The opportunity to do it again of course.

Happy New Year, 2010!!

Happy New Year! Here it is 2010 with a chance to start over once again and get it right. We can resolve to get on the good foot and be better people then just see it through. How hard is that? Do we really need someone else, some “expert” to tell us how to be better people, better Americans? What do these “experts” know that we don’t? Do y’all remember one of our national mottos; “United we stand, divided we fall?” Uh... we’re falling; what’s that tell y’all? How about our current national motto; “In God we trust.” Seems pretty straight forward to ol’ Uncle Bubba. How ‘bout we look inside our own hearts and take responsibility for the way we treat our neighbors. You be the expert of your own life. You are an expert on being nicer, kinder, better person; you just need to see it through.

God Bless the Ranchers, God Bless the Farmers

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

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

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

Lets Go Green!

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

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

2010 Yobabytes Part 2

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

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

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

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

2010 Yobabytes Part 1

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

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

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

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

Bacon!

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

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

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

Throwbacks

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

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

Goodbye Dear Friend

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

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

Screwed, Blued, and Tattooed

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

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

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

Just Another Day

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

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

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

What Goes Around...

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

The Mermaid & The Manatee

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

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

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

Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness

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

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

Gates & The Policeman

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

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

Hard Times Sports Fans

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

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

A 'Mater Samich

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

Old Folks Were The Best Folks

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

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